Film

Given that you can’t throw a stone in New York without hitting a Starbucks, a Gap or a branch of the gourmet-food chain Citarella, it seems like a perverse time to select NYC for an uncredited remake of Death Wish, with its gritty vision of a city in decay. But apparently, even now, the NYPD only cracks down on crime sporadically, ushering even the most aggrieved parties to the waiting room with a patronizing “I know how difficult this is.” If The Brave One, unlike Dirty Harry, Walking Tall et al., is careful to blame bureaucracy rather than, say, Miranda rights, it’s still a movie that panders to every American’s supposed right to tear up the mean streets alone.

Even so, Foster—as an NPR-ish radio host who resorts to magnum force after her fiancé (Andrews) is beaten to death in Central Park—is so superb that for a while, The Brave One almost seems like a good movie. Watch her reaction when she shoots her first victim (played, oddly, by Wendigo director Larry Fessenden), or the levels of character she reveals as she debates with callers on the air. It’s only after she starts with the valedictory taunts (“Are you a cop?” “You wish!”) that The Brave One passes the point of redeemability, not least because the detective played by Howard (also terrific) inexplicably goes soft. The wish-fulfillment finale is risibly fatuous, confirming that the movie’s attitude toward its heroine is as uncomplicated as the title suggests.