On the Line Review

From directing the details of Jesus Christ’s death to heading up a knock-off of an Eddie Marsan film, Mel Gibson has done it all. His best work is still the fascinating, hilarious misfires of What Women Want. Gibson portraying a controversial host with a voice in the public eye? Daring work there, Romuald Boulanger. His direction here is as primitive as it gets for the lower budget end of the creative arena, but focusing on reinventing Gibson, again, is a false start. There is no sock puppet beaver, there is no Jodie Foster and there is certainly no way of getting around the blatant rip-off of the already forgotten, equally dull Feedback from a few years ago.

Pretty safe takings mark On the Line as putting nothing at risk. Other than the usual run of a family in danger and a hero trying to hold it together as he frets and worries his way to a happy ending, this Gibson-led piece marks another misfire for Saban Films. Flash cars, big lifestyles and it all comes crashing down in a pathetic attempt at criticising gluttony and controversy in the face of success. Tonally, On the Line is all over the place. It hopes to present Gibson and his flash cars as having some dangerous but sexy appeal on the dangerous streets of some non-descript city in the United States. Elvis Cooney (Gibson) has it all, some awful transitions and early opening scenes attempt to convince the viewers of it.

It is not just Gibson grappling with the underwhelming detail and the laughable quality of the writing, though. William Moseley’s portrayal of Dylan and Alia Seror-O’Neill makes for drab and painful viewing. Generic lines mean it is impossible to connect with the characters at the core of this dull and slow-moving piece. Much of it is delivered by the supporting performers, with vague ideas and lines even when dealing with what should be specifics for the intensity quickly dribbling away. Paul Spera bears the brunt of that, his shrouded backstory as inconclusive as the point of the feature’s message. On the Line has so many twists and turns that it loses all conscious mental functions. A character trips down a flight of stairs, bashes their head on a pipe and a quick check of the bloodied head later decides he is dead. Double crosses, painfully unconvincing reaction shots and the fades to black that follow are, sincerely, demented.

But not as demented as the overall point of the death-defying pranks that are pulled from this thriller. Little troubles mount to pathetic or confused choices. Why are Elvis and Dylan the names this radio-oriented piece has picked out for its back-and-forth dynamic? What was the point of the flashy cars and the sleek design of a radio station when much of it is spent ripping off Die Hard but without the action? An underwhelmed Gibson hams it up in a radio horror show that all turns out to be a slip of the tongue and a prank gone wrong. Infantile at best and morbidly redundant at worst, this feature marks the immensely poor writing that has infected the action genre for so long. Close shaves, a performance from Gibson that makes it look like he doesn’t know where he is as he’s coaxed through a Sam Pepper prank funhouse, and On the Line shows it should be taken off the air.