Showing posts with label Trish Van Devere. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Trish Van Devere. Show all posts

Tuesday, July 30, 2019

The Last Run (1971)


The Last Run (Richard Fleischer—after John Huston, 1971)
"Father, I have sinned. Lately, I haven't done much of anything. I don't believe much. There's this thing I have to do and I want to do it right. It's the only thing I know. It's for money. But, I would like to do it right. That's all."
Harry Garmes (George C. Scott) is a driver. He used to work for the Outfit in the U.S. and for the past nine years has been living low in self-imposed exile in Portugal. His only child is dead. His wife's run off. He has few companions—his friend, Miguel, with whom he started a fishing business and ended up just selling him the boat; and Monique (Colleen Dewhurst), a prostitute with whom he is involved but not romantically. Both are business ventures. That's all.

If he has a passion, it's for a relic of the past—his vintage 1956 BMW 503 Cabriolet convertible, which Harry has customized with a supercharger—and Harry dotes on it, like a family doctor. In the title sequence—accompanied by a stately romantic theme by Jerry Goldsmith, dominated by cimbalon, strings, and harpsichord—Garmes does some final adjusting, listening, fine-tuning. We don't know it yet, but he's making final preparations for a job. It is his first in nine years, and he wants to make sure it is done right. At least, that he does his job right.
He does a test-run of the Beemer, pushing it to its maximum, and, satisfied, he does a final visit to Miguel and Monique. He leaves her with an envelope of money that he may need when he comes back—if he gets back. If, after a time, he has not retrieved it, the money is hers. Then, packing lightly, and securing a gun under the dash, he takes off for the job. On the way, he makes one last stop.
At a provincial church, he enters and takes a look around. Except for a single "vieja", the place is deserted. Seeing a confessional, he crosses over and kneels and slowly stammers out the speech at the top. Then he gets up. As he walks out, a priest comes out of the vestibule and asks if there's anything he can do for him. Harry realizes there was no one in the confessional, he was just speaking to empty air. "No, I've done what I need to do." He walks out.
His instructions are to drive to a certain spot and wait. He's given a photograph, which he memorizes and burns. He cleans his pistol and takes a long, scenic drive through the Spanish mountains to his rendezvous. He doesn't know what he's waiting for; he has the picture, the place and that's it. It's all he needs to know, except that he'll be driving his passenger to France to another rendezvous. Simple enough. 
It's never that simple. 

When Harry gets to the spot, he witnesses a rather elaborate set-up for a prison-break and his "package" escaping undetected by the guardia or anyone else. It is Paul Rickard (Tony Musante) and Garmes makes quick work of stashing him under the back-seat, throwing him a wig and a change of clothes and then gearing out of there while the authorities are still confused. It is miles before, he lets Rickard see the light of day and peppering him with questions about what he knows (nothing). But, he does find out that Rickard is more of a hired-gun than a safe-cracker, that he has plans beyond just getting to France—like hooking up with his girlfriend, and that he is one irritating, cocky son-of-a-bitch. "The job" just got that much worse.
It just gets "better" and "better." When they get to the hotel that Rickard has specified, they find Claudie Scherrer (Trish Van Devere), who has been waiting for them for two weeks. Garmes is annoyed—she gives the trigger-happy Rickard a gun, while the young tough decides he's in charge constantly needling Garmes by calling him "Uncle" and a "dinosaur." Garmes already feels like a third wheel on this job, and he sees which way it's going.  He decides to give the couple his intended double room, taking the single Claudie had been staying in, but on his way out asks to speak to Rickard privately out in the hall.
He slams Rickard into a wall face-first and puts a choke-hold on him, rasping that he's in charge and he won't be anyone's punch-line. Rickard, mollified for now, sulks back to his room, while Garmes goes up to the girl's room, finding the sink filled with her soaking underthings. 
He dutifully hangs them to dry and gets some fitful sleep. His run is suddenly more complicated and a lot more dangerous—what do his old mob-cronies want Rickard for? He's a hit-man, not a safe-cracker and hit-men are a dime a dozen. Who is on the other side of the trip to France and why do they go to all the trouble for this punk?
It turns out Garmes fears are warranted. Rickard is in jail for assassination and is to be delivered to France for disposal. That's the job. But, having completed his task, Garmes can't help but go beyond the bounds of the job and do a little over-time, getting involved against his better judgment. Why? Claudie may have the answer: "We're his family." And, as irritating as Rickard is, Garmes can't help but feel protective towards Claudie, even though he suspects Rickard is using her to influence him.
Fleischer is adept at using the film's widescreen format to show the
obvious triangulation between Harry, Paul and Claudie. It might have
 been too obvious a visual trick for Huston.
The three turn into a dysfunctional triangle of fugitives, on the lam from the very people Harry is working for, and the longer that they are in his care, he's in danger. So, he finds an alternate way to get them to a sort of safety, against his older, wiser, better judgment.
The tag-line in the film's promotional material is "In the tradition of Hemingway and Bogart," (although Bogart only did one movie based on a Hemingway story—Howard Hawks' To Have and Have Not) and Scott, in an interview in Time Magazine at the time of filming, said he was making the movie because it reminded him of old Bogart movies. Scottish writer Alan Sharp—who also wrote Arthur Penn's Night Moves—may have had that intention (the Garmes confessional scene certainly has the feel of a disjointed Hemingway monologue) and the film feels a bit like the earlier mentioned Hawks movie as well as a similarly-themed film by John Huston, Key Largo. In both, a principled, if shaded, man must make a decision he wants to avoid, as circumstances are forced on him. The Last Run certainly carries that theme, but with much more of Hemingway's existentialism than with a studio-enforced happy ending.
Interestingly, Richard Fleischer wasn't the first director on the project. John Boorman was but left the project (going on to make Deliverance, instead—good move). John Huston took over the project, having worked with Scott twice before—The List of Adrian Messenger and The Bible: In the Beginning—but the two got into loggerheads about script re-writes and the casting of Tina Aumont (daughter of Maria Montez and Jean-Pierre Aumont) as the female lead. Huston left the production quite soon after the start of filming, taking over quickly and efficiently, and working with Ingmar Bergman's director of photography Sven Nykvist.
The film did not make money, and wasn't considered a success, either at the box office or artistically, despite Scott's post-Patton notoriety. He would bounce back the next year with The Hospital (written by Paddy Chayevsky) for which he was again nominated for the Best Actor Oscar—which he again refused to acknowledge.

