SPOILERS.
This genre piece excels. Everything seems to click and work together well. The story isn't very complicated. Three killers -- Billy Bob Thornton or whatever his three names are, Williams, and Beach -- drive from LA to Star City, Arkansas, where two LA detectives (Metzler and Billings) and a local chief of police (Paxton) await them. There are some violent incidents along the way and a final shootout in which people get pretty much what they deserve.
There is one hole in the plot. Towards the end, Paxton is holding Williams captive and expecting a visit from the two unsuspecting murderers. He wants to call for help but Williams says she won't cooperate if he does. When she finally answers the phone and tells the miscreants that everything is kosher, come ahead, Paxton has ten minutes to call his office in Star City and have all his deputies rush out to his aid -- but he doesn't. It's a small point and the pace at this point is so up-tempo that it's overlooked.
I'm describing it as intelligent because Frankin, the director, has handled the material very well. The local color, and local culture, of small-town Arkansas is effectively captured. None of the characters is overdrawn. Nothing is in-your-face obvious. The violence is over quickly and no more gory than necessary. And the violence is not used as a selling point -- not done in slow motion or with multiple squibs exploding everywhere. There are no car chases and no explosions. Instead there are characters that are at least half-way believable as are the interactions between them. The two LA detectives make fun of the hick police chief, laughing at his intention to apply for a job with the LAPD, not knowing that he's overhearing them. They just chuckle at the thought, and Billings says, "Can you imagine him hanging around Parker Center?" The other LA detective, Metzler, has a bland face and unimposing presence (he looks a bit like Fuhrman from the O.J. Simpson case) but he turns in a fine performance. Some of the minor touches are most delicate. Paxton's wife is trying to get Billings to talk her husband out of his fantasies about being a big-city policeman. "You know him," she says, "He watches TV. I read non-fiction." (I read non-fiction. That's good writing. By Bobby Jim Thornton, too.)
In fact, everyone is good, even the usually wooden Paxton. Billy Joe Thornton -- or Clarence Earl Thornton, or Edgar Allan Thornton, or Oliver Wendell Thornton, or whatever his names are -- is outstanding as an impulsive weak killer. The performance is the more impressive if you know what a good-natured, easy-going guy he is off the screen. Beach is just fine as the college-educated guy with an IQ of 150 who never laughs or smiles behind his accountant-type eyeglasses but who slaughters helpless people dispassionately with a knife, as if they were nothing more than trussed-up swine. The only word to describe the sleepy eyed Cynda Williams is yummy. She's first-rate in this film, switching back and forth between black locutions and those one might expect in a white middle-class family in the San Fernando Valley.
Do catch this one if you have the chance.
This genre piece excels. Everything seems to click and work together well. The story isn't very complicated. Three killers -- Billy Bob Thornton or whatever his three names are, Williams, and Beach -- drive from LA to Star City, Arkansas, where two LA detectives (Metzler and Billings) and a local chief of police (Paxton) await them. There are some violent incidents along the way and a final shootout in which people get pretty much what they deserve.
There is one hole in the plot. Towards the end, Paxton is holding Williams captive and expecting a visit from the two unsuspecting murderers. He wants to call for help but Williams says she won't cooperate if he does. When she finally answers the phone and tells the miscreants that everything is kosher, come ahead, Paxton has ten minutes to call his office in Star City and have all his deputies rush out to his aid -- but he doesn't. It's a small point and the pace at this point is so up-tempo that it's overlooked.
I'm describing it as intelligent because Frankin, the director, has handled the material very well. The local color, and local culture, of small-town Arkansas is effectively captured. None of the characters is overdrawn. Nothing is in-your-face obvious. The violence is over quickly and no more gory than necessary. And the violence is not used as a selling point -- not done in slow motion or with multiple squibs exploding everywhere. There are no car chases and no explosions. Instead there are characters that are at least half-way believable as are the interactions between them. The two LA detectives make fun of the hick police chief, laughing at his intention to apply for a job with the LAPD, not knowing that he's overhearing them. They just chuckle at the thought, and Billings says, "Can you imagine him hanging around Parker Center?" The other LA detective, Metzler, has a bland face and unimposing presence (he looks a bit like Fuhrman from the O.J. Simpson case) but he turns in a fine performance. Some of the minor touches are most delicate. Paxton's wife is trying to get Billings to talk her husband out of his fantasies about being a big-city policeman. "You know him," she says, "He watches TV. I read non-fiction." (I read non-fiction. That's good writing. By Bobby Jim Thornton, too.)
In fact, everyone is good, even the usually wooden Paxton. Billy Joe Thornton -- or Clarence Earl Thornton, or Edgar Allan Thornton, or Oliver Wendell Thornton, or whatever his names are -- is outstanding as an impulsive weak killer. The performance is the more impressive if you know what a good-natured, easy-going guy he is off the screen. Beach is just fine as the college-educated guy with an IQ of 150 who never laughs or smiles behind his accountant-type eyeglasses but who slaughters helpless people dispassionately with a knife, as if they were nothing more than trussed-up swine. The only word to describe the sleepy eyed Cynda Williams is yummy. She's first-rate in this film, switching back and forth between black locutions and those one might expect in a white middle-class family in the San Fernando Valley.
Do catch this one if you have the chance.