Bullet Train: An excellent study of Brad Pitt
If you read enough recent glossy-magazine features on Brad Pitt, you'll notice some patterns. He speaks reverently about his childhood in the Ozarks and less so about his life as a celebrity. He's equally comfortable cracking off-the-cuff jokes as he is speaking solemnly about the "craft." He's cool but artsy, and he occasionally quotes Rumi and Rilke. He'll happily pose in thousand-dollar outfits, but he says he'll never put his face on a movie poster. The word rueful appears frequently when discussing his smile or demeanor. He’s famous, but he’s sensitive—a guy with a lot of capital-F Feelings about his job.
The same could be said of his most recent character in the action comedy Bullet Train. He's an assassin code-named Ladybug who is hesitant about his job and would rather be anywhere else than aboard the high-speed Shinkansen racing across Japan. For one thing, he’s not the only passenger carrying out a potentially deadly mission; for another, he has no place to meditate or indulge in his newly zen outlook on life. Directed by David Leitch (Hobbs & Shaw) and adapted from Maria Beetle, Kōtarō Isaka’s best-selling novel, Bullet Train is stupid fun—all neon-drenched style over substance.
It's the type of late-summer movie that relies on nonsense, violence, and actors attempting questionable accents. Until it devolves into CGI drudgery, the film is a solid showcase for hand-to-hand combat. It gathers an overqualified cast, including Brian Tyree Henry, Aaron Taylor-Johnson, and Michael Shannon, and then saddles them with forgettable characters. Bullet Train, on the other hand, is a fascinating branding exercise as a Brad Pitt vehicle (in more ways than one).
Pitt's career can be divided into phases, and Bullet Train appears to usher in a new one. Pitt was the chiseled heartthrob of the 1980s and 1990s. He began taking offbeat, often supporting roles in films by established directors in the mid-2000s, tapping into his kooky side, courting awards, and appearing "ill at ease" with his leading-man looks, as my colleague David Sims puts it. However, since winning an Oscar for Once Upon a Time in Hollywood in 2020, he has shifted his focus away from auteurs and toward material that emphasizes his physicality and charisma.
Pitt appeared on Saturday Night Live for the first time since 1998, playing Dr. Anthony Fauci before abandoning the gag and leaning into his familiar cool-guy persona to deliver a reassuring message to viewers at home. He hair-flipped his way through explosions and made quips about his attractiveness in March's The Lost City.
In Bullet Train, he plays someone who tries not to draw attention but ends up being the main source of intrigue. Pitt is unpredictable, unlike the plot. He infuses a whimsical energy into every scene, adding flavor to the script's bland jokes. Ladybug appears amused, if not delighted, by the spectacle of a stranger dying in front of him late in the film.
The morbidly funny scene implies that the assassin doesn't believe a single koan he's been dropping and actually enjoys his work. Perhaps Pitt was signaling his own desire by immersing himself so completely in the character: he'll talk about his dislike for being a public figure, but he'll never stop enjoying the attention he receives—as long as he's the one with the upper hand.
Consider his actions away from the camera. During the early months of the pandemic, he took part in a virtual table read of Fast Times at Ridgemont High with his ex-wife Jennifer Aniston, initiating banter with her that a longtime tabloid target like him had to have known would feed the gossip mill. Indeed, the reunion refocused his attention on his personal life, which he had avoided for years. "I consider myself on my last leg," he told GQ cover story author Ottessa Moshfegh about his career—yet the accompanying photoshoot cast him as an artsy chameleon, in painterly poses and flamboyant costumes, as if ready for a new act.
More recently, he wore a skirt to the Berlin premiere of Bullet Train, later explaining to Variety that he did so because "I don't know! We're all going to die, so let's make the most of it." The sound bite is classic Pitt: witty and wise at the same time, relishing the noise as if daring onlookers to figure out the answer for themselves.
Such headlines and images help to drown out the less pleasant news surrounding him, such as the ongoing legal issues stemming from his divorce from Angelina Jolie and the fact that he continued to work with Harvey Weinstein years after learning of the producer's predatory behavior. Every celebrity mythologizes themselves and projects a public persona. Pitt's cheeky nods to his own stardom, on the other hand, don't come across as desperate to many viewers; instead, his antics seem to endear him even more.
Pitt's upcoming acting projects include Damien Chazelle's next film, suggesting that he's refocused on A-list directors and supporting roles that don't directly reference his celebrity. But I'd like to see him investigate the effects of his charisma further and take roles that capitalize on his off-screen appeal. He's shown he can play with viewers' expectations, but can he embrace something that will fully unravel his identity?
Can he ever risk being truly despised? Pitt has never reprised a role outside of the original Ocean's trilogy or risked self-parody by hosting Saturday Night Live. He has yet to lead his own franchise, which would force him to become fully synonymous with a long-term character rather than relying on his well-worn charm. Bullet Train certainly serves the Brad Pitt brand, but it is too ineffective to transport him to a new location.
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