western

Heartland Roundelay

Chet Kozlowski — Sat, 30 Mar 2024 17:37:36 +0000

Heartland Roundelay Chet Kozlowski March 30, 2024 - 13:37

Topics

Tags

Where the hell is Laroy, Texas?

Well, you turn right at Coenville, follow down till you get to Better Call Saul, and take a hard left at Elmore Leonard. Laroy’s there on the right. You can’t miss it.

Laroy, Texas is a new entry in the sturdy genre of tongue-in-cheek “crime thrillers”; call it Heartland Roundelay. The form came into its own with the Coen Brothers’ Blood Simple in 1984 and was refined in their 1996 Fargo and countless other movies: black comedies of the common person, dialogue-driven with sudden bursts of violence.

Most of these films are set in Texas or the Midwest and focus on low-rent strivers who want it all and are willing to do anything to get it. Everybody’s implicated in a merry-go-round of wrongdoing. Set the schmoes into motion in their natural setting—ranch houses, diners, strip malls, and strip clubs—and just wait for the next shoe to fall.

Laroy, Texas starts with a typical-looking guy named Harry picking up a big, bearded hitchhiker whose truck has broken down on a lonely stretch of highway. They banter: the hitchhiker jokes you can’t be too careful who you pick up, might be a crazy maniac. But the joke’s on him. As Harry digs a roadside grave, he gets a call: go to Laroy. There’s money in it if you kill somebody.

Of course, it helps that Harry, the hitman, is played by Dylan Baker, the man with a long face, tight squint, and toothsome smile.

Meanwhile, in the town of Laroy, a guy named Ray meets a guy in a diner who says he’s a detective, Skip Roche. Skip gives Ray a photo of his (Ray’s) wife entering a cheap motel, clearly for a sordid rendezvous. Ray is stung and refuses to believe it. Skip will prove it if Ray hires him.

Here, it helps that Ray is played by John Magaro and Skip by the ever-reliable actor Steve Zahn.

Ray’s a pushover, in business with his more outgoing brother and in love with his wife, a former beauty queen named Stacey-Lynn, the one captured on film at the cheap motel. Ray’s reduced to waiting in a car idling outside the motel room where the tryst is going on, intending to off himself. When suddenly, the passenger side door opens, and a stranger lurches into his car; he asks him, “Are you the guy?” Before Ray can answer, he shoves a bag of money into his hands.

What follows is a cat-and-mouse game of bad intentions, offbeat characters, and narrative twists. These folks lie, cheat, and double-cross in the best Pulp tradition.

And that cast. You’ll know John Magaro from Netflix’s Orange is the New Black and his poignant turn as the husband in Oscar-contender Past Lives. His slight frame and nebbishy ethos make him suitable for a particular kind of sad sack. (Also, Mr. Magaro is having a moment: he also produces the movie.)

Meagan Stevenson, as Stacy-Lynn, acts with wild eyes and a face that goes from giddy to harpy in a heartbeat. As Harry, the hired gun, Dylan Baker (where’s he been?) brings just the right amount of menace. Has there ever been a more ominous villain?

Steve Zahn (of HBO’s Treme and The Righteous Gemstones) brings his big grin to the role of detective Skip Roche. He’s the perpetual frat boy, all smiles and assumptions. Skip dresses Texas chic: big hat, bola tie, and studs (Stacey-Lynn tells him, “You look like you’re going to a cowboy prom.”)

And to complete the cast, who shows up but Brad Leland, Friday Night Lights’ Buddy Garrity himself, as a philandering car salesman?

Other notables include Matthew Del Negro as Ray’s smarmy brother Junior, Galadriel Stineman as a hapless stripper Angie, and Darcy Shean in a small but canny part as the car salesman’s wife.

First-time auteur Shane Atkinson’s script is witty and sharp. No doubt you’re in Texas, and no doubt guns will be fired (Ray even auditions one for suicide in a gun shop (“Have you got anything shorter?”). Mr. Atkinson directs as well, his wit extending to his way with actors and his framing and editing, collaborating with cinematographer Mingjue Hu and editor Sebastian Mialik.

Laroy, Texas (the producers say they’re shortening the title to just Laroy, a mistake. Is that a place or a person?) is modest in ambition but heavy on dark humor and a pokey kind of suspense. When done right, it’s a marvel to watch. Laroy, Texas is lively and unpredictable, but it is well worth the time spent.

