Reviews

Forget the rest. Nobody ever did it better than Streisand and Kristofferson. Barbra Streisand gave her usual bravura performance. When that woman opens her mouth and sings, she is the best there is (although the nearly eight minute finale was an ego-trip too far). The chemistry between Barbra and Kris Kristofferson makes their love story quite believable.

But the surprising gift to the feel of the movie is the performance given by Kristofferson. Barbra apparently offered it to Elvis, Neil Diamond, Mick Jagger, and God knows who else, none of whom were willing to (a) play the role of a star in decline and (2) deal with Barbra. Even producer Jon Peters thought he might play it himself. God help us. Kristofferson is nothing less than wonderful as John Norman Howard. The road and the reckless life has worn him down and destroyed him. In truth, it destroyed a lot of people for real. He gives John Norman Howard an aching vulnerability that is incredible. Streisand probably hired him because she likes to work with blue-eyed goyim (think Redford, O'Neal, Nolte) and he is a sexy dude. She got much more than that. For a while, her character slows his decline and gives him a shot at redemption. He will make her a star. His performance lends poignancy to this story above and beyond. That's why it really didn't matter what the carping critics said or say. Elvis could never have played this part, nor any other the others considered. Thousands upon thousands of women saw this movie over and over to feel the chemistry between the stars and to weep over that beautiful, doomed man. Golden Globe be damned. Kristofferson should have gotten an academy award for that one.

The overarching story of this miniseries is a very loose adaptation of the Thalia Massie case, which took place in Hawaii in that period before WWII and eventually statehood when unfounded accusations of a heinous rape was used as a defense to a charge of homicide, inflaming racial tensions between native Hawaiians and the rich "haoles" who sat pridefully atop the economic and social systems in the former Sandwich Islands.

Four young Hawaiian men are enjoying their time off from their jobs as laborers on a vast sugar cane plantation owned by a rich and influential white man who is a part of the power structure. They spend some time at the beach, drinking beer and skinny dipping. And then they pile into a car belonging to the sister of one of the men and head off to a party where they hope to meet some girls. En route, they stumble upon a brutally beaten young woman - naked, bleeding profusely, and barely coherent. They would prefer not to have anything to do with her; it is dangerous for a native man to have anything to do with a white woman unless she is his employer, and even then, he is expected to be obsequious. But one of the young men takes pity on the young woman and insists that they take her to the local hospital, where they nervously deposit her and quickly leave. They are unaware that she is not just any young haole woman. She is Hester Murdoch (Madeline Stowe), the daughter of Doris Ashley (Jane Alexander), the rich, cold, imperious "Empress" of the local Pacific Heights white community, living in regal comfort on an estate so splendid, it has a name - Windward. Hester has been recently married to a naval officer - Lieutenant Lloyd Murdoch (William Russ) - but she is in love with, and unfortunately about three months pregnant by, Lloyd's fellow officer and best friend, Bryce Parker, who is not about to let a marital scandal ruin his chances for promotion. When Hester refuses to consider an abortion, he is the one who beats her senseless and leaves her by the side of the road. Doris Ashley detests Bryce Parker, but she is determined not to have any sordid scandal threaten her social position. Using a combination of cajoling and intimidation, she forces her daughter to accuse the four young native Hawaiian men of brutally raping her, and with that as the circumstance under which a "therapeutic" abortion is legal, she eliminates any evidence of her daughter's extramarital affair.

This is the central plot around which the action takes place. Doris Ashley's initial antagonist is a captain in the Honolulu Police Department named Curtis Maddox (Kris Kristofferson). He is the one who arrests the young men and takes them into custody following Doris Ashley's accusation on her daughter's behalf. There is no question that the two women would have to do something so outlandish as to come to the police station; Maddow brings the accused men to the hospital to be confronted and identified. Maddox is played by Kristofferson as one of the moody, aloof loners that he does so well. Maddox has problems of his own as one of the ordinary resentful white civil servant types who rank above the natives, class-wise, but who serve at the pleasure of the people at the top. His boss, Commander Fairly, is a political hack who makes his life miserable. He has an existing relationship with a waitress at a local diner, but she's about had it with him because he really isn't capable of commitment. Maddox isn't particularly concerned about the plight of the young men, but he is so disgusted by his own cavalier treatment at the hands of Doris Ashley, he has a bit more incentive to put a spoke in her wheel with respect to the rape case. Ashley's other antagonist is Tom, a young, educated native who is just starting out in his practice of law. He volunteers for the pro bono work of defending the accused young men. His stature grows as he gains confidence, but in the midst of the trial, Lt. Murdoch -- enraged by Tom's dogged questioning of Hester and by the firm denial of guilt by the principal defendant -- pulls out a gun and shoots the defendant at point blank range, killing him instantly. That act ends Part 1.

