Christopher Walken

The Prophecy (1995)

The Prophecy (1995)

(On TV, October 2020) There are a lot of things about The Prophecy that are undercooked, bland, or otherwise disappointing… but it also has Christopher Walken as fallen angel Gabriel, and Viggo Mortensen as Lucifer licking Walken’s face, and a great-looking Virginia Madsen. How can I be mad at all of that? Writer director Gregory Widen handles his angelic civil war narrative in uneven but often high-key fashion, sometimes going for expressive visuals and special effects. It works often enough to raise viewers’ expectation that this is all going to be much better than it is. Instead, the film frequently loses itself in dull material, narrative lulls, not having anyone equal to Walken in an opposing role, and being inconsistent in how it seriously takes the material. (To be clear: this film is fun when it doesn’t take itself seriously, and considerably less fun when it does.) There’s a much better version of The Prophecy locked inside this film, but it was never allowed to get out.

The Anderson Tapes (1971)

The Anderson Tapes (1971)

(On Cable TV, September 2020) At its core, The Anderson Tapes can be summarized as a heist film—during the course of the story, an ex-con recruits a team to plan a large-scale robbery of an upper-class Manhattan apartment adjacent to Central Park. It takes us through the conception, the planning, the execution of the robbery, as well as its bloody aftermath. But as the computer-fond opening credits title font suggests, there’s a whole new wrapping around this noirish kind of plot: The presence of surveillance cameras, TV screens, computers and consumer electronics. Throughout the film (supported by beepeetee-doo computer noises), our protagonists are watched, recorded and itemized by various law enforcement and surveillance outfits. The Anderson Tapes’ big irony, of course, is that none of this surveillance actually works to prevent the robbery—each unit being concentrated on their own purposes, they completely miss the pieces being assembled in front of their eyes. Ultimately, it’s not surveillance that defeats the robbers but a ham radio and the power of concerted citizens half a world away. In the hand of directory Sidney Lumet, this proto-technothriller adapted from the Lawrence Sanders novel also offers plenty of touches that round out a suspense film: laughs, chills, thrills and action are dolled out in careful fashion, with surprisingly strong character work (including a very funny turn by veteran actress Judith Lowry) and a dependably likable turn by Sean Connery as the lead. The other big casting surprise here is a tall but very young-looking Christopher Walken in his first film role. What was a solid film upon release is now greatly enhanced for modern viewers by seeing then-primitive but scary technology being lavished with attention, and well-observed details to make it all credible. In that, The Anderson Tapes is clearly from the same director who later did Dog Day Afternoon and similarly raised a generic premise into something far more interesting.

Natalie Wood: What Remains Behind (2020)

Natalie Wood: What Remains Behind (2020)

(On Cable TV, May 2020) Considering the richness of Natalie Wood’s life (the films, the forty-year-long career, the child star, the beauty, the men she dated, the family, the clashes with the studios, the awards) and the tragic circumstances of her death in 1981, any documentary about her has an embarrassment of material to showcase. Documentarian Laurent Bouzereau chooses a middle path in Natalie Wood: What Remains Behind, trying to strike a balance between the film that her daughter Natasha Gregson Wagner (the film’s defining voice) wanted to see as a celebration of her mother’s life, and the more sensitive discussion of her death, which is what most viewers are interested in. After the rapid-fire overview of her career, the film moves to a climax of sorts when Gregson Wagner interviews her stepfather, Robert Wagner, about what happened on the boat the night Wood died. While Wagner’s responses are emotional, they’re also incomplete and don’t reveal anything new. While clearly designed to exonerate Wagner of any wrongdoing, the film ends up being this semi-hagiographic, semi-regurgitated look at Wood that packages her life and one version of her death into content fit to feed into the streaming maw — but does not bring any new light on the topic. So, Wood fans, keep your expectations in check and take the documentary for what it is—a reminder of a vivacious screen presence gone too soon, a celebration of her less-visible facet as a mother, and a public statement by her family. Considering that of the four people that were on the boat that night, two are dead and the two others are Christopher Walken and Robert Wagner, maybe we’ll eventually get a more satisfactory answer. But then again, maybe not. One thing’s for sure—if you’re looking for a more even-handed approach to Natalie Wood’s life and death, read a book.

