Stars: 4.5 of 5.Running Time: 95 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: George C. Scott (PATTON, THE CHANGELING), Tony Musante (THE MERCENARY, THE BIRD WITH THE CRYSTAL PLUMAGE), Trish Van Devere (George C. Scott's wife, THE CHANGELING, THE LANDLORD), Colleen Dewhurst (ANNIE HALL, THE DEAD ZONE), Aldo Sambrell (A FISTFUL OF DOLLARS, THE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE UGLY). Music by Jerry Goldsmith (CHINATOWN, ALIEN, STAR TREK, POLTERGEIST, TOTAL RECALL). Edited by Russell Lloyd (THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING, REFLECTIONS IN A GOLDEN EYE). Cinematography by Sven Nykvist (PERSONA, THE TENANT). Written by Alan Sharp (NIGHT MOVES, THE OSTERMAN WEEKEND).
Tag-line: "In the tradition of Hemingway and Bogart."
Best one-liner: "I don't blow boxes, man, I blow heads. When I say bang, everything gets suddenly dark!"
I was lucky enough to catch this flick on the big screen a few weeks ago during the annual jamboree of two-fisted 70's cinema that is William Lustig Presents. Poorly received by critics upon it's initial release and nearly impossible to get a hold of in the decades hence, THE LAST RUN has nonetheless accumulated something of a cult following, and I was pretty damned excited to see it for myself.
The verdict? It's a hell of a good time, and one of the great pensive n' gritty entries to the driving-movie canon; it easily can join the ranks of THE DRIVER, VANISHING POINT, TWO-LANE BLACKTOP and THUNDER ROAD. The tag-line promises "in the tradition of Hemingway and Bogart," and I think it says a lot when, A. a movie claims to be bringing you the likes of Hemingway and Bogart, B. the movie does not in fact share an actual connection to Hemingway and/or Bogart, and C. said claim does not ultimately piss you off: I suppose it's got a sufficient number of expatriates, fishing villages, hard-asses, face-punchers, and boozers to fit the bill.
Originally set to be directed by John Huston, Richard Fleischer took over when constant brawling between Huston and star George C. Scott (who had both worked together on THE LIST OF ADRIAN MESSENGER and THE BIBLE previously) soared to such heights that Huston stormed off the set and never came back. It's difficult to know precisely what caused the enmity, but Huston makes a point of mentioning his hatred for Scott more than once in this book of interviews. Fleischer picked up the pieces and does the job of a master craftsman– it has the straight-shootin', no-frills feel of a flick by John Flynn or Don Siegel.
George C. Scott plays Harry Garmes, a retired getaway driver living in a Portuguese fishing village, tinkering with cars, living out a pale shadow of a relationship with a local hooker, and, above all, feeling like a man of inaction.
GEORGE C. SCOTT IS MAD AT YOU
He possesses that beleaguered, old-guard toughness, but he feels wrongness, despite his authentic seaside lifestyle– s0 he goes after that storied "one last job," not, as one might assume, for the purposes of a retirement fund, but just to see if he's still got "what it takes," to see if he can still do what he was built to do. His passenger is Tony Musante, playing a cocksure and amazingly douchey assassin who idolizes old gangster movies and has just escaped from prison.
Musante plays the sort of guy who greets acquaintances by cupping his hands over their eyes from behind and shrieking "Guess WHOOOO?"
Completing the circle (or, rather a triangle) is Musante's girlfriend Trish Van Devere, who may or may not be playing a couple of angles. However, the job turns out to be of a larger scope than anticipated, and soon there are police, thugs, and international mobsters jockeying for a piece of the trio– naturally, car chases, shoot-outs, double-crosses, and punches-to-the-gut ensue.
The cinematography by Ingmar Bergman's frequent DP Sven Nykvist is fantastic, only amplifying the existential undertones. He never was one for bright colors, but goddamn, the man knew how to frame a shot. In fact, with all the turtlenecks and brooding, occasionally you'll think you are watching a Bergman film!
The editing by Russell Lloyd (Huston's main editor) is even-tempered and lends the film a subtle sort of rhythm. The lack of editing in the well-staged car chases is a major plus– after seeing so many modern, jerky-cam chase scenes, it was a breath of fresh air; you can tell what the fuck you're looking at! Rounding out the talent, Jerry Goldsmith puts together an occasionally ridiculous, occasionally sumptuous Morricone-style Euro-score which is a great compliment to the action and brooding scenes alike.
In the end, it's a suspenseful, expertly unraveled character study which ends on a note of brutal poetry. And I love seeing flicks like this at the movies– at my screening, during a fairly understated action sequence, an old lady in the audience actually screamed in alarm at some gunplay. I think everyone involved would be proud. Except for Huston, who'd probably be attacking George C. Scott's projected image with a machete. Four and a half stars.
-Sean Gill
