REVIEW: The Machine (2023, dir. Peter Atencio)

Certificate: 15

Running Time: 112 mins

UK Distributor: Sony

WHO’S IN THE MACHINE?

Bert Kreischer, Mark Hamill, Jessica Gabor, Jimmy Tatro, Iva Babić, Stephanie Kurtzuba, Nikola Đuričko, Oleg Taktarov, Robert Maaser, Rita Bernard Shaw, Amelie Villers, Mercedes De La Cruz

WHO’S BEHIND THE CAMERA?

Peter Atencio (director, producer), Kevin Biegel and Scotty Landes (writers), Maxim Ajjawi (producer), Joseph Trapanese (composer), Eigil Bryld (cinematographer), Eleanor Infante (editor)

WHAT’S IT ABOUT?

A comedian (Kreischer) is targeted by the Russian mob after his hard-partying days catch up to him…

WHAT ARE MY THOUGHTS ON THE MACHINE?

Remember Van Wilder: Party Liaison, that frat-boy comedy from all the way back in 2002? As it turns out, the raunchy and often gross exploits of its main character – played by then-unknown Ryan Reynolds – were based on an actual guy: stand-up comedian and former college party animal Bert Kreischer, whose notorious habits formed the basis of a Rolling Stone article that inspired the aforementioned National Lampoon flick, and whose notoriety expanded even further when a set of his – detailing his experiences with the Russian mafia as a young man, earning him the nickname “The Machine” – suddenly went viral.

This particular comedy routine now forms the basis of director Peter Atencio’s new action-comedy named after Kreischer’s nickname, but when it comes to big-screen interpretations of Kreischer’s hard-partying lifestyle, I would so much rather go for the one where they pump dog semen into pastries over The Machine any day, because at least that purely gross-out moment got some kind of reaction out of me.

For those unfamiliar with Kreischer’s set, the story goes that during a college semester in Russia, Kreischer (played in flashbacks by Jimmy Tatro) quicky gained a reputation for being the life of the vodka-soaked party, which one night led to him fronting a train robbery for a local mobster. The movie’s present catches up with Kreischer (with the comedian playing himself) as he’s struggling to keep his family together, while also dealing with the sudden reappearance of his estranged father Albert Sr. (Mark Hamill). Suddenly, both are forced by ruthless Russian gangster Irina (Iva Babić) to return to her home country, where all those years prior Kreischer ended up stealing a valuable heirloom from Irina’s aging father, who just so happens to be a very powerful mafioso who now wants Kreischer to retrieve the item and give it back. Along the way, Alberts both senior and junior witness countless acts of mob violence by increasingly dangerous gangsters, and along the way Kreischer is convinced to reawaken “The Machine” in order to get himself and his father out alive.

It wasn’t until shortly before seeing The Machine when I noticed that director Atencio previously made the Key and Peele action-comedy Keanu, which was not only extremely funny and entertaining but was also very smart with its themes, jokes, and moments of unwavering violence (it probably helps that Jordan Peele also co-wrote the script for it as well). Comparatively, The Machine is largely a collection of tired frat-boy jokes mixed in with a formulaic plot where the main recurring gag has to do with Kreischer’s heavy-set body size, the kind of which would have felt right at home in the early 2000s when this type of movie played much better. Even if it were made then, though, I doubt it would have been as well-regarded by audiences as Van Wilder was, because the humour here mostly just falls flat, with a lot of jokes being telegraphed early on if they’re not relying so hard on overly crude and often obnoxious caricatures to get some laughs.

Perhaps a crucial indicator of the film’s staleness is the fact that Kreischer, despite his set serving as the main inspiration for this movie, doesn’t seem to have written the script, with Kevin Biegel and Scotty Landes credited as writers instead. It is, therefore, hard to truly hear Kreischer’s voice in this material, and it makes you wonder if he could have brought at least a couple more laughs to this script if given the chance, because whether or not you’re a fan of his stand-up it clearly has gone over well enough with audiences, but it hardly feels like The Machine was written by the same person.

Having said that, though, perhaps not having Kreischer credited as a writer might have been rather wise, because the movie already feels like a bit of an ego trip for the comedian, whose fictionalised counterpart is often told by several other characters how funny and inspirational he is, and is depicted as a guy who constantly makes good-hearted decisions and almost always does the right thing. Of course, it’s nowhere near the most blatant example of a Hollywood vanity project in recent memory – keep in mind that last year, I saw a film where sixty-something Michael Flatley, in a film he wrote, directed, produced and starred in, managed to single-handedly defeat a bad guy with twice as much muscle and a good foot or two higher than him – but it’s still noticeable how much this film seems to really worship this guy, which is slightly more baffling due to that Kreischer isn’t a particularly good (albeit inexperienced) actor, even as a version of himself.

There are moments of decent action that are gory and stylishly shot, but that says more about Atencio as a competent director than it does about the script he’s working with. Ultimately, the movie just isn’t funny or smart enough to warrant much enjoyment outside of how surprisingly well the action scenes are made, which can make it feel ever so slightly tedious to watch, especially with an overlong runtime that could easily have been trimmed down to a brisk ninety minutes.

You’d be better off watching Kreischer’s original set, because you’ll at least get some laughs out of it.

SO, TO SUM UP…

The Machine has too many malfunctioning cogs to fully function, including a stale frat-boy sense of humour and a noticeable lack of central comedian Bert Kreischer’s own voice outside of a slightly vain depiction of himself, which some stylish action barely helps to oil up.