Silverado

Silverado (Lawrence Kasdan, 1985) Director Lawrence Kasdan took his big box office successes with Body Heat and The Big Chill and parlayed them into a Big Gamble to revive the western genre with this "all-in" tale (co-written by himself and his brother Mark) of four travelling pilgrims who happen to collide and find enough common ground in skill sets and back-story that they end up resolving each others' business. Why they happen to find each other in all the empty space of the West is a bit of a mystery, but I have a feeling it would have been inevitable as the four of them seem to follow the directions of their own individual moral compasses. Despite their differences, they're going to end up in the same place.

Just like the country. Even though it starts out in the dry wilderness of the West, everything seems to be moving to civilizing and taming the wild, except that things aren't exactly going to plan.

"Nothing wrong with the land. It's just the people," says one of the settlers of Silverado. That settler's brother gets an example of that at the very start of the film: Emmett (Scott Glenn) is asleep in a shack—at least it has a wood-stove—when the door burst opens and guns start firing. A reach for a holster and one guy is dead, but bullet-holes start blasting through the walls, and the roof explodes from rifle-fire. Emmett fires sight-unseen, anticipating the movements and when he finally exits into the sunlight, three men are dead, two horses are on the loose, but one has stayed. That horse will come in handy twice in the movie: once as transport and once as a clue to why someone would want Emmett dead.

Title sequence. While Bruce Broughton's classic score* starts with the first tremulous chords as Emmett exits the shack (in a move not to dissimilar from the opening shot of The Searchers) to reveal a dawn landscape and the music blossoms into full-throated Americana with a chime announcing the title of the movie, Broughton's main theme is presented over shots of Emmett's character travelling with the two horses across various picturesque landscapes, finally reaching a desert, where he spies a prone figure baking in the sun....wearing nothing but long-johns, his legs nonchalantly crossed as if he'd fallen from the sky that way. Emmett takes out his canteen and tentatively offers the sun-roasted character some water. He croaks something unintelligible. Emmett leans closer and we hear the first words from Paden (Kevin Kline): "Pleased to meet you."

They're also the first words spoken in Silverado, and already it sets the pattern for the dialogue that acts as series of laconic, well-chosen ironic words that make up the bulk of the film's banter ranging from austere sentiments that can have hidden depths of meaning and lines that are clever for their brevity and what's left unsaid. Kasdan has written many impressive original scripts and adaptations over his career, since his first optioned script (for The Bodyguard, sold in 1980 but not filmed until 1992), but none is as rich as this collaboration between the two Kasdan brothers.

Over nighttime coffee—Emmett always seems to have coffee—the two men share some history—how Paden got into that predicament (robbed of everything and left for dead by some fellow travelers) and his first summation of his experiences with luck, and Emmett's shack shoot-out ("Aw, I had to get up, anyway" is Emmett's comment). Emmett, it seems, has just been sprung from Leavenworth ("Never been there," says Paden) and he's going to meet up with his brother to reunion with his sister's family.  He asks Paden where he's going, and Paden's reply is practically undecided:

"Where's the pinto going?"

To the nearest outpost, apparently. The two make an odd pair, riding into the fort—the dusty cowboy and the guy in his skivvies. Emmett flips Paden a coin to buy some clothes to make himself presentable "I'm good for it," he says, and absent-mindedly tips the memory of a hat at a shocked mother and daughter. He may not be needing that coin. Across the way, he recognizes his horse...and his pants...and his shirt...boots...gun-belt and guns. The guys getting ready to mount up, so Paden runs into a general store, grabs a gun, but is stopped by the proprietor—that gun doesn't equal that coin. "Well, what can I get for this?" says Paden in a hurry.

Not much. The gun he gets is falling apart, the cylinder falling out of it, plus a box of cartridges more destined for dirt than defense, given his firearm. He has just enough time to hastily assemble the pistol, load a couple of shots, while the guy who's second hand Paden is riding down on him, shooting from horseback—one shot takes out the business-end of his long-johns and he takes a studied aim and fires the guy right off his (Paden's) mount.

