HOMEFRONT

Stars: Jason Statham, James Franco, Winona Ryder, Kate Bosworth, Izabela Vidovic, Clancy Brown, Rachel Lefevre, Marcus Hester, Omar Benson Miller and Frank Grillo.
Writer: Sylvester Stallone; based upon the novel by Chuck Logan.
Director: Gary Fleder

Rating: 3/5

The biggest risk that the producers of Homefront take is in the casting of a non-American lead in what is very definitely a down home, gun-&-family, flag-wavin’ action opus. Any doubt that the production was squarely aimed at that demographic is dispelled with one glance at the US one-sheet, in which Brit tough-guy Jason Satham wears a Toby Keith-esque Stars’n’Stripes shirt - the likes of which never appears in the film.

Journeyman director Gary Fleder’s slick vision of Sylvester Stallone’s script is a flyover-state fantasy, in which a man of honour, ex-undercover narc Phil Broker (Statham, dependably stoic) must rebuild a life a with his too-cute daughter, Maddy (a terrific Izabela Vidovic) after a biker gang drug-ring sting goes bad.

One of only a handful of surprises in the mix is the name cast in showy but decidedly supporting roles. Winona Ryder getting all skanky as an aging middle-woman under pressure; a skeletal Kate Bosworth, compelling as a fired-up addict who clashes with Broker; and, above all others, A-lister James Franco as ‘Gator, the small-time Louisiana meth dealer who uncovers Broker’s true identity and brings bloody vengeance into the new life that the ex-DEA agent has made for himself.  

Franco’s casting is not by chance. The ultra left-leaning real-life antics of the star, along with the hillbilly scourge that is the meth epidemic and the lawlessness perpetrated by leather-clad organised crime, are the most frightening threats to an American ideal still clung to by the Red Staters who will buy into this old-school action set-up.

This America is the America of Western mythology, existing beyond traditional justice (Clancy Brown’s posturing sheriff is an ineffectual buffoon), in which a lone gunfighter (or, in Statham’s case, martial-arts maestro) stands up for all that is honourable. Archetypes that populated the dusty prairie town’s of old Hollywood are everywhere, from Rachel Lefevre’s sweet school marm to Omar Benson Miller’s upstanding best buddy (tellingly, the film’s only African American cast member) and Frank Grillo’s seething and sweaty killing machine.

So anachronistic is much of Fleder’s film, it comes as no surprise when Franco’s Gator, having broken into Broker’s home, finds all he needs to know about the man’s past by rummaging through some boxes in the basement. Why Broker would have his old files lying around after having been relocated or why they exist in hard form at all, and not on a hard drive in Washington, is never explained.

But, if one is able to cast aside such cynicism, Homefront is a film that understands its audience with a precise, non-condescending clarity. Affection for the macho action-man genre is Sylvester Stallone’s stock-in-trade as a storyteller (few films have delivered for the fans like his 2008 Rambo redux). Despite crafting this as a vehicle for his own on-screen talents, passing the reins to his Expendables co-star was the right move; Statham is no De Niro, but he nails the nuances and motivations of a man like Broker with skill and confidence.  

Along with top-notch production values (particularly the widescreen lensing of the stunning bayou vistas by Theo van de Sande), Homefront provides a solid, well-structured and exciting diversion.