It does sound a little preposterous to complain that an action film starring ‘The Stath’ lacks structural coherence and a narrative arc. Still, there’s a certain expectation when you know that the scriptwriter of Wild Card is William Goldman — the man behind such legendary scripts as Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, The Princess Bride and All the President’s Men.
Difficult then to explain the lopsided, episodic nature of Wild Card that jumps between storylines and characters with more restlessness and less panache than its martial arts hero.
The movie is set in a stutteringly interesting noir underworld peopled by quirky characters such as bad guy Baby (Stanley Tucci), svelte blackjack dealer Cassandra (Hope Davis) and a coffee-pouring waitress (Anne Heche).
One story thread centres on Nick’s friend Holly (Dominik Garcia-Lorido), a lady of the night who is brutally raped by a sadistic gangster (Milo Ventimiglia) with powerful family connections. Another story deals with nerdy youngster Cyrus (Michael Angarano) who follows Nick around to learn how to “kill the fear that lives inside”, a line uttered with a curious lack of irony.
Finally, there’s Nick himself, who dreams of yachts and golden getaways. This dream will never materialise for Nick, a gambling addict who is doomed to live in Vegas, always chasing the bigger bet, the better win.
As the taciturn antihero, The Stath is a terrific screen presence, but emoting isn’t his strongest suit. He’s at ease in Wild Card when using sundry objects — ranging from credit cards to spoons — to rip jugulars and dispatch his enemies. But when it comes to conveying the hopelessness of a trapped gambling addict, he invokes irritation rather than sympathy.
In part, this is also because the movie’s pacing is soggy and the bits linking various episodes were either never written, or were lost in translation. Wild Card is like three mismatched suits that just don’t add up to a winning hand.