“It was written I should be loyal to the nightmare of my choice”- Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness
“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy”- Col. Saito, Bridge Over the River Kwai
“If they can send one man to the moon, why can’t they send them all”- T-shirt slogan
Per aspera ad astra, through hardship to the stars. This is a fitting summation of the hero, Roy McBride, played by Brad Pitt in James Gray’s Ad Astra. His quest to be the consummate astronaut is compounded by being the son of the world’s most revered spaceman, Cliff McBride, played by Tommy Lee Jones. The father vs. son battle is twinned with the motifs of the zealot plagued by doubt and the leader consumed by mission. All this is presented in the guise of a space action-adventure drama. The result isn’t a launch pad failure but a mission desperately in need of course correction. Rather than entering a clear dark sky of dazzling stars, everything is overcast. We are trapped in the space between “Houston, we have a problem” and “Houston, you are the problem.” It is an odd problem as Gray has a proven record of producing strong, focused, decisive genre films. Little Odessa, his breakthrough feature, is a heartbreaking, innovative, mafia saga. Two Lovers is a moving romantic tragedy set not far from the upheavals of the actual little Odessa. Ad Astra leaves the confines of this world and is, despite the flash, a step backward. It is encouraging that his next project, I Am Pilgrim, will return to the terra firma of New York City.
Before detailing the myriad shortcomings some accolades are in order for the teams behind the the escape and chase sequences. Soon into the opening minutes we see astronauts cascading off a “sky elevator” that stretches from earth’s surface to the stratosphere. The dangling bodies mingled with crashing infrastructure brought to mind Cuaron’s wonderful meteor pummeling of a space station at the beginning of Gravity. The Mad Max inspired moon buggy battle will also keep audiences appropriately tense. In addition there is the gruesome rescue sequence where no one would have suspected the monster hiding behind the pulsating astronaut’s back. It is also impossible not be rooting for our hero as he battles 4 advesaries in zero gravity after crawling through a rocket ship during lift off. The audience is swept up into the visceral hardships. Unfortunately the reflective moments have a monotonous fixed orbit.
The denouement of the father/son reunion is particularly awkward, in all the wrong ways. To paraphrase father-Cliff: “thanks for coming out here.” I’m surprised he didn’t follow up with: “was it a rough trip?” It is as if the filmmakers took all the emotional heft of a pulp romance novel and grafted it on to a torturous family encounter. No doubt this is a family with issues. No doubt they would never utter any of this dialogue. This moment is the most stilted in a parade of encounters Roy has with fellow travelers, pilots and officials. His steely, coldness seems contrived. Unfortunately this creates questions about the action. One begins wondering if certain scenes were scripted to illustrate his bravado, rather than being simply part of the narrative. Space Command’s only option in transporting the key man in a “save the world” mission is to ride him on a moon buggy through bands of terrorists? There was no way to avoid the, nearly deadly, SOS rescue? These plot anomalies would play if there wasn’t an opaqueness about our hero. Roy, unfortunately, has a dissonant quality that wears badly on an action hero. As an example: no one questions whether James Bond is trying to kill himself when he jumps from a building, helicopter, train…. If Gray wants an ambiguously motivated protagonist, he should have not have made an action movie.
The younger McBride finds solace in reflecting on the sole emotional connection he has made on earth’s surface which brings to mind a Joni Mitchell song. Joni’s male partner says, “I am as constant as a Northern Star”. Her retort sums up the experience of being Mrs. McBride of either generation: “Constantly in the darkness. Where’s that at?”. Adding to his emotional misery is the specter of the dead hero dad, who turns out not to be dead or a hero. Strangely whether the father is dead or a hero is more ambiguous than one might assume. Herein lies the heart of this strange amalgamation of plot lines: What is it that makes people good? To whom does one owe allegiance? The director appears to be heading in one direction, then, akin to many plot points in the narrative, we are whip-lashed back to earth. In every sense, not just emotionally, this script is nothing, if not peripatetic.
