THE UNRESTICTED WAR

There’s much to love when it comes to a cinematic thriller. The intrigue, after all, is in the name: electric palpability, captivation strewn through tension, as the leads race—against their foes, the world, the very fabric of time—to protect that which they hold dear. At its core, there’s bound to be such fascination: beats which, though familiar, never fail to elicit, well, a thrill. It’s that edge-of-your-seat feeling that courses through multi-hyphenate Yan Ma’s sophomore feature, The Unrestricted War: a two-hour-plus international epic in which scientific intrigue, political discord, and a dash of delicious espionage coalesce into a ticking time bomb that feels all-too-relevant to the societal—and political—complexities of the modern day.

A quick glance at the film’s synopsis, and the plot begins to instantly intrigue: a virologist is apprehended by the government, blackmailed into infiltrating his former workplace, forced to steal a critical piece of research—racing against the clock as civilians begin to succumb to a mysterious illness. It’s a fascinating logline, seemingly rife for a high-stakes heist, an elevated exploration. Curious, however, is the manner in which the three elements of the plot line—main character Jim Conrad (Dylan Bruce)’s kidnapping; the retrieval of the viral capsule he’d developed at his former job; and the subsequent outbreak of a(n, as we learn), wholly unrelated viral illness (small spoiler: this outbreak is Ma’s very-real recollection of COVID-19, thus grounding the narrative in a pseudo-historical, all-too-familiar time capsule)—all appear so distinct in execution. Yes, each of the threads are present throughout the narrative; the logline is, on a technical level, accurate. Do they, however, encompass the central conceit of the narrative? Have they any relation to the film’s true theme? For better or worse, one struggles to answer these questions without significant uncertainty.

Preceding the production of this project, Ma’s filmography appears to have centred primarily around the composition of bite-sized features. Sub-sixty-minute entries comprise his chronology: a stark juxtaposition to the 140-minute juggernaut to which this sophomore effort stacks up. Though it’s evident that Ma has much to say—the three intersecting storylines certainly suggest such—his ultimate product appears unsure of its identity. Is it a snapshot of the all-too-recent COVID-19 pandemic, recollecting the early days of global disorder? Is it a knell, immortalizing real-world history in a lecture-esque denunciation, cautioning against repetition of the past? It is a fictionalized thriller, a high-stakes con, a grounded approach to espionage cinema? Or is it a condemnation of a power-holding structure, a saga of political manipulation, a plea for diplomacy over distrust? At times, the various storylines that intersect throughout the runtime feel wrenched from conflicting narratives. Boasting such an extensive runtime, one wonders if such narrative convolution was necessitated—or if trimming the edges, centring upon one central thesis, might, perhaps, have been a preferable solution.

That’s not to say there aren’t outstanding elements. From the earliest shot, the cinematography captivates: neon shades dazzle the eye, memorable far beyond the closing credits’ roll. The production design is, similarly, stellar: never once it is discernible that the film was shot in Hamilton, Toronto, two cities an entire continent away from the film’s suggested setting. Both locales are excellently disguised: a feat that can only be heartily commended. Excellent, too, is composer Samuel Bisson’s exquisite score: oscillating between nail-biting dissonance, string-laden evocation, the maestro’s compositions expertly guide the film towards each intended affect, situating the viewer entirely into each and every moment.

Furthermore, though it may take 1:42:00 to get there, the three distinct plot elements do begin to interweave within their final moments. Authenticity, evocation, true emotion, seep through the COVID-centric picture’s final third: a somber piano score, harrowing patient imagery, discomforting medical moments peppering the sound design… they’re all so close to home. There’s no better way to describe it: the third act’s effectivity simply hurts. So reflective of our world, so recent in our cultural memory, the heartbreak of the moment finds its mark. It is discomforting in its familiarity; and yet, it is genuine emotion that floods into the viewer, finally launching the film into a stratospheric apex.

One simply wishes that said moments of impact were more frequent throughout the overall narrative. For much of the runtime, it feels as though three several smaller movies are battling to break free from their 140-plus-moment skin: a race-against-the-clock Covid-curing thriller. A government spy-heist caper. A snapshot of a desolately fracturing world, steeped in cultural discourse, political commentary. Combining two of the three might have induced minor convolution; attempting to blend all three together entirely overwhelms. Ma unquestionably has much to say, a voice that simply demands to have its messaging immortalized through art; perhaps, in this particular film, he might have simply bitten off more than he could chew. Still, the few aforementioned glimmers suggest that, just beneath the threads of narrative entanglement, unfettered potential sits, gleaming, simply waiting to be mined. A hint of subplot-slimming, a splash of focus: with just a couple simple tools, Ma might hold all that’s needed to strike a major mark. As such, there is no question that, with time, experience, the world will, one day, be treated to the full extent of his cinematic vision—and I do look forward to admiring the expansion of his craft.