FOSTER ON FILM: ‘The Grey’ as bland as its name

Liam Neeson, broken liquor bottles taped to each knuckle, fists nearly bleeding they’re wound so tight, charges at a nasty computer-generated wolf.

From the previews, “The Grey” seems something like an arctic “Castaway” with the “Taken” ultra-masculine A-movie-disguised-as-a-B-movie grunge. Plus, the lupine twist unleashed this crazy werewolf possibility. Supernatural or not, the idea of manly-man Neeson pummeling woodland predators tickled me.

But when it came to the movie, I was even denied that simple, stupid joy. Incredibly slow-moving, clouded by backstories and philosophical corn, “The Grey” could not have been named better. If not for the wolf attacks, this Jack London hack would have been purgatory.

A band of rough-and-tough oil workers endure a horrific plane crash. Ottway (Liam Neeson), the heartbroken wolf hunter, leads the survivors — all with checkered pasts. The men search for nourishment, build shelters, bury bodies and grapple with the hellacious cold. If surviving was not enough, man-eating wolves descend on the grizzly wreckage. Using Ottway’s expertise, the men withstand blizzards, cliffs and rivers to flee.

“The Grey” manages to make wolf-pack woes boring. Scene by scene, there are memorable, disturbing moments — like a dying man mistaking wolf jaws for his daughter — but as a whole I only remember white expanses echoing blank monologues.

Dialogue and characterization pursue meanings deep as death, but it comes off awkward. Sure, dire circumstances ignite profound wonderings, but at points “The Grey” feels like a hokey-pokey lecture. With vague, quick narrative tricks (flashback dreams), “The Grey” is rudimentary.

However, a few of “The Grey’s” poetic moments work. Some of the camera work is novel. Particularly, setting a shallow depth of field for giant close up of a coated elbow is bizarre. The result is a huge, dark, blurry swath enveloping the screen with super-sharp slivers of the actors’ ice-stung flesh.

Just barely unveiling its subjects, the cinematographer makes painterly abstractions. Vaguely indicating the scene, the forms and colors communicate doom and beauty better than “The Grey’s” spoken poetics.

All in all, “The Grey” was no action thriller, but a painfully quiet suspense film with a philosophical bend. I give it a B-.

With a running time of 117 minutes, “The Grey” is rated R for violence, disturbing content including bloody images, and for pervasive language.