After the title sequence, we see Kubrick’s HAL, the monster in 2001. We note the military uniforms of the NASA-like institution have black shirts over black jackets evoking the SS or other fascist armies. The dystopia also has a 1984-like master computer system that does mandatory psych evaluations. It is all give and no take. The astronauts are plumbed to their deepest fears and given a pass/fail at the end of the session. It isn’t therapy but rather the Facebook/Google scheme of personal information disclosure being mandatory for gateway access. Strangely the human bleakness of the earth is no match for the dingy creepiness of the moon and Mars. The latter is a dressed up truck stop and the former is akin to a worn-down Mall of America. At one point McBride confesses that if his father had seen what they’d done to the lunar landscape he’d have wanted it destroyed. This is one of the rare moments that the younger McBride, or others, disclose personal details about the older astronaut.
The father’s opaqueness mirrors his son’s. These are dedicated career men who are at the top of their game. They are also brimming with hopelessness. The young McBride’s psych profile exhibits clinical depression. He is careful never to express his general rage at the system. He wants to continue his mission as a “good soldier”. Even during the darkest moment of mutiny, he has allegiance to “the system”. The director’s vision of earth “sometime in the near future” is familiar. The technology and information gathering is appropriately futuristic but certainly tied to the trajectory of the present. The Ad Astra world has stopped asking big questions in favor of the convenience of technology. There is nary a mention of religion, politics or philosophy. It is mere factional fighting over resources and information set amidst brutal controlling authorities. Our hero’s American-like regime is peopled with loyalists who never ask too many questions. The McBrides are absolutely perfect soldiers, until they aren’t. The father/son spacemen are strangely united in a sense of duty to a system they love so much that they feel they, alone, can dictate the rules. It is on odd contradiction cradled in the psychosis of wanting to preserve the system by completely destroying it.
The junior McBride knows that there is discord between himself and the space fleet. Once he realizes he has been betrayed, he seeks, not vengeance, but a path to righting what he sees as the wrong path to neutralizing his father. This involves murdering those who go against him. Meanwhile his father has gone mad and liquidates those who appose his “pure” view of loyalty. Ironically that mission involved making contact with those with the ultimate outsider point of view, aliens. It is almost as if the elder McBride realizes humans have become morbidly self-involved. His messianic obsession with making contact is admission that he cannot abide by humanity in its present condition. Perhaps this is the seed for his desire to destroy the earth. Ad Astra’s humans certainly give credence to the idea of exiting to the stars. Unfortunately there is no respite. They need an escape from themselves.
There is a dreariness to the depiction of space life. Rather than expanding conceptions of humanity all the grand engineering seems to have knocked mankind off the tower of babel, metaphorically depicted in the opening sequence. Everyone is a cog in a technological web. Roy’s peers seem happy enough with the drugs and comfort rooms, where images of nature are projected on the walls. Perhaps Donald Sutherland, who plays an elder mentor can shed light on the father’s sense of purpose. He is the perfect character to illuminate the son as he was an intimate of his father. In fact he jokes about his father’s single-mindedness in thinking that Sutherland lacked patriotism. This is an odd notion as the elder officer has been specially chosen to represent the government in supervising the son. This puts distance in their fast friendship. Is Sutherland a true friend or merely an extension of the every present “psych evaluation”? In the end Sutherland is as indecipherable as everyone else. Rather than illuminating Cliff McBride he breaks the cult of worship with evidence of the father’s psychotic crimes.