In Part 2, the rich haoles, believing that their continuing dominance hinges on an acquittal of Murdoch based on an unwritten law that a man has the right to defend his wife's honor, decide to bring in Walter Bergman (Jose Ferrar), an elderly but brilliant lawyer based upon Clarence Darrow, who in fact did act as defense in the Massie case. It was his last case. Bergman accepts the assignment for a hefty fee and brings with him his beautiful young wife, Lenore (Sean Young). Their relationship seems a good deal more paternal than marital (and in fact, in one of the departures from the original script, of which I have a copy, Bergman, who is a widower in the script, is characterized in the miniseries as never having been married). The restless young wife encounters the loner policeman, who is clearly smitten, and before long they are engaged in a hot affair, which they mistakenly believe that the husband does not know.

Ultimately, the rich power brokers do not succeed, primarily because Hester Murdoch does not have the ability to emulate her ruthless mother. She cannot sustain the pretense. During Bergman's summary remarks, she breaks down and screams that the young men are innocent. Her husband is duly convicted of manslaughter and sentenced to ten years. After she and her mother are arrested by Maddox on the grounds of perjury and conspiracy, Hester commits suicide, hanging herself in the shower - unable to live with her guilt over aborting her baby. Lawyer Bergman, apparently playing quite manipulatively with his wife's sense of duty and loyalty, has her agree to end the affair with the policeman and return with him to Washington, D. C. and their life there. Our last glimpse of the police captain is standing alone on the quay watching the woman he loves sail out of his life. And then the credits roll.

That's the plot is a rather tight nutshell, leaving out many characters and interrelated subplots which fill the four hours air time with some good acting, pre-war atmosphere. And food for thought concerning racism. The miniseries was pretty well-received by both the critics and the viewing public. However, there were a number of critics who thought the love affair between the cop and the wife was contrived and superfluous. I disagree. I think the inclusion in the script of a love affair between the two humanized the policeman, who was a bit on the cold side. And the casting of the beautiful Sean Young as Lenore gave us a tender portrait of a young woman suddenly discovering that her sheltered life has a bird-in-the-gilded cage quality. The initial script has Lenore crying out to her manipulative husband, who has purchased tickets for that very day without telling her, "But I love him." It is painful to watch those hopes and dreams quashed.

Except I'm not buying it. The script implies that the two lovers are equally distraught over the ending of their idyll - that the emotional exhaustion in the eyes of the man left behind on the pier is matched by the tremulous-on-the-edge-of-tears demeanor of the luminous Lenore on the upper deck. They are equally heartbroken. I don't believe it for a minute. I think the lovely Lenore has used the policeman. Whatever passion she may actually have had for him is more than overshadowed by her desire to remain Mrs. Walter Bergman, standing there in her smart, stylishly expensive clothes (complete with a fur piece). Our hero may actually have provided her first awakening to the possibilities; she may actually have been "made new" as she claims. If so, I don't think he will be the last. Maddox himself seems to almost understand this. When Bergman confronts him in his office, taunting him as being only a "hick flatfoot," Maddox says "if it hadn't been me, it would have been someone else." Bergman may have been in the beginning moments of a diabetic coma, but he is a wily, determined man who clearly views his wife as one of his possessions. He makes it clear "I'm not giving her up." So the series is not just about racism. It's about class as well. Although I think the cop is honestly devastated by the loss, he has gained something from the experience. He has discovered that he himself is capable of passion - something that was not particularly apparent before. And he has told off his rich "mentor," - defying his oppressors with integrity and courage. He is in a better place.

It was a good miniseries - a cut above usual television fare. There are a few duds in the cast - Lloyd Murdoch (who seems too listless to have done something so momentous as to kill someone is open court), and Commander Fairly (Maddox's awful boss) - but others, such as the dynamic and lyrical Princess, are exceptional even in small parts (the look that the Princess gives Doris Ashley as she passes her on her way to a seat in the courtroom, could strip paint).

Sorry, naysayers. The original is much too dated. I watch this film frequently, not because it's a 'Christmas' movie, but because it's a great rom-com. Dyan Cannon is luminous, much better than she was in HONEYSUCKLE ROSE. Tony Curtis is hilariously oily, conceited, and seems to believe that he's God's gift to his protégé Cannon (who says she would rather stick hot needles in her eyes than have a relationship with him). Kristofferson also displays a gift for comedy: his "walk" with Tony Curtis's character, when "Alex/John Blane" tries to impress him with his irresistibility to women and "Jefferson Jones" isn't buying it, is quite funny, as is his entrance to the TV show in the Mountie hat they have given him to wear, since these Eastern media types are apparently clueless about the difference between park rangers and Mounties. The slimy Alex makes fun of him throughout the film, so the scene where he stops Alex from shaking Elizabeth and punches him with panache is quite satisfying and long overdue. Plus, he's gorgeous. The final scene of him and Elizabeth dancing in her penthouse as the credits roll is well worth the price of admission.

