Fahrenheit 451shouldve been a home run.
The HBO film (airing Saturday at 8 p.m.
ET) has great source material, adapted from Ray Bradburys anti-intellectual dystopian classic.
Credit: Michael Gibson/HBO
Its written and directed by Ramin Bahrani, the essential American indie filmmaker behindMan Push CartandChop Shop.
Hes surrounded by a fine cast: Michael Shannon, Sofia Boutella, Khandi Alexander.
Certainly, the basic concept remains important 65 years after the books publication.
In a dark future, a man named Guy Montag (Jordan) is employed as a fireman.
But hes fanning, not extinguishing.
The central government has declared books illegal.
The printed page is now graffiti, and owning any book is a capital offense.
But you cant just add social media toFahrenheit 451and assume the main point still stands.
And the version of the internet Bahrani renders here is beyond goofy.
Even the worstBlack Mirrorunderstands how people use the internet, extrapolating our contemporary relationship with digitality forward.
By comparison,Fahrenheit 451vacillates between being dangerously old-fashioned and witlessly rantyhalf ode to print, half SnapChat screed.
Meanwhile, Shannon looms like its going out of style.
Every one of his lines is a speech.
Yes, yes, how indeed, how indeed.
By comparison, hisFahrenheit 451performance feels plastic, halfway to Zod.
Cant Hollywood give this man something new to do?
Anyone who loves books will get a minor contact high from all the literary shoutouts.
Walking through a large library, Guy grabs a random book.
One person knows every word toAnna Karenina, and a much cooler person knows every line ofWhite Teeth.
No doubt, this world would be better if everyone readUlysses.
But the thudding execution of this idea dulls the point to absurdity.
I started to feel bad for the internet.
Some of the adaptation choices are strange beyond reason.
If that sounds silly, is it ever.
By the end, this version ofFahrenheitis reduced to an outline of an allegory.
Shannon swans around in Alexander McQueen-ish leather.
Jordans reduced to carrying a flamethrower while everyone else says big important things.
The dialogue sounds tin, near-parodic.
