As with seemingly every other tentpole release to hit the multiplex this summer the action thriller Cowboys & Aliens is based on a comic book – albeit a lesser-known one. It’s directed by Jon Favreau whose previous comic-book adaptations Iron Man and Iron Man 2 proved how much better those films can be when they’re grounded in character. Unfortunately his latest effort is grounded not in character but a hook an alt-history scenario best expressed in the language of the average twelve-year-old: “Like wouldn’t it be awesome if like a bunch of 1870s cowboys had to fight a bunch of crazy aliens with exoskeletons and spaceships and super-advanced weapons?”
Like perhaps. The hook was compelling enough to get someone to pony up a reported $160 million to find out and the result is a film in which the western and science-fiction genres don’t so much blend as violently collide. After the wreckage is cleared both emerge worse for wear.
Daniel Craig stars as Jake Lonergan a stranger who awakens in the New Mexico Territory with a case of amnesia a wound in his side and a strange contraption strapped to his wrist. After dispatching a trio of bandits with Bourne-like efficiency he rides to the nearby town of Absolution where he stumbles on what appears to be an elaborate Western Iconography exhibit presented by the local historical preservation society. There’s the well-meaning town Sheriff Taggart (Keith Carradine) struggling to enforce order amidst lawlessness; the greedy rancher Colonel Dolarhyde (Harrison Ford) who really runs things; his debaucherous cowardly son Percy (Paul Dano); the timid saloonkeeper Doc (Sam Rockwell) who’s going to stand up for himself one of these days; the humble preacher Meacham (Clancy Brown) dispensing homespun spiritual advice; et al.
Jake of course has his own part to play – the fugitive train-robber – as we discover when his face shows up on a wanted poster and a sneering Dolarhyde fingers him for the theft of his gold. The only character who doesn’t quite conform to type is Ella (Olivia Wilde) who as neither a prostitute nor some man’s wife – the traditional female occupations in westerns – immediately arouses suspicion.
Jake is arrested and ordered to stand trial in Federal court but before he can be shipped off a squadron of alien planes appears in the sky besieging Absolution and making off with several of its terrified citizenry. In the course of the melee Jake’s wrist contraption wherever it came from reveals itself to be quite useful in defense against the alien invaders. Thrown by circumstances into an uneasy alliance with Dolarhyde he helps organize a posse to counter the otherworldly threat – and bring back the abductees if possible.
Cowboys & Aliens has many of the ingredients of a solid summer blockbuster but none in sufficient amounts to rate in a summer season crowded with bigger-budget (and better-crafted) spectacle. For a film with five credited screenwriters Cowboys & Aliens’ script is sorely lacking for verve or imagination. And what happened to the Favreau of Iron Man? The playful cheekiness that made those films so much fun is all but absent in this film which takes itself much more seriously than any film called Cowboys & Aliens has a right to. Dude you’ve got men on horses with six-shooters battling laser-powered alien crab people. Lighten up.
Craig certainly looks the part of the western anti-hero – his only rival in the area of rugged handsomeness is Viggo Mortensen – but his character is reduced to little more than an angry glare. And Wilde the poor girl is burdened with loads of clunky exposition. The two show promising glimpses of a romantic spark but their relationship remains woefully underdeveloped. Faring far better is Ford who gets not only the bulk of the film’s choicest lines but also its only touching subplot in which his character’s adopted Indian son played by Adam Beach quietly coaxes the humanity out of the grizzled old man.
Making an earnest cinematic argument for the immortality of the soul and the existence of an afterlife without delving into mushy sentimentality is a difficult task for even the most gifted and “serious” of filmmakers. Oscar-winning director Peter Jackson discovered as much last year when his sappy grandiose adaptation of the ethereal bestseller The Lovely Bones opened to scathing reviews. Critics by and large tend to bristle at movie renderings of what may or may not await them in that Great Arthouse in the Sky.
And yet filmmakers seem determined to keep trying. The latest to make the attempt is Clint Eastwood who throughout his celebrated directorial career has certainly demonstrated a firm grasp of the death part of the equation. His filmography with a few notable exceptions practically revels in it: of his recent oeuvre Invictus is the only work that doesn’t deal with mortality in some significant manner. With his new film Hereafter Eastwood hopes to add immortality to his thematic resume.
The film's narrative centers on three characters each of whom has intimate experience with death and loss. Their stories in true Eastwood fashion can ostensibly be labeled Sad Sadder and Saddest: Marie (Cecile de France) is a French TV news anchor who’s haunted by disturbing flashbacks after she loses consciousness — and briefly her life — during a natural disaster; George (Matt Damon looking credibly schlubby) is a former psychic whose skills as a medium are so potent (the slightest touch from another human being triggers an instant powerful psychic connection a la Rogue from X-Men) they’ve left him isolated and alone; Marcus is a London schoolboy who retreats into a somber shell after losing his twin brother in a tragic car accident (both brothers are played rather impressibly by real-life twins Frankie and George McLaren).