E. F. Bloodworth returns to his roots when he is dying. Forty years earlier, he abandoned his wife and three sons and took off to selfishly pursue a singing career which never panned out. Some say he killed a man, and that is the true reason he left. Each of his sons is a mess in his own way. The grandson he never knew has ambitions for a better life to escape the stain of Bloodworth blood. But he is a high school dropout with literary ambitions. How much reality is there in his dreams? Is he just another loser who will never escape? He falls in love with the daughter of a prostitute who, it turns out, is pregnant by another man. Reminds you of the biblical injuntion "the sins of the fathers are visited upon the sons even unto the third and fourth generation." That would certainly be celebrated as received truth by one of the sons, a religious fanatic who is bent on punishing his father by hexing him into hell and protecting the barmy mother, who seems to have never stopped loving her wayward husband despite his abandonment; she keeps a framed photo on her wall of him in his locally successful early singing days, days when he may have gotten the idea he had what it took to make it big. Alas, he never made it. The dying man has never had much luck out of life, and his sons are the least of his misfortunes. This is not a movie for those who are impatient for some action. But little gems of scenes are strung together like pearls on a waxed string. E. F.'s scene with a sympathetic landlady of his shabby boardinghouse. The resignation with which he accepts the total lack of familial love as something he deserves. The interest shown him by the grandson, who plays the scratchy non-hit he recorded for his girlfriend. The sympathy the old man feels for that grandson's interest in a trashy young woman. The genuine pathology of two of the sons -- Brady the fanatic and Boyd (father of the sole granddhild), the murderous stalker of the wife who left him and her lover -- and the surprisingly supportive acceptance by son Warren, bar owner, womanizer, sharp dresser,and prodigal son, who after identifying himself to a father who doesn't recognize him, and reminding the father of a never-realized promise to take him fishing, produces two fishing rods to remedy that. Some of the dream sequences are hard to follow, and the ending has a curiously unfinished air, yet it's as ragged as real life. Real life, much as we might like it, is never tied up in a bow. The acting is superb. Kristofferson has never been better -- sometimes laconic and even warm, but with flashes of the kind of edginess and self-interest which suggests that this old man might have been a darker personality and a dangerous handful in his younger days. As the grandson, Reece, reads to a college class in creative writing a fictionalized account of his grandfather's life (in the closing sequence when he has married Raven and taken on as a son the boy who is not his-- a hopeful and optimistic finish) "the old man did not come home to make peace with his family; the old man came home to make peace with himself." Frances Conroy is surprisingly good as the defeated and worn wife who holds E. F.'s secrets. Val Kilmer is superb as the closest thing to a good son that E. F. had, and probably the most closely reflects the old man. Dwight Yoakam is truly scary, and Hilary Duff is luminous. If you consider "relationship" films as boring as picking lint from your navel, look elsewhere. This one is a long, slow trip into the darkest corners of the human heart and back out again.

Alan Dershowitz provided legal input on this film, and it is very much true that innocent bystanders have far fewer rights than actual criminal suspects, as caterer Kathryn Beck finds to her ultimate destruction. A theme which is not explicitly explored, but which certainly ought to have been more acknowledged in reviews, is the double standard for men and women regarding their personal lives. The fact that Kathryn took a man she had only just met at party to her home afterward is an automatic assumption that she is a bad woman, ergo, she is not entitled to any presumption of innocence, not only by the media types who make her life unbearable, but even by the police, who also treat her without any dignity in the hopes that she will lead them to her new friend, whom they believe is actually an old friend, a suspected terrorist, with whom she must be in cahoots. As it happens, they find him on their own, and he offers no resistance. When he is able to produce a key showing that he cannot be accused of breaking and entering, his rights are quite secure; he is entitled to a defense and an assumption of innocence. He is actually troubled by Kathryn's dilemma, having contacted her while he was still free, and he tries to convince the authorities that she was not part of anything that he is accused of. He has more integrity, actually, than either the media or the police, and his guilt or innocence (is he a victim of excessive FBI and local police surveillance? Such things have happened, and continue to happen, as government agencies are weaponized against perceived "enemies") is still not established as the film ends with the emotionally traumatized Kathryn killing her nemesis from the media. Marlo Thomas and Kris Kristofferson both give superb performances, in particular Kristofferson's highly nuanced performance as a handsome charmer who may or may not be a very dangerous man.

It's a TV movie, folks, not a big-budget superhero film or an art house film of pretentious twaddle, which are the two categories people shell out bucks to see in the multi-box theatres. And it's a damn good TV movie. Willie overplays Wily Coyote and Kris underplays Captain Strong and Silent Ranger-Dad, but it comes out even. There are some golden moments here: Willie teaching Kris's distressed older daughter how to dance; Kris loving up the widowed girlfriend; Willie in the biker bar; Kris and Willie flailing to a draw and Kristofferson staggering over to the cruiser, exhausted of both strength and patience, to tell the sleaze in Austin to come get the man he is framing; Willie giving up the chance to escape to tell Kristofferson that the dead girl is not his daughter; Kristofferson saving Nelson from the dogs and from the sleaze. I don't like this version of the Kris&Willie franchise which was set into motion by SONGWRITER as much as I like OUTLAW JUSTICE (mostly because watching the good-looking Kristofferson play a bad-ass -- a large black vulture who can scare people just by fixing them with a baleful stare -- is such a hoot), or even as much as I like ANOTHER PAIR OF ACES: THREE OF A KIND, but I kind of like watching them in the sequence they were made. Some funny moments, and some serious moments about integrity (even within unlikely people and/or in uneasy circumstances) and about families which succor madmen, and families which can heal. Put some popcorn in the microwave, pop a long-neck, and relax with this one on a DVD at home. It IS a guilty pleasure.