I recently participated in an episode of the podcast Forgotten Films where I helped discuss this rarely seen troubled Scott film. Hope you give a listen.

Scott and Huston in the early days shooting The Last Run

Saturday, December 29, 2018

The Day of the Dolphin

The Day of the Dolphin (Mike Nichols, 1973) After a series of films in which each one is a bit of an accomplishment in things artistic, cultural and societal (Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, The Graduate, Catch-22, Carnal Knowledge) Mike Nichols lightened up on the weltschmerz--slightly--to present a relatively frothy entertainment, but in a downbeat kind of way. Robert Merle's best-seller was a thick book that delved more into the philosophical and moral issues of teaching dolphins to express themselves in English. But that probably wouldn't do for the movies, so Buck Henry devised a cloak-and-dagger story about operatives training the mammals to blow up the President...something subtle like that.

The implications of ESL for dolphins takes a back-seat for conspiracy and makes one wonder why one would waste such a top-heavy cast of
George C. Scott, Trish VanDevere, Paul Sorvino, Edward Herrmann, and Fritz Weaver and talking dolphins on just another spy movie. But waste it, they do.
*
Despite Scott's presence (and he's operating on relatively low gear here), the stars are the dolphins, named "Alpha" and "Beta" (or, as they squeak, "Fa" and Bee") In fact, every audience I saw this film with cooed audibly when the first dolphin popped out of the water and breathed "Pah!" in a baby voice at Scott. Like the rudimentary language signed by chimps, the dolphins' grasp of concepts is basic--they know "love," "Ma," "Pa," "Ball," and "Not"—that last one covering a lot of ground from negativity to death.
It all feels a bit gooey and icky, and when Nichols and Henry crank up the melodrama in the final act, one has a tough time taking it with any of the gravity of, say, a "Lassie" movie, probably not what the director intended, making it all for "not."
I do remember one interesting story from the time of the film, from an interview with Nichols at the time the film was made. It has nothing to do with the movie, but is more of a backstage story about the making of it. Nichols found that no matter how well-trained the dolphins were, they were not the most disciplined of performers. Oh, they understood what they had to do, they just didn't really feel like doing it. They were constantly blowing scenes, goofing around, playing—probably stealing donuts from the craft-services table—until tempers got short, and then, they'd do everything on cue--not unlike Peter Bogdanovich's story about directing Tatum O'Neal.
Anyway, on the last day of filming, on the last take the plan was to release the dolphins back into the wild. The crew gets ready. The dolphins swim out and perform their bit perfectly—it's a "Take." Then, as if knowing they weren't needed anymore, they simply left and swam out to sea. "We're outta here." They just swam away. It left Nichols wondering at the creatures he'd been working with, and wondering if he'd done right by them.**

Maybe they decided to quit "The Biz" before the movie was released.

There's a lot of talent behind it, though--production design by Richard Sylbert, cinematography from William A. Fraker and a too-good score by Georges Delerue. But it was all for "Not."

When one considers the possibilities, The Day of the Dolphin was a day wasted.




* The New Yorker's Pauline Kael suggested that if all Nichols and Henry could come up with for a movie was talking dolphins, they should probably retire from movies. Kael was on the right idea, but off the mark (as she could be)—if all Nichols and Henry could come up with for talking dolphins was a plot to blow up the President (even if it was Nixon) then they should have probably made another movie.

**I will always remember a PBS special on dolphins, hosted by Robin Williams. His first encounter with dolphins in open water, he was enthusiastic to bond, and reached out to one of them, only to get thumped by the other, protective dolphin. He went to a research institute where dolphin behavior was studied, and as he was walking around the tank with a rep, a dolphin poked his head out of the water and watched Williams, who went into "perform" mode and became quite manic, which delighted the dolphin. The scene went on for some time, with Williams and the dolphin playing at each other on a basic level, Williams running from one part of the tank to the other, the dolphin following--the two spinning in place, both fascinated with their play-mate. Finally, Williams was told "we're going to another location," and regretfully left, leaving the dolphin leaning its head out of the tank watching him leave, practically love-sick at his new "friend."