You don't shoot a guy in the middle of the street without attracting attention and the local constabulary has questions and they're not buying a bum's story about getting robbed "Can't you see this horse loves me?" The Cavalry Sergeant (Sheb Wooley, he of The Wilhelm Scream) isn't impressed. "I had a gal do that to me, didn't make her my wife..." But, Paden's name is on the inside of the saddle he says and when he's asked for clarification, a voice in the crowd speaks up "P-A-D-E-N"

That's what the saddle says, all right, just like the man says. The man is Cobb (Brian Dennehy) and he and Paden have history. "Where's the dog?" is practically the first thing he asks him. It goes unanswered. In Silverado, some things are best left unsaid, but you will find out about them...eventually, and if you're not in too much a hurry.

Despite the shared past and Paden's recent change of fortunes (or maybe because of them) Cobb offers him a job working with him again. "I've given that up..." Paden says evasively. "So have I," replies Cobb. "I have a legitimate job now." The two commiserate just long enough for one of the men that Cobb HAS hired to be released from the stockade. It's Tyree (Jeff Fahey), who also knows Paden...only too well. "Where's the dog?" he sneers as he rides past him.

Emmett and Paden (with his clothes hanging back on him, again, but still missing his hat) make their way to the town of Turley: Emmett's going to "meet a guy on the way to Silverado." Paden rides along once he finds out there's a saloon and women there. 

And breakfast. They're on their way to eat when they're mistaken for a couple of trail-hands supposed to lead a wagon-train to the town of Silverado. When the two actually show up, they eye the hands suspiciously when they actually don't count their pre-job half of their wages. Odd.

At breakfast, a tall, dark, dusty stranger named Mal (Danny Glover) walks in and asks for a drink of whiskey and a bed (he's been without either for ten days). He's served, but the place's owner comes out and gets ugly and demands the stranger leave, which he doesn't. That's when three rough types decide to interfere and the stranger makes quick work of them and is only interrupted by the Turley Sheriff Langston (John Cleese) with a Pynton-esque "What's all this, then?" Langston advises Mal that he is not welcome in Turley, as it is his job to keep the peace. "That ain't right," says Mal, but his only defiance is to take a long pull from his whiskey, satisfied.

Langston, charged with keeping the Turley peace, sits down with the other two strangers, Emmett and Paden, and asks their business ("We'd like to stay," says Paden meekly). Emmett inquires about the man he's looking for—"about my size, full of juice, wears a fancy two-gun rig." "I know where that gentleman is..." says Langston.

Next stop: jail, where Emmett's brother, Jake (Kevin Costner) is delighted to see him. But, there's an issue—Jake is in jail for, in his view, "kissing a girl." But that act resulted in unpleasantness escalating to Jake killing a man...for which he is scheduled to be hung the following dawn. Emmett opines that this will certainly disappoint their sister, and he and Paden leave the jail. On their way to the local saloon, Emmett says regretfully he'll have to spring Jake, and Paden tells him he can't be any part of that.

He's spoken too soon. Upon entering the saloon, he recognizes a familiar sight—his hat, on a particularly surly gambler, who, when challenged, briefly stands to draw and quickly sits down again, dead from a shot by Paden.

He does get his hat, but also a night in the pokey, at the very least. "It was self-defense!" he says lamely as the door swings shut and locks with a clang. "That what I said!" says his new cell-mate, Jake.

True to form, there is a jail-break made, despite previous protestations, an inside job between the men sharing the cell, and Emmett who has created a distraction by burning down Jake's intended gallows and been standing by the now-three horses to make their escape. They are pursued by a hurriedly pulled-together posse led by Sheriff Langston, but they are stopped in their tracks by some welcome interference from the banished Mal and his Henry rifle.

"Now, I don't want to kill you, and you don't want to be dead..."

And as, the four have mutual interests in the direction of the town of Silverado, they ride together and director Kasdan and composer Broughton make a big show of their side-by-side cantering as a unit, galloping across a magic-houred vista. It's mean to be a "Moment," showing solidarity and unification of purpose as four strangers become one, for a moment, galumphing to a common destination, even though, in their minds, anyway, heading for different destinies.

But, I've always found it amusing—one of those moments where Silverado invokes the overblown melodrama of the "horse-opera" days of the western, edging up to the fence of "camp," but not quite crossing over. The four guys are just too precise of marksmen, always have that "just-so" reply, despite some flecks of shadow seem to be compelled to be on the side of virtue...as when they come across that wagon train again, and volunteer to help recover the party's "stake" after it's been stolen by those very trusting trail-hands they'd encountered earlier. All four are all too willing to risk life and limb in a well-coordinated intervention for a bunch of strangers. Of course, they're the good guys.