I must have watched a very different film from the one all these reviewers are writing off. A lot of the "action" part of this film is indeed formulaic, which is why I took it down to an 8. But as a relationship film it is quite good. Both Kristofferson and Barrymore are excellent as two damaged and shuttered people. Kristofferson's "Joe Garvey" lost his wife and 9 year old daughter to a drunk driver, and his bitterness has driven him into a very cold place. He is also an outcast from the force because he refused to go along with a cover-up of an unnecessary killing by two cowboy-cops. No one seemed to mention this, even though it plays a significant role in the film's climax, which leads me to wonder just how closely some reviewers watched this film before they typed out their shallow and flippant reviews. Drew Barrymore's "Tinsel Handley" has never had any adult supervision, which might sound glorious, but the effect has been that she hasn't ever had anyone who gave a damn about her. She is a hardened little piece of work who acts like 14 going on 30 and who looks like a teenage hooker. But she has never had the opportunity to be a child, and she is a child -- a terrified one. The two eventually come together, forming a bond that they both need. The scene in which, at the urging of his female partner, Kristofferson's cop takes the sobbing child in his arms is one of the most poignant scenes I have ever seen. It finally shatters the reinforced concrete in which this man is encased, and taps into the emotional center which he thought had died with his wife and daughter. The sinister conspiracy almost-ending is a bit silly, except for one golden moment; given an opportunity to kill the drunk who killed his family, he cannot do it. The hatred has drained away. It is unfortunate that O. J. Simpson was in the film, but at the time he was cast, no one knew the unsavory details of his personal life. I think holding that particular casting against the film is inappropriate for anyone who wants to be taken seriously as a reviewer.

I loved this film, which, while it has many funny scenes, is an essentially poignant tale of a stoic man of few words, who would like to reconnect with the daughter and grandson he let slip away from him, but does not know how to do so. This same man also has no clue as to how much wiser his oldest friend/ranch hand is. Meanwhile there is a local sheriff who knows that his deputy is a total sleaze, but has no idea how dangerous he is, the deputy's two moronic nephews, who should have been smothered in their cribs, and a female sheep shearer, who fights with, and is about halfway in love with, the ranch hand. The stoic man, A. J. "Stoney" Stoneman, is played by Peter Fonda. The daughter, Kate Harper, is played by Robin Dearden. Kate is a high-powered executive. The grandson, Charles/Charlie/Chuck, is played by Joe Mazzello. Charles is a pampered and spoiled rich kid and computer whiz. The Sheriff, Hank Dawson, is played by Keith Carradine in another excellent performance by this always-capable actor. The old friend/ranch hand, Shuck, is played by Kris Kristofferson. (He and Carradine are truly old friends, having starred together in the 1985 film noir, TROUBLE IN MIND).

Comic relief is provided by the sleazy deputy and his nephews and by an FBI agent with a room temperature IQ, although Kristofferson has some hilarious moments when he breaks Stoney out of the hospital - - facing down a sadistic nurse with a gun and a warning "Lady, I castrate sheep with my teeth; there's no telling what I'm capable of." He goes on to perch the nurse's cap on top of his head and covers his bearded face with a surgical mask and his clothes with a scrub gown in order to wheel Stoney out of the hospital, and he finally hijacks a hearse for transport for the two of them and the reluctant grandson to North Dakota. For a man who doesn't even know how to drive, he is remarkably resourceful.

The scenery is breathtaking, and the acting is superb. Kristofferson steals the picture right out from under the always excellent Fonda. Stoney thinks his friend is a man of limited capabilities. The grandson picks up some of this attitude, although he ought to have picked up on the way that Shuck has kept tabs on him as he tries to slip off to make a call on his cellphone. Shuck is suddenly removing the phone from his hand, telling him that while he would be perfectly happy to let the kid go, he knows Stoney wants to take his grandson to the ranch, so that's the way it's going to be. Then he casually drops the phone on the ground, shattering it, and says "I'm just no good around machinery." Later, the grandson surprises Shuck firing up his (the grandson's) computer, having discovered that the computer plays chess. Shuck, whom you might think from Stoney's teasing, is barely literate, has a chessboard out and is getting ready to set up a game. Stoney has also given Charlie the impression that Shuck has no idea that he (Stoney) is dying. Charlie later rages at Shuck to wake up to what is happening. Shuck gazes sadly at this clueless kid and tells him "you can stay, or you can go, but I do believe that this is the last time you'll see Stoney." All these years that the two have worked together, it is Shuck and not Stoney who has always been the clear-eyed realist.

The final third of the film packs the most emotional punch, as the two old sheep farmers and the kid - warned by Martinez the sheep-shearer of the pursuit by the law that could send Stoney and Shuck to prison for the rest of their lives - take off overland by horseback toward Canada. Hank and Kate are also in pursuit by horseback to try to aid in the escape and retrieve Charlie. The Deputy and his two nephews are in pursuit intending to kill Shuck and Stoney, an endeavor in which they are totally outclassed by two old guys and a smart-assed kid.

