Only now does it occur to me... THE INDIAN RUNNER (1991)

Only now does it occur to me... that the probability of the THE INDIAN RUNNER existing is so unlikely that I'm not, in fact, sure that it does exist.

Picture, if you will, a movie directed by Hollywood activist Sean Penn, based on a song ("Highway Patrolman") by blue-collar hero Bruce Springsteen, and produced by infamous former White House Chief Strategist and crypto-fascist Steve Bannon. A motley crew, indeed! (Though I kinda doubt Springsteen ever sat down in a room with the other two, perhaps exhausted enough by Penn's middle-of-the-night phone calls.)

So, THE INDIAN RUNNER stars David Morse as a highway patrolman (okay, that is incredibly likely, I'll give you that)

and young Viggo Mortensen as his wild, lawbreaking brother.

I would posit, as many have, that they represent the dueling aspects of Sean Penn's interior struggle/personal contradictions, with David Morse as the Sean Penn who does volunteer work and saves people from hurricanes, and Viggo as the Sean Penn who (allegedly!) tortured Madonna and dangled paparazzi over balconies.

But now for something truly unlikely: Charles Bronson plays their father, in his only theatrical role post-1984 that didn't involve Cannon Films' Menahem Golan.

And wait––what's this?––it's almost like there's something missing... something that belongs between his nose and upper lip...

Indeed, Bronson is missing his signature mustache. Back when Don Siegel tried to get him to shave it for 1977's TELEFON, Bronson's sole reply on the subject was "No mustache, no Bronson." Apparently it was somehow a different matter when Sean Penn called (!?). Perhaps old age had softened his stance, though he certainly grew it back quickly enough for YES, VIRGINIA THERE IS A SANTA CLAUS and THE SEA WOLF. It's also worth noting that this is a role of considerable pathos: a sweet old man from Nebraska who is not and has never been a pocket bazooka-wielding vigilante. (This is also one of the rare post-DEATH WISH roles in which he does not handle a firearm onscreen.)

Furthermore, legendary Oscar-winning character actress Sandy Dennis (WHO'S AFRAID OF VIRGINIA WOOLF?, THE THREE SISTERS, GOD TOLD ME TO, 976-EVIL) plays Bronson's wife. Frankly, it's bizarre to see the man who so beautifully uttered "Chicken's good... I like chicken" playing scene partner to one of the masters of the American stage.


Bronson: not a master of the American stage, but only because they never made KINJITE: FORBIDDEN SUBJECTS––THE MUSICAL!

Also, I must note that this image of Bronson praying before a pile of Wonder Bread and a gravy boat while sandwiched between a cornfed David Morse and a Gerber Baby might just be the whitest tableau ever committed to film:

I'm beginning to comprehend Steve Bannon's interest in the project. Also of note: Viggo's character has Nazi tattoos and hangs a confederate flag in his bedroom...

Next, we have Patricia Arquette as Viggo's pregnant girlfriend, and apparently she is meant to be the doppelgänger of Mia Farrow in ROSEMARY'S BABY.


"Nothing but a mild sedative to calm you down, Rosemary..."


Finally, we have Dennis Hopper as a terrifyingly intense bartender

Okay, so this is extremely likely, too

who leans in real close and whispers things like, "Did you ever wanna kill someone... just out of rage?"

Wow. I mean, look at that. I can't help but feel this must be the (slightly?) fictionalized version of an actual conversation that went down between Sean Penn and Steve Bannon. 

[In any event, you're probably wondering: is it any good? It is––but with a few caveats. It's very much an early '90s attempt to capture the spirit of '70s indie dramas by guys like Bob Rafelson, John Cassavetes, Peter Bogdanovich, and Hal Ashby. It's amped up by post-BLUE VELVET, expressionistic/Lynchian touches, some of which are visually interesting, and some of which are a little too pretentious for their own good. The first half of the movie outweighs the second (for reasons I can't get into without spoiling it), and it's really at its best when Bronson, Dennis, or Hopper are on screen, though Morse and Viggo are certainly in top form as well.]

Only now does it occur to me... THE CROSSING GUARD (1995)

Only now does it occur to me... that in Junta Juleil's proud tradition of presenting awkward dance sequences involving our favorite actors, from Ed Harris in CREEPSHOW to James Remar in RENT-A-COP to Jean-Claude Van Damme in KICKBOXER to Linda Hamilton in CHILDREN OF THE CORN to Michael Moriarty in TROLL to Lorenzo Lamas in BODY ROCK... we can now throw the hat of a new contender to the ring. May I proudly present Robin Wright in Sean Penn's THE CROSSING GUARD (in a scene that exudes 1995 from every pore):

Film Review: THE HURT LOCKER (2009, Kathryn Bigelow)

Stars: 4.8 of 5.
Running Time: 131 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Jeremy Renner, Anthony Mackie, Brian Geraghty, Guy Pearce, Ralph Fiennes, David Morse, Evangeline Lilly, Christian Camargo (DEXTER, K-19: THE WIDOWMAKER).
Tag-line: "You'll know when you're in it."
Best one-liner: "That's a good one. That's spoken like a wild man. That's good."

Kathryn Bigelow has built a career out of making immersive, visceral action films that try to duplicate the experience of the first-person adrenaline rush, whether it be through skydiving (POINT BREAK), watching someone else's memories (STRANGE DAYS), the dangerous thrill of joining up with vampires (NEAR DARK), or a rookie cop's first harrowing day on the job (BLUE STEEL). And because her movies are largely balls-to-the-wall potboilers, she has often found herself critically denigrated as existing only in the shadow of her ex-husband, James Cameron. Well, with THE HURT LOCKER, it appears that Bigelow has made a film that satisfies the arthouse palate and the shoot 'em up enthusiast alike (and one which quite cleverly bridges this gap by never overtly waxing political).

The film focuses on a bomb squad whose entire existence is perpetually a hair's breadth away from instantaneous, explosive, 'internal organs flying through the air' death. The trio of actors who bring them to life are Jeremy Renner (who seems destined for stardom- and is the spitting image of a young Rainer Werner Fassbinder!),

Renner vs....

...young Fassbinder in LOVE IS COLDER THAN DEATH.

Anthony Mackie (THE MANCHURIAN CANDIDATE remake, 8 MILE), and Brian Geraghty (JARHEAD, ART SCHOOL CONFIDENTIAL). Their tangible camaraderie and incredible commitment bestow the narrative with a palpable spine. Renner's character embraces the raw power inherent in not giving a fuck about living or dying (see also: Terence Stamp in THE HIT), and it is a joy (albeit one on tenterhooks) to watch. The celebrity bit parts (Guy Pearce, Ralph Fiennes, David Morse) are notable because Bigelow doesn't give a shit that they're famous. They could deliver a few hilarious lines or they could die without fanfare and Bigelow is not going to kowtow to their fame by lingering. In fact, everything's handled with Jacques Becker-style restraint and attention to detail: the barracks mean boredom, faux-wood paneling, and cheap booze; the field means staring down the scope of a sniper rifle for three hours and taking a much-deserved sip of Capri Sun.

In short, it’s the best bomb disposal movie since THE SMALL BACK ROOM.

Side note: (And the best use of Ministry's music since that Labatt Maximum Ice HIGHLANDER 2 commercial with Michael Ironside back in '93.)

-Sean Gill