Burn After Reading (2008)

Following their Oscar Scoop in '98, Joel and Ethan Coen surprised many with this dark, if somewhat slighter outing. Burn After Reading marks their thirteenth outing - a bad omen? Depends who you ask.

It also marks the return of George Clooney to the Coen fold for the third time (Oh Brother, Where Art Thou? and Intolerable Cruelty coming before). Ever-dependable Frances McDormand is here, too, also joined by Brad Pitt, Tilda Swinton and John Malkovitch. Richard Jenkins gets an honorable mention here; his name was omitted from the movie poster and DVD packaging, but is as essential to the story as everyone else.

Burn After Reading is an ensemble piece and all principals get roughly equal screen time, each delivering great performances, but it's probably Pitt's performance that lingers longest - a goofy turn as a dim-witted, over-energised gym instructor.

The Plot

The backbone of the story concerns a stolen disc which may or may not contain sensitive CIA intelligence - carelessly left in a gym locker, it falls into the hands of Pitt and McDormand, who decide to trace the owner, then blackmail them for it, more out of excitement than real malice. McDormand's character is obsessed with the idea of cosmetic surgery, and with every other financial avenue a dead-end, the disc appears like a gift from the gods.

Plot isn't the primary interest here, though. What's on offer here is a combination of spy movie pastiche, combined with an examination of middle-aged mores: even though (initially) disconnected, all the characters share a frustration with where their lives have gone, and strive to find better.

 Tilda Swinton plays a very convincing harridan.

Malkovitch seethes frustrated, impotent anger from every pore, every other word an expletive as he rages against the little men of the world; marginalised by his superiors, he quits his relatively senior position in the CIA ('third-level clearance'), telling his incredulous wife (Tilda Swinton) that he plans to write his memoirs instead. This gets as far as him hubristically narrating nonsense into a Dictaphone. Ultimately, these anecdotes end up as text, saved to the disc that will fall into the wrong hands.

So wrapped up in his world, he fails to notice Swinton's boredom, never suspecting her affair with Clooney, a boyish, sex-addicted buffoon who allows Swanson to think he's planning a new life with her. Only, he's not really likely to leave his wife, a successful author on an endless series of book launches - it just gives him plenty of time to chase skirt.

Various contrivances allow these disparate characters to bump into one another, sometimes romantically; occasionally, with violence. McDormand's ill-conceived plan to ransom off the disc creates a vortex, pulling in the rest of the cast.

 Malk turns the AngerFrenzy up to ten. Again. Which is a good thing.

 

Coen Themes

Expectations were high when Burn After Reading arrived at theatres. Perhaps No Country For Old Men had raised the bar a little too high; compared to that movie, Burn After Reading appears to be a breezier affair. Where the Coen's previous thrillers subverted genres (The Big Lebowski turned Chandleresque hardboiled fiction on it's head; The Man Who Wasn't There celebrated the works of James M. Cain), Burn After Reading tips a nod to espionage cinema.

Carter Burwell's excellent score evokes all the tension of a heavyweight thriller, puncuating exterior scenes shot through a voyeuristic lens as if this were a Cold War drama. The fun here is the banality of it all - there is no spy element, only the fumblings of idiocy. As with many other Coen films, this is an examination of the stupidity of people, of best-laid plans spectacularly failing.

And then there's the violence. When it happens, it happens suddenly, shockingly; scenes that start out as almost slapstick quickly turn into ugly, brutal aggression.

Summing Up

A DVD release of a movie like Burn After Reading allows us some distance from the expectations prior to a theatrical release. This certainly isn't the disaster some reviewers would have us think - OK, so it isn't as funny as Lebowski, nor as meticulous as The Man Who Wasn't There. It lacks the wonderful cinematography of Roger Deakins, who had become something of a fixture to previous Coen projects.