The escape attempt is too much for Stoney, who collapses. Charlie spots the pursuing FBI agent and begs Shuck to leave Stoney and save himself, which Shuck will not do, so the kid has to use his computer skills and his wits to successfully misdirect the G-man, and Kate arrives with Hank in time to reconcile briefly but movingly with her father. It is not a happy ending, but it is a satisfying one, with the kid and Shuck bonding with a new and unexpected respect for each other. As Charlie prepares to return to Minneapolis for the remainder of the school year (with a promised return to the ranch in the summer when he will undoubtedly help Shuck adapt to the technology that can run the ranch more efficiently), he leaves the computer behind with Shuck. Not only does it play chess, it also plays gin rummy. They walk up the hill teasing each other. Charlie will probably even persuade Shuck to learn how to drive - maybe with Martinez teaching him. And maybe Hank will start making the occasional trip to Minneapolis. Just sayin'.

Alan Rudolph is a quirky director/screenwriter. If you like edgy romanticism (or romantic edginess), his films will resonate with you. If the phrase "where the past meets the future, but it's not the present" seems like a piece of pretentious nonsense, then don't bother trying Rudolph's films. You're not equipped to deal with them - neither the occasional sheer lunacy nor the underlying irony that are his trademarks. It's ironic to meet a knight in shining armor named Johnny the Hawk (Kris Kristofferson) who rescued a fair (if rather shopworn) damsel in distress (and went to prison for it) only to have that lady reject him when he returned. It's ironic to meet the lady herself, i.e. Wanda (Genevieve Bujold), the proprietor of a small café on the funky side of town, who. After rejecting her former lover, proceeds to try to rearrange his life for him, by way of recompense for the rescue. It's ironic to meet a young man named Coop (Keith Carradine) who's just looking for a break in life, but who suddenly begins to envision himself as a successful gangster, and metamorphoses into someone who resembles Elvis on acid. It's ironic to meet Coop's girlfriend Georgia (Lori Singer) - a beautiful "naif", whose innocently inappropriate behavior drives the disappointed knight to distraction, as she alternately gives him a come-on and then bolts back to the clueless punk she knows instead of taking a chance on someone who is clearly another kettle of fish in the manhood department. It's ironic to meet a low-level operator - a gun-shy purveyor of hot watches and writer of pretentious prose named Solo (Joe Morton), who starts out mentoring Coop, gets caught up in Coop's giddy fantasy, starts thinking of himself as a major gunslinger, and comes to a bad end. It's ironic to meet the owner of the world's worst toupee, a terminally stupid mid-level gangster named Rambo (Dirk Blocker), who worships the ground his boss walks on, and also comes to a bad end. It's ironic to meet a rival gangland boss named Nate Nathanson (John Considine) whose be-ribboned, milk-drinking, jewelry-coveting "child bride" gives new meaning to the term gold-digger. He meets a bad end; she gets the homes, the servants, and the yachts. Finally, there is the gangland boss himself, Hilly Blue (played totally over-the-top by Divine), who has the temperament of petulant two-year-old, and also comes to - -you guessed it - a bad end.

Yet all of these characters are somewhat touching, even the gangland kingpin. And the actors are well-cast and wonderful. At the top of the class is Kristofferson. He had already proven in earlier films such as CISCO PIKE, ALICE DOESN'T LIVE HERE ANYMORE, and A STAR IS BORN, that he has a real gift for portraying men who are outwardly cool and tough with a palpable core of aching vulnerability and an aura of melancholy. He has two pivotal scenes in this film. In the first, having seen Coop go off and leave Georgia weeping in the shabby camper she shares with Coop and their baby son, Hawk shows up outside the camper and tries to chat her up, hoping to get her to let him take her out to dinner. Having no luck with a direct request, he sits down in the rain on the stairs outside the camper, lights up a cigarette, and settles in for a heartfelt siege, speaking to her unseen presence behind a drawn window shade which covers the door. A tear in the shade permits her to observe him; he makes no attempt to look at her, telling her that prison has taught him that sometimes and for some people, it's more comfortable not to look at the person to whom you are speaking. And he says to her, "The reason I come by is that I thought we might have something in common." And for just an instant there is a look on his face - a face she cannot see because he has his back to her - that reveals the depth of the loneliness of this tough-appearing ex-cop, ex-con. The bleak look in his eyes is only momentary, and then he pulls himself together, reaches back to knock on her shaded door and says, "we can talk about it over dinner."

