Paul Greengrass makes a tense spy thriller with an unusually troubled hero, and Matt Damon gives us reason to worry about him. The restless cutting occasionally obscures the action, but the pursuit holds us.
The Bourne Supremacy is a gripping thriller with one persistent nuisance: it sometimes makes us work too hard to see what is happening. Paul Greengrass gives the pursuit urgency, while Matt Damon gives us a reason to care who gets away. Tony Gilroy’s screenplay ties Bourne’s search for his identity to the consequences of his past. That gives the chases a troubling purpose, even when the details of the plot take more sorting out than they deserve.
Damon keeps the performance restrained enough for us to notice the strain. Bourne’s resourcefulness is satisfying to watch, but Damon never seems entirely comfortable inhabiting someone so capable of violence. We felt anxious watching him, because his quiet, guarded performance makes Bourne seem permanently braced for another threat. The physical skill is there, plainly, and the performance leaves us interested in what happens when he has a moment to think about using it.
Oliver Wood’s handheld photography makes that unease visible, keeping the image unsettled even when we would appreciate a moment to get our bearings. Editors Christopher Rouse and Richard Pearson cut with a speed that gives pursuit a convincing sense of decisions made under pressure. At its most effective, the technique makes us share Bourne’s need to notice something and act immediately. When we want to follow a movement all the way through, however, another cut can arrive before we have understood the last one.
The supporting cast helps keep the film intelligible when its construction threatens to do otherwise. Joan Allen is particularly good as Pamela Landy, bringing a brisk intelligence to scenes that depend on people seeming capable. Brian Cox gives Ward Abbott an authority that needs little emphasis, and Julia Stiles makes Nicky Parsons worth watching without competing for attention. Their performances give the quieter stretches enough interest that we do not simply wait for Damon to start moving again.
Dominic Watkins’s production design earns its keep in the hotel escape: we are interested in the space because Bourne has to get out of it. The surroundings feel usable, and the sequence makes practical ingenuity exciting without requiring us to admire the furnishings. We are less persuaded by John Powell’s music when it presses for excitement that the cutting has already supplied. The score contributes to the urgency, though we occasionally wish it would leave the images to do the work.
Within the spy thriller, this degree of seriousness can become a burden, and Greengrass occasionally risks it. The film offers little relief from suspicion and pursuit, so its severity can begin to feel dutiful. Yet Bourne’s discomfort with his own past gives the violence consequences beyond the immediate question of who wins. We remain interested in what being good at this has done to him, which is more than the action alone could sustain.
At 108 minutes, there is little opportunity for that severity to become exhausting. Damon provides enough human uncertainty to keep the film involving through its busiest passages, and Greengrass makes the danger feel close enough to matter. We recommend it to anyone who likes a pursuit thriller that takes its fugitive seriously. The caveat is practical: if restless camerawork irritates rather than excites, there is a considerable amount of it to tolerate.