Pennies from Heaven (1981)

Pennies from Heaven (1981)

(On Cable TV, March 2020) There are times when I want to take a position against a film not necessarily because it’s terribly made or bad at what it tries to do, but as a statement against its very intent. I get that not everyone likes musicals, for instance (what’s wrong with you?), and there are several valid statements to be made against the way the 1930s, mired as they were in depression-era economics, still produced some exceptionally escapist entertainment that scrupulously avoided mentioning the ongoing crisis. But making a movie with the intention of dismantling 1930s musicals is not a way to get on my good side, and that’s what Pennies from Heaven wants to do. A serious dark-haired Steve Martin stars alongside Bernadette Peters and Christopher Walken, but the film proves to be a waste of all three. Determined to drag viewers through the muck in-between fantasy sequences borrowing liberally from 1930s musicals, this is a film that features economic desperation, prostitution, abortion, murder, rape, and the innocent being hanged in time for the end of the film. As a concept, this is terrible—akin to seeing someone rip up a favourite book, setting fire to a great painting or defecating on something you hold dear. I have to wonder at what they were thinking in greenlighting this project. The only explanation I can find is that this was New Hollywood’s double-fisted parting screw-you to an era they could never hope to match. Oh yes, make no mistake—I utterly despise Pennies from Heaven for having the unearned audacity to criticize something greater than itself. Ironically, the films’ set-pieces are much better than how the entire film wants to make you feel: Three musical numbers (all fantasies) stand out, whether it’s Martin’s terrific tap-dancing, Peters’ slinky classroom fancy or Walken’s dance-strip. That’s what happens when you stop being nihilistic and actually try to do as well as the thing you’re criticizing. Pennies from Heaven, for all of its considerable sins, was a significant box-office bomb, which is something that anyone aware of the film’s intention could have predicted. Unfortunately, it did not contribute to a revival of the movie musical in the 1980s. Which is reason enough to loathe the film even more. Fred Astaire hated the film, and when you annoyed Astaire, you knew you had screwed up.

Heaven’s Gate (1980)

Heaven’s Gate (1980)

(On Cable TV, July 2019) Some films live in infamy no matter their content, and so Heaven’s Gate is usually remembered nowadays as one of the most infamous bombs of all time, a critical and commercial flop so famous that it not only destroyed the career of then-renowned writer-director Michael Cimino, but killed the studio United Artists and is credited with ending the New Hollywood movement, thus altering the history of movies themselves. Whew. Of course, that’s not true: New Hollywood was already on the way out by the time Star Wars opened in theatres three years earlier, United Artists was being mismanaged by its corporate overlords, and Cimino’s reputation as a difficult auteur was going to catch up with him sooner or later. The point being that Heaven’s Gate commercial flop and troubled production history certainly contaminated its critical reception: Like near-contemporary Ishtar, critics piled on the film far beyond its putative lack of qualities. The result, for contemporary moviegoers approaching Heaven’s Gate by way of its reputation, may be a pleasant surprise at the film’s undeniable qualities. Now, let’s be careful: I am not accusing Heaven’s Gate of being a good movie. It’s incredibly indulgent, often boring, exasperating at times and certainly not as good as it could have been given its premise, cast or means. If you’re allergic to the New Hollywood style, with its digressions, long-winded pacing, gratuitous and repetitive scenery shots, then this will not help you. On the other hand… this is clearly a big-budget production (one of the main causes of its reputation) and a lot of it is on the screen, what with a convincing recreation of the American West, elaborately constructed set-pieces and convincing sequences. The cast remains fascinating forty years later (if you’ve ever wanted to see Kris Kristofferson and Christopher Walken go at each other in a fist-fight, then this is the movie for you) and Cimino’s eye as a director, while flawed in terms of pacing and concision, remains a cut above most other directors of the time. Even the flawed quirks of the film (including an interminable sequence with a roller-skating fiddler) are sort of impressive in their own way. I don’t really like Heaven’s Gate and will not try to rehabilitate it, but it’s better than expected and better than what its reputation would suggest.

Brainstorm (1983)

Brainstorm (1983)