That moment of equine synchronicity is always a matter of amusement to me—but not derisively, mind you—not only because it's a bit overblown, accompanied as it is with Broughton's tripletting trumpets, but also because it's just amusing for me to see these four New York Method trained actors riding four abreast like natural cowboys. They carry it off, but it still brings a smile to my face every time.

"After a while, I won't be so pretty. But, this land will be."

It's emblematic of a generally quirky, but nonetheless scrupulous casting that also includes Dennehy's Cobb, Cleese's Sheriff "not from these parts", Jeff Goldblum's snaky gambler (named "Slick"), Roseanna Arquette's prairie flower love-interest, and especially the character of Stella, as portrayed by 4' 9" Linda Hunt ("The world is what you make of it, friend. If it don't fit, you make alterations.")—none would be found at the top of the 8x10 stack as obvious choices for their characters, but there's something about their heft—or lack of it—that immediately communicates a contrast in their interactions that allows the realization of their principled places in the universe to an audience far beyond what the sometimes circumspect dialogue insinuates.

"Welcome to Heaven..."

That goes for The Big Four, too. As the story progresses, fortunes rise and fall, loyalties are tested—sometimes to their limits—but that shot of the four riding astride stays in the mind throughout the movie. You can't imagine these four hombre's of differing, but no less expert skills, going against each other, despite how each one handles (or man-handles) a conflict. But, you can imagine that they make a formidable team, each acting separately, but with similar intentions, choosing their battles and and taking care of them the best way they know how.

Take, for example, the big ending action-piece in the town of Silverado, where, once and for all, personal goals having been met, they take on the last remaining bad guys who have insinuated themselves into the affairs of the town, in a four-fronted military action, each to their own fashion (familiar ones to those folks who have seen a lot of Westerns): Jake goes in loud and flashy;

Mal goes personal with some close-order street-fighting.

Emmett goes street to street, using the whole town as a back-drop, a defense and a weapon;

and Paden—he gets the old-fashioned mano-a-mano gun-down.

Despite their different methods, personalities, and their personal battles, they are still bonded together as a unit as they approach the town of Silverado, where their stories and challenges center on family, loyalty, and their repercussions.

No matter what movie associated with Kasdan I've seen—and I've seen just about everything including the recent standalone Solo (written by Kasdan and his son and directed by Ron Howard)—the strongest, most fully realized, and least dog-eared movie he's made is Silverado (Body Heat comes in a close second). It's almost too perfect, with the dialogue pointed and full of call-backs and reflections ("Didn't have much choice," "Bad luck" "That ain't right..." "Sounds good...") and a sureness of direction that's direct, not too fancy, but does take advantage of the film's widescreen field.

And it is just fun, with nice touches of malice to raise the stakes and make it a bit less larky—to spoil the mood and make you root for the good guys to win. It's an entertainment machine, with heroes who are too competent to fail and rarely miss their mark, with either bullets or words, and all the actors—all of them—are enjoying the ride, and that's infectious.

Silverado feels like family.

*

Solo: A Star Wars Story

What a Piece of Junk!
or
Too Many Crooks Spoil the Plot

As a witness to the fan-meltdowns that occurred after The Last Jedi, one would think that one would be quite capable of living up to the expectations of adhering to one's own philosophy; in my case, it is "don't go into a movie with expectations." That path leads to the fan-tantrum.

But, unfortunately, I did. I went in to Solo: A Star Wars Story besotted with the fan-speculation: "What if 'Chewie' is the smart one of the two?" I've managed to convince myself that he is in the couple years since I first heard the idea and just has confidence issues.

But, the name of the movie is Solo, he's a fan-favorite and the movie is directed (or re-directed should be the proper term, after Lego Movie directors Phil Lord and Christopher Miller were sacked over "creative differences") by Ron Howard, who has made a career out of making movies that are exactly what you think they will be going in. 

"Opie" the director doesn't surprise.

Which is why his last Lucasfilm project—Willow, way back in 1998*, done after his movie Gung Ho tanked and before he revived his career with Parenthood—was such an underwhelming dud of a film. I mean, let's face it, Howard is an artist who paints by numbers. He keeps things in focus, follows the shot-lists, doesn't go over-budget, "plays well with others" and is a dependable work-man with a good temperament. But, as a filmmaker, he's no "visionary." He's a general who holds the line but doesn't win the war.

