For a dopey spy thriller that maxes out at serviceably captivating, “The November Man” makes you work much excessively hard to take after along. To such an extent that you begin to feel like you’ve been dispatched on a mission of your own to comprehend the tangled plot.
To wit: The film opens in 2008 with prepared CIA executor Peter Devereaux (Pierce Brosnan) and his young, uncontrollable protege, David Mason (Luke Bracey) on a mission in Montenegro that goes amiss; a slip by Mason arrives a slug in Devereaux.
Slice to the present. The two have gone separate ways, and Devereaux is heading a calm life out of the diversion. He’s baited out of retirement for a mission of an individual nature — to get a lady he knows out of a hazardous circumstance — yet winds up entangled in a much bigger, more detestable plot.
A plot that, unbelievably, sets him against Mason, now an autonomous operator, and the two play out a quibbling match of feline and-mouse in the city of Serbia.
In the interim, Devereaux must ensure an important witness, (Olga Kurylenko), who is the way to data in regards to prominent Russian government official and future president Arkady Federov, who may have revealed unsafe mysteries (something about oil and Chechen terrorists, yadda) to a young lady named Mira Filipova, whom everybody is frantic to discover first.
Befuddled? Since its as befuddling to look as it is to endeavor to compress. It’s not in any case altogether clear why Devereaux has turned into a sign of his own kin. Be that as it may as convoluted as the unnecessarily tormented plot may be, its still a smooth ride, a cutting edge worldwide thriller that makes crisp utilization of its Eastern European area, organizing high-octane activity set-pieces in the lanes.
Generally as smooth and shallow, with as much surface request, are the characters. The Devereaux-Mason relationship is established in the flimsiest of father-child flow. What’s more in spite of the fact that the terrible fellows are as scoffing and horrible as required, their inspirations are needing, best case scenario.
Brosnan, however, has got allure for a considerable length of time, and it floats the film to a certain serviceability. Furthermore we all know he makes a decent spy. Anyway Devereaux is no Bond. He’s a swaggering, in-your-face, believe nobody operator with a dull side, given to declarations like, “This is my situation; I make the tenets.”
The ethical equivocalness is acknowledged, yet its a point the film may be so willing it is not possible drive home with a couple of narratively unjustified scenes of amazing mercilessness.
It’s all an appealing cleaning of warmed-over spy-thriller shenanigans. Nothing new is continuously brought to the table, yet its a sufficient bit of fun.