(Third Viewing, On Cable TV, July 2019) I recall seeing Brainstorm at least twice during my childhood and teenage years, leaving a lasting impression each time. (But apparently not enough in terms of narrative, because even though I remembered many of the film’s visual high points—ah, those optical tapes! —, much of the finer details and subplots were like brand new this time around). 1983 was a remarkable year for technology-oriented thrillers, and even if Brainstorm earned its way on that year’s roster by uncontrollable means (most of the film was shot in 1981, but production issues following star Natalie Wood’s death delayed its completion and release by two years), it certainly earns a place alongside Wargames, Videodrome, Blue Thunder and even Superman III in musing about the trouble that technology was about to get us into. An analog Virtual Reality thriller, Brainstorm offers a deeply convincing portrait of how revolutionary technology is developed in the lab, only to escape its creators’ control once the technology is perverted by others (either in the vulgar or the ideological sense). Christopher Walken headlines the film as a scientist who develops a way to record and play back subjective experiences, with Natalie Wood as his estranged wife and Louise Fletcher in a great performance as a driven scientist. The retro-technological feel of the film is wonderful, what with its bulky early-eighties laboratory and industrial environments—it’s pure charm for techno-geeks such as myself. But the way Brainstorm develops its ideas is what holds attention, examining in turn all the possibilities offered by the new technology and how it could be used. It ends with a third act that focuses on an extended remote hacking episode, our protagonist moving through physical space in order to stay in virtual space. (The ending reduces everything cosmic to an isolated pay phone, which is the final touch to crown an intensely clever script.)  Director Douglas Trumbull clearly shows his understanding and mastery of special effects, with sequences that still play extremely well today, and a willingness to play with the codes of cinema in order to make story points … most notably by switching between aspect ratios to show people affected by sensory recreation. I liked Brainstorm quite a bit when I was younger, but I think I like I even more today. It’s a great science-fiction film, perhaps a bit forgotten today but still very much fascinating to watch.

Biloxi Blues (1988)

Biloxi Blues (1988)

(Second Viewing, On Cable TV, April 2009) I have a strong nostalgic attachment to Biloxi Blues, and it has a bit more to do with fond memories of watching it (in French) as a teenager at my grandparent’s house. Years later, it turns out I remembered more of it than I would have believed, and yet not enough to make this re-watch uninteresting. Of course, the other part of my nostalgia for the film has to do with the very deliberate attempt by the film at inducing it. It is, after all, an affectionate romanticized memoir of author Neil Simon’s army training experiences at the end of World War II, and the film is dedicated to comforting us with a nice portrait of the time. Despite the drama of a barracks environment, everyone is well-mannered (even the villain isn’t that villainous, even the disagreements aren’t that disagreeable), the fashions are impeccable, the world makes sense and the ending explicitly claims that those were the best years of the author’s life. Compare and contrast this with the near-contemporary Full Metal Jacket for the proof. Matthew Broderick here stars as an intellectual New York writer thrown in the mix of a group of young men not like him, facing down none other than a young and wiry Christopher Walken as his drill sergeant, and many colourful characters at his side. There is a resolute lack of surprises in Biloxi Blues—the drill sergeant will pick on someone and punish the group for them, the prostitute has a heart of gold, the villains get their ironic comeuppance—and yet it’s that lack of surprises that makes the film what it is. Visually, Biloxi Blues isn’t much—the strength of the film, borne out of its theatrical origin, is in dialogue and interpersonal conflict, but it does pull some stops when it needs to: The opening and closing shot have some lovely helicopter shots of a train crossing bridges, and those shot help a lot in establishing the romantic nature of the film even if they probably cost a significant chunk of the film’s total budget. While certainly less overly funny than Simon’s other works, Biloxi Blues is comfort cinema at its purest as far as I’m concerned … but you had to watch it as a teenager to experience the same. The French dialogue is markedly inferior to the pugnacious original, but it does add to my nostalgia factor.

King of New York (1990)

King of New York (1990)

(On Cable TV, January 2019) Anyone wondering if there’s a movie with 1990-vintage Christopher Walken as a kingpin in nighttime New York City can rest easy, because King of New York exists. It may even be a good movie: under the stylish glare of director Abel Ferrara, this is a film chiefly concerned about style over substance, going through familiar plot points with some messy energy. Walken is reliably terrific here, playing a crime lord fresh out of prison with ambitions that may not survive long in the city he’s coming back to. Almost immediately, rival criminals and the police have him in their sight, and it can be difficult to distinguish the illegal tactics between both sides of the law. The protagonist here is painted in a tragic light, a victim of circumstances who “never killed anyone who didn’t deserve it”, seeking redemption yet too noble (or something) to survive in the harsher Manhattan that evolved while he was behind bars. The mythologization of the character living large and indulging in hedonistic excesses may account for much of King of New York’s enduring popularity as a crime classic of its era, but a bit of perspective shows the limits of Ferrara’s approach. The film isn’t as profound as it seems to be, for instance, and the ending drags on far too long after an intermittently interesting plot progression. There’s a lot of posing here and while that may help build the film’s pretension, it falls apart more readily the moment you don’t believe in the style without the substance. Walken has the benefit of being supported by a cast that includes early appearances by many name actors not yet having fully defined personas, including Laurence Fishburne, David Caruso, Steve Buscemi and Wesley Snipes. King of New York is not unpleasant to watch on a pure style and attitude level, but it’s certainly uneven, and can become annoying if you don’t buy into the whole gangsters-as-heroes nonsense.