(Postscript: As I write this, news comes that M. Emmett Walsh has died at the age of 88. He was in Blood Simple—mentioned in this review—and was as reliable a character actor who ever lived, appearing in over 200 films. Look him up. You’ll recognize him for sure. Rest in peace, Mr. Walsh.)

______________________________________________

Laroy, Texas (a.k.a Laroy). Directed by Shane Atkinson. From Orogen Entertainment. Distributed by Brainstorm Media. 2024. In theaters. 112 minutes.

Add new comment

The Notorious Van Peebles Gang

Chet Kozlowski — Thu, 29 Feb 2024 00:16:47 +0000

The Notorious Van Peebles Gang Chet Kozlowski February 28, 2024 - 19:16

Topics

Film Review

Tags

western

Actor and pulp auteur Mario Van Peebles has a new one out. Mr. Van Peebles has written, directed, and acted in movies like New Jack City, Ali, Heartbreak Ridge, The Cotton Club, and TV shows like Sons of Anarchy, Nashville, Empire, and Bloodline. His career is long, and his filmography is a walking tour of B movie genres.

His first role came at 12 in his father Melvin Van Peebles’ breakthrough hit Sweet Sweetback’s Badassss Song (1971). He’s even made to resemble his father in the opening of his new film, Outlaw Posse. His character is introduced as a solitary figure sitting in the back of a barroom, bearded and shadowy. Then we see Mario’s soulful eyes and leading-man features, which underscore his Mexican/(Black) American heritage. As conscious as always of the stature of the Black man in America, yet not preachy, he fashions durable entertainments that leave an indelible impression all their own.

Generations are a theme of Outlaw Posse. The bond between fathers and sons is a motif, as are themes of righteousness, idealism, and reparation. He plays Chief, a sort of renegade Robin Hood, righting wrongs and forging justice for freed slaves, farmers, and common folk—stolen gold figures in a legendary stash everybody wants to get to first. Chief is joined by his son Decker (played by Van Peebles’ real-life son Mandela), whose wife (Madison Calley) has been abducted by banditos and who puts aside a past gripe to join his father’s campaign. (Fun fact: Mario played his father Melvin in his biopic Badasss!, 2004)

Outlaw Posse is cut from Spaghetti Western cloth, employing many tropes of the genre. There’s Sergio Leone’s influence in the title credits and music, as well as dashes of HBO’s Deadwood and Clint Eastwood’s Unforgiven. Set in 1908 Mexico, Outlaw Posse brings us big skies, saloon showdowns, bank robberies, and a dastardly villain named Angel (played by baby-faced William Mapother, one of the best bad guys on the screen), who sports a brass hand and whose credo is “You can’t tame the wild west and keep your clothes clean.”

Mr. Van Peebles allows Chief some set pieces, including quick draws and a bravura 360-degree Steadicam sweep in the middle of a street. But he just as soon steps aside to let others shine. Generous time and business go to John Carrol Lynch as his sidekick Carson, DJ Young Fly as Spooky, a blackface minstrel (only a Black filmmaker could get away with that), and Amber Reign Smith as Queenie, a sassy knife-wielding dancehall singer. Jake Manley and Allen Payne round out Chief’s entourage.

Additionally, Outlaw Posse is populated with character actors you might not have seen in a while, like Coen Brother favorite M. Emmett Walsh, Whoopi Goldberg as a stagecoach driver, a grizzled Edward James Olmos, icy-eyed Neil McDonough, and Cedric the Entertainer as the purveyor of a nirvana-like village called “Li’l Heaven.”

Mr. Van Peebles wrote, produced, and directed Outlaw Posse. The filmmaking seems a little rushed, with some patches evident. Sequences aren’t as fluidly edited as they could be. Light diffuses through windows to enhance low-budget set dressing. The action stops for a talky bit of exposition in the middle of the movie. The faux-Morricone score by Dontae Winslow works a little too hard to guide our emotions (the music itself is another motif, and the soundtrack is packed with it). Modernity seeps through sometimes, with slang expressions, machine-labeled beer bottles, and contemporary talk of strategic “intel.”