But Burn After Reading isn't trying that hard. It's a suburban tale, the focus turned onto the players rather than the setting. It's certainly less challenging than previous efforts - but that's no bad thing. It isn't a 'light' movie, though - the final scenes are pitch black and as cynical as anything else the brothers have offered up before.

Alien (1979) - Classic Movie Review

What Makes Ridley Scott's Seminal Sci-Fi Movie So Enduring?

Ridley Scott's 1979 masterpiece has rightfully assured it's place as not only a genre classic, but also as a key movie in cinema history.

A film that rewards on countless viewings, Alien stands apart from many SF movies thanks to careful, meticulous set-design and improv-based performances by the seven principals. Unlike other SF releases of the time, Alien looks like it could've been shot in any post-60s decade.

Sure, this is deep space in a distant future where a now insignificant 'earth' is spelled in lower-case, but the banter we hear between the crew of deep-space tug the Nostromo concerns the drudgery of everyday life, thankless toil, the divide between the white and the blue collars.

Sigourney Weaver's Breakthrough Role

Gender roles are blurred; a then-unknown Sigourney Weaver plays the iconic Ripley, a character who will go on to be something of a feminist icon, but for now is Warrant Officer for the nameless corporation employing the crew, stuck amidst alpha-male posturing between the ships captain (Tom Skerritt), Chief Engineer (Yaphet Kotto), Science Officer (Ian Holm) and Navigator (John Hurt). Added to the mix are Veronica Cartwright and Harry Dean Stanton as lower-rung employees, ducking from quarrels but quietly bemoaning their lot when given an opportunity.

The plot doesn't deviate from Dan O'Bannon's initial screenplay, tentatively entitled 'Star Beast', first intended as a cheapo exploitation flick. A distress beacon wakes the crew from hyper-sleep, interrupting the journey home. Company directives dictate investigation; a fossilised wreck on a hostile planetoid surface is explored, where a nest of alien eggs is discovered. A crewman is attacked by a parasitic organism, attaching to his face, inducing a coma-like state.

When the exploration party return, the crew learn the distress signal was really a warning to avoid the crash site. The casualty is taken to sickbay; in no time, the parasite dies and falls off, leaving the victim in (apparently) good health. Not for long.

The Beast is Born

In perhaps the most famous scene, the embryo - embedded in the crewman's stomach - violently emerges, killing him in the process. The thing flees and the chase is on as the remaining crew search for the intruder, now a rapidly evolving monstrosity. One by one, they fall prey to it's insatiable appetite. A clever twist (it has acid for blood) means it can't be shot, or the hull will be compromised, leaving a tiger-by-the-tail scenario. As the crew dwindles, the odds stack up against the survivors...

Much has been written about HR Giger's hugely influential alien design - a heady mix of organic, phallic imagery, creating something uniquely, psychologically disturbing. Less is said about Ron Cobb's stunning set designs for the ship interiors - a complex, grubby environment that is utterly credible, providing a jarring contrast to the sleek curves of the derelict ship containing those creepy eggs.

Ridley Scott's masterful direction pulls these elements together, adding many layers of subtext: the parental tones of the ship's computer (tellingly called Mother) wakes the crew from incubated sleep, dressed in diapers; it forbids access to information that could save their lives, then is the target of Weaver's petulant outbursts as she rebels against it. Themes of suffocation and abandonment further reinforce some deeply Freudian concepts, making for a wholly unnerving experience.

Many sequels followed, best of which is Aliens (1986). None come close to the original in terms of sheer terror. It's telling that, thirty years on, Alien holds up against any other in the genre.

Sunset Blvd. (1950): Billy Wilder's All-Time Classic Explored

As a caustic, cynical take on Hollywood and the nature of fame, Billy Wilder's 1950 classic is perhaps the definitive movie about the studio system of that era, shot in a distinctive, neo-gothic Film Noir style. From the first frame, we are presented with an unconventional story, narrated by an already slain man, seen from beneath the waters of a pool; his unblinking, dead gaze assuring us of an inevitable, unhappy outcome.

