Directed by David Mamet

Warner Bros. Pictures

Forget about the gropers. Harvard girls really need to worry about kidnapping and being sold into white slavery in Dubai. At least the Lowell House-based daughter of the president needs to worry about kidnapping (and yes, Lowell is actually mentioned, though never seen), according to the new David Mamet thriller Spartan.

Scott (Val Kilmer), the Marine’s finest agent is assigned to the case. How do we know he’s the Secret Service’s finest agent? We know because his clenched jaw and impressive ability to appear wherever he is needed combine to give him an aura of determination and finest-agent brilliance.

After a few quick hits of the Boston area bar scene, Scott and partner Curtis, played by up and comer Derek Luke, know that something is up. And by something, I mean the need to go undercover in a scheme that is like The Shield meets The A-Team in glorious wide-screen. At about which point, the plot stops making sense.

One might theoretically hold that as a grievance against the movie, and occasionally it is. More often, however, this gives an often formulaic thriller its few thrills: the script is so nonsensical, you truly can’t guess what is going to happen next.

Unfortunately, these small surprises are negated by a shoddily disguised “surprise” villain revelation. This character’s villainy is painstakingly obvious, based on the film’s previews and the common sense that this particular actor wasn’t hired to stand around looking frumpy.

Sadly, another fine actor, Ed O’Neil is relegated to the background. The former Al Bundy plays someone high-up on the President’s staff, although his exact position is never given. It’s also unclear what exact role he is supposed to play within the narrative, as he seems to be wittily riffing off of Tom Ridge, the Director of Homeland Security.

With Spartan, Mamet continues his streak of ambitious failed thrillers, a list that includes Heist, which he wrote and directed, and an adaptation of Thomas Harris’ novel, Hannibal. Yet, Spartan deserves a fair bit of praise for its occasional originality amidst the often tired trappings of the thriller genre. How many directors utilize slavery, spin, sultry sex and Soldiers Field (actually a likeness with a big red H) in a single film?

Frustratingly, the film’s dialogue lacks the signature themes that define Mamet’s best work. Gone are the crackling wit of State and Main, the sublime lessons in human nature of Glengarry Glen Ross, and the warped intelligence of The Spanish Prisoner. Also missing, though far less missed, is Rebecca Pigeon, Mamet’s wife and a fixture of his films, who often stands out as the worst element of any ensemble.

Perhaps part of the film’s substandard quality can be attributed to the involvement of producer Elie Samaha, a Lebanese billionare with 65 films to his credit since 1995. In almost all of his films, a star is hired to give the production international attention, and then the movie is made with whatever is left of the budget. This system has led to such Citizen Kane-esque opuses as Half Past Dead, Ballistic: Ecks Vs. Sever, and the modern classic Battlefield Earth. It’s that kind of ethos that may be necessary for an auteur like Mamet to attain the status of “box office draw,” but it irreparably damages his ambition by tacking on mishmash such as this to his filmography.

It is unnecessary to excessively condemn Spartan, which will provide any reasonably discerning filmgoer with an enjoyable viewing experience. Nevertheless, it will leave many of Mamet’s fans frustrated that this great writer has squandered such an enormous talent and resigned himself to turning out moderately entertaining mediocrity.