Steven Soderbergh has had quite the decade so far. Since returning from a brief retirement in 2013, his output has been a mixed bag. Play-the-hits-style neo-noir exercises, uninspired Netflix originals and even smartphone-shot experiments paint a portrait of an artist less interested in pushing boundaries than too restless — or perhaps too lazy — to commit to making any one project truly interesting.
Instead, he moves from one half-baked idea to the next. The tradition of prolific auteurs with a filmography that’s greater than the sum of its parts is a storied one in cinema. In Soderbergh’s case, while his “one for them, one for me” approach and startling self-awareness remain charming, the sheer inconsistency of his recent work raises the question: is this a strategy the Sodaman should rethink?
Enter “Black Bag,” Soderbergh’s third collaboration with screenwriter David Koepp. Following their lukewarmly received experimental horror film “Presence,” “Black Bag” finds the duo firmly back in thriller land. Shot in Soderbergh’s signature cold digital style, it’s a small-scale, dialogue-heavy spy picture starring Cate Blanchett and Michael Fassbender. MI6 officer and human lie detector George (Fassbender) is tasked with investigating the leak of a secret software program. What follows is a confusing and not altogether satisfying series of twists and turns. Each mind game primarily serves as a vehicle for more Koeppian dialogue: heightened, jargon-filled and cleverly smug.
This exposes one of the pitfalls of Soderbergh’s one-man crew method. While the performances are serviceable, none of them feel quite calibrated to one another or to the material. Fassbender’s stands out as particularly misaligned. One can’t help but wonder if Soderbergh might have elicited more nuanced performances had he not been so preoccupied with operating the camera and setting up the lighting. Thankfully, the not-quite-believable but nonetheless heartwarming central relationship between George and his wife, Kathryn (Blanchett), serves as an emotional anchor to keep the audience from getting totally lost.
So what, formally, is Soderbergh up to? The answer, unfortunately, is not much. Ironically, “Black Bag” closes the form-content gap by looking and feeling as uninspired as its storytelling. While by no means bad, some of the shooting and editing choices are baffling. They undercut the taut rhythm this kind of material demands. A particularly egregious example comes early on, when an important character’s death is portrayed so gracelessly it’s hard not to imagine better footage simply wasn’t available. That said, most of the film is shot and blocked competently enough. The missing “oomph” factor — that sense of glee that defines Soderbergh at his best — is beside the point. This is now, not then.
Altogether, there’s not much to write home about here, but there are certainly worse ways to spend 94 minutes. For a filmmaker as prolific as Soderbergh, it’s a minor miracle his work continues to hit any baseline level of quality at all. Hopefully, he can muster up some inspiration for his next project. As interesting as it is to watch an artist on autopilot, one would much rather see him actually thinking things through again.
