Bovie Movie

One would’ve thought that Guy Ritchie would have shied away from replicating Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels after the glut of British gangster movies that followed its success. Sadly not. Although Snatch has its merits — among them originality and the talents of Brad Pitt, Benicio Del Toro, and Jasons Statham and Flemyng — the diamond heist and East End Mob plot are just more of the same. Gangs, cheeky chappies, bare-knuckle boxing and cameos from Vinnie Jones and Mike Reid merge into a “seen it all before” mix. Ritchie can direct, but perhaps he should get someone else to write the material. 

Terry Gilliam (Brazil, Twelve Monkeys, The Fisher King) directed this colorful, stylized, pseudo-psychedelic $21-million adaptation of the 1971 Hunter S. Thompson classic, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas: A Savage Journey into the Heart of the American Dream, about stoned sportswriter Raoul Duke, Thompson’s alter ego, on a wild drug-crazed road trip, a paranoid plummet into the belly of the beast, with his pal, lawyer Oscar Zeta Acosta. Originally serialized in Rolling Stone (November 1971), the book catapulted Thompson headfirst toward the Kerouac-Mailer-Capote pantheon and jump-started the entire movement of “gonzo journalism.” Carrying a suitcase of drugs, Raoul Duke (Johnny Depp with shaved pate) and his attorney Dr. Gonzo (Benicio Del Toro) drive a red convertible across the Mojave from L.A. to Vegas, where Duke has an assignment to cover the Mint 400 desert motorcycle race. As the drugs kick in, Duke ventures into voiceover, filling in the blank spots and narrative gaps. “This is not a good town for psychedelic drugs,” says Duke, but even so, they consume vast quantities, eventually escalating to ether. Duke notes that with ether “you can actually watch yourself behaving this terrible way, but you can’t control it.” The two trash their hotel room, and Gonzo goes back to L.A. Thinking the hotel room holocaust will lead to an arrest, Duke begins a drive back to L.A., but after an odd encounter with a highway patrolman (Gary Busey) and a telephone conversation with Gonzo, he returns to Vegas to cover the District Attorney Convention on Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs in the glitzy Flamingo Hotel. This time the drugged-out duo trash their Flamingo room. The crazed carnival atmosphere segues into a carney casino, Bazooko’s Circus, where a barker (Penn Jillette) spiels amid aerialists, clowns, and a rotating carousel bar. Gonzo worries over runaway teen Lucy (Christina Ricci), who paints portraits of Barbra Streisand. Soon the hallucinations begin: Duke sees Gonzo transmogrify into a demon with breasts on its back, and an acid vision of a Vegas bar features large legit lounge lizards (courtesy of monster makeup man Rob Bottin). Flashbacks depicting Duke’s intro to the drug scene jump back to love-Haight relationships in San Francisco’s Summer of Love. Cameos and guest stars include Mark Harmon, Cameron Diaz, Flea, Lyle Lovett, Harry Dean Stanton, Ellen Barkin, Tobey Maguire, and Hunter S. Thompson himself. The film features a Geffen Records soundtrack mixing rock of the period with Vegas lounge tunes. Over the years, various script adaptations came and went as did numerous talents; people connected with past efforts to film Thompson’s book include Martin Scorsese, Jack Nicholson, Dan Aykroyd, John Belushi, and writer-director Alex Cox. Shown in competition at the 1998 Cannes Film Festival.

You can forgive Britain’s major movie magazines for not spotting the impact this audacious thriller was going to have. Few had even heard of director Bryan Singer or screenwriter Christopher McQuarrie, and there wasn’t much feature potential in the jobbing actors of the mug-shot line-up. Yet, by the end of 1995, it was vying with Shallow Grave and The Shawshank Redemption for the number one spot in most people’s top tens and Kevin Spacey was suddenly the coolest actor in Hollywood. Was it because it gave the world the criminal mastermind Keyzer Soze? Maybe it was the intricacy of the flashback-packed script and the deft sleights of hand executed by its fledgeling director. Perhaps everyone admired the outstanding ensemble acting. Yes, Spacey stole the show and fully merited the best supporting actor Oscar for his mesmerising performance, but everyone in that rogues’ gallery played their part to perfection, not to mention the mysterious Pete Postlethwaite and confused cops Dan Hedaya and Chazz Palminteri. Or was it simply that noticeboard that kept coming back to haunt everyone? Whatever the reason, it’s a film that demands to be watched again and again — this is good old-fashioned pulp fiction told in the slickest 1990s style. 

This military thriller from director William Friedkin is far-fetched in the extreme, but luckily the action sequences have a terrific, visceral impact — despite there being very little in the way of character development on which to hook them. A traumatised US veteran of the conflict in Kosovo (Benicio Del Toro) is loose in the woods, gruesomely dispatching game-hunters, and the man who taught him how to kill (a typically gruff Tommy Lee Jones) is brought in to track him down. In a case of individuality sacrificed at the altar of efficiency, the two leads have a hard time bringing distinct personalities to their rather clichéd characters (they run, they fight, they run again), though both have enough presence partly to overcome this. Friedkin’s film eventually runs into a blind alley, but until then it’s an enjoyably gritty ride powered by star charisma rather than logic. 

Robert De Niro plays the psycho fan from hell and the object of his obsession is baseball star Wesley Snipes in this misfiring thriller from Tony Scott. When Snipes is out of form and the San Francisco Giants hit a losing streak, pitiful loser De Niro moves into action with fatal consequences. Despite being directed by Scott with his trademark flash and dash, the sometimes over-vigorous use of mannered camera angles does nothing for an implausible plot that’s short of both suspense and surprise. Scott’s ace card is De Niro putting on his Taxi Driver act to good effect once more. For even though the edgy persona is familiar, it’s all this vulgar exploitation essay has to offer. 

Timothy Dalton is better in Licence to Kill than in his first James Bond endeavor (The Living Daylights), but he still seems uncomfortable on the right side of the law. This time around, Bond is working on his own rather than on behalf of the British Secret Service. His American friend Felix Leiter (David Hedison), an agent of the Drug Enforcement Administration, has been seriously injured by drug dealer Robert Davi, and 007 is out for blood. There is precious little time for the usual Bondian quippery and directorial campiness, resulting in a marked increase in bloodletting (including the “implosion” of secondary villain Anthony Zerbe). A climactic highway chase involving an oil tanker and a helicopter is stretched slightly beyond its value, but is still one of the best action setpieces in any Bond film. Licence to Kill was a refreshingly serious change of pace for the series, albeit one that tended to lessen Bond’s box-office value.

Frank Miller’s hard-boiled comic book Sin City comes to spectacular life in this directorial collaboration with film-maker Robert Rodriguez. Shot in black and white with occasional splashes of colour, the pulpy thriller meticulously re-creates three interlinked stories in the neo-noir crime series. In each segment, cops, criminals and femmes fatales blur the lines between good and evil as they collide in love, lust or gory conflict. Bruce Willis brings poignancy as the disgraced ex-cop shielding dancer Jessica Alba from a deformed maniac, while tough private eye Clive Owen’s brutal clash with rival suitor Benicio Del Toro adds a streak of gallows humour. However it’s a barely recognisable Mickey Rourke who steals the show, playing a soft-hearted ex-con out to avenge his sweetheart’s murder. Stylistically the movie is a masterpiece, with its astonishing visuals papering over a repetitious plot and some corny dialogue. It won’t suit every taste, but genre fans will be blown away.