The second moment was shot using a mirror which reflects the action (a device Rudolph uses throughout the film (and filmed with great skill by Rudolph's extraordinary cameraman, Toyumichi Kurita in an auspicious debut.) The scene begins with Hawk returning Wanda's car keys; he has borrowed her car to try to find Georgia, who has fled with her baby. Wanda is blasting Hawk for what she considers an unhealthy interest in the young woman, for whom she has developed a certain amount of possessiveness. During the course of their confrontation, it becomes apparent to the viewer that Hawk is baffled by all the changes that have taken place in Rain City while he was incarcerated. The reality that he keeps clinging to is contained in the models he has built in prison of his former stomping ground, but that reality no longer exists. Wanda's attack is personal and heartless; she accuses him of no longer being trustworthy and of becoming no better than an animal. Hawk is stunned by her accusations His tells her that he probably should never have come back to Rain City, because nothing makes any sense any more. . He looks at the woman he had loved and says, quite bitterly, "and now I'm an animal." In a quieter voice, heavy with defeat, he says "no problem, Wanda. No problem," and quietly leaves her apartment. Wanda, having deliberately dealt a serious and hurtful blow to a man she once loved, suddenly allows herself to remember the past with less rancor and more fairness, recognizes that the man is emotionally drowning, and whispers to herself "...oh, Johnny..." Bujold plays this scene just beautifully, with Wanda's shifting attitudes clearly mirrored on her expressive face. From this point in the film on, she undertakes to bring Georgia and Hawk together, believing falling for each other will bring them as a couple a measure of happiness that neither could achieve on his or her own.

Rudolph casts his films perfectly, and all of the actors come through for him, even those in minor parts. Carradine, Singer, and Morton are particular standouts. This film is a treasure, and deserved a wider audience. And that's not even discussing the impact of Mark Isham's score, Marianne Faithfull's exquisitely ravaged vocals, and Kristofferson's "El Gavilan", a love song which closes the film on an edgily romantic high note and sees us out through the credits.

Funny and poignant. Beautiful and sinister. Haunting and rollicking. I absolutely love this film. Geneviève Bujold and Kris Kristofferson, who made TROUBLE IN MIND together back in the day (1985), play a brother and sister who could not be more different. He is a cockeyed optimist dreamer, and she is a stern, unrelentingly sensible wraith. What you do not know until the end is that both come from a family of ghostly folk who "disappear." If this is something that causes a potential viewer to throw up their hands and dismiss this film, well, I guess fantasy folklore is beyond them, and they'd best stick to something more simplistic and with less depth. The cinematography is spectacular, especially for people who are familiar with the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont and the adjacent parts of Canada, or would like to be. Those of us whose ancestors emerged from the thin topsoil of this granite land of six-month winters recognize the hardscrabble basis of life here, especially during the Great Depression, and the dry wit which characterizes these survivors. The acting is excellent. Kristofferson is astonishing; this role is a reversal of the type of laconic character he usually plays. His Quebec Bill Bonhmme seizes life and gleefully shakes the bejeezus out of it. His son is the adult in the family. Charlie McDermott holds his own in the company of the adults. And William Sanderson is nothing less than marvelous as the grumbling farm hand that Quebec Bill has to continually goose to keep him going. There are several darned near perfect cinematic moments. The first is the depiction of the relationship between Quebec Bill and his wife, Evangeline. She, though conservative, conventional, and convent-educated, is incredibly enthralled with her husband, who has gone into farming to please her and eschewed his whiskey-running past. He loves her back with equal intensity, and although he carries whiskey (for persuasion, if someone's cooperation is needed), he no longer drinks it. The second is the hilarious segment when Quebec Bill talks himself, his son, and his cohorts (all disguised as monks, because they were hiding in a monastery to escape Carcajou) onto a train by bamboozling the engineer with flattery. Having accomplished that first step, Quebec Bill craftily gets the engineer to reveal enough information to enable Wild Bill to take over the controls (neglecting to establish just exactly how to stop the thing). Then, he kicks the engineer off the train, and, having ascertained that Carcajou has boarded the train to find and kill them, he blithely leaves Wild Bill to run the thing and sets off atop the train with a pikestaff to dispatch the enemy, although Carcajou proves to be damned near indestructible. The third segment is far more poignant, because although normally a simple thing like getting shot might not dim Quebec Bill's natural ebullience, in fact, he is gravely wounded, and while Wild Bill's care of his father, who after all has gotten them into this mess, might understandably be a bit on the I-told-you-so side, yet, in fact it is tender and loving. Quebec Bill, responding with an equivalent tenderness and willingness to sacrifice his life, urges the son to leave him behind to face Carcajouarmed, but injured and alone, and save himself, so that Evangeline will not lose them both. The son refuses to abandon his father, and their urgent flight, with Wild Bill alternately dragging his father in a travois and carrying him in his arms, is somber and touching, with the father revealing a vulnerability and self-doubt not previously seen. Nobody does understated vulnerability better than Kristofferson. Suspend your disbelief and try this film on its own terms. You may be surprised.

Yes, it's pretty much the story of Willie's life in Nashville, but Kristofferson is great in it (and wrote most of the songs, thank you very much). He's playing this on at least two levels: first, as a parody of his sex symbol image (with a sleep mask with eyelashes embroidered on it, and you don't think that's FUNNY, for cripes sake; and second, as the adult in the room trying to connect Doc to some reality. When fully informed about the wild scheme that Doc (Willie) has thought up to pry the legal ownership of his songs back from Rodeo Rocky, Blackie (Kris) -- recalling no doubt that (a) he had warned Doc about Rodeo Rocky, and (b) that the scheme involves utilizing Gilda, who is about as convincing as a successful songwriter as Doc is as a successful vacuum cleaner salesman, Blackie says sadly "you've been smokin' your running socks again, haven't you?" THAT is the best single line of dialogue in the film. When Doc tells Blackie he simply has to help him out, despite misgivings, because otherwise Doc will have no income at all, Blackie's response is "Jesus, Doc." Obviously, this is not the first time Doc has embroiled them in some loopy scheme. Later, just before he boards the bus to return to his regularly scheduled gig, he asks Doc ""Do you do stuff like this because you get bored, so you can stay interested?" Doc punts answering the question, and instead tells Blackie to get some rest because his voice is getting raspy. I think that was an adlibbed line out of the ongoing real-life Nelson-Kristofferson comraderie in which Nelson periodically needles Kristofferson about his singing voice. Kristofferson sasses right back "I'm workin' on that rasp; I think it makes me sound soulful." Greatly enjoyable film, but it requires both of them to carry it. It's not a solo tour-de-force for Willie.