Sunset Blvd. - The Plot

We soon learn that our narrator is Joe Gillis (William Holden), a washed-up writer who accidentally stumbles across a decaying mansion off Sunset Boulevard, home to former silent era queen, Norma Desmond (Gloria Swanson).

Ducking from creditors, he slips into her drive, then into her house, discovering the two sole inhabitants: Desmond, plus her faithful butler/driver/servant, Max (Erich von Stroheim), surrounded by the dusty trappings of a former life. You see, Norma was a star, once - back before the vulgarity of the talkies ("We didn't need voices. We had faces!" she protests), an already bygone era; hers, a forgotten name.

When Desmond discovers that Joe is a writer, she insists he pens her screenplay, one that will serve as her grand return to cinema and to her adoring public. Joe witnesses the extent of her delusion but regardless, sniffs a buck and agrees to move in and develop her project, soon becoming her gigolo.

Tensions mount as Joe meets Betty (Nancy Olson), a studio staff writer, then begins a relationship with her, enraging Norma's jealousies. Max reveals his earlier status as Desmond's former director and husband, still very much in love with her.

A confrontation ends when a pistol rings out in the night, resulting in Norma's final, grotesque return to some kind of fame. As she prepares to descend the vast staircase one last time to meet the throng of gathered press and flashbulbs, she famously announces: "All right, Mr. DeMille, I'm ready for my close-up."

 

Its All in the Detail

Astonishingly, the images adorning the walls of the mansion are of Swanson in her (younger) glory days, herself a victim of the demise of silent movies. The movie Max screens for Joe was an as-then unreleased film directed by Stroheim himself, starring Swanson. As a director, Stroheim was another refugee of that silent era.

Continuing this theme, we are presented with a wealth of detail: in one scene, Norma has visitors over for a game of cards; the players are from that same bygone era, esteemed company that includes Buster Keaton.

 Buster Keaton in Sunset Blvd.

When Desmond is granted brief audience on the sound stage of a Hollywood studio, Cecil B. DeMille cameos as himself, directing the movie Samson and Delilah. He successfully makes the transition into modernity whilst observing her descent.

Holden himself was out of favour when Sunset Blvd. was greenlit for production, struggling with a drinking habit that would blight his career, mirroring the plight of his character Joe, further galvanising the art-imitating-life undercurrent.

As a film in it's own right, Sunset Blvd. is classic cinema. Closer examination however reveals a wealth of clever complexities, elevating the movie to a masterpiece, perfectly encapsulating the pernicious nature of fame and success.

L.A. Confidential (1997)

 

A Peerless Adaptation of an 'Unfilmable' Novel

Now over a decade old, Curtis Hanson's love-letter to L.A. still stands up as one of the very best examples of a crime movie.

L.A. Confidential was first published as a novel by James Ellroy in 1990. A searing, complex tale of corruption and ambition in 50s Los Angeles, it was well received but deemed unfilmable, given the scope and density of the plot.

If anyone told Curtis Hanson that, he must have ignored them. Together with writer Brian Helgeland, he crafted a screenplay that efficiently condensed Ellroy's story into something workable in Hollywood terms.

The result was a spectacular success, ultimately nominated for nine Oscars (subsequently winning two, one of which rewarded Hanson and Helgeland for their work on the screenplay).

L.A. Confidential - the Plot

The movie opens with a terrific montage of period L.A. - images of seemingly boundless health, wealth and opportunity. The editor of a popular, sleazy tabloid (DannyDeVito) narrates over the visuals; as his words shift from cheery optimism to darkly humourous cynicism, so do the scenes: a flashbulb pops and illicit burlesque, drug busts and slain mobsters snap into view.

