Splintered showcases of what usual journalism is gives Vengeance a falsehood of ideas. They are necessary and mean well, but about half of journalism is writing up stories that happened the day before and the other half is figuring out how to wrangle this person or that idea into a concept which would be read by about twelve people. Vengeance believes podcasting and journalism are the financial titans that allow for passion projects of a lengthy, murderous intent. True crime blows through the modern revitalisation of what contemporary journalism could and should be under the watchful, hopeful eyes of director and leading man B.J. Novak. His double shift in this debut behind the camera means well, and plays out nicely as it jabs at the elites who fall into their beginnings.
Vengeance uses that journalism and its possibilities as a backdrop for an ever-looming potential for a big scoop. Whether or not that would hit in the era of fast-moving journalism is questionable but it never matters. Vengeance takes on the cliché social commentaries that feel as empty and air-headed as the cast members who litter the opening party before that earth-shattering, humbling revelation. Nobody experiences anything anymore. Nobody has real connections with the world around them or the people within them, and Novak believes he can form the conclusions needed to fight back against that feeling. New Yorker, blue checkmarks, it paints the picture that all journalists are brushing with the big leagues and not, as is the case here, festering away in a horrid hometown. Modern-day justices, social media influence, it all comes through on a piece that has no focus but has more than a few moments of well-timed humour.
Envy comes to light in Vengeance once Novak has flown over to Texas at the behest of those he has never met. Novak shifts his weight in the director’s chair and manages to draw from the strange parallels of The Dry and Bad Day at Black Rock. Everyone is shifting and untrustworthy when a newcomer enters the fold, ideals held up well by Boyd Holbrook and Ashton Kutcher’s performances. Whisky-drinking stereotypes, a ladies man living in flash apartments with mini-bar trolleys and tiny laptops. To be fair that is the dream of any self-loathing person hoping to show off their enormous wealth, wonder and knowledge. Novak plays well with that fish-out-of-water approach, and it makes Vengeance likeable even as it struggles with its culture clash of New York high life and Texas fundamentals. Stories are thrown at the screen with barebones needs at unlocking vengeance. Ben Manalowitz (Novak) is not up to the task of convincing the viewer he has stumbled onto the next American Dream. What else works, though? Novak is just following through on steady, solid streams that have worked before and work here.
J-Smith Cameron brings out the best in those that portray The Shaws, a close-knit community coming together at the loss of their dear daughter. Success against respect. Vengeance is a slow burner that gets to grips with its obvious conclusions and contrasts. Performances work those structures well enough to linger on awkward comedic timing and a fresh-faced Novak marking a convincing self-implosion of what truly matters. Vengeance will do little to rattle the cage of those who believe they are bigger or better than small-town communities, but the charm of this piece depends on the outsider looking in. For those that are in those small-town communities and actively, desperately trying to move out, Vengeance feels like a withering pushback against the ideals of city living. Gut feeling is stronger than evidence, Ty Shaw (Holbrook) claims. Novak does well to knock that back with his city-living portrayal of journalism and true crime blunders.
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