

Ditto when an overzealous paparazzo starts asking personal questions about the celeb’s recent breakup, insinuating that the relationship between star and assistant runs far deeper than fans realize (as it actually does for so many stars). When an intense young fan with an uncanny resemblance to Heather approaches them at the diner, it’s Jill’s job to shield her boss. Like a bodyguard, surrogate sister, and personal servant in one, Jill does her job without complaint. Compared to Kirke, Kravitz (appropriately) comes across more aloof and ethereal, and slightly fragile to boot.įaced with the prospect of telling a director (Nelson Franklin) that she’s bailing on his project, Heather asks Jill to do her dirty work. She has an uncanny way of just being on screen, which is the perfect state for her character, Jill LeBeau, unseen shadow to a young movie star named Heather Anderson (Zoë Kravitz). The film’s sly refinement isn’t so immediately apparent, as “Gemini” begins quite casually in the suburbs of L.A., idling in the car with Lola Kirke, an actress who - like “Mistress America” co-star Greta Gerwig - doesn’t seem like an actress at all. Despite having been made on modest means (and produced by Adele Romanski, the patron saint of “Moonlight,” among others), “Gemini” is every bit as elegant and stylish as French director Olivier Assayas’ last two movies, “Clouds of Sils Maria” and “Personal Shopper” - and could conceivably do similar business. A few years back, indie director Aaron Katz moved to Los Angeles from Portland, Ore., synthesizing his impressions into the gleaming blue sapphire that is “Gemini,” a subtle, sophisticated neo-noir focused on the odd co-dependent relationship between a starlet and her personal assistant - and how that dynamic is tested when one of them drops dead.Īlthough Katz unveiled “Gemini” at South by Southwest (the same film festival that effectively “discovered” him 11 years earlier with “Dance Party, USA”), this sleek and playful identity puzzler would have been right at home at Sundance (which screened his last, the Iceland-set “Land Ho!”) - or Cannes, for that matter. It feels like it came from the 90s, and that’s probably because it did since this screenplay has been kicking around since 1997 when its story beats would have felt remotely fresh.There’s an old saying that goes, “Nobody comes from Los Angeles.” Rather, the city is made up of millions of displaced souls who’ve found their way to Los Angeles from someplace else, which goes a long way to explain why no two filmmakers seem to view the city in the same way - because everyone, in some way, is an outsider there. The movie is so concerned with just pushing the plot forward that it neglects character, and the plot is rote and predictable. Henry has some regrets, but there’s no time to dwell on them.

Clay cares about Junior, but he’s ultimately just a bad guy.

Gemini Man discards all of that and always goes for the simplest route possible. The father-son relationship between Clay and Junior could have been a rich dynamic between a manipulative father figure and a son eager to please. If they had told the story from Junior’s perspective, it could be a movie about being afraid of your choices and what they’ll turn you into. Henry is literally fighting himself, and the movie could have been a fascinating meditation on regret and legacy. But there’s no good reason to make a younger Will Smith other than to play around with some tech tools, and that weak excuse seems to be the driving force behind the existence of Gemini Man.Īnd that’s a shame because there are some interesting ideas the film could play with. The same goes for Arnold Schwarzenegger fighting himself in Terminator: Genisys. When there’s an old and a young Jeff Bridges in TRON: Legacy, we get it because Jeff Bridges was young when he made TRON. We’ve seen this old-vs-young thing before, but it was always narratively justified. The core question that Gemini Man can’t answer is why it bothers with an expensive CGI double of Smith rather than just finding a young actor and applying old-age make-up.
