Netflix has long mastered a particular niche: cinema that feels like you’ve already watched it, even though you’ve only just pressed play. This phenomenon goes by various names—”background content,” “disposable thriller,” “oh, right.” Fire on the Mountain (or Apex in some markets) from Everest director Baltasar Kormákur is a textbook example of this genre: everything is in place, everything is familiar, and everything will be forgotten by morning after viewing.
Hunt without a License for Originality
On the premiere day, as part of the promotional campaign, Charlize Theron climbed a huge billboard for the movie on Times Square in New York.
On the premiere day, as part of the promotional campaign, Charlize Theron climbed a huge billboard for the movie on Times Square in New York.
Charlize Theron portrays Sasha—an extreme mountaineer who travels to the wild Australian wilderness to cope with a personal tragedy. There, right on schedule, appears Ben, played by Taron Egerton—a guide who “unexpectedly” turns out to be a maniac. What follows is ninety minutes of pursuit through the forest.
If you want to know what to anticipate, just picture Predator—but without the Predator, without Schwarzenegger, and without the slightest reason to watch it. Or imagine The Hunger Games—but without the arena, without the rules, and without Jennifer Lawrence.
The “manhunt” concept has existed in cinema almost as long as cinema itself, and Fire on the Mountain adds absolutely nothing new to it.
A Maniac without a Backstory
The film is almost entirely devoid of lengthy dialogue and deep character backstories. The main emphasis lies on physical survival and the visual aesthetic.
The film is almost entirely devoid of lengthy dialogue and deep character backstories. The main emphasis lies on physical survival and the visual aesthetic.
Egerton’s character deserves special mention. Ben is an unanswered question materialized. Why does he hunt people? Unknown. What shaped him? God knows. What is his objective beyond “killing Sasha right now”? A mystery of nature. Jeremy Robbins’ screenplay grants the character no backstory, no discernible motivation, not even one memorable trait. All he possesses is a vacant stare and an inherent propensity for violence, perhaps some exhibitionist tendencies during the “hunt”—don’t ask.
Egerton tries his utmost: he snarls, breathes heavily, lets out yells, glares suspiciously—but he essentially has nothing to act. The character exists purely as a function of the plot: a predator for 90 minutes of screen time.
Tension on Schedule
Egerton admitted that during filming on the sheer cliffs, he discovered a fear of heights, although his character in the frame appears completely confident and menacing.
Egerton admitted that during filming on the sheer cliffs, he discovered a fear of heights, although his character in the frame appears completely confident and menacing.
What cannot be denied about Kormákur is his skill at shooting nature scenes—the Australian forest looks impressive and truly conveys a sense of threat by itself. The issue is that the director relies entirely on visuals where the narrative should function. The tension in the film is artificial—it switches on and off by timer, like ads on YouTube. Moreover, the invulnerability of both characters gradually transforms the thriller into a parody of the genre: by the finale, both have endured such a volume of injuries that in reality, it would necessitate a platoon of soldiers in intensive care—yet they cheerfully keep running through woods and climbing rocks.
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