We're then introduced to three career cops, apparently unconnected, each with his own Achilles heel: Jack Vincennes (Kevin Spacey), a slick, confident cop caught in the media spotlight in his role as advisor to a TV show; Ed Exley (Guy Pierce), a fresh-faced, ambitious cop, living in the shadow of his father's success; and Bud White, a no-nonsense detective with a dark secret that fuels a pathological desire to avenge women in distress.

It's testament to Hanson's mastery of the material that these protagonists are so deftly drawn in the first ten minutes - everything we need to know about their motivations is clear. Each have their own strategies for survival and success, but it isn't until one fateful Christmas night that their lives are violently thrown together.

'Bloody Christmas'

Tempers spill over following a relaxed night of on-duty drinking in the police precinct, resulting in a mini-riot when officers beat inmates held in the cells. The resultant media uproar has Exley testify against his peers, turning him into a pariah.

But when a vicious multiple killing occurs - dubbed the 'Nite Owl killings' - and Bud White's old partner turns out to be one of the victims, all three cops are drawn into a plot that inexorably leads to endemic corruption within their own department.

 

'Whores - Cut to Look Like Movie Stars'

Matters are further complicated by the activities of Pierce Patchett (David Strathairn), a rich playboy and owner of a very exclusive club specialising in the prostitution of girls who look like Hollywood stars - in some cases, surgically altered to look that way.

And this leads to the movie's only central female role: Lynn Bracken (Kim Basinger, a dead-ringer for Veronica Lake). Fascinatingly, she provides the one single character who understands who she is, why she does what she does. Lynn works for Patchett, leading White's investigations to her door; given his gallantry toward vulnerable women, Bud is inevitably drawn to her.

An Early Conclusion

When police Captain Dudley Smith (James Cromwell) announces a strong lead in the Nite Owl case, a bungled arrest is made, resulting in violent confrontation and several bodies. Still, it looks like there's a nice, easy resolution to the crime.

A strange peace edges into the film, exactly one hour in; a montage of events shows each cop enjoying the glories of success while Kay Starr's 'Wheel of Fortune' plays out in it's entirety. It's a brilliant scene, culminating in a look of doubtful introspection for each of the leads. Everything appears rosy, but all have made concessions and compromises. Life returns to normal - or so it seems.

Not long after, a sudden, audacious twist changes everything. Revealing what that twist is would be to spoil the moment - suffice to say, it's such a jolt that any other film would be in danger of losing it's audience here. A character is revealed in true colours, but at a terrible price.

From that point on, the pace never lets up - and because of what just happened, all bets are off, and no character is safe.

The fallibility of the characters is what makes proceedings so compelling. A blistering final act tests the courage and resolve of the men to the limit.

Summary

The painstaking recreation of L.A. reveals a labour of love for Hanson. Backed by outstanding performances, the movie is pretty much unsurpassed.

The DVD release is packed with a wealth of features, many narrated by Hanson himself and providing a fascinating journey not just through the production history, but the milieu too.

A film that rewards for constant viewing, it should be an essential disc in every collection.

The Glass Key (1942): Classic Movie Review

Examining the Enduring Appeal of a Film Noir Classic

 

Stuart Heisler's adaptation of Dashiell Hammett's novel still influences Hollywood, with a tale of dubious alliances and loyalty.

In The Glass Key, Alan Ladd plays Ed Beaumont, right-hand man to Paul Madvig (Brian Donlevy), a boorish, ambitious player with political aspirations.

When the murder of a reckless playboy casts suspicion on his boss, Ed works to protect Madvig. Matters are further complicated when Madvig falls for the daughter of a wealthy industrialist (Veronica Lake) - especially when Ed falls under the spell of the same girl.

It's a labyrinthine plot, typical of the genre. Given the right running time (the film plays out in under 90 minutes), the script distills Hammett's usual complexities adequately - but it's still hard to follow.
Although, fans of the hardboiled crime tradition will know, that's part of the fun.

Faithful to Hammett's Hardboiled Style

Hammett popularised the kind of story-telling that threw the reader into morally murky waters. In The Glass Key, there aren't any good guys as such - just the corrupt, or the even more corrupt.