The Space Force took the path chosen by all states who discover their idols have clay feet: they masked the betrayal and doubled down on the motif of “national hero”. Roy is merely bait to lure the grand prize, Cliff, to his death at the hands of a government wanting to keep up appearances. Roy’s realization of his pawn status sparks a curious reaction. He turns out to be every bit his father’s son. Roy has every reason to loath papa. He was a cruel, negligent father. He is also a deranged murderer. Did I also mention he has killed scores in an effort to destroy planet earth? Yet Roy manages to hatch a redemptive plan that attempts to “save” the father in addition to the home planet. He is completely devoid of any anger towards the space force that has treated him with contempt. The logistical absurdity of his mission is an equal match for the utter lunacy of his state of mind. In the end our hero saves planet earth, but not the father. He returns a hero, despite defying orders and killing four colleagues. He is now ready to find the meaning of life by cuddling with his sweetheart. It sounds as unsatisfying and unrealistic as it plays. All the grandness of the film is overrun by the movie ending equivalent of Hallmark greeting cards. What are we to make of all the interstellar Strum und Drang?
Most villains are self-serving monsters who wish to bend the world to their own egotistical ends. The senior McBride’s evil, like Heart of Darkness’ Kurtz or Bridge Over the River Kwai’s Col. Nicholson, is cloaked in extreme dedication to a cause, seemingly outside of themselves. The quest to be uber-heroes creates the human equivalent of emotional black holes. Their madness is rooted in spending too much time in the vastness of the outer reaches of “civilization”. The human mind breaks when confronted with constant exposure to the metaphysical voids of outer space or unmapped continents. The writer Borges wrote, “here is a concept that corrupts and upsets all others, I refer not to evil, whose limited realm is that of ethics; I refer to the infinite”. The hardship of isolation brought them to the darkness of their imaginary worlds. This is fertile ground for artistic reflection. Unfortunately our hero, McBride Jr., is bereft of any real introspection. He is mired in the relentless drumbeat of despair coupled with idealized domesticity. This is the stuff of soap opera rather than myth.
There is a film that squares the circle of combining the low art of the chase, with the high aspirations of sketching the complicated duality of monster/heroes. Not Ad Astra but rather a relatively obscure film Sunshine. It is the paradigm Heart of Darkness space thriller. The two films share crews on “save the earth” missions complete with nuclear bombs. They also encounter a fellow traveler who has gone mad in by gazing into infinity. Cliff McBride faces the darkness of space whereas his doppelgänger gazes directly at the sun. Sunshine, however,has a taut plot and simple motivation. The heroes save the planet. Roy’s story drifts into the dangerous territory of asking “who is a hero? What is worth saving?” It is valid to raise the questions. Unfortunately it is unsatisfying to hide answers with spectacle.
Stripped of the dazzle of big name performers and excellent special effects, Ad Astra’s hero is the benevolent version of the deranged dad. The film SUGGESTS a journey of emotional growth. Unfortunately the stasis is masked with the dazzle that only a big budget feature can provide. The movie twists, turns and explodes but its hero remains embedded in his father’s repellent isolation. Roy obviously fails his father, but more significantly, he fails himself. How long will the reunion with his partner last before he exits in an escape pod? It is easy to imagine him back on the space elevator or the moon or mars or just in space. No doubt he will “constantly be in the darkness”. This film wallows in hardship. It is all pain without the escape of the heavens. Duris in laboribus, through hardship to hardship.
“A longtime ago being crazy meant something, nowadays everybody is crazy” -Charles Manson, Interview with Diana Sawyer
“Going through life with a conscience is like driving your car with the brakes on” Budd Schulberg, What Makes Sammy Run?
Quentin Tartentino’s Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (OUATIH) is a paean to the entertainment business in Los Angeles in the late 60s. It would be difficult to think of a more perfect union of the director’s oeuvre with this era of tumult and violence. Now the creator of the martial arts styled Kill Bill could deliver Bruce Lee in the flesh. The auteur behind the WW II inspired Inglorious Bastards could show the star of The Great Escape poolside. The writer/director of the dystopian Pulp Fiction could give his portrayal of Charles Manson and his family roaming LA looking for prey. Ironically the burden of telling an inside story of his forebears clouded Tarantino’s vision. His brand of action requires taught storylines and moral clarity. OUATIH is an interesting 85 minute film buried in a meandering 2 hours and 41 minutes of gossipy sidetracks. Tarantino put a great deal of homework into this feature and it shows. There is a heavy carefulness to all the lightness and horror. Behind the wonderful acting, exacting set design and costuming is a script that never settles on a direction. Is this a film about Hollywood? Is this a buddy film? A commentary on the past? A parable about success and/or failure?
