It's no spoiler that Jim (Dominic Purcell), the much shit-upon hero of Uwe Boll's Assault on Wall Street, eventually takes revenge against the men in suits who spend the film's hard-slog of a first hour tanking his pension, his interest rates, his mortgage, his health insurance. Really, why else is a movie hero ever shit on, if not to make later mayhem palatable? The surprise is how long it takes him to go commando, and how many sad subway rides we watch him take. The killer is the usual good man robbed of his family. His wife (Erin Karpluk) suffers from one of those movie diseases that does nothing to diminish the beauty of the body it's doomed, and she feels terrible for needing the treatments that set off their financial travails. Jim's response: "It's not your fault. It's the banks, it's the CEOs, it's the fuckin' brokers." Individually, these scenes have some power, especially when Boll offers compelling real-world detail, like the straight-up immoral fact that Cobra payments will run this couple $600 a month. But an hour of them should wear down all but the most bailout-hating viewers. TVs yammer constantly with newscasts, and the men in suits are laughably dickish. Jim has lost everything, and a suit commiserates with "When I told my wife we couldn't vacation in Barbados, she tore a strip off me the size of Long Island." Pearls like that are rare, though. By the end, all Boll can think to do is stage a sub-Matrix worker-bee slaughter, one full of dialogue an angry high-schooler might bang out for an Occupy-inspired one-act.
Uwe BollDominic Purcell, Edward Furlong, Eric RobertsDan Clarke, Shawn WilliamsonPhase 4 Films