This isn't a weighty theme, however - the movie skips along with snappy dialogue and flashy smiles. But unlike other Noir-ish movies - Casablanca, for example (released in the same year), there are no noble heroes; characters are motivated by self-serving agendas, acting to protect their own interests.

The Glass Key is celebrated as one of the earliest pairings between Ladd and Lake, who went on to make a total of seven movies together. Although Lake shares top billing here, she's actually in only a handful of scenes, but when the pair first meet in this, the scene crackles with energy.

Veronica Lake glides gracefully through her brief scenes, her distinctive voice punctuating the dialogue with effortless style. Ladd is perfectly cast, his face seeming to barely mask a sardonic smile.

Brian Donlevy is superb as the oafish yet successful Madvig. Another standout performance comes from Ladd's counterpart: a thug called Jeff, played by William Bendix.

A Standout Action Scene

In perhaps the most startling and memorable scene, Ed is held captive by Jeff and repeatedly beaten. The ferocity and intensity on display is shocking for a film almost seven decades old. Bendix relishes the role, giving a creepy, homo-erotic spin to his psychopathic punishments, wooing Ed with pet names; continually, he refers to his quarry as 'sweetheart' and 'baby'.

Ed's flight from danger is an audacious, physically punishing scene that has him fall three storeys, through a glass roof and onto a dinner table. Unlike action heroes of today, he spends the next few days in hospital and never completely recovers.

Summing Up

Held alongside other movies of the genre, The Glass Key is a slighter example of Film Noir. In terms of plot, however, it was hugely influential: Akira Kurosawa acknowledged it as the chief inspiration for Yojimbo (1961), a film that in turn influenced many subsequent Hollywood movies, most notably A Fistful of Dollars (1964).

These examples are eclipsed by the Coen brothers' Miller's Crossing (1990), which effectively rewrites The Glass Key for a modern audience.

An undisputed classic of the era, The Glass Key is essential viewing for any self-respecting fan of the genre.

Lee Marvin - An Appreciation

Characteristically portrayed as a stoic hardman, Marvin is best remembered as a gruff, no-nonsense tough guy. But beneath that veneer, a big heart was beating.

To those of us who grew up in the seventies, he's probably best remembered for his role as the fearsome Major in The Dirty Dozen (1967), or for his gravelly warbling of 'Wanderin' Star' in the big-budget flop Paint Your Wagon (1969). Younger audiences may not know of him at all.

Which is a great shame, because he was a unique figure in Hollywood - not simply for his performances, but also his intelligence and outspoken views.

Marvin's Early Life

Born in 1924 in New York to working parents, Marvin had an auspicious pedigree, descending from the bloodlines of no less than Thomas Jefferson and George Washington.

But as a youngster, he was often expelled from school, a distracted boy seemingly impervious to punishment. His disruptive nature in the classroom continued, even when the family relocated to Florida; there too, he was thrown out of school. Eventually, he enlisted in the US Marine Corps.

This was to be a turning point for Marvin. Enlisting at the outbreak of World War Two, he soon saw active service, sent into the Pacific Theatre.

Lee Marvin's War Experiences

Dispatched to a series of islands in the Pacific, Marvin experienced the full horror of war. Specialising as a sniper, he was often sent ahead of his platoon in a dingy. These raids culminated in Battle of Saipan , which saw heavy casualties on both sides. The severity of combat was alarming, concluding with the largest Japanese suicidal banzai charge of the war.

Marvin was wounded and almost killed when Japanese fire hit him in the backside, severing his sciatic nerve, ending his military career.

His experiences during war clouded the rest of his life. Marvin's later career as actor would define him as an on-screen tough guy, yet he was an outspoken opponent against screen violence. Having witnessed death first-hand (he tellingly described his own actions as 'murder'), he understood the nature of aggression better than most, voicing little tolerance for the fist-fights seen in John Wayne style of western.