OUATIH is brimming with wonderful sequences that recreate the TV shows, promotions and tableaux of the era. Who doesn’t enjoy DiCaprio’s character yucking-it-up with the Hullabaloo Dancers or the recreated scenes of the nearly forgotten TV Westerns Bronco and Lancer. There are also many fun filled joy rides and walks through the airport while a superbly curated 60s soundtrack blares. He chooses the magical Jose Feliciano take on California Dreamin’ rather than the universally familiar original version. Unfortunately Tarantino tries to shoehorn a couple of actual linear narratives into the mix. For those who remember the times it is fun seeing Steve McQueen gossiping about Sharon Tate and Roman Polanski. The director shot at the real location, Hugh Hefner’s Playboy Mansion. It is all pitch perfect, yet somehow out of tune. How can anyone, connoisseur or novice, latch on to these colorful recreations? The conceit is that Tarantino wants to raise the offscreen shenanigans to the fever pitch of low budget melodrama.
In truth Hollywood in the 60s certainly had its share of “action.” Tarantino has adapted the darkest horror moment, the Manson killings, and replaced the senseless carnage with his interpretation of a “happy ending.” All the self-righteous justice of the TV cop shows and spaghetti Westerns is channeled to right the wrongs. The bad guys are the ones who are butchered and incinerated. The ingenue and her entourage, including her unborn child, are spared. The long-struggling B movie hero Rick Dalton (DiCaprio) is freed from the purgatory of commonplace stardom. He and his loyal companion, stunt double Cliff Booth (Brad Pitt), now have entree to the A-lister, Polanski, whose wife they have rescued. The only problem is that Tarantino forgets that heroes or anti-heroes need to be heroic; or at least their journeys must include meaningful quests. The classic feature All About Eve, the definitive statement on reaching for the stars, has characters who put their “goodness” on the alter of fame. OUATIH, by contrast, brings to mind the Springsteen lyric, “its just winners and losers and don’t get caught on the wrong side of that line.”
The most morally compelling figure is Pitt who, literally, takes the fall for DiCaprio. In addition to being a loyal sideman he, unlike the rest of the cast, shows his chivalry on many occasions. He refuses sex with an underage Manson devotee. He tries to come to the aid of an elderly friend he feels is being taken advantage of by the Manson crew. He puts an arrogant movie star, Bruce Lee, in his place by physically defeating him and never complains when he is fired for Lee’s transgression. Strangely, Tarantino includes a plot point that undercuts all the warm fuzzy admiration the audience feels for this embodiment of brute force and justice. We learn in a flashback that Pitt is guilty of killing his wife for being annoying. The fact that Dalton sees uxoricide as a small blemish in Pitt’s character plays out in his treatment of his trusted confidant. After finding redemption as a spaghetti Western hero, Dalton replaces his buddy with an Italian spouse. The new found financial security doesn’t spare Pitt a pink slip. This is a world where everything revolves around being on the right side of the “in” and “out” crowd. This attribute makes all the players unsympathetic pawns in an abusive hierarchy. It starts to narrow the divide between those who worship a sociopathic cult killer and those who build their lives around the whims of studio executives.
