Dangerous Game (1987, Stephen Hopkins)

If Dangerous Game were an American movie from the 1980s, Steven Grives’s jerky cop turned psycho killer would undoubtedly be a Vietnam vet. Since Game is Australian, he’s not. Instead, with no explanation of mental trauma in his past given, he’s just from Ireland. That’s it. Nutso cop is an Irish immigrant to Australia. Some character development might have helped, but really… not much.

The movie’s strengths are Grives and director Stephen Hopkins. Grives makes the character occasionally sympathetic, which gives Game the illusion of a deeper level. Hopkins–except the climax–does a great job directing. The premise lends itself very well to a low budget movie–psycho hunts college students trapped in a department store. The setting gives Hopkins the opportunity to shoot in expansive enclosed spaces and he does these wonderful crane shots, teasing at how great he does when he gets outside. And there’s a beautiful roof sequence. Also impressive, and the only time he gets any real emotive symbolism out of his college-age cast, is the conclusion. There are some quick flashbacks to their terrifying night, but it works quite well in the end, even if the already overbearing music gets to be way too much.

The rest of the cast is unimpressive, Kathryn Walker the worst, John Polson probably the best. Leading man Miles Buchanan is, in his best scenes, mediocre. The script’s somewhat inventive once they’re trapped, but the setup manages to make Buchanan sympathetic (because Grives, pre-breakdown is harassing him), even with some trite, hackneyed scenes.

As a slasher movie action mix, Dangerous Game is fairly successful. It just misses raising itself to a higher level with the lame ending, which cuts off way too soon (especially given the lengthy introduction to the cast and some never to pay off foreshadowing scenes in the first act). I mean, it’s at least impressive enough I never got around to the observation for a big department store, all the scenes take place on two floors and only one of them gets destroyed in the action–as what Hopkins does with his limited budget is fantastic.

1/4

CREDITS

Directed by Stephen Hopkins; screenplay by Peter West, based on a script by Michael Ralph, Hopkins and John Ezrine; director of photography, Peter Levy; edited by Tim Wellburn; music by Les Gock and Steve Ball; production designer, Igor Nay; produced by Judith West and Basil Appleby; released by Quantum Films.

Starring Miles Buchanan (David), Marcus Graham (Jack), Steven Grives (Murphy), Kathryn Walker (Kathryn), Sandie Lillingston (Ziggy) and John Polson (Tony).


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The Gingerbread Man (1998, Robert Altman)

Somehow Altman lets The Gingerbread Man get away from him. Never the direction, which holds up until the end–and seeing Robert Altman direct a fight scene is something to behold–but the plotting. The film starts high, thanks to the compelling plot and the performances, but then the plot gets more and more… not convoluted, but desensitizing. Once Kenneth Branagh’s kids are in danger, it’s clear there’s nothing special about the plot, since it’s such a genre standard. The film also loses, around that section, as the storytelling becomes more set piece oriented, the strange texture Gingerbread Man had before. It was clearly, both through style and script, a Robert Altman movie. Branagh, always the protagonist, was not the whole show. Then he becomes the whole show and the movie loses something.

It never regains it either. Even with one nice moment or two, there’s the epical storytelling key turn and then it’s liftoff and it’s Branagh racing to discover the truth, just like every other thriller involving a lawyer who gets involved with a client. At that point, it’s sort of clear the story came from John Grisham. Or maybe I’d just like to think Altman wouldn’t have made a pedestrian conclusion. It’s possible, since it is Altman, he was pandering to see what it was like to pander (Altman’s disinterest in his finished product, good or bad, is always a little stunning).

The acting is, with one and a half exceptions, fantastic. Branagh’s performance (as a Southerner) is excellent. Embeth Davidtz makes a great white trash femme fatale, Daryl Hannah is good as Branagh’s (long suffering) associate. Robert Downey Jr. has a great time in a flashy private investigator role–not spinning Downey off into his own movie is probably Gingerbread‘s greatest tragedy (as is not sticking with him as much as possible). Even Tom Berenger is good in a small part. The two exceptions? Well, the half is Robert Duvall, who does his crazy thing again here. Duvall looks the part and I suppose he’s fine, but it’s a lame casting choice and a poorly written character. Then there’s Famke Janssen, who’s less convincing as a parent than as a Southern belle (her accent is less convincing than Marge Simpson as Blanche). Luckily, Branagh is frequently around to save Janssen’s scenes.

The Gingerbread Man is a fine filmmaking exercise from Altman, has some great acting, and has some great cinematography. But its production quality is not matched by the rote plot. Altman, had he taken the film at all seriously, could have done a lot more with it.

2.5/4★★½

CREDITS

Directed by Robert Altman; written by Clyde Hayes, based on an original story by John Grisham; director of photography, Gu Changwei; edited by Geraldine Peroni; music by Mark Isham; production designer, Stephen Altman; produced by Jeremy Tannenbaum; released by Polygram Filmed Entertainment.

Starring Kenneth Branagh (Rick Magruder), Embeth Davidtz (Mallory Doss), Robert Downey Jr. (Clyde Pell), Daryl Hannah (Lois Harlan), Tom Berenger (Pete Randle), Famke Janssen (Leeanne Magruder), Mae Whitman (Libby Magruder), Jesse James (Jeff Magruder) and Robert Duvall (Dixon Doss).


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