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McCarthy, Feig set their sights on 007 in Spy
by Jake Coyle
(AP) Ridiculous questions about the
funniness and bankability of women have
clouded exactly what’s going on here: Nobody is
a better comedic actor right now than Melissa
McCarthy.
She’s a combustible ball of comic fury
rolled up in Chaplinesque sweetness, equally
capable of profanity-laced verbal virtuosity
as perfectly timed pratfalls. In her latest, the
espionage comedy Spy, McCarthy dons a host of
identities, a closet full of wigs and—in order to
stay undercover but really just to switch things
up—essentially changes her entire performance
midway through.
It’s a globe-trotting tour of McCarthy’s talent,
throughout which she’s practically always kicking
butt. Who was that double-O-what’s-his-face,
anyway?
Spy is the third collaboration between
McCarthy and director Paul Feig, who first came
together on Bridesmaids, and followed that up
with the very solid buddy comedy The Heat, with
Sandra Bullock. They’re soon to embark on a
female-led update of Ghostbusters, too, which is
fitting because their partnership is beginning to
resemble that of Bill Murray and Ivan Reitman.
Everything they’ve done, starting with the
sensation of Bridesmaids, has been surrounded
with both justified praise and tiresome
overemphasis on the female-ness of their
enterprise. Spy, too, is in many ways a great
inversion of the Bond world, casting men like
Jude Law as the eye candy on the side while
the center of the movie is played out between
women: McCarthy and Rose Byrne’s snobbish,
high-couture villain.
McCarthy plays Susan Cooper, a contentedly
desk-bound CIA operative accustom to aiding
far more elegant and suave field agents like
the tuxedo-clad Bradley Fine (Law, a one-time
Bond candidate enjoying the brief fantasy of
virtually playing the super spy). While Fine
pursues supervillains at a Bulgaria casino, she’s
whispering in his earpiece, monitoring above
from a drone and swooning over his out-of-reach
glamour.
Cooper, though, is far away in a Langley
headquarters cubical, where the immediate
concerns are more humdrum: mouse droppings
and birthday cakes. Feig lingers perhaps a tad
too long in the film’s first section, but it’s to
a purpose: Spy is in many ways a workplace
comedy about the indignities a capable women
must suffer in a male-dominated profession.
When well-to-do arms dealer Rayna
Boyanov (Byrne) outs all of the CIA’s field agents,
Cooper volunteers to go undercover. But the
big promotion isn’t all she dreamed of: When
prepared for her covert gig, she’s handed no
poison-firing Rolex or a souped-up Porsche, but
gadgets hidden in fungal spray and hemorrhoid
wipes. Her fake identity isn’t much more exotic:
Carole Jenkins, mother of four.
Once in Europe, Cooper, outfitted as a
tourist, is completely out of place in the Casino
Royale-like realm of elite espionage. It’s a world
that surely doubles for superficial Hollywood,
where those who resemble McCarthy are seldom
let under the velvet rope.
At one high-priced dinner, she blurts an
order of wine “with the grit of a hummus.”
An agent shadowing her, Richard Ford (Jason
Statham) resents her intrusion, while another,
the absurdly passionate Italian agent Aldo (Peter
Serafinowicz) continually gropes her.
Statham nearly steals the film by playing a
parody of his own grave, gonzo persona, popping
up occasionally to attempt wildly unsuccessful
feats of action stardom. The cast, generally, is
likable, rounded out with British comedian
Miranda Hart as a fellow desk agent and Bobby
Cannavale as a terrorist trying to acquire a nuke.
Cooper, it turns out, is surprisingly gifted in
combat (the jokes, thankfully, aren’t about her
bumbling inadequacy), and she steadily thrives
by capitalizing on the underestimations of
others. Particularly good is the interplay between
McCarthy and Byrne, who deliciously oozes
disgust at McCarthy’s unrefined Cooper.
Spy is the biggest budget for Feig and the
action sequences are unexpectedly robust—
perhaps too much. While entirely enjoyable, it
ought to be a tad funnier; the set pieces clunk
it up at times. It’s almost as if Feig is actually
gunning for Bond territory. But with McCarthy
in tow, why not?
Spy, a 20th Century Fox release, is rated R for
“language throughout, violence, and some sexual
content including brief graphic nudity.” Running
time: 122 minutes. Three stars out of four.