Bryan Cranston graduated to movies, but his latest one shows why TV is better
We're used to seeing Bryan Cranston breaking laws, but in "The Infiltrator" he's one of the good guys. Real-life hero Robert Mazur was a customs agent who went undercover in the 1980s to take down drug dealers, corrupt bankers and other nefarious figures with links to Pablo Escobar's Medellin drug cartel.
The movie is based on Mazur's book of the same name, and it's directed by Brad Furman, who has done both very good work ("The Lincoln Lawyer") and dismal work (the Justin Timberlake vehicle "Runner Runner") in the past. "The Infiltrator" is neither stellar nor a misfire. It's simply a movie stuck in the shadow of television - a medium that keeps getting better as its big-screen sibling increasingly struggles.
Take the movie's subject matter, for example. Although "The Infiltrator" isn't explicitly about the fall of Escobar, the kingpin's presence looms large. Benjamin Bratt plays Roberto Alcaino, one of Escobar's minions, who works with Mazur's mobster-affiliated alter-ego to launder drug money. The problem with making a movie about crime and punishment in the Medellin era is that it's already being done - and being done well - on Netflix.
The Golden Globe-nominated "Narcos," which begins airing its second season in September, follows two other real-life crime fighters. Javier Peña (Pedro Pascal) and Steve Murphy (Boyd Holbrook) were the Drug Enforcement Administration agents who brought down Escobar in the 1990s, and the series revisits that operation, both from their perspectives and from Escobar's.
The first 10-episode season spanned about a dozen years, from Escobar's rise until he escaped from prison in 1992. According to actor Wagner Moura, who plays the drug lord, the second season revolves around his character's life on the lam, until his death in 1993.
What that means for future seasons is anyone's guess, but this much we know: The series will have spent 20 hours deeply exploring the intricacies of what happened during Escobar's rise and fall. The writers didn't have to rush introducing characters and giving viewers a sense of their motivations. Audiences got to live and breathe with the personalities.
More time isn't always a good thing, especially when writers get a little too leisurely. (Can we agree that "Bloodline" could have sped things up?) But generally, the extra time allows for more comprehensive stories populated by a greater array of complex people.
Movies don't have that benefit. They have to get to the point, and they have to do it quickly. Movie writers have a scene or two to introduce the players and make the audience understand what they stand for. "The Infiltrator" strains to accomplish that goal. There are scenes manufactured to bring about a certain response from viewers; the problem is, now that we're used to the more authentic, deliberate unfolding of life on television, the movie script writer's machinations are more obvious.
In the drama, no sooner does Mazur meet Alcaino than the two are practically best friends. It seems odd that a criminal who reveals that he was just double-crossed by a close pal would so quickly warm to a random money-launderer. It might take an entire episode of television for Mazur to earn Alcaino's trust, but in this case we're expected to accept the relationship as logical fact, when it seems outlandishly rushed.
Cranston's presence, meanwhile, is exciting in some respects, but it's also a reminder of better storytelling on a smaller screen. It's great to see the "Breaking Bad" star getting major roles in Hollywood productions. Then again, could any part - much less one in a two-hour movie - ever compare to Walter White? That richly drawn antihero had one of the great arcs in television history, but it took five seasons to see it through. By comparison, movie narratives are going to seem pretty surface level.
It's not just quantity of time that has movies at a disadvantage. Lately, it's also been quality of storytelling. Consider the new HBO series "The Night of." A few minutes into the first episode, we've seen the protagonist Naz (Riz Ahmed) in enough scenarios to understand what he's like. He's studious in class and shy with the basketball players he helps tutor; he's playful with his family and out of his element when it comes to partying. The series picks and chooses telling moments to economically convey what it needs to, and it doesn't waste a second.
There's no reason movies can't do that. The question is why they aren't.