16 Blocks

Richard Donner died Monday at the age of 91. I don't do obituaries, but I've seen every movie Donner ever made—with the exception (drat!) of one. He started in television directing episodes of your favorite television series if you're in your 60's, 50's or 40's, starting in 1960—with "Zane Grey Theater" up through "Kojak" and "Bronk" in 1975. One of those episodes is an all-time favorite of "The Twilight Zone" is "Nightmare at 20,000 feet" starring a peripatetic William Shatner. He dabbled in movie-programmers until making his mark with 1976's The Omen, which caught the attention of the producers of Superman—the film he's most known for (along with the "Lethal Weapon" series). He is probably the "godfather" of the current glut of superhero movies, not only from Superman, but also shepherding the "X-Men" series for his production company, run with his wife Lauren Shuler Donner.

This is the only review I have of his considerable work (a capsule from a couple web-sites ago) and it contains a summation of his work—"seems completely incapable of placing his camera in any place but the best position to convey action and meaning." Just so. When I've found "that one film" I'll, of course, do a "Now I've Seen Everything" write-up.

16 Blocks (Richard Donner 2006) An odd, efficient little thriller about a broken down cop who gets the bad assignment of driving a police whistle-blower sixteen blocks to the courthouse to testify before the Grand Jury about police corruption. But first he has to run a gauntlet of New York's less-than-finest who all could be sent to the pokey if the kid talks. And after hearing Mos Def's high-pitched, cleft-pallet-patter-way of talking, you start feeling some sympathy for their thinking, too. Cop and whistle-blower have two things in their favor: a populace more suspicious of the police than those running from them, and director Richard Donner, who, though he may have problems with pacing, seems completely incapable of placing his camera in any place but the best position to convey action and meaning, no matter how claustrophobic the surroundings. Bruce Willis is the reliably unreliable cop drinking to retirement, who finds one last thing to fight for, although his persona tends to shift a bit from barely functioning to resembling an older John McClane without a sign of shakes as he draws down on a colleague. Willis is fine, though, as is David Morse as the crooked cop with the most to lose. Of the two endings shot