An Unexpected Career 

After returning to New York, Marvin worked as a plumber's mate. In a bizarre twist of fate, he discovered a love for theatre whilst working a job in a local community hall.

Working hard to study the craft, Marvin soon progressed from local theatre to Broadway, then on to TV roles, catching the eye as a heavy. This would lead to significant roles in The Wild One (1953, opposite Brando) and The Big Heat (1953).

By 1965, Marvin became an international star, thanks to his double role as gun-slinging brothers in Cat Ballou, earning him an Oscar.

Big Screen Success

Interestingly, Marvin turned down the role of Colonel Douglas Mortimer in For a Few Dollars More (1965), the second in Clint Eastwood's iconic 'spaghetti western' trilogy directed by Sergio Leone, in favour of Cat Ballou - but would go on to star with Eastwood in Paint Your Wagon. He took that role over the lead offered in Sam Peckinpah's The Wild Bunch (1969) - but this turned out to be a less wise decision.

Prior to Paint Your Wagon, Marvin arguably delivered some of his best work: as Major Reisman in The Dirty Dozen, as Walker in Point Blank (1967), and as the un-named pilot in Hell in the Pacific (1968).
By then, Marvin had become quite selective about the projects he would appear in. Once his status was established, he seemed to settle for less, declining many roles - perhaps most notably, that of General George Patton in Patton (1970) - a project he felt glorified war.

His strong anti-war feelings were best expressed in the role he chose in Sam Fuller's The Big Red One (1980), a visceral examination of the European Theatre through the eyes of American servicemen.

Lee Marvin - A Private Man with Public Views

A supporter of liberal democrats, Marvin was an early outspoken advocate for gay rights - his 1969 interview with Playboy magazine made his feelings on the subject clear, marking him as perhaps the first Hollywood star to publicly voice an opinion on this issue.

He was father to one son and three daughters with is first wife, Elizabeth Ebeling, whom he divorced in 1967. Marvin had a long-term relationship with Michelle Triola, ending in a landmark 'palimony' case that would grant future unmarried partners custodial rights (although it should be noted that Triola's attempts were actually unsuccessful).

Finally, he was married to Pamela Marvin (nee Feeley) and remained so until his death in 1987, following a sudden heart attack.

Lee Marvin was a unique force in cinema - a prematurely white mane of hair suggesting a man older than his years, he portrayed violent men obeying a certain code, and usually paying the price for it. Demonstrating a responsibility toward his performance in these roles, he sums it up himself when compared to Humphrey Bogart:

"When I hear our names linked, I feel almost a little embarrassed. Bogart was somebody and I'm somebody else. The only real parallel is that he started out pretty much as I did, playing bad guys and heels. As audiences warmed to him, he metamorphosed into a good-bad guy and finally became all good. The same thing seems to be happening to me - God forbid."

It's hard to know what kind of projects would suit a man like Lee Marvin in this current period of cinema. In an age where the target audience is ever younger, perhaps we're unlikely to see his kind again.

All the more reason to celebrate the legacy he left us with.

(Originally written for/published by Suite101.com)

Point Blank (1967) - Classic Film Review

John Boorman's Hypnotic Neo-Noir Rewards for Repeated Viewings

From the outset, Point Blank makes it clear that this isn't going to be a conventional crime movie.

Double-crossed by brother-in-arms Mal (John Vernon), Walker (Lee Marvin) is shot twice in the chest. As he falls against the decaying walls of a prison cell, recent events flash before his eyes.

They were hiding out on Alcatraz, the abandoned prison complex off the coast of San Fransisco. Mal's plan to audaciously steal laundered money from a covert drop on the island looks simple enough, until Mal gets trigger-happy and kills the goons instead of simply knocking them out.

