Written by Samuel Niles
The talent behind director Doug Liman’s pandemic-set heist film, Locked Down seemed appealing, but the trailer didn’t. It wasn’t necessarily tasteless, bad or unfunny like the pandemic-set drama, Songbird, just. .. unappealing. Oh goodie, Zoom calls, masks, and miserable people being stuck together in their houses. This is absolutely what people want to see: more of what they’re going through.
COVID-inspired and produced films are here to stay, but heist movies and rom-coms are supposed to be fun, they’re supposed to be escapism. Yes, Locked Down is a small-scale heist movie/rom-com about estranged lovers Linda (Anne Hathaway) and Paxton (Chiwetel Ejiofor) confronting their miserable lives and careers, but the emphasis on the real-world backdrop, at first glance, seemed to detract from that.
However, as it turns out, it is precisely the real-world reflections that make Locked Down fun. Our real world problems, presented in a relatively realistic way (stylistically speaking) are given a relatable new veneer. It’s not just lockdown anymore. It’s lockdown with a heist. It’s lockdown with two very pretty leads with very fun chemistry saving their characters’ marriage by stealing a diamond. It’s the cinematic, grown-up equivalent of pretending to be pirates, adding a little flash and fun to our everyday lives.
Admittedly, it takes a little bit for the fun in Locked Down to get going. The first few minutes of dialogue are a little tedious, consisting of the characters giving “distinct” snarky monologues that try to have their cake and eat it too by generically relaying information in a supposedly funny way. The cast makes these first few minutes work, but you’re left worrying that this is all it’s going to be: a good cast elevating a generic script.
But as time goes on, the surface layers start to come off, and the strength of the script is revealed (and if the actors did well with those initial, weaker moments, they soar once the script finds its footing). Much of the information may be relayed through dialogue, but as the film’s writer, Steven Knight, did with his masterpiece Locke, he uses the environment, situation, and characters so that each moment of exposition (“confession avalanche” as Paxton’s unseen therapist calls it) is distinct while also contributing to a consistent, overarching idea.
The overarching idea is, of course, that the characters have all been in lockdown. They’re stuck with the same cycle in the same environment with the same people — the only possible change of scenery being different low-res faces on the same computer screen. It’s the little distinctions, the little changes of situation, the little changes of word, and the development the characters go through, that give variety to this overarching idea.
Two such monologues particularly speak to this, the first involving Linda’s explanation for why she’s smoking again. She goes on a long, tense, abstract and mostly tobacco-less tirade about the impact that working for her company has had on her, reflecting on how much she detests working for them, how her mind manifests abstract concepts as visual realities and the vapid discussions over a business dinner manifest themselves as flowing, odd shapes, and these flowing, odd shapes only disappear when she smokes a cigarette.
It’s an odd, fun monologue that Hathaway absolutely nails, its relevance to the initial subject fading in the perspectives of both the viewer and Paxton until the last few words finally harmonize these odd concepts with why she’s smoking cigarettes again. It’s intended as a sort of separation between her and Paxton, where he’s supposed to think “what is going on with this woman?” But despite his bafflement, despite his lack of proper understanding, Paxton helps her out by getting her two boxes of cigarettes.
Linda has a similarly manic monologue later, and it follows a similar flow, as she outlines how easy it would be to steal an extraordinarily expensive diamond that her company is putting on display and Paxton’s company is transporting. She simply lays out the facts of the heist—one she so clearly wants to fulfill. She describes how the real diamond they intend to steal and its replica are utterly indistinguishable, how she and Paxton will, at one point, be completely alone with both the diamond and its replica, and how, at this moment, when it’s just our leads and the diamond and its replica, they will … put each in their rightful place and go about their lives without stealing the diamond.
Unlike the cigarette monologue, where the last few words wrap a bow on what was previously formless insanity, these last few words put a screeching halt to this monologue by denying us the obvious conclusion. She wants to steal the diamond, she knows it’s easy to steal the diamond, it’s being sold to a murderous asshole anyway so she has no problem with stealing the diamond, but with those last few words, she stops herself from all of it. Paxton, once more, helps her out, not by buying her cigarettes but, by talking her into it and helping her realize just how much this would help the two of them.
It’s in these elements that the entire appeal of the movie is given life, and serves as a reminder of what proper escapism can be. Yes, escapism can consist of traveling to a long time ago in a galaxy far far away, but there are times when the most valuable escapism is found in confronting what you’re trying to escape and adding a little spice, a little twist, and a little humor to try to make us laugh about what we’re going through.
Locked Down provides all of this in spades. We get to laugh at and with our two leads, saying, “I’ve been there,” as our frustrations of lockdown come out in relatable, simply funny ways. Its release through recognition, all the while giving us an innovative take on the distinct thrill of a Hollywood heist. It’s a joy of a movie, a sort of time capsule, and one that may very well stand the test of time.