But all in all, Outlaw Posse is another notch in the career of Mario Van Peebles, whose impressive filmography—over 100 acting roles in TV and movies and more than 50 films as a director—carries on a family tradition.

------------------------------------------------------

Outlaw Posse. Directed by Mario Van Peebles. 2024. A Diamond Films/Iris Indie International/Konwiser Bros. Media/MVP Entertainment Production. From Quiver Distribution. 108 minutes

Add new comment

Prairie Home Invasion

Chet Kozlowski — Tue, 21 Mar 2023 23:04:31 +0000

Prairie Home Invasion Chet Kozlowski March 21, 2023 - 19:04

Topics

Film Review

Tags

western

Erland Hollingsworth's film Homestead is an unsteady hybrid of Western epic and suburban horror film. It poses all the questions of the home invasion scenario: How safe is your home? Can you defend loved ones against unreasonable odds? What does one truly own?

A homesteader family—made up of Paw, Maw, and young-uns—live off the land in an isolated cabin. One day they're visited by a man (Greg Kreik) claiming to be a surveyor for the railroad about to come through. Paw Robert (Brian Krause) orders the man off his land; he has no intention of pulling up stakes, the railroad be damned. That is, until the intruder shucks off his disguise and reveals himself to be the front man of a gang of gunmen intent on violating Robert's domain. The opening scenes set the stage well, with a plucky heroine in 12-year-old daughter Irene, played by Betsy Sligh. She is meant to hit notes of True Grit's Mattie Ross and Ms. Sligh has the resolved brow and a steely stare necessary for the part.

Turns out Robert was once a member of this band of desperados. He took their money and high-tailed it, changed his name, married Beth (Jamie Bernadette), made her Maw to twins Irene and Brian (Cavan Tonascia), and settled down. Now the gang, led by Bible-quoting Ezekiel (Scot Scurlock) wants what's theirs and then some, including for Robert to return to the outlaw life. Ezekiel refers to his motley crew as a "family," and is part gunslinger, evangelist, and cult leader. "Ain't nothing sadder than a man who don't know who he is," he says of Robert.

The action that follows aspires to take us into Straw Dogs territory, but sadly, Hollingworth ain't no Peckinpah. The production values are low-budget, which is not a criticism in itself; the impulse to make a film disproportionate to the cost is one that has yielded great results and launched big-time careers. A frugal budget doesn't have to be a detriment if one can tell a good story in a confined space (Hollingsworth is also credited as writer). And here's where Homestead takes some dubious turns.

Hollingworth's camera is set mostly at midlevel, in tight, maybe to mask a dearth of set design. But between that and the editing, it's hard to tell who's doing what. Hands dart out, rifles fire, people run, but the action is not blocked in a convincing way. You don't know how many people are in the room, since no establishing shot of everybody entering is provided. Much of it happens outside at night, so faces appear out of and disappear into the inky blackness. Deals are made and betrayed ("We're comin’ out!"), strong men crumble, and kids suddenly have guns in their hands. It's even hard to tell who's in the cabin and who's outside. If Hollingsworth was going for a cowpoke version of La Ronde, it'd be one thing. But there's nothing so lofty going on here: this script just can’t make up its mind.

It's difficult to know who this movie is even about. Attach yourself to a protagonist at your own risk. Bullets fly all over the place. The final words of the film, by the survivors of events, are either meant as pithy or to suggest a sequel.

The cast contains familiar faces. Brian Krause (Robert) was a regular on the TV series Charmed. Jamie Bernadette (Beth) is known for TV as well, appearing most recently on CSI New Orleans, and has starred in I Spit on Your Grave: Deju Vu as Camille Keaton's daughter. Young Betsy Sligh (Irene) has been building her resumé with films like Amazon's rom-com I Want You Back.

Writer/director Erland Hollingsworth has a number of shorts to his credit. He filmed Homestead in Knoxville, Tennessee, and makes good use of the rolling hills in the daylight scenes.

