Jay Crownover made a splash with romance novel readers 12 years ago with “Rule,” a good-girl, boy-bred tale with five intertwined follow-ups. Their evocative title, “Marked Men,” referenced tattoos—a recurring motif in many of the prolific author’s subsequent books. Now there’s a screen translation in “Marked Men: Rule + Shaw,” which is ostensibly based on the entire Sextet but focuses on the first installment.
Whether this version of the slot events will generate its own is a question mark left dangling at the end of this 90-minute thriller, which plays theaters nationwide on January 22 and 23. “Spicy” content requirements. However, none of those qualities are actually encountered in “The Notebook Director” Nick Cassavetes’ feature, which is a fairly painless diversion—albeit as shallow as Kidd’s bliss in emotional involvement, while being surprisingly short on dramatic timing and chemistry between Chase’s leads. Stokes and Sidney Taylor. Anyone who has not already competed with Oeuvre printed in Scribe is unlikely to want to, where it does not rise in a state of oblique exhaustion to the level of the old “Red Shoes Diary”.
A rather interesting time is indicated at the beginning, when we meet a referee (“Outer Banks”) at a Denver tattoo studio that he shares with several body class specialists. This premise suggests that the main business of such places is to prevent an endless line of Hottie customers throwing themselves at the residence’s gorgeous accommodation devices. Judgment goes down in this entertainment often enough. But his fear of committing to more than a one-night stand is apparently rooted in family dysfunction, especially feelings of guilt over the death of his pregnant brother. All of this is known to Shaw (Taylor), a pre-med student who grew up with him. They’re the “just friends” type who have somehow thrown glances at each other their whole lives without noticing.
Supposed to be a “good girl”, while he is a “rebellious” bad boy, the story blurred the classic opposites. But Sharon Sobel’s screenplay doesn’t do a very vital job of defining this dichotomy. Shaw seems to study less than any prequel in recorded history, rebelling against Mother Dearest played like an old Snobbery Rich cartoon by Nancy de Mayo. Get your birthday bar shots at Shaw’s, and suddenly you’re walking into the pool table at the top of the pedestal, making like “putty.”
For his part, the puppy eyes and mild anxiety don’t have a particularly tough veneer, despite the battles thrown at him every time. This naturally attacks in defense of Shaw’s honor, especially when she is tainted by Richie Rich’s type-frattoy Gabe (Michael Bradway). You’ll get rid of it in a heartbeat as soon as you wake up and smell like Shuvi.
There’s almost nothing to keep these two apart, so rote conflicts have to be invented—particularly a crunch around the two-thirds mark that involves a minor character, and a quick-paced hit is barely strong enough to set our heroes cheating on each other. One suspects that development no It aims to emphasize how incredibly petulant and petulant these central characters seem, when we are meant to regard them as soulmates. It does, though.
There’s absolutely no depth to a group of supporting characters played by attractive actors who can’t do much acting here, with the exception of perhaps the stoic and very detrimental Aiden Cross as flattery Shaw Ella. Alexander Ludwig, Ivan Mock, Matthew Noska, and Cora Lewis are among those reduced to good background characters. The cast includes some previous models, and let’s just say no one is risking straining their thespian muscle. Not even when called upon to start yelling at each other, a frequent occurrence that plays up the lack of real exciting material.
Given its focus on title and plot, there’s little visual emphasis on tattoos here. Even more surprisingly, Cassavetes doesn’t seem very interested in creating steamy sex scenes – the books’ primary selling point. When Base and Shaw finally go on, the director cuts straight from foreplay to the morning afterwards. Later, the physical action is mainly limited to a montage that quickly transitions into a mix of picturesque parties, outdoor chill-outs, assorted coolness (the tattoo crew does graffiti at night), and so on. Pop tracks from a range of artists.
Even the male shirt is relatively rare. Classified for its mostly relatable lyrics, the film prepares its target audience for a form of mainstream erotica that largely underdelivers. By default, her interest drifts toward the semi-ass, semi-boho/punk paraphernalia of life, with everyone living in convoluted cool pads and wearing convoluted cool clothes. The technology and design staff do a good job. But given the source material, it’s a problem that there’s more to Shaw’s closet than just her sheets.
However, “Featured Men: Al Qaeda + Shaw” is colorful and stimulating in a very basic, here-something-brilliant way. Sort of like a lava lamp, which similarly provides indeterminate blobs floating around with no narrative or narrative or psychological momentum. Perhaps fans of Jay Crownover will be able to source those elements from their memories of the books. Anyone other than my author would likely show, if a little mystified, that these good-looking but profound figures deserve feature treatment.
Although advertised under its full name, the film’s on-screen title at the beginning and end is simply “Men of Mark”. If you find snowy Denver looking less than familiar, it may well be because the entire American production was filmed in Sofia, Bulgaria.