Review #1,144: 'The Accountant' (2016)

Audiences are obsessed with superheroes these days. Perhaps it's down to these caped crusaders offering a more straightforward answer to crime and corruption or the genre's lack of grey morals in our increasingly confusing world, but it's nearly impossible to avoid coming across a meta-human of some description in the multiplexes. While he may not have been bitten by a radioactive spider or possess the mutant gene, Ben Affleck's Christian Wolff is every inch a superhero. His power, as he describes it, is high-functioning autism, which means that he makes sure everything in view is at its proper angle before tucking into a meal, and tends to freak out when he doesn't see something through to the very end. Oh, and he's also a master of hand-to-hand combat and owns an arsenal of weapons so ridiculously huge that even Chuck Norris would blush at the sight of it.

Gavin O'Connor's The Accountant begins by introducing us to Wolff, who at first appears to live a low-key life for a small-town accountancy firm, eating dinner alone every night in what is clearly a strict routine. He's also a mathematical genius, using his skills as a mental calculator to cook the books for some of the world's wealthiest and most dangerous criminal organisations. His latest job is to audit the books of expanding corporation Living Robotics, whose low-level employee Dana (Anna Kendrick) has found numerous discrepancies when conducting her own audit. Christian ignores Dana's months of work and finds the missing money overnight, turning the office windows into a huge equation (seemingly the go-to quirk for movie geniuses). The company's CEO Lamar Blackburn (John Lithgow) decides it's case closed when the chief financial offers turns up dead the next day, apparently of a deliberate insulin overdose.

There's also much more going on away from the central character. Ray King (J.K. Simmons), a director at the Treasury Department, knows of Christian's alias as the 'Accountant', and has pictures to prove his association with some incredibly powerful and scary men. He blackmails data analyst Marybeth (Cynthia Addai-Robinson) into assisting him after exposing her petty criminal past, with only the photos and a few known alias to work from. An unnervingly charming hitman named Brax, whose motivations and true intentions are kept hazy at best, keeps popping up every now and then, and he is played marvellously by Jon Bernthal. There's also Christian's backstory to get through - the discovery of his 'disability', his strict military father who wants to toughen his son up so he can function in the real world, and his combat training. It's a hell of a lot to cram into 2 hours and 8 minutes, and this would be frustrating were in not for the distraction of the movie's willingness to take its character into such increasingly preposterous situations.

To put you in the picture, Christian Wolff is the combination of two of Affleck's buddy Matt Damon's most iconic characters: Jason Bourne and Will Hunting - although Bourne was never so eager to shoot people in the face. It could certainly be argued that this is Affleck's fourth outing as a superhero (after Daredevil, Superman and Batman), and at times he may as well be donning the cowl as he effortlessly punches and blasts his way through hoards of bad guys. After all, it's been theorised that Bruce Wayne suffers from a form of autism. The action is incredible at times; a mixture of The Raid's Pencak silat and John Wick's hyper-stylised gun porn. Yet, 'entertaining' is all that The Accountant aspires to be, and any suggestions of a more studios portrayal of autism raised during the quieter and more humorous first half gives way to generic audience-pleasing. It survives on its tantalising and original premise and the strength of its lead's subtle performance, and I would certainly watch a follow-up.


Directed by: Gavin O'Connor
Starring: Ben Affleck, Anna Kendrick, J.K. Simmons, Jon Bernthal, Jeffrey Tambor, Cynthia Addai-Robinson, John Lithgow, Jean Smart
Country: USA

Rating: ***

Tom Gillespie