Reportedly, in the creative tumult, he ended up shooting 80% of Solo, so...this one's on him. And the result is that I'd kinda liked to have seen what Lord and Miller were making of the film, because even if wrong, it might, at least, have been interesting.

Because Solo is the first "Star Wars" film I didn't like...or even admire for its ambitions, such as they are. Even though I have no "Han Solo movie I want to make," I can see why fans get upset when things "go South"—not that I've seen that happen, having avoided "The Holiday Special," "The Ewoks" TV movies and the entirety of the "Star Wars" animated series that give the characters such large Easter-Island-carved heads. This is one where there doesn't seem to be anything "Star Wars" about it and just goes through the motions.

"Star Wars" means something to different people, of course (with a bottom-line of competence, which also means different things to different people). But, this is the first really incompetent "Star Wars" film I've seen. And this one is incompetent from the git-go. Han Solo is the not the best character to make a movie of (as I'll get into later). Oh, he's beloved, but that's pretty much because of the first movie where he displayed some change-of-heart from his scoundrel days and found...dare we say it...redemption. Here, he's just a scoundrel. And not a very smart one. And he has no idea what he doesn't know. So, throughout the movie we get to see him stumble around a lot and learn a couple of lessons along the way...about how to be a scoundrel. That's not a great idea for a movie, unless your idea of a great film is Butch and Sundance: The Early Days.

So, the movie is basically "wrong," from conception. And the script from Lawrence Kasdan (who should know better) and his son Jon (who's got a screen credit) doesn't improve things one bit. In fact, they imagine a sort of space-spaghetti western where everybody's within a few shades of dark from each other...but nobody distinguishes themselves (certainly not character-wise) as being worth your attention, let alone trust. It's a movie filled with unreliable narrators and, as such, things get a little confusing.

What's really confusing is where it all fits in the Star Wars timeline. One can assume it fits in between Episode III: Revenge of the Sith and Episode VI: A New Hope, but where is a little difficult to pin. Harrison Ford's Han Solo was in the 29-31 age range (Ford was 34 at the time of filming) and Young Han (Alden Ehrenreich) looks to be a young 20's. The film takes us from "The Adventures of Han as a Young Man" to the point where he's going to Tatooine to work for Jabba the Hut. So, how long was he doing that? A few years? We only know about the disastrous last job where he dumped his cargo and had the slug sending bounty hunters after him, but that was about it. He didn't do anything else? Per this movie he didn't do anything really legendary—in fact, the Kessel Run isn't made much of, but, still, even if Han was a low-grade smuggler down the ladder of the profession, what's with the ego? Is he merely deluded? Is Chewie the smart one? It seems this story is there mainly to put a younger guy in the role. It certainly isn't there to broaden the character. So, the conception is ill-conceived and the ambitions for it a bit weak.

So, what's the story? You remember when Obi-Wan Kenobi said of the Tatooine backwater Mos Eisley "you will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy." Well, he obviously never went to Corellia, home of many crime syndicates ("food, medicine, and hyperfuel") as well as young Han (not yet dubbed "Solo") and his lady-love Qi'ra (Emilia Clarke). They're two street kid "scrumrats" "olivered" into the White Worms gang run by Lady Proxima (voiced by Linda Hunt) who have managed to squirrel away some hyper-fuel called coaxima, which they could either turn in to the syndicate or use to get off the planet. They decide on the latter, starting a chase through the back-alleys and passageways pursued by Moloch (voiced by Andrew Jack) and Rebolt (Ian Kenney) in a desperate bid to get to a transport depot. After crashing their speeder, they have to continue on the run, but Qi'ra gets captured, but Han uses the coaxium to bribe his way to become a pilot for the Imperial Fleet (they have to bribe them?). The recruitment asks him what his name is. Just "Han." By itself. He has "no people." The recruiter calls him "Han Solo."** Roll credits.

It's three years later and Han is an Imperial fighter and not loving it. He's been kicked out of the Flight Academy for insubordination and has the innate ability for "stickin' your nose where it don't belong." he's advised by an Imperial, Tobias Beckett (Woody Harrelson), who, with Val (Thandie Newton) and pilot Rio Durant (voiced by Jon Favreau), have less to do with the Empire than they appear. Then, Han (being Han—"Nobody cares," he's told), after voicing his suspicions of the three is disciplined, taken to a prisoner hold with what is called "The Beast," with the clear implication he won't emerge in one piece.

