The Bourne Ultimatum
Directed by Paul Greengrass
“I remember everything.” Those revelatory words, spoken by Matt Damon as the eponymous Jason Bourne near the conclusion of The Bourne Ultimatum, will generate instant elation from anyone familiar with the former government-employed hitman’s amnesiac exploits in the series’ popular first two entries. Beyond providing a reminder that Bourne’s recollective state has been a long time coming, however, the line should inadvertently echo audiences’ collective inner monologue as they reacquaint themselves with the specific Bourne cadences that comprise this sleek and efficient form of action filmmaking.
Paul Greengrass—whose last production, United 93, was nothing (beyond the immediacy of its provocation) if not an experimental side project tolerated by Universal to coax him back to the director’s chair for the third Bourne movie—finds steadier footing as an entertainer. There’s nothing remotely political about the exploits of Jason Bourne; his god-like ability to eradicate imminent danger is so far removed from our sense of reality that those nasty CIA folks chasing after him look like MacGuffins in suits.
When The Bourne Supremacy hit theaters in 2004, Greengrass’ direction felt virtually indistinguishable from that of Doug Liman, whose efficient handling of The Bourne Identity pioneered the success of the franchise and defined the particular sparkle of its intensity. Now masterfully aware of the engaging rhythm of excitement that defines the Bourne appeal, Greengrass capitalizes on it. There hasn’t been filmic eruption of bombast that uses this much physicality since the closing scenes of last year’s Children of Men. Greengrass ups the ante with unabashed exploitation of the devices that generate viewer stimulation, and mercifully makes each sequence appear distinct from the next, avoiding the frequent blockbuster trap of redundancy. The effect is akin to watching a spirited dance performance, dictated by the limitations of gravity and speed, but slick enough to argue that the performers can defy both.
Like its predecessors, Ultimatum succeeds as a deeply satisfying rollercoaster of shots and cuts. The plot unfolds on two fundamental levels: militant chase scenes, during which Bourne manages to confront his foes or meet with secret allies while eluding capture at the hands of watchful government forces, and intimate hand-to-hand combat, which showcases Bourne as something of a startlingly competent kung fu warrior. The former scenes generally cut back and forth between Bourne’s clever machinations through darkened corridors and a control room, where a desperate agency boss (here represented by David Strathairn, acting ominous, if slightly hollow) glares at a monitor and vainly barks orders as the slippery protagonist continuously evades capture. And then there are brief visual punchlines, drawing parallels between the enjoyments of keenly designed action and slapstick comedy. These last bits generally manifest as reaction shots heavy with wonderment, as anyone bearing witness to Bourne’s grandiose defensive maneuvers reverts to a childlike impression of awe. Bereft of context, these shots would be meaningless, yet Strathairn and Julia Stiles (as Bourne’s former counselor and possible love interest), in addition to numerous minor characters, perfectly complement Bourne’s gymnastic displays with eyes wide and mouths agape.
Defining the meaning of a single shot through its supportive shots is a concept intrinsic to the evolution of film language (Lev Kuleshov, a colleague of Sergei Eisenstein, famously juxtaposed one image against several others to show its varying significance). On this skeletal level of movie composition, Ultimatum deserves consideration as a masterpiece. Yet the wall-to-wall layering of spectacles leaves no space for another ingredient essential to the mechanisms of great cinema—emotion. You might feel bad for Bourne, a man mistreated by ruthless American forces and tossed out as a disposable tool. But you won’t find much in the way of ruminations about the corruption at hand or the psychological damage that Bourne has endured. A surprisingly potent scene near the end of Supremacy showed the character confronting the daughter of his first kill, but Ultimatum has neither time nor patience for anything so subtle.
Nevertheless, Bourne doesn’t suffer from a lack of depth, considering that his character knows very little about his own life. He thinks fast, but not hard. He has the singular audacity of James Bond and the unhindered motives for adventure of Indiana Jones, but exudes a colder aura than either, and for a good reason. Bourne’s life is in shambles. His attempt to settle down fell apart with the accidental death of his girlfriend in the second film; in Ultimatum, he remembers undergoing waterboarding at the hands of his trainer to impose his patriotic fidelity.
The ending of Supremacy (smartly inserted into the middle of Ultimatum) revealed Bourne’s real name as David Webb, a fact that he accepts without entirely shaking his more famous title. In a way, Webb is his secret identity, and Bourne represents his superhero extremes. The Bourne franchise shares many qualities with contemporary comic book adaptations, specifically its ongoing potential for sequels (there are two more Bourne novels by Robert Ludlum available for big screen enlargement). The trait that makes this series work comes from the foregrounding of refined action as an art form. Unintelligible cartoon logic in dumbed down mindlessness like Live Free or Die Hard prompts sensations of amusement, but no awareness of peril. Bruce Willis, as John McClane, hardly bats an eyelash to beat down the bad guys. Bourne’s exploits are hard to believe, but thankfully devoid of digital effects, conveying authentically brutish struggles. He lives free and doesn’t die, but it’s hard.