Humanity offers little help to these troubled souls surrounding them with skeptics charlatans users and deadbeats none of whom are particularly helpful with crises of an existential nature. Luckily there are otherworldly options. Peter Morgan's script assumes psychics out-of-body experiences and other such phenomena to be real and legitimate but in a non-denominational Coast-to-Coast AM kind of way. Unlike Jackson’s syrupy CGI-drenched glimpses of the afterlife Eastwood’s visions of the Other Side are vague and eery — dark fuzzy silhouettes of the departed set against a white background. Only Damon’s character George seems capable of drawing meaning from them which is why he’s constantly sought out by grief-stricken folks desperate to make contact with loved ones who’ve recently passed on. He’s John Edward only real (and not a douche).
Marie and Marcus appear destined to find him as well but only as the last stop on wearisome circuitous and often heartbreaking spiritual journeys that together with George’s hapless pursuit of a more temporal connection (psychic ability it turns out can be a wicked cock-blocker) consume the bulk of Hereafter’s running time. We know the three characters’ paths must inevitably intersect but Morgan’s script stubbornly forestalls this eventuality testing our patience for nearly two ponderous and maudlin hours and ultimately building up expectations for a climax Eastwood can’t deliver at least not without sacrificing any hope of credulity.
It should be noted that Hereafter features a handful of genuinely touching moments thanks in great part to the film's tremendous cast. And its finale is refreshingly upbeat. Unfortunately it also feels forced and terribly unsatisfying. Eastwood an established master of all things tragic and forlorn struggles mightily to mount a happy ending. (Which in my opinion is much more challenging than a sad or ambiguous one.) After prompting us to seriously ponder life’s ultimate question Eastwood’s final answer seems to be: Don’t worry about it.
Boy does Ayer have it in for crooked cops. He’s on a one-man crusade to rid Los Angeles of anyone on the job who happens to be on the take. Heck he’s even willing to ferret out aspiring police officers whom he believes would only bring shame to the L.A.P.D. as shown by his directorial debut Harsh Times. Indeed Keanu Reeves’ maverick cop Tom Ludlow is much like Harsh Times’ whacked-out Jim Davis--had he been accepted into the L.A.P.D. and later made detective. Ludlow’s not corrupt but he’s happy to shoot first and then plant evidence to make things look like they were done by the book. And he does it with the blessing of his boss Capt. Jack Wander (Forest Whitaker). Wander’s got Ludlow’s back because he’s got dirt on anyone who’s anyone. But now Ludlow’s ex-partner Terrence Washington (Terry Crew) is babbling to Internal Affairs’ Capt. James Biggs (Hugh Laurie) about all the bad stuff he did with Ludlow. By sheer coincidence Washington’s executed by masked gunmen right before Ludlow’s eyes. Evidence suggests that Washington was selling drugs and that he paid the price for double-crossing some dealers. Ludlow buys into this--at least until he and Det. Paul Diskant (Chris Evans) realize nothing is what it seems. Oh really? Sorry but even after Speed and The Matrix series it’s hard to accept the slacker formerly known as Ted “Theodore” Logan as a badass. As Ludlow Reeves doesn’t come close to capturing Dirty Harry’s spare-no-mercy swagger or conveying Frank Serpico’s unwavering belief in bringing down dirty cops. So Ludlow’s nothing more than your typical booze-filled race-baiting cop who has no qualms about breaking the law to enforce the law. Twenty years ago Reeves would had played young turk Diskant. Now it’s the turn of a student of Reeves’ “Whoa!” School of Acting. To be fair Evans shows some emotional range. The one-two punch of Sunshine and Street Kings indicates Evans is making headway in improving as an actor. He also brings more attitude to the illicit goings-on than Reeves does. Whitaker however may have mistaken Street Kings for a sequel to The Last King of Scotland. He storms through crime scenes gesturing wildly and barking orders with all the imperial pomposity of Idi Amin. At least he’s having fun. Same goes for Laurie whose testy “rat squad” bigwig is merely Dr. Gregory House with a gun and badge. John Corbett and Jay Mohr inexplicably try to pass themselves off as hard-as-nails cops right out of The Shield but fail hilariously. Street Kings--a term describing the cops who consider L.A. their personal fiefdom--is a great disappointment after Harsh Times. Ayer showed great ambition with that grim character study even if it felt at times like a civilian version of Training Day. With Street Kings Ayer and crime novelist James Ellroy--who previously collaborated together on Dark Blue’s script--seem content to rest on their laurels. Ludlow’s investigation takes him where you expect it to take him ensuring the big reveal at the end hardly comes as a shock. The characters never surprise you. If you suspect someone’s corrupt he’s indeed corrupt. And the dialogue? It’s an ear-grating mix of police jargon street drug slang and tough-guy BS. That said Ayer keeps things rolling at a brake-neck pace as he turns L.A. into his own personal war zone. The bullets fly fast and the bodies drop even quicker. He so draws you into this fascinating world that you can’t help root for Ludlow--a man of very little moral fiber--to dispense with all the human garbage who stand between him and the truth. Street Kings affirms that Ayer has his finger on the pulse of L.A.’s mean streets. He knows how the minds of the city’s cops clean and dirty and the gangbangers work. But after Dark Blue Training Day Harsh Times and Street Kings what is there left for Ayer to say about a good cop gone bad?