A View to a Kill (1985)

A View to a Kill (1985)

(Second Viewing, On Blu-ray, November 2018) Roger Moore is the Bond through while I discovered the series, so he’ll always remain my definitive take on the character … but he was clearly far too old to play the role in A View to a Kill. Bond’s tendency to date far younger girls gets overwhelmingly uncomfortable here, especially after the somewhat more mature heroines of the previous films. Various other structural mistakes, such as passing far too much time on the opening penny-ante villain horse-doping scheme rather than his ultimate evil plan, further damage the picture. Still, I still enjoyed quite a bit of the movie. There’s something about the action scenes that feels more modern than previous instalments, and both the chase sequence through Paris and the other in San Francisco feel well-handled. Then there are the antagonists: Christopher Walken is typically indescribable as genetically-engineered villain Max Zorin, his line delivery being much better than the actual lines. Then, of course, there’s Grace Jones: Not a gifted actress, but a spectacular evil Bond Girl more than capable of taking on Bond and make him sweat a little. Goody-two-shoes Tanya Roberts doesn’t compare, and there’s a fantastic lost opportunity here to bring back a recurring KGB agent character. Patrick MacNee shows up in a supporting role as a fellow agent, with some fun banter between him and Bond. Duran Duran’s title song is terrific, and it does underscore the peak-eighties nature of the film. Still, it’s hard to watch the film and not wonder about the wasted occasion of what a younger Bond, a tighter script, and a more daring director could have done with the raw material of the film. Still, as a swan song for Moore in the role, A View to a Kill is not quite bad. There have been far, far worse movies in the franchise and even in Moore’s tenure.

Suicide Kings (1997)

Suicide Kings (1997)

(On TV, March 2017) The real treat in Suicide Kings is watching Christopher Walken as a clever mob boss, kidnapped, amputated, slowly dying but able to turn the tables on his naïve young kidnappers. As a Tarantino-inspired crime thriller with a mixture of darkly amusing dialogue and bloody criminal action, it’s a movie of its time, which is to say a quasi-nostalgic throwback for those who haven’t already seen it. Walken is quite good in a quasi-peak performance. Props also go to Johnny Galecki as a young man who gets far more than he expected, and Denis Leary as a loquacious mob enforcer. Unfortunately, while the story of a kidnapping going awry generally work well enough to keep our interest, the overall result does feel underwhelming given the assets at its disposal. Some of the direction doesn’t quite flow, some plot beats make as much sense as a runaway eighteen-wheeler and the dialogue either works or doesn’t. At its best, Suicide Kings is decent methadone for Tarantino withdrawals. (One of the advantages of rediscovering movies that felt tired in their time is that, sometimes, you do want more of the same years later.) At its worst, however, it’s a tired pastiche without much of the flair, wit or pacing of its inspirations.

The Dead Zone (1983)

The Dead Zone (1983)

(In French, On TV, November 2016) I’m writing this a few days after the close of the 2016 American presidential election, in a haze where I’m not sure what’s real and what isn’t. It’s not necessarily the best time to tackle The Dead Zone, or maybe exactly the right time. Here, an unassuming teacher gains the power to foretell the future and see the past, leading to a complicated life and terrifying visions of what would happen if a local loon became president. Best time or worst time? I’ll tell you in four years. Until then, there’s an impossibly young Christopher Walken’s strangely compelling performance to admire and Martin Sheen as an unhinged politician that contrasts with his latter President Barlett. I’ve read the Stephen King novel too long ago to be specific about the details, but The Dead Zone seems to play loose with the details of the original story, which is not necessarily a bad thing. While writer/director David Cronenberg’s film can hit a few rough patches at times, with ambitions exceeding the means at its disposal, The Dead Zone remains engrossing throughout … and suddenly seems like a newly relevant film at a time when we’re grasping at any attempt to predict the future.

The Deer Hunter (1976)

The Deer Hunter (1976)

(Second viewing, On Cable TV, October 2016) I saw The Deer Hunter decades ago, but couldn’t remember much other than the Russian roulette sequences. Watching it again reminded me why. As much as there’s a lot to like in the story of blue-collar workers being irremediably damaged by their Vietnam experience, the film is just too long and meandering to be as effective as it could be. The interminable wedding sequence springs to mind as the worst culprit here (boo, director Michael Cimino, boo) although there’s enough fluff elsewhere in the film to make the running time balloon even higher. At least the film is blessed with a few terrific performance, the best being a very young Robert de Niro as a quiet hunter, an equally young Christopher Walken as the one who goes crazy, and Meryl Streep as the object of their affection. Great sequences also fill the movie, but the connective material between them kills much of the film’s urgency, and takes away from the relatively straightforward plotting. The Deer Hunter’s then-daring portrait of soldiers as real people without glorifying war heroics doesn’t come across as clearly now, given the steps taken to humanize warriors in later movies. A classic for a good reason, The Deer Hunter is not a bad piece of work—although its emotional impact is bound to vary widely.