Mal needs the money to pay off a debt to the mob. Only, once he gets to count the spoils, he finds it short and decides to keep Walker's share. So, in front of Walker's wife - also present at the caper - he shoots Walker, leaving him for dead. With Walker out of the way, Mal gets to take the whole pie.

Memories begin to overlap in Walker's dying mind. He falls against the wall, just as before - a sequence that will repeat several times.

Point Blank - The Main Plot

A year or two later, a tourist boat circles the penal isle. A tour guide gives a detailed account of the prison, including descriptions of escape attempts, back when the facility was in use. None of the escaped convicts were ever found, she says - such is the nature of the perilous waters surrounding the island, nobody was considered to survive; those that tried fleeing it's confines most likely got washed out to sea.

Against this narration, staccato shots of Walker appear, stumbling out into the murky sea, holding his chest. He wades waist-deep into the cold shoreline. Escape looks impossible. Yet, a cut back to the boat reveals Walker in the present, dressed in a suit, looking out to the island.
So begins Walker's quest for revenge; and as he works his way up the food chain of The Organisation, our perception of what has happened - and what will happen - is constantly challenged.

Fractured Storytelling

The innovative, fractured story presents characters both before and after the shooting at Alcatraz. A dreamlike quality prevails as Walker's memories come flooding back. We learn how his wife, Lynne (Sharon Acker) became drawn initially to him, then to Mal - moving in with him after Walker was left for dead.

Later, her sister Chris (Angie Dickinson) enters the frame and characters begin to blur - in his memories, both he and Mal, Lynne and Chris appear to swap places with each other; Bodies press against each other at different times, either in drunken stupor or in coitus as roles, loves and loyalties continually shift.

Stark cinematography is carefully framed and blocked, showing California as a dusty, bleached landscape of concrete by day, or as bruised violet and magenta brickwork by night.

Shot in Metrocolor, the film cleverly resembles classic Film Noir; skin tones look like they are painted in, with colour drained out of everything else, save for careful colour pops.

When Dickinson is on screen, vibrant canary yellow outfits seem to radiate hues to the rest of the shot: suddenly, Walker is dressed in matching shades, and even a coin-operated telescope mirrors the colour.

Boorman punctuates the film with menace, even in what should be mundane scenes - one of many memorable shots has Walker marching down a long corridor, his footfalls striking like a metronome. As his flashbacks increase (sometimes, these seem to predict events), his steps echo like pistol shots.

One by one, Walker encounters the soldiers of The Organisation. Serendipity intervenes at several stages so that when bodies begin to fall, Walker is never the one with blood on his hands. He seems to witness events rather than influence them, an observer looking in. If Walker orchestrates the just desserts of his opponents, he is merely a guiding force.

A Challenging Finale (Contains Spoilers)

A tense finale places Walker in the exact location where events began. And yet, in the final shot of the movie (a pan up and across the bay), we observe Alcatraz on the horizon - suggesting events aren't what they seem at all.

The challenge then for the audience is to unravel what they've just seen. Did Walker ever leave Alcatraz in the first place? Is he some kind of avenging angel? Were the encounters all part of a dying man's fantasy?

Walker's only motivation seems to be to collect his share of the loot. So when it is finally laid in front of him, he doesn't take it. Just why he can't isn't made clear - but perhaps the offer of it is closure enough, an honour amongst thieves, the matter now laid to rest.

Summing Up

Point Blank was incredibly innovative, inspiring several other successful films to explore similar territory - most notably Clint Eastwood's High Plains Drifter (1973), as well as Mike Hodges' Get Carter (1971).

Marvin is at the peak of his game here, delivering a performance that reveals some tenderness amongst all the hard-boiled stuff. One astonishing scene has Angie Dickinson literally attack him with repeated blows across the face and chest; he stands, impassive, like an oak. eventually, she collapses, exhausted. He goes to watch television.

This was Boorman's calling card to America - a Brit director who would go on to team up with Marvin again on Hell in the Pacific (1968), as well as shoot the seminal Deliverance (1972).