The cop (Kris Kristofferson) has a difficult relationship with his headstrong teenage daughter -- a model who goes off to an exotic locale for a shoot. She does not return, and difficult Daddy Cop goes after her. He's the kind of guy who's not exactly trusting; one suspects that his job has made him that way. His brief does not extend to the exotic locale, where the local gendarme is in the pay of a rich hedonist who likes nothing better than to find attractive young girls who end up as sex partners for the hedonist himself (after all, he has to do quality control of the merchandise) and rich business =men looking for a good time and willing to pay for it. To this end, the hedonist has the assistance of a young painter whom he has rescued from jail and has set up to practice and sell his art, and incidentally to obtain beautiful young female artist's models for him. DaddyCop finds his wayward daughter living with this young artist, and, unable to persuade her to leave the island with him, he is preparing to return home when a young woman, whom the local cop swears has drowned, is found dead on the beach. Daddy Cop reads the evidence wrong; he thinks the artist committed the crime (not realizing that the artist, who has actually fallen for his daughter, is the reluctant procurer for the hedonist). When both the artist and the daughter disappear, Daddy Cop enlists some assistance from two of the locals with ties to dead young girls, and goes after them, breaking into the lavish house under the cover of an approaching hurricane. Daddy Cop and his stalwart henchmen prove to be every bit st ruthless as the bad guys, who are brutally dispatched. Yes, there is violence, but the hedonist is such slime, the violence is quite satisfactory, much like you enjoy seeing the old gunfighter in a Western mow down deserving bad guys. Daddy Cop actually tries to rescue the daughter's love interest from the hurrican, because his guilt is somewhat mitigated by his change of heart, but the rescue attempt is unsuccessful. There is a love interest for Daddy Cop, which is somewhat superfluous to the story, but the lovely Marisa Berenson is so enjoyable as the lady, plus she softens Daddy Cop, that her addition to the plot is quite acceptable, and her gentler, humorous touch brings Daddy Cop and headstrong daughter back together. Great art it ain't, but I found it quite enjoyable. A good slimy villain, an exotic locale, some peril from nature, and a tough, sexy badass of a cop go a long way with me.

The Vietnam War MIA issue was always a thorny one, and in the years following the end of that savagely divisive conflict, when negotiations with Vietnam over normalization of relations would have made it embarrassing for our government to admit we had been involved in ostensibly neutral countries such as Cambodia, you have to wonder if there was an awareness of MIAs whose survival was known, but who were simply and conveniently forgotten. This is the dilemma of Jake Robbins (Kris Kristofferson), a fighter pilot shot down in Cambodia, captured and held in one of the infamous "cages", who manages to escape, but is wounded and would probably have perished in the jungle had he not been rescued by a young woman. Jake, believing that he will never be able to find a way to get home, falls in love with his rescuer and has two children with her. Then, years later, sick and hallucinating, he is carried by the wife and her people to receive medical assistance in Thailand, where he falls into the custody of the U. S. military and awakens from a near-comatose condition to find that he has been separated from his family and is a virtual prisoner because of the potential embarrassment to the government of having it get out that there may have been MIAs, known to be alive, who were simply abandoned by their government. The impact of Jake's return upon his American family -- including the father (Brian Keith) who is still mourning his son, the former wife (JoBeth Williams), who as a widow found solace in the arms of another fine man (Sam Waterston), and the son, that Jake didn't know he had, who is so threatened by the return of a man who was believed by him to be a dead hero, that he starts going off his adolescent rails. The acting by Kristofferson and Sam Waterston -- two enormously underrated actors -- is superb. Each represents a threat to the other, yet they never miss a beat in consideration for each other's feelings in this mess they both find themselves trapped in. JoBeth Williams turns in a fine performance as well as the wife who never really stopped loving her husband when he was safely dead, yet is troubled that the return of the real man makes her confused and sad. Brian Keith is always good, and as the father who was so proud when is son went off to fight until the Air Force sent him a flag-draped box with his son's remains, he absorbs the tragic lesson that Wwar is much more glorious in the abstract than in the concrete and real. That is why the Vietnam Memorial, that staggering wall of name after name, is so incredible. It does not glorify our martial past. On the contrary, it almost begs the visitor, who stands there stunned, to question whether it was worth it. All of these young men and women -- surely they did their duty, but did their government send them off to die in vain? And if not, then isn't the sacrifice of each one so compelling that we should have been willing to move heaven and earth to absolutely account for everyone who served? Those are the uncomfortable questions this film forces you to confront. The fact that the film is not up there with some of the best of the genre in garnering critical plaudits which might have made it a great success, instead of an underappreciated jewel, suggests that we prefer to preserve our myths about war. If I were to offer some critical comments, I would point out that (1) the performance of the actor who plays the teenage son is underwhelming, (2) the availability of a Senator who can help Jake resolve his problem of dealing with the threat of a court-martial if he doesn't toe the line in keeping quiet is just a little too convenient to be realistic, and finally, (3) the ending is spoiled by having one of the heroines of the film -- the Cambodian wife, who saves Jake not just once, but twice -- die. If anyone deserves to be part of a satisfying ending, she does. Finally, in response to a query about the theme song by another reviewer, the song is called "Welcome Home", written by Alan and Marilyn Bergman, and it is sung by Willie Nelson. I do not believe there was ever a soundtrack released. As for the review by the reviewer who wrote such a nasty and personal attack on actor Kristofferson ("deathmasklike craggy features"?), next time try to write something a potential viewer of a film might actually find helpful, instead of an exercise of pure spleen.