Mousehunt (1997)

Mousehunt (1997)

(In French, On DVD, April 2016) There’s been a glut of kids movies with CGI animal characters lately, but an early (and enjoyable) prototype of the form can be found in 1997’s Mousehunt, in which an exceptionally intelligent mouse goes to war against two brothers trying to renovate an old house. While the film does feature a handful of CGI creatures (usually easy to spot), most of the mouse scenes are shot using real trained mice, and the result, in all of its limitations, is surprisingly enjoyable. It helps that Mousehunt features some real good physical comedy, and earns a number of honest laughs along the way. Nathan Lane and Lee Evans are fine as the brothers battling against insolvency and a smarter-than-they-are mouse, but Christopher Walken has a very good small role as an exterminator who finds his match. Still, the star here is director Gore Verbinski’s efforts at orchestrating mayhem as the war between the mouse and the humans escalates to pure chaos. There’s quite a bit of wit to the way the film is put together, balancing entertainment with a darker-than-necessary tone. Much of the film can be seen coming in advance, but there are enough small surprises here and there to keep things interesting and funny. For some reason, Mousehunt doesn’t seem to have endured all that well twenty years later, which is a shame given how it combines humour, action and small furry creatures appealing to kids, while having just enough cleverness and suspense to appeal to adults. (One note, though: the opening cockroach scene is disturbing to young kids. Heed the PG rating, especially given the small much-darker hints in the dialogue.) It’s quite a bit better than you’d expect … or possibly remember.

Stand Up Guys (2012)

Stand Up Guys (2012)

(On Cable TV, July 2013) Getting old isn’t easy, and that goes for actors as much as for criminals.  Stand Up Guys has the merit of addressing both by featuring Al Pacino and Christopher Walken as a pair of aging gangsters trying to figure out the rest of their lives during one particularly event-worthy night.  Pacino’s character is freshly out of prison, while Walken’s character has orders to kill him before the night is over.  What happens next is a blend of good screenwriting, decent directing and capable veteran actors: Stand Up Guys becomes a breezy way to pass an hour and a half, coupled with a few things to say about aging and how people can break free from their past.  Some of the humor is extremely easy (much of the bordello scenes read like wish-fulfillment for older men) but some of the rest feels on-target as a reflection of older-tired characters that can’t wait for the end to come.  After a slow start, Stand Up Guys improves midway through as Alan Alda joins the proceedings for a few faster minutes.  While the episodic structure of the film can’t patch over a few unfortunate narrative choices (such as the avenging sequence), the ending is strong enough to satisfy in a somewhat-predictable fashion.  Fans of Pacino and Walken will get plenty to like, although Walken’s conflicted arc is more compelling than Pacino outright bombast.  While this isn’t a classic-in-the-making, it’s not a waste of time either, and it joins a small “aging superstar thriller” sub-genre alongside now-franchises such as Red and The Expendables.

Seven Psychopaths (2012)

Seven Psychopaths (2012)

(Video on Demand, June 2013) Writer/director Martin McDonagh clearly isn’t happy doing the usual or the expected: With this crime comedy, he plays around with structure, experiments with form, and uses a comic crime thriller to reflect on the place of violence in movies.  Collin Farrell is low-key but effective as a screenwriter who turns to a friend in order to get some inspiration for his next screenplay.  Sam Rockwell is quite a bit flashier as said friend who finds himself creatively inspired, and starts bringing the screenwriter into his own criminal enterprise, where we meet an unusually reflective Christopher Walken.  It quickly leads to a clash between true psychopaths, repentant ones and unexpected ones.  McDonagh’s dialogue is as good as could be expected from a playwright, and his directorial technique feels a bit more natural than in his previous In BrugesSeven Psychopaths takes a turn toward meta-fiction in the third act, as it tries to reconcile the impulses of thrill-seeking viewers with the humanistic instincts of a filmmaker trying to avoid gratuitous violence.  While the result feels a bit more scattered than it should, it’s an unusually intriguing film, and one that has quite a bit more thematic depths than the usual crime thriller.  As a bonus, it’s also quite funny… except when it decides not to be.