In Alaska, an oil drilling team struggle to survive after a plane crash strands them in the wild. Hunting the humans are a pack of wolves who see them as intruders.
On the down side, there’s a lot of dull pretentious philosophising about the heartlessness of nature and god. On the up side, you get to see a man punch a wolf in the face.
Carnahan keeps a tight grip on the tension while managing to balance the expected gory encounters with existential debates that serve to endear viewers to the men in question.
Neeson confers weight and muscle on the movie, and endows it with a kind of emotional dignity it would not otherwise have.
Somehow, it’s hard not to view The Grey as either schlock with delusions of grandeur, or a bleak art-house parable masquerading as popcorn hokum. Taken on either level, it never quite strikes a satisfying balance.
Supremely led by Liam Neeson, The Grey may be a wilderness tale, pure and simple, but it’s as compelling as they come. Bring your thermals too; you’ll catch a chill just watching it.
Nearing sixty Neeson certainly cuts it as an action hero and brings a resilience and emotional vulnerability to the character that makes him a highly sympathetic and intriguing hero. Produced by the cigar-chomping Ridley Scott, this is the real deal: a Boy’s Own movie for men.
Has bite.
Turns out to be a belter.
The film runs out of energy.
The Grey could have been better yet, but I’m not sure Neeson could.
As the survivors tramp across the wasteland, the excitement begins to diminish, with too many flashbacks and religious chatter suggesting this is a B-movie with ideas above its station. It has a good ending, mind you.
A surprisingly tough and sober film.
This is an existential, God-baiting fable where the wolves are agents of destiny and the isolated protagonists must confront their individual fates, and the effect is as chilling as the weather.
General release. Check local listings for show times.
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