This is a superb film. It doesn't make any difference whether you actually believe in a conspiracy to kill JFK. The film explores the consequences of stumbling upon such a conspiracy. It's the scope of a conspiracy and the consequences of stumbling upon it that are important, not whether the conspiracy actually existed. Bobby Logan (Kris Kristofferson) spots light bouncing off something strange in the desert, which turns out to be a buried jeep containing a corpse, a toolbox with $800,000 in it, and a fishing rod case with a scoped rifle. Logan wants to cut his partner and friend, Ernie Wyatt (Treat Williams) in on the cash. The idealistic Ernie gets himself killed and damned near gets Logan killed, too, trying to establish to his own satisfaction, that they are as deserving as anyone else to get this windfall. Sinister forces from DC have every reason to believe the assassin made it to Mexico. They had instructed Sheriff Wells (Rip Torn) to deliver the money, the case, and directions to the fleeing assassin. All must be well; it's been 20 years. But the information Wyatt insists they pass along to see if it's ok for them to take this money, alerts the sinister forces that all is not well at all. So here comes a sinister suit from DC. The real face-off in this film is between Kristofferson and Kurtwood Smith, the fixer in the DC suit. As they sit around awaiting the principals in a drug bust to be ready to roll. Smith taunts Logan. After all, he knows who Logan is, and Logan doesn't know who he is. Smith thinks because Logan is a dropout that somehow this West point grad who served in the Special Forces in 'Nam, won a Silver Star and was under consideration for a medal of honor, has no smarts. Kristofferson wants to get the hell out pronto. The terminally naive Ernie gets bamboozled into going after the sleazy trafficker in illegals, despite Logan's pleas to take off immediately. And remember that while Logan was stashing the case with the rifle and the money up the chimney at an old homestead site, Ernie was burying a sensor. HELLO!! When Ernie fails to show at the rendezvous site, Logan, who has carefully hidden his jeep and any time the city car he spots moves, he gets his rifle ready -- no fool he, Unfortunately, Ernie has been killed, and killed with Logan's knife, which the assassins took off of Lambasino and Roget when they killed them. Logan does make two mistakes. He fails to put the note back in Lambasino's pocket. Smith checks immediately to see if it is still there. When it is not, he knows that either Logan or Wyatt or both are on to the danger. Second, Logan fails to look around for a car before even approaching the old homestead, and he gets himself shot in the shoulder, but he keeps his wits about him enough to know that he can flank them as they approach the site, where they think they will find his body, or at worst, find him wounded , and they can kill him then. Instead, Logan does flank them, kills two of them, and wounds Smith's character. A better ending would have been to have him eschew any curiosity whatsoever as to Smith's motivation and as he backs away, just shoot the SOB, go back for the loot, and head to Mexico. They could have left Rip Torn out of the ending as well. Just Logan heading for Mexico with the money (leave the scoped rifle back up the chimney. He could even have called Ellen and told her to meet him someplace, assuming she could be persuaded to not tell Doris. A romantic ending. I like it. This is not intended to put down the acting of Treat Williams, Kurtwood Smith, Jean Smart, or Rip Torn. They are all fine. But I think the sinister suit going up against a trained Special Forces guy even craftier than he is and stupidly underestimating him works just fine for me. Come to think of it, maybe it would be more satisfactory having Logan go look him in the eye as he pumps six bullets into him after all. Might serve as a lesson "pour des autres" on underestimating guys trained by the Army to handle themselves BEHIND ENEMY LINES in a life-threatening situation. No contesto, folks. PS. Funniest line in the film: Logan and Wyatt find two women sleeping in their stranded car in the desert and decide to exert their charm. One of the women is a smartmouth who is irritated that nobody showed up to rescue them sooner. Logan reminds her they were lucky to be rescued at all; people die in that desert. So she says sarcastically, "Well, now that you're here, what are you gonna do, sell us tickets to the Policemen's Ball?" With a perfect deadpan, Logan responds "We're with the Border Patrol, ma'am. We don't have any balls."