Grade: C-
Who is John Galt? By the end of Atlas Shrugged: Part I, audiences will neither know nor particularly care to find out.
Atlas Shrugged: Part I, as its title neatly conveys, is the first in a planned trilogy of films based on Ayn Rand's polarizing and very long novel of the same title. Unfortunately — or perhaps fortunately, depending on political inclinations — Part I doesn't exactly bode well for the next two parts.
The film is set in 2016, in a world where insanely high oil prices and a freefalling economy have rendered rail transportation as the only affordable option. The political situation — which, as Rand apologists won't hesitate to tell you, is a lot like our own — seems to be totally free of business lobbyists, Republicans, and Tea Partiers, as the avowed purpose of the federal government is to make things as difficult as possible for businesses, especially successful ones.
Thrust into this world of economic chaos and heavy-handed free market parables are Henry Rearden (Grant Bowler, True Blood) and Dagny Taggart (Taylor Schilling, Mercy), two intrepid business executives that try desperately to defend their companies from the incompetence, altruism and government interference that beset them.
Rearden's company has developed a new type of metal that's stronger, lighter, cheaper, prettier, shinier, and generally better than regular steel in every conceivable way. Naturally, almost every other character and organization in the film tries to undermine him and his new metal for reasons that are best left unexplained. Taggart, who boasts perhaps the worst name of any character in the history of fiction, is an executive of a railroad company, and seeks to use Rearden's new metal on her rail lines.
Drawn together by business necessity and a mutual disdain for people who disagree with them, the two eventually find themselves in the midst of a nationwide conspiracy that they take upon themselves to investigate between their bouts of self-righteousness and single-handedly save the economy.
In order to emphasize the individual importance of the film's two leads, the companies they control bear their names. The two executives play a surprising and frankly unrealistic personal role in their massive corporations, and conduct all of their business in person. The trope culminates in a ridiculous subplot that has the two drive across the country to "Wisconsin" (which looks suspiciously like New Mexico) to play detective and discover world-changing technological advancements that have been left lying around on shelves.
Just in case it wasn't clear from that plot summary who the heroes of the film are supposed to be, every other character who isn't a laissez-faire capitalist, from Rearden's entitled family to the film's numerous smarmy government officials, are characterized negatively.
Rand fans will undoubtedly defend the film's one-dimensional and heavy-handed plot, but even the staunchest Objectivist will have trouble excusing the movie's acting, which is objectively awful. There's a scene early in the film where Taggart's brother criticizes her for being unemotional, a criticism that can be levied on the entire film's cast. Not a single line of dialog is emotive in the slightest, and Bowler's acting is surprisingly wooden for a steel executive.
On top of being redundant and poorly acted, the film is boring. Even the most gratuitous of the movie's train cinematography can't penetrate the glaze created by discussion after discussion regarding stocks, Objectivism, and pieces of legislation with absurd names.
Atlas Shrugged: Part I does have its merits. The film's small budget went a long way, and the movie is for the most part presentable despite its bland direction. The film is also mercifully short, and clocks in at less than two hours — just long enough to convince the audience not to see the next two films.
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