Dead Man's Wire, director Gus Van Sant's return to feature filmmaking after a seven-year absence, relies on our collective economic anger to do the bulk of the heavy lifting. Prices are going up, jobs are being cut, and the rich continue to take an increasingly larger piece of the pie. There are two options: become numb to the cruel realities and be content with getting by on less, or reject this undeserved punishment and fight back for what is rightfully yours. Out of a combination of apathy and fear, 99.99% of us have chosen the former option. On February 8, 1977, Tony Kiritsis set himself apart from the rest of the pack, deciding to take matters into his own hands.

In his own way, Tony became The Joker. He didn't literally paint his face and start talking about how he got his scars, but he did become a wild card who decided that this rigged system could only be fixed by going to drastic measures. Like Heath Ledger's version of the Clown Prince of Crime, Tony possesses a twitchy energy, a raspy voice with large tonal inflections, and a hair-trigger temper. Bill Skarsgård plays Tony, a natural fit for this persona, considering his signature work as Pennywise the Dancing Clown in the IT films. His gangling limbs intensify his dogged frustration, as he often gets caught in door frames and fumbles whatever is in his hands.

Before February 8th, Tony was looking to acquire a piece of land outside of Indianapolis in the hopes of luring a shopping center to develop on it. He consulted for years with Meridian Mortgage Company, headed by M.L. Hall (Al Pacino) and his son, Richard Hall (Dacre Montgomery). The company continually slowed down the process, all while charging interest and other fees. At some point, Tony had had enough and figured that the only way the Halls would listen to reason was if he gave them a life-or-death ultimatum.

For his February 8th meeting with Richard, Tony brings a long rectangular box with him. Inside the box is a shotgun and the titular wire, which is connected to the gun’s trigger and tied around Richard’s neck. In exchange for the wire to come off and Richard to walk away, a series of reparations and apologies must be made on behalf of the corporation. In the process of moving Richard to his apartment, the local police and news stations show up at the scene.

From here, this all becomes a game of which supporting actor can put on the silliest voice. Eternally sitting in his Florida mansion and rivaling J. Paul Getty for his stanch refusal to pay any ransom for his son, Al Pacino does his most Foghorn Leghorn impersonation yet. Cary Elwes plays Officer Michael Grable, who knows Tony enough to be able to try and reason with him. His attempts to mask his natural British accent with a Midwestern one provide a lot of eyebrow-raising moments. Myha'la dons a weird, breathy voice as the young reporter Linda Page. Van Sant at least had the smarts to let Colman Domingo retain his natural voice, even amplifying it as he plays local radio DJ Fred Temple.

As evidenced by the laundry list of producers, Dead Man’s Wire was made on a shoestring budget. Van Sant does his best to cover that fact, often switching film stocks and intersplicing real-life newsreel footage. However, that tactic comes back to bite him once you get a good look at Tony and Richard, and notice that Skarsgård and Montgomery are way too young (and good-looking) for these roles. Everyone is punching at or just below their weight class, making this whole thing feel a bit less than the sum of its parts. Having “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised” puts a bold point on that thought, especially when so many better films have used it so effectively.