The poster for Homestead is lurid and tantalizing, depicting fire and brimstone and maybe a touch of the supernatural. It will do its job and attract attention to the film, which is available to stream. The film doesn't quite match the promise, but it does work up the occasional flair, like the opening shot of two people running in the distance—we don't yet know who they are—fleeing across the fog-shrouded prairie only to be stopped by a rifle shot. It's a spiffy bit of foreshadowing. Italian composer Simone Cilio's mournful score sets exactly the right tone. Jamie Bernadette and Scot Scurlock each have their turn at scenery-chewing in their soliloquies. Dallas Page, Mark Madeo, and Mike Ferguson are grizzled and ominous as the gunmen. Mike Markoff, a glowering long-haired Fabio type, has a surprisingly affecting moment when he demands his captives read to him before he kills them.

All that aside, however, we want to return to 12 year-old Irene, to see what she's capable of. After establishing her creds, she is curiously sidelined for most of the film. In the first minutes, Irene sets her jaw and gives her on-the-nose opinion, then intones, "Just speakin' what I'm thinkin'." Irene is straightforward and a straight shooter. She will have her time, but only after most of the mayhem is over. That's too bad. We want to see her right along. Irene is Homestead's soul.

Homestead. Written and directed by Erland Hollingsworth. 80 minutes.

Streaming and VOD. 2023.

Add new comment

Crap in a Mask

Brandon Judell — Wed, 03 Jul 2013 00:58:54 +0000

Crap in a Mask Brandon Judell July 2, 2013 - 20:58

Topics

Film Review

Tags

western

When the Spirit Horse relieves his bowels midway through The Lone Ranger, and the screen is filled with his ever-piling-up turds, it will take you a while to realize that this shit is different from the rest of the excrement that director Gore Verbinski has been showcasing the previous hour.

To be blunt, this Jerry Bruckheimer production is so bloated, so misconceived, so vile in its treatment of Indians, so idiotically scripted, so tone deaf, so seemingly edited with a Cusinart, that you'll feel you've been scalped more than once by the time you witness a wrinkled Tonto in semi-Comanche drag walking off into the horizon step by step by step by step by step as the unending credits steamroll over him.

The first major error of the enterprise is how the story is framed. The year is 1933, and a young boy attending a fair in Lone Ranger drag enters a sort of Wild West Museum in a tent. There, while standing in front of an exhibit labeled "The Noble Savage," the lad is suddenly confronted with a taxidermic Tonto (Johnny Depp) who suddenly comes alive and starts telling the tale of his adventures with John Reid (Armie Hammer) aka The Lone Ranger.

Jump to 1869: the building of the railroads in Colby, Texas. Somehow Butch Cavendish (William Fichtner), a sadistic villain who escapes a hanging, and Mr. Cole (Tom Wilkinson), a villainous sadist of a railroad tycoon, have joined forces to make it appear that Indian tribes are attacking settlers, thus upending the peace treaties that they had agreed to. Why? Let's just say it has to do with a whole lot of precious ore, and without Native Americans around, the ore will be that much easier to mine.

So let's get the Army to wipe out the red-skinned wrongdoers.

Uh, oh! The town's sheriff (James Badge Dale) has discovered the truth. Well, let's get rid of him, too, and cut out his heart. But he is Reid's older brother and the husband of the woman Reid loves, Rebecca (Ruth Wilson), who gets kidnapped with her son.

Well, to remedy the situation, let's hook up Tonto with Reid/the Lone Ranger, who by the way seems to be modeled on Robert Hays's character in Airplane. Now have the duo become buffoonish buddies, add a mystic horse, a revengeful madame (Helena Bonham Carter) with a leg of ivory, carnivorous bunnies, a homophobic portrayal of a cross-dressing lawbreaker who wouldn't mind getting violated, ridiculously interminable train chases, and the William Tell Overture. If that weren't enough, the kid at the fair keeps interrupting the film with questions for Tonto because he doesn't exactly believe what he's being told, which is because Tonto keeps changing the tale as he pleases.

But idiocy can be palatable, which this screenplay by Justin Haythe, Ted Elliott, and Terry Rossio isn't. The bizarrely complicated action leaps from the ruthlessly violent to the vapidly jokey. For instance, a moving scene of Indian warriors being slaughtered is followed by an insulting, unfunny non sequitur. That the initial screenplay included supernatural coyotes is not hard to swallow.

In the end, this small-spirited, 149-minute trek into the lobotomized minds of Hollywood's most "creative" bigwigs is so far the worst offering of the summer season, and let's just say it's had some tough competition.