Memory

There is a specific kind of exhaustion that comes with being a fan of late-era Liam Neeson. Since 2008’s Taken, we’ve seen him save his daughter, his son, a plane full of people, and even a commuter train. By the time Memory arrived in 2022, the "Neeson with a Gun" subgenre had become so prolific it felt like a subscription service. You knew exactly what you were getting: a gravelly voice, a leather jacket, and a very particular set of skills. Yet, Memory promised something slightly more cerebral, or at least a bit more tragic. It’s a film that attempts to deconstruct the invincibility of the aging action hero by giving him a foe he can’t punch his way out of: Alzheimer’s disease.

I watched this on a Tuesday night while my cat was aggressively kneading my stomach, which, to be honest, provided a more consistent sense of physical tension than the movie’s first act. But as the plot started to churn, I found myself leaning in. This isn't just another "run-and-gun" flick; it’s a remake of the 2003 Belgian film The Memory of a Killer, and it carries a heavy, melancholic weight that sets it apart from the more disposable entries in Neeson's recent filmography.

The Irony of the Forgotten

The setup is classic noir. Liam Neeson plays Alex Lewis, an expert hitman living in El Paso who is starting to lose his grip on reality. His brother is already institutionalized with advanced dementia, and Alex sees his own future reflected in those sterile hospital walls. When he’s tasked with a job that involves killing a child, he draws a moral line in the sand. This pivot turns him into a target for his employers, led by a surprisingly icy Monica Bellucci as real estate mogul Davana Sealman.

The most fascinating layer here is the casting of Guy Pearce as FBI agent Vincent Serra. For any cinephile, seeing Guy Pearce in a movie about a man struggling with memory loss is a delicious meta-nod to Christopher Nolan’s Memento (2000). Back then, Pearce was the one losing his mind; here, he’s the one trying to piece together the trail of bodies Alex leaves behind. It’s basically a cinematic role reversal twenty years in the making, even if the film doesn't lean into that irony as hard as it should have. Pearce brings a weary, bureaucratic soulfulness to a role that could have been a cardboard cutout.

Campbell’s Controlled Chaos

Behind the camera, we have Martin Campbell, the man who saved the James Bond franchise twice (GoldenEye and Casino Royale). Campbell is a master of spatial awareness in action. He doesn't rely on the "shaky-cam" nonsense that plagued the mid-2000s. In Memory, the shootouts are clear, the hits feel heavy, and the geography of a scene always makes sense. There’s a sequence in a gym that is particularly well-staged—it’s brutal, efficient, and reminds you that Campbell knows how to film a body moving through space better than almost anyone in the business.

However, the film struggles with its own identity. It’s caught between being a grim character study about cognitive decline and a standard-issue conspiracy thriller. The screenplay by Dario Scardapane frequently chooses the path of least resistance, falling back on tropes of corrupt officials and "the system is broken" rhetoric that we’ve seen a thousand times. There’s a missed opportunity to really mess with the audience’s perception. Because Alex is an unreliable narrator to himself, the film could have experimented with visual cues or fragmented editing to mimic his confusion. Instead, it stays mostly linear and safe.

A Texas Tale Filmed in Bulgaria

One of the more amusing behind-the-scenes tidbits is that while the movie is set in the sweltering heat of El Paso, Texas, it was almost entirely filmed in Bulgaria. If you look closely at the backgrounds, the "Texas" architecture occasionally looks a bit suspiciously Balkan. This is a hallmark of the contemporary streaming era—chasing tax incentives to make a $30 million budget look like $60 million. While cinematographer David Tattersall, who worked with George Lucas on the Star Wars prequels, does his best to wash everything in a dusty, border-town yellow, you can’t help but feel the artifice.

The box office reflected a general "Neeson fatigue," pulling in less than half of its budget. It’s a shame, because Liam Neeson actually puts in some of his best work here. He portrays Alex not as a superhero, but as a frightened, fading man. He writes notes on his forearm—another Memento nod—because he can’t trust his own brain. There’s a vulnerability in his eyes that we haven’t seen since The Grey (2011). He’s not just fighting the bad guys; he’s fighting the inevitable erasure of his own soul.

Ultimately, Memory is a "middle-of-the-road" thriller that is elevated by its pedigree but weighed down by its formula. It’s better than the VOD-quality junk Neeson has occasionally lent his name to, but it stops short of being the profound genre-subversion it wants to be. It’s a solid enough way to kill two hours if you’re a fan of the cast, but it’s unlikely to stick in your own long-term memory for very long. It's a professional, well-made piece of entertainment that just happens to be a little too forgettable for its own good.