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Jul 26, 2017 By Zach Hollwedel Web Exclusive

Let’s just get the big ugly out of the way right now—The Last Face is not a good movie. In fact, it’s pretty rough to sit though; not because it’s particularly atrocious, but rather, because it’s dull. Dull and disjointed. Not even a couple award-winning leading actors can save it.

Charlize Theron and Javier Bardem star as Wren and Miguel, respectively, two doctors whose humanitarian work in war-torn Africa draws them together and pushes them apart over the course of a decade. With every day a desperate struggle between life and death, they fall in love, only to find that love challenged by horrific and seemingly unending conflict, which the world at large appears oblivious toward. The setup is fecund, abounding with possibility, not just for a grueling romance, but also for an important, perhaps even vital reminder to the Western World that we cannot continue to neglect the atrocities occurring on a daily basis across the world and particularly in Africa. Under Sean Penn’s direction, however, the good-on-paper film is dead on arrival.

Right out the gate, warning lights sound. With super titles that suggest the brutality of the fighting can be reflected equally in the challenged love between a visiting man and woman, and then grating voiceover narrative that years so desperately to be deep it’s laughable, it’s readily apparent The Last Face might not be stellar. Its 130-inute runtime affords ample opportunity for it to find its footing, but things just go from bad to worse. As a protagonist, Wren is stunningly hard to connect with. Her inner monologue (which we’re treated to throughout) is that of a woman who feels invisible her entire life—despite a privileged upbringing, first-rate education, and natural brilliance and beauty—until she meets the dashing Doctor Miguel. Longing to make a difference and prove her worth as a doctor, Wren also finds it nearly impossible to maintain stoicism in the face of constant bloodshed. Miguel, whom she desperately wants to be her rock, is more committed to serving in the trenches, and ultimately that’s the rift that threatens their born-in-the-foxhole romance. Whenever their relationship is poised to progress, a vicious attack by rebel forces upon unarmed civilians unsettles their hearts once more.

The film’s faults could be the result of a troubled script from The Yellow Handkerchief writer, Erin Dignam, but my gut says the blame falls largely on Mr. Penn. His decision to tell the film in a non-linear fashion—alternating between a present-day humanitarian gala Wren speaks at, Wren and Miguel’s initial meeting, the ten years that span their relationship, and their final attempt at reconciliation—fails to congeal with the emotional impact it needs to succeed. In an attempt to spotlight how horrific the region’s fighting truly is, Penn employs graphic wound and death imagery (often with children as the victims) that outpaces even most other war films. Were the lead characters and plotline more compelling, we might be less inclined to look away from the screen each time Miguel amputates a leg, digs into a bullet cavity, or opens up a stomach. However, because Penn fails to ingratiate his film with us from the very beginning, the imagery feels gratuitous and too easy to close our eyes to. It has the exact opposite of its intended effect. The Last Face desperately wants to be a pointed movie about an oft-overlooked subject, yet it tries so hard (too hard) that it winds up being nothing but a proselytizing, pretentious bore.

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Author rating: 2.5/10