It's at this point that Solo starts becoming such a "call-back" machine that a checklist should be provided in the lobby with every purchase of a large popcorn. Meeting with Chewbacca (Joonas Suotamo)? ✓ Meeting Lando "He has a lot of capes" Calrissian (Donald Glover, who's the best player in the movie)? ✓  The Millenium Falcon?✓  "The Dice?"✓  Bar scene with lots of aliens?✓  Han gets his iconic blaster-pistol?✓  Han shoots first?✓  Chewbacca plays with the hologram board-game?✓ Hyper-space jump?✓  The mentoring by a scruffier older guy whose loyalties are questionable?✓  The passive-aggressive Han/Lando man-hug?✓  Re-meet with Qi'ra only to find she's not the woman he left behind?✓  A variation of the "I love you"/"I know" line?✓ 

Around the time Han dumps his cargo (✓ ), I had checked out. That last one happens fairly early on with a sci-fi variation of a train robbery on a monorail, up high in the mountains while going at a very fast clip, but without much wind resistance impeding their progress.*** Not that the way Howard shoots it gives you any sense of where anybody is, or just how much danger being on such a crazy contraption would pose. There's not an awful lot of detail about how the thing works—heck, nobody comes close to being ground in any gears—and just how bloody precarious the monorail is to evoke any sense of real danger for the people scrabbling along the top of it. Chalk it up to the perils of digital film-making; you can't imagine being crushed by megapixels.

That's one episode. But, the whole thing is built around the idea that there are so many roving gangs around every asteroid that eventually you can't tell one band of pirates from another, not what their loyalties might be. At some point, I stopped caring. So much scattered skull-duggery to so little effect. There is a through-line of a mission, but the goal is rather porous and Han and crew spend most of their time just running away—from everybody—for it to seem worth it or even have a clear goal in mind. After awhile, you're just going from one murkily imagined planet ('the subtitle could have been "Fifty Shades of Gray") to another with no distinct end-game.

New bad guys are brought in right up to the end to challenge our less-than-heroes, but you begin to suspect that the only difference between any of them is that the more powerful ones have merely lasted longer. Everybody has larceny in mind with no moral compass (and the way the thing is so dodgily shot, no compass at all!)

An Imperial Destroyer shows up in a nebular cluster during the Kessel Run.
No, no, really, it's in there.

This is Star Wars? The series with the Good Side and the Bad Side? And you have to make a choice between them? In Solo, there is no choice and the morality of things doesn't much enter into it at all. The series with such tag-lines as "Trust your feelings" and "May the Force be with you," sinks to the level where the most sage advice is "Trust nobody...and you'll never be disappointed."
Swell.

Finally, one must wonder why—except that Solo is a "fan-favorite"—that a solo Han Solo film was made in the first place. The main character arc for Solo had already been filmed in the first Star Wars, where Han turns from doubting scoundrel to turning around and diving out of the sun—a sun—to run defense for Luke in taking out the Death Star. That's the character's pivotal moment—a change in character and function. Before that, Han is just a drifter, talking big and not really living up to his own image of himself. He's a supporting character, a big brother, but less of an influence on Luke than Kenobi or Leia. It's "The Hero with a Thousand Faces," not "The Cynic with a Thousand Faces." Anything before that is preamble and not emblematic. It's just more of the same and not the most interesting aspect of the character at that.

It's a cautionary predictor of the type of shallow thinking that fan-wishes can produce and one hopes that the folks making the decisions at Disney don't heed when there are stray calls for a "Boba Fett" movie (to what end and why?) or the pursuit of a "Darth Maul" series—again, the character's presence (although alluded to as having survived his bisection from The Phantom Menace in "The Clone Wars") had no influence at all in the events of the original trilogy. Why, then, bother, other than appeasement to the voluble fan-base.

As William Goldman was fond of saying "Nobody knows anything" (an example of which is the many studio rejections of Star Wars when George Lucas was first pitching it). Don't entrust it to folks who know less than nothing.

* You don't remember it? Of COURSE you don't. It was a planned trilogy that never got past the first movie.

** Supposedly, it was this scene in the "pitch" to Disney head Bob Iger that prompted him to say "I'm in." Yeah, but, it's not exactly a "binary sunset."

*** Hey, I recently re-watched Michael Crichton's The Great Train Robbery and Sean Connery was getting knocked around when that train was going 35 miles an hour!