Everyone, from grimmest slovenly hippie to the slickest Kung Fu icon, is a hustler with an agenda. Tarantino’s fails to slide these misfits into the entertainment rubric of “good guys” and “bad guys.” The scenes at the Spahn ranch are supposed to evoke the white hatted cowboy against the mob. Despite wonderful performances from Bruce Dern, as the demented Spahn landlord, and a truly terrifying rendition of Squeaky Fromme by Dakota Fanning, the set up fails to inspire anything other than passing fits of horror and glee. Spahn is getting laid. Fromme is accredited leadership status by her guru. Pitt meanders on main street, a pale ghost of Charles Bronson in Once Upon A Time In The West. It is fun to see Pitt kick ass after his car is vandalized, but what is at stake? A creepy errand boy beating wayward cult member does not make for high drama. Sadly it doesn’t make for low drama either. Whose side are we on when Bruce Lee picks a fight over, literally, nothing. There is a quick burst of adrenaline while Cliff takes down the egotistical jackass but, like the rest of the film, it never grabs the heart. The zeitgeist of pulp fiction, Tarantino’s dramatic muse, relies on simple plots and clear victories.
The moment of where one feels a heroic note is when Dalton is struggling as a guest actor on the downhill slope of stardom. He interacts with a child actress. The little girl is a monster of the overly-efficient, almost robotic, future. She is ALL BUSINESS and mean beyond her years, almost a parody Sammy in the devastating indictment of show business, Bud Schulberg’s What Makes Sammy Run? DiCaprio is vulnerable and brilliant as he digests the hard-core professionalism of the child-upstart. In spite of the endless banter and the unfortunate sharpness of the child, one feels the pain of the over-the-hill star and his outdated simplicity. It is worth the price of admission to watch Dalton tear up his trailer after woefully blowing his lines. DiCaprio’s recovery scene, in which he hurdles the child to the floor, shows the star (and the man playing the star) on the top of their game. After “cut” is called he apologizes for being rough with the she-devil of efficiency. She actually thanks him as she knows a good performance when she sees one. Dalton’s brilliance isn’t about money or status but…. dignity. He wears his own white hat and shows us how it is done.
Unfortunately even in this magnificent sequence one feels DiCaprio’s Dalton battling choices made by Tarantino. The interaction with the child could have been half the length and made twice the impact. The humiliating scene where he flubs his lines is carefully played opposite a nemesis, an actor who is rising in the ranks due to scoring the lead role. The comeback would have been more effective if DiCaprio’s brilliant retort was played against this spiritual rival. Instead Tarantino was locked into the original TV show script, which demanded a cameo. No doubt it was fascinating to see Luke Perry in his final performance but sticking to the other actor would have made Dalton’s recovery more poignant. Furthermore there is an odd amount of camera time spent on the fact that the lead actor leaves the set on motorcycle. This references the original star’s tragic motorcycle crash which left him without an arm and a leg. This fact is never covered in the film leaving yet another layer of clues for the experts of the era. All this extra padding works against the thrust of the action. It is as if Tarantino is a telling a story and constantly turning his head to gossip about inside-baseball minutia. The director sacrifices smooth clarity to the static of being cool and clever.
Tarantino is never is able to step over his narrow conceptions of the era. It is hard not to avoid the misogyny label when you make the good guy in your film a wife killer. But it goes further. Aside of the annoying child, the film is devoid of powerful actresses. That era had many important female leads, not to mention a burgeoning women’s rights movement, but Tarantino is only interested in a relatively obscure starlet whose fame is based on being butchered. Margot Robbie gives a great performance but her contributions to the films are limited to giggling in a movie theater while gauging the audience’s reaction to her work. More importantly she buys the novel Tess of the d’Ubervilles for her husband, Mr. Polanski. It is not covered in the film but he went on to create a much heralded feature based on the book. Of course that detail is exclusively crafted for those who have more than a passing interest in Hollywood.
