George P. Cosmatos | 119 mins | TV | 16:9 | USA / English | 15 / R
The story of the OK Corral is one I know by name only; I haven’t even seen the Doctor Who serial about it. I shan’t be doing a comparison of this to the numerous other cinematic retellings then, though such ground was already superbly covered a couple of years back at Riding the High Country (for a belated entry and full set of links, look here; the piece on Tombstone is here).
Not knowing more than the name, and a few key players, I fully expected the gunfight at said corral to be the story’s climax. Maybe it is in other versions, but here it comes about halfway through. It’s the pivot around which the story turns, however, with the first half building to it and the second handling its consequences. It may not be the climax, but it’s still the key incident.
Much of the film is driven by its characters, I felt, more so than the fights or plots that they embroil themselves in; though it’s still suitably enlivened by action, both dramatic and violent. It’s populated by a helluva cast — lots of recognisable faces, even if some weren’t yet names at the time. Val Kilmer is undoubtedly the stand-out. He starts off by giving a deliciously camp performance, but unveils layers as Doc Holliday’s story unfolds. Other notable performances come from lead Kurt Russell and villain Michael Biehn, though the latter is slightly shortchanged by having to share villain duties with an unremarkable Powers Boothe.
That may be down to historical accuracy. There’s a distinct feeling of veracity to proceedings, and as I understand it a concerted effort was made in that regard. The Movies perhaps shouldn’t worry about sticking too closely to fact (if you want an accurate lesson, read a textbook), but when they can manage to be both factually accurate and entertaining, it’s all the better. Cosmatos & co appear to balance this well.
Tombstone was released after the revisionist Unforgiven, but it doesn’t feel like it. Somehow it’s more traditional, almost like it was made in the ’70s or ’80s — not to the extent of portraying a simplistic “white hats good, black hats bad” mentality of earlier eras, but with less of the ’90s gloss or awareness that might be perceived, through contrast, in Eastwood’s Oscar-winner. Not that there’s anything wrong with that — I liked it very much.
This review is part of the 100 Films Advent Calendar 2012. Read more here.
Lewis Gilbert is the director of 
The standout from the cast is probably Julie Walters, in a relatively early big-screen role. Considering how well-known she is now she seems quite lowly billed and little-featured, but bearing in mind this is a US production from the early ’90s, it’s less surprising. She’s very good (isn’t she always?) as the group’s newest member, a posh English lady who sticks her oar in and is a bit too blunt with her comments. I seem to remember her generating most of the laughs in this comedy-drama, although that’s not to disparage anyone else’s work.
As premises go, “hostage negotiator turns hostage taker” is a doozy. You can immediately imagine all the drama to be had from pitting The Best Negotiator In The World (because it’s a movie — it’s going to be the best one that goes rogue, isn’t it) against The Second Best Negotiator In The World — he’ll know all the techniques! He’ll… well, mainly the techniques one. But also his colleagues will be working against him — will they be on his side? Or against him? It practically writes itself.
but before that it sets up the characters and gets them on the bus, and the third act goes off-bus for a climax. Similarly, The Negotiator‘s first act gives us a day-in-the-life case for maverick negotiator Jackson, before putting him in his predicament; it toddles along, extending the hostage situation part with some tense and/or exciting sequences; and then the third act sees our hero set off to find the proof he needs.
It’s important to re-emphasise what I just said: that this Bat-retrospective was provoked by my realisation that I hadn’t watched these films for six years, since a time when Begins was the pretty-successful new kid on the block. To an extent the changed perspective brought about by the events of the last six years (primarily, 
Tim Burton’s first Batman film is great, no doubt, but Returns is a much better film in so many ways. The direction, writing, acting, action and effects are all slicker. They spent over twice as much money on it and it really shows. Plus they have exactly the same running time (to the very minute), but Batman feels surprisingly small scale and Returns feels epic. Watched today, Batman feels Old, whereas Returns… it’s from ’92 so of course it doesn’t feel New — but it feels more like newer films, in a good way.
Four observations I personally hadn’t made before:
Believe it or not, Batman & Robin isn’t a complete disaster. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not about to mount a defence of the film — it is mostly awful. But only “mostly”.
Chris Nolan’s first foray into Bat-world really is a stunning piece of work in many respects. It’s a film with the confidence in its story to take its time and do things its own way. The first 40 or so minutes jump back and forth constantly between Bruce Wayne’s childhood around the time of his parents’ murder, his college-ish days when he runs away around the world, and his present day training with the League of Shadows. But, as is Nolan’s trademark, this mixed-up chronology is never confusing, never unclear, and always serves a point.
I was, oddly, a little nervous sitting down to watch TDK for the first time in four years. I’d had such an incredible experience viewing it in the cinema (twice) and, by not watching it since, it had built up some kind of aura in my mind. But I dismissed such silliness and damn well got on with it.
