Term Life is a father-daughter crime movie you can fall asleep to

Set in an anonymous and de-Southern-ized Atlanta, Term Life introduces Nick as a professional “heist planner” who finds himself on the wrong side of several parties after his latest job ends with the crew dead and the money missing. Actually, the plot is a lot more convoluted than that; it involves a trio of corrupt detectives (Bill Paxton, Shea Whigham, Mike Epps), Nick’s ex-wife’s alcoholism, a life insurance policy that names Cate as the sole beneficiary, a drug kingpin (Jordi Mollà) out to avenge the death of his son, and plenty of clunky voice-over. None of this gives Term Life an ounce of tension. The movie pootles along with no sense of stakes, as Nick and Cate get some overdue father-daughter bonding time in by going on carnival rides and eating ice cream; every now and then, they have to escape some crudely directed life-or-death situation or other. Crime movies often create artificial realities of their own, but the world of Term Life is as about as fascinating as a flat stretch of suburban highway.

Billingsley (Couples Retreat) has a remarkable disregard for anything that might hold viewer interest, though he and Vaughn (who also produced) have managed to put together a heck of an ensemble for something that’s basically a low-tier Nicolas Cage cheapie, minus Nicolas Cage. Whether it’s Taraji P. Henson as the insurance agent who helps Nick fill out his paperwork or Jonathan Banks as a world-weary underworld buddy, Term Life never fails to trot out a familiar face and give them boilerplate dialogue. Despite some concerted efforts—especially on the part of Steinfeld, a talented young actor often given lesser roles, and the always reliable Paxton—this is the kind of material that can’t be elevated without help from behind the camera. Instead, the actors are left to gesture aimlessly through a stupefacient fog of clichés and insipid direction.