OUATIH is not made for the general public but rather industry insiders who get the extra layer of jokes and messages. Tarantino’s denouement of the actual story, after exacting real-life detail for the first 2 1/2 hours, shows a strange defense of his own perceived demons. The Manson family descends on the house according to schedule but decides, rather than attack Tate, they will get Dalton. This affords the director to “righteously” focus his, much criticized, depictions of violence on a “just” cause. It might have been deemed tasteless to record the actual murder of Tate, her fetus and the friends. The real events included the painting of slogans in their blood all over the walls. The director, however, innoculates himself from criticism by turning the savagery on the demons themselves. It is hard to object to someone being roasted alive, or having their head bashed in, knowing the true life actions of these monsters. There is, however, a caveat to all the seemingly justifiable carnage. The director might be using this film as a way to erase his own morally dubious actions.
Tarantino’s Manson monsters have a confrontation with Dalton at the foot of Tate’s driveway. They recognize him as their childhood TV hero. One of them suggests perhaps they should turn their murderous rage on the TV god that “taught them how to kill”. In this light Tarantino might defend his own track record of onscreen violence as merely being the product of an apt pupil. All the gore in his own work has been past down from past masters. His Manson clan are abandoned on the driveway by the very member who made the suggestion to perpetrate VT violence against the TV good guy. The actress playing that part is Maya Hawke. She is the daughter of Tarantino’s former leading lady, Uma Thurman. During the filming his Kill Bill feature the director bullied Thurman into performing a dangerous car crash sequence. She was seriously injured. This obviously put a damper on their relationship as she went public about his abusive, nearly fatal, behavior. But she never took formal legal action against him. Furthermore she tweeted support for her daughter’s appearance in OUATIH. It is reported that her former husband, the actor Ethan Hawke, help secure the part for Maya.
Most people would have qualms casting their daughter in film by a director who nearly killed her mother, your ex-wife. Most children might avoid working for someone that put your mother’s life in danger. Most people would avoid praising the work of someone who nearly killed you. Many parents would think twice about their child being part of the production given Tarantino’s track record. Many people would feel squeamish about appropriating gruesome real life events to buttress personal demons. But these people will never make it Hollywood. It is a land peopled by those who play the parts of rescuers, Calvary riders and good people in white hats. But all this is ON SCREEN. Their real life actions are equally ambitious and shocking, but not melodramatically captivating. Audiences want Superman, not an in depth look at the process of become a cosplay Superman. Tarantino never fully understands that the off screen sourness cannot be excised with clever plot twists, fancy art direction and a wonderful soundtrack. He thinks that his formula of flash and violence will mask the hollow center. It might have worked for 85 minutes. But not for over two and a half hours. Note: more of the dreams; less of the dream factory.
It’s too easy to say “Killing Them Softly” is a bad movie. It fails to work but we do see an individual’s vision and effort. This might sound trivial but all too often features are akin to chain restaurants where a committee-centric group-think is on display. It is a relief to be able to say “the artist didn’t see this or that” rather than “headquarters didn’t hire the right firm to run the focus groups”. The essential mistake of this work is the writer/director’s attempt to make a bold statement about America. It is not surprising that Andrew Dominik is a foreigner. This is especially true when you consider Brad Pitt’s closing monologue in which he skewers Thomas Jefferson and the hypocrisy of American political myths. America has a proud tradition of jingoistic nationalism and we come across as too serious and severe in matters of religion and morality. Our moments of self-criticism, however, are more opaque. The “nattering nabobs of negativism” are either cloaked in tweed at the academy or t-shirts in the commune. They ain’t packing heat running around the street. The entrepreneurial gangster, if they reflect on politics at all, would never be harsh. That is the genius of this country; even our crooks are patriots. This is the tragic flaw that undermines Mr. Dominik’s whole endeavor.
For an genuine American portrait of low level robbers and hitmen turn to Springsteen’s “Born To Run” album: Meeting Across the River. This is a simple 215 word, lightly orchestrated tune about a down and out loser looking for the “big score”. This is the cornerstone plot-point in Mr. Dominik’s work. Springsteen gives us a heart-wrenching portrait of people he knows:
And tonight's gonna be everything that I said
And when I walk through that door
I'm just gonna throw that money on the bed
She'll see this time I wasn't just talking
Then I'm gonna go out walking
Mr. Dominik gives us pages and pages of dialogue and MTV imagery of killings and blustery speeches delivered with gusto by top actors... and yet it’s Mr. Springsteen minimalist sketch that communicates everything that Mr. Dominik was trying to say. It is important to note that other excellent foreign directors have stumbled in trying to make bold pronouncements about the schizophrenic contradictions of the land of opportunity. Antonio’s “Zabriski Point”, although brilliant, shows little understand of the home of the brave. Americans don’t reflect much on our political state - we leave that to the French (de Tocqueville or Bernard-Henri Levy). Brad Pitt and James Gandolfini should have taken a cue from Coppola’s taciturn heavies who philosophize and moralize with simple curt pronouncements: we’re making you an offer you can’t refuse. There is a moment where Pitt tries to channel these potent warnings - but this quickly deflates into a clumsily masked DISCUSSION. We don’t go to the movies to see gangsters discuss - we want them glaring and strutting - think of many Scorsese moments - for example DeNiro sucking down a cigarette in “Goodfellas” as he stares at a partner who has made a scene. That partner is DEAD. You know it. In Dominik’s work you know it but.... you don’t really care as the “reveals” short-circuit themselves so the gad guys have no charge.
There is a prop in this film that is the perfect metaphor for “Killing Them Softly” - the sawed-off shotgun. One of the low-end criminals produces a shotgun that is so “sawed” (i.e. shortened) that it looks ridiculous. In fact the co-bandit makes fun of it. The idea is that these down and out losers can’t even buy the right guns. They are uncomfortable, meandering and out of sorts. There weapons don’t even make sense. This is Mr. Dominik’s major themes but unfortunately it is the film itself and not the characters who beg clarification. After the initial hold up of the card game, the movie goes on a journey which reminded me of the incongruousness of that gun. There is the build up of the “mentor” Galiffino - who disappears off screen with a dialogue laden explanation. There is the corporate Gangster who hires the elusive Brad Pitt - both these characters seem under or over-exposed - you haven’t known them enough but you’re afraid you know them too much; in the end don’t really care either way. Every scene is peppered with Bush, Obama or Paulson reflecting on the ’08 financial crisis. Where is all this going? Let’s turn to an Italian director who go it somewhat right: Sergio Leon. His gangster epic “Once Upon a Time in America” gave answers. That film was bombastic and simplistic, however there are clearly drawn sagas which give an overarching coherence to the narrative. It also has a political undertones which genuinely speak to issues of community and fairness in the American system. “Killing Them Softly” opens up grandiose themes that are lost in endless sophomoric rants and journeys.
There are two defenses the director might put forth: 1. this is a black comedy and 2. the studio got in the way. In addressing the first argument: “Killing Them Softly” is not funny and therefore NOT a comedy (not even in the Russian social-satire sense of the word). This feature fails to elicit even a wry smile - Chekov’s “The Seagull” is slapstick compared to Mr. Dominik’s work. In terms of the studio: I have not bothered to read about anything connected with the production of this film but I have little doubt there is AT LEAST another 90 minutes of material on the cutting room floor. Filmmakers are on a quest to find the missing footage in von Stroheim’s “Greed” or Capra’s “Lost Horizon”. No one, save Mr. Dominik, would be able to endure MORE of “Killing Them Softly”. If the suits at headquarters cut large swaths of plotline from this feature the remaining footage shows their fears were justified. They are NOT GUILTY; the director will take full responsibility for the crime. Were I to meet the Dominik I would not harp too much on this project. He’s young. He clearly has talent. It is impressive that he has managed to line up so much industry fire-power behind his project. I’d pat him on the back and mutter: “Kid you gonna do a job... bring the right gun”. Then I’d walk away, turn around and say very firmly “you owe be $9 and 97 minutes.”