The Radio Times film section may be steadily going down the drain, but when anyone 
The most obvious point of reference for Nirvana is 
interacting with Solo merely though a series of screens on his journeys (and, one presumes, a series of microphones too). Cronenberg’s film was made a couple of years after this, so commending it for not doing the same thing would obviously be a bit rich. It is to be commended for not descending into a needlessly twist-strewn third act though, which I had thought was coming — there’s plenty of bits along the way that could be used to build a ‘surprise’ or two. There’s some ambiguity in the ending, but not too blatantly (unlike later versions of Blade Runner, for instance), and Emmanuelle Seigner’s ex-girlfriend character is never quite used in the way I expected.
and I imagine subtitles could be easier to follow than this dubbed version, in which everyone’s covered by either the original actors straining with English (based on the accents) or the typically bad voice actors employed for such dubs. The 
I used to have a friend who loved all kinds of action movies and rap movies and other kinds of violence-obsessed forms of entertainment. He once tried to watch Fight Club, in the wake of the praise poured upon it and no doubt interested in the visceral thrill of the fighting element, but got bored about halfway through and turned it off. He was not impressed. Please note that halfway through is certainly after the titular club, and all its associated antics, begins.
Perhaps I’m coming at it from too privileged a background? I don’t know. But I still don’t believe people would be so easily led as Ebert implies; and those that might be probably got bored and switched off.
and what he’s lacking as a human being. That just underscores the action, however; it adds something to the film, certainly, but there’s nothing there to lead viewers to “leave the movie… discussing [its] moral philosophy”. Fight Club, on the other hand, is more forward about its thematic points. Both the Narrator and Tyler spout philosophical tidbits at various points, and their differing reactions to the path they take considers this too. It still works as a story — it isn’t just facilitating an essay on the subjects of free will and consumerism — but it’s more present, and presents more to consider, and perhaps discuss, than The Game does.
Fight Club explores what might happen if he were, but leaves it up to the viewer to decide if it turned out for the best (while strongly erring, despite what Ebert suggests, to the side of “no”).
To round off this defence of Fight Club, let’s call up the BBFC (this is the point I said I’d return to). You may remember they cut four seconds of violence from the film (reinstated in 2007. Incidentally, the MPAA had no problem whatsoever with the violence but questioned some of the sex, such as Tyler being seen wearing a rubber glove. American values regarding sex/violence on film and TV are seriously questionable.) In 1999, when asked to ban the film for glamourising and encouraging the kind of behaviour it contains, the BBFC refused, and in no uncertain terms:
If you’ve not read it, know that the film keeps a lot of Palahnuik’s novel. The narration often takes it verbatim. With the exception of the ending — changed, for the better — it’s a remarkably faithful adaptation.
(shh, whisper it) (…oh yes, I’m keeping this spoiler-free). There are counter arguments to that being his real name (his colleagues never call him it, only those who met him… after), but that’s beside the point. Stop calling him Jack. (I believe I read somewhere that, on the relevant DVD commentary, Ed Norton says he calls the character Jack. Not good enough reasoning for me.)
what’s missing from it, from him as a person, etc. — but these are more of a nice undertone than a major factor. Arguably Fincher would explore similar ground more thoroughly, though focused on a younger generation, in 
Watching it again, though, I couldn’t help but realise I used to like The Game more than I do now. After a couple of watches it becomes like a holiday photo album: a nice record and reminder of good times had, rather than ones experienced anew.
I usually say that Se7en is my favourite film.
Black seems to be its default position — everything else is cut out of the darkness with as little light as possible. Often backgrounds and locations are better lit than foregrounds or actors, making the viewer focus on silhouettes with minimal light offering splashes of detail. Even the scenes that occur at daytime (most, anyway) do so in the middle of ferocious, ceaseless rain that ensures it never gets too bright.
all but one of 
Mills delivers his riposte with greater hyperbole — of course, because that’s the character — perhaps bedded in a form of naivety and idealism, ending with a repetitious “I do not agree. I do not.” Then we see Freeman’s face, completely static, but you can read in it everything you need to — his anger at Mills for making him realise that it’s all a lie he’s been telling himself, and anger at himself for believing the lie. That’s one scene; Freeman is incredible throughout.
This is where liking the characters pays too, because we are on Somerset’s side and we’re on Mills’ side and we agree with both and disagree with both and don’t necessarily know who’s right or what to do or what we would do. I can spend the whole film anticipating this scene, knowing exactly what will happen in it, how great a piece of filmmaking it will be, yet it still makes my hair stand on end.
The quality of a crime thriller is often so tied to its mystery that the film can only sustain so many viewings — sometimes, only one — before you know it too well. I have seen Se7en at least seven times now, which for me is a lot — a helluva lot, even — and yet I still get something from it every time. That’s a rarity, that’s a reason to love it, and that is why it may well be my favourite film.
100Films.co.uk 