Junior was to be the prototype for a new breed of super-soldier, although bizarrely (if the film’s own flimsy plot is to be believed), Verris never put the clone into mass production. Twenty-five years ago, unbeknownst to Brogan, a privatized paramilitary profiteer, Clay Verris (Clive Owen), extracted a sample of the top assassin’s DNA and cloned him, raising the test-tube replica as his own son. But he’s usually a far better judge of material, just as producer Jerry Bruckheimer tends to work with more pyrotechnic helmers (he originally intended for Tony Scott to steer this one).Īs credited to screenwriters David Benioff, Billy Ray and Darren Lemke, the basic concept here doesn’t even make sense. That tendency has always been there for Lee, as evidenced by the dreamy, gravity-defying fight scenes of “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon” and the experimental comic book montage of 2003’s “Hulk.” As a director, he’s constantly challenging himself.

Once considered one of his generation’s great humanists, director Ang Lee has grown distracted of late by the nuts and bolts, focusing much of his attention on higher frame rates (as seen in “Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk”), stereoscopic 3D (“Life of Pi”) and entirely CG characters. At least, that’s been the excuse, although judging by the finished product, it was the script that never lived up to the promise of its premise.Īfter a 22-year incubation period - enough time that, had the filmmakers known how long it would take, they could have shot the clone scenes in 1997 and then cast the same actor to play the older character two decades later - “Gemini Man” is a case in which an awful lot of effort has gone into making an awfully lazy action movie. In practice, it’s been a nearly impossible project to get made, passing through the hands of countless actors and falling through multiple times because the technology wasn’t there yet. In theory, “Gemini Man” offers quite the novelty, a chance to witness an older A-list star ( Will Smith) face off against a deadly computer-generated version of himself (who looks like the zombie double for Smith, circa “Bad Boys,” minus his signature “Aw hell, naw” charisma). Before Brogan can attend his first Bingo night, the agency that employed him sends the highest-concept killer imaginable to wipe him out: Junior, a quarter-century-younger clone of Brogan.

Seems like a waste of a very specific talent, but don’t worry. But his conscience is starting to catch up with him, and now he’s going to retire, build birdhouses back home in Georgia, or whatever movie characters plan to do in their pension years. Time to call it quits, he figures, popping the 72nd kill of his career from what looks to be at least a mile away. Sharpshooter assassin Henry Brogan is 51 years old.

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