The Hollow Point: Ian McShane vs. the Cartels

It used to be easier for the Mexican cartels to get guns and ammo when the Obama Administration was just shipping it down there directly, as part of the super-well-conceived Operation Fast and Furious. Now they have to go to the bother of smuggling it themselves. Naturally, when a shipment goes missing it makes them mean mad. That also spells trouble for a newly appointed Arizona sheriff trying to maintain some semblance of law & order in Gonzalo López-Gallego’s The Hollow Point (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Cantankerous old Sheriff Leland might be an embarrassing dinosaur, but he was sufficiently on-the-spot to intercept one of the cartel’s squirreliest gun-runners. Unfortunately, he wound up shooting the suspect in the process. It was legitimately self-defense, but it is still sufficient grounds to cashier him out of office and replace him with Wallace, the returning native son. He will have no honeymoon period when he realizes his estranged childhood pal Clive Mercy was the deceased smuggler’s missing partner.

So yes, the cartel’s nose is a little out of joint. For handy reference, they have an actual list of people they wanted killed. Of course, Mercy is at the top, but so is his girlfriend, Wallace’s ex, Marla. As part of their scorched earth campaign of retribution, they even want Diaz, the sleazebag used car salesman who brokered the deal painfully executed if he cannot cough up sufficient financial compensation. Much to Wallace’s disappointment, their assassin appears to be some sort of uniformed county law enforcement officer. His first run-in with the professional killer is so painful and scarring, it drives Wallace to form an alliance with his former rival and predecessor, the salty Leland.

You have to give López-Gallego credit for not doing things by half-measures. He puts Leland and especially Wallace through the wringer and then some. He is certainly willing to go over-the-top and back again, but there is nothing cartoony about the violence. It is as brutal as real life along the border.

As he often has in the past, López-Gallego serves as his own editor on Hollow Point, but he arguably cut it too cleverly for his own good. He springs too many sudden surprises on the audience, making us feel needlessly played. On the other hand, he has a keen feeling for bordertown grit and grime. He embraces elements of the neo-noir and contemporary western, cranking up the violence to ten and the attitude up to eleven.

In that respect, Ian “Lovejoy” McShane’s Leland is his not so secret weapon. He just has a jolly good time strutting and snarling, which is quite infectious. McShane has always had massive screen presence, but here he just milks it for everything its worth. Patrick Wilson is stuck being the dour, serious Wallace, but he just broods like a champion and manages to withstand all the mayhem López-Gallego throws his way. Frankly he shows a hardnosed side we never knew he had. Jim Belushi is far less subtle and restrained as the craven Diaz, oozing slime out of every pore, but that is a good thing in a film like this. In contrast, John Leguizamo is unforgivably ho-hum as the mysterious cartel killer.

Hollow Point could have been one for the ages, but the cheaply mean-spirited portrayal of a devout Christian character dampens its good vibrations. Still, anyone who appreciates flamboyant swaggering ought to get a load of McShane doing his thing. Recommended for fans of modern westerns and border war thrillers, The Hollow Point opens this Friday (12/16) in New York, at the Cinema Village.

Hell or High Water: Jeff Bridges, Texas Ranger

Everything is bigger in Texas, except their latest serial bank robbers. The Howard Brother bandits are definitely playing small ball, but with a purpose. They will only hit a particular bank with branches located exclusively in West Texas and they just take the loose bills in the teller drawers. As a result, the FBI has no time for them, leaving them to a Texas Ranger on the verge of retirement. Yet, that old bird dog is still enjoys the hunt in David Mackenzie’s Hell or High Water (trailer here), which opens today in New York.

Tanner Howard did not learn much responsibility when he was in prison. That was always his brother Toby’s department, but trying circumstances still managed to overwhelm the younger Howard sibling. He nursed their mother during the final days of her prolonged illness, while reeling from own divorce. Since he has little income to speak of, the bank is on the brink of foreclosing their predatory mortgage on the family ranch. That would be particularly unfortunate, since oil has been discovered on the property. You know: black gold, Texas Tea.

Essentially, the smarter Howard boy came up with the plan to pay off the bank by robbing its unmarked cash, laundering it through the local Native American casino, paying off the mortgage, and then putting the oil rich ranch into trust for his semi-estranged sons. However, time is running out and Tanner isn’t getting any more stable. Plus, grizzled old Marcus Hamilton, the Archie Bunker of the Texas Rangers, and his long-suffering Comanche-Mexican American partner Alberto Parker are on the case, so the last bank they need is likely to be a toughie.

Yes sir, this film is set in Texas and even though it was filmed in New Mexico, the British Mackenzie (known for Starred Up and the over-achieving science fiction fable Perfect Sense) gets the look, sounds, and attitude precisely right. Of course, he gets a massive assist from honorary Texan Jeff Bridges, who goes back to the Crazy Heart-True Grit well, chewing the scenery with laconic orneriness. Bridges is instantly credible in a part like this, yet it is almost shocking how broken down and decrepit he looks.

Chris Pine is fine as Toby Howard, but Ben Foster is a scene-stealing natural fit for the emotionally erratic Tanner. However, it is Gil Birmingham who really gives the film heart and integrity as the eternally patient Parker. He and Bridges are terrific playing off each other in scenes that often have an uncomfortably sharp edge.

Jeff Bridges’ salty hardnose persona might give HOHW the appearance a safe “greatest hits” style package, but Taylor Sheridan’s screenplay is surprisingly smart in nearly every respect. There is a good deal of wry humor in the film, but it also has tragic heft. Recommended for fans of Southwestern noirs in the Blood Simple tradition, Hell or High Water opens today (8/12) in New York, at the Loews Lincoln Square uptown and the Regal Union Square downtown.

The Coen Brothers’ Blood Simple

You know a film has lasting cultural significance when Zhang Yimou helms a Chinese remake (in this case, the wildly entertaining A Woman, a Gun, and a Noodle Shop, starring a seriously hard-nosed Sun Honglei). For some reason, the Coen Brothers’ debut film never really found a wide popular audience, but its acclaim made the Fargo and Big Lebowski phenomena possible (as well as the Best Picture-winning No Country for Old Men). The time is probably right for casual fans to catch up with the film that started them off, Blood Simple (trailer here), which re-releases in its 4K restored glory (courtesy of the Criterion Collection) this Friday at Film Forum.

As befitting a film that takes its title from bit of Dashiell Hammett dialogue, Blood Simple starts with some hardboiled narration from sleazy private detective Loren Visser. That is him in the VW Bug, tailing Abby Marty and Ray, the manager of her husband’s east Texas roadhouse. Technically, they were not yet having an affair, but instead of continuing to Houston, they impulsively check into a motel, providing Visser with the evidence her husband expects.

Julian Marty makes no secret of his contempt for Visser, but he still hires the ethically questionable P.I. to kill his wife and her paramour. This turns out to be a mistake in retrospect. Initially, Visser falsifies evidence of his contracted hit job, killing Marty instead, using his wife’s gun to frame her up. At least that was the plan. Things get super-complicated when Ray stumbles upon the crime scene. Several iconic scenes later, the illicit lovers openly distrust each other, unaware of Visser’s villainy.

Even in an age of iPhones and the like, Blood Simple still holds up remarkably well. The noir narrative twists have not dated and it looks as stylish as ever. At the time, some complainers thought the Coens and cinematographer Barry Sonnenfeld should have been filmed in black-and-white, but it simply would not have been the same film without Visser’s sickly yellow suit. It just screams bad news.

From today’s perspective, it is rather remarkable how much talent came together for this little upstart noir. M. Emmet Walsh was already something of a legend in 1984, but Blood Simple is the film that truly defines his career. As Ms. Marty, Frances McDormand, who married Joel Coen shortly after Simple wrapped, is more seductive and vulnerable than you would expect from Marge Gunderson, her Oscar-winning Fargo character. 

On the other hand, Dan Hedaya probably helped type-cast himself as ethnically ambiguous heavies with his work in Simple, but he really is terrific as Julian Marty. Frankly, John Getz probably deserved more attention for his understated but assured turn as Ray. Although he is not a household name, Tony-nominated playwright Samm-Art Williams adds considerable flair and energy as Marty’s bartender, Meurice. You can also briefly hear the then unknown Holly Hunter as the voice on his answering machine.

It is pretty crazy to imagine the Sundance press corps eagerly queueing up to get a look at the buzzy Blood Simple from the ultra-indie Coen Brothers (who even tapped their local suburban Minnesota branch of Hadassah for financial support), yet such was the case in 1984. Thirty-two years later, it remains a slickly effective thriller further distinguished by the Coens’ wickedly sly, darkly comic touches. Highly recommended, Blood Simple opens this Friday (7/1) in New York, at Film Forum.

DWF ’16: Misfortune

The Arizona state parole board should be ashamed of itself. They just kicked loose the man who murdered Boyd Whitlock’s father solely to alleviate prison over-crowding. Of course, they won’t have trouble finding him. They could simply follow the trail of dead bodies he leaves in Desmond Devenish’s Misfortune (trailer here), which screened at the 2016 Dances with Films.

Roman Whitlock pulled off a major diamond heist with intel supplied by Mallick, but the post-score split ended in gunfire. The senior Whitlock stashed the loot someplace before he croaked, so Mallick naturally pays the son a visit as soon as the bureaucrats spring him. Obviously, the unemployed, freeloading Whitlock fils does not have any diamonds in his life. Rounding up his girlfriend Sloan and low life drug-pushing best bud Russell, Whitlock heads to the remote crossroads where he was supposed to meet the old man that fateful night. They will start their search from there, but Mallick will dog them every step of the way.

When the scrambling commences, Misfortune sort of becomes a stripped down, noirish It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad World with dramatically fewer stars and significantly more facial hair. There will be betrayals and a few dangerous outsiders getting in on the act. Nobody actually holds the bag of stones murmuring “the stuff that dreams are made of” but the sentiment is clearly there.

Frankly, Devenish is a better director and screenwriter than a leading man. Granted, Boyd Whitlock has had some bad turns, but his portrayal is problematically sullen at times. However, the film still zings along nicely. Some of the twists you can see coming up in the rearview mirror, but the pacing and attitude are spot on. He cranks up the tension quite dexterously and fully capitalizes on the desert locations.

Devenish also has some effective support, starting with Xander Bailey, who steals most of his scenes as the caustic Russell. Crafty veterans Kevin Gage, Steve Earle, and Nick Mancuso also lend the film grit and massive screen presence as Mallick, Jim the Whitlocks’ family friend, and old Roman, respectively.

Despite its budget constraints, Misfortune is a nifty little Southwest noir, in the tradition of Cold in July and Red Rock West. We can deal with Devenish’s on-screen brooding, but the title is a terrible mistake. This film is considerably more fun than the word “misfortune” implies. Recommended for thriller fans, Misfortune should have a considerable life ahead of it on the festival circuit, particularly in the Sunbelt, following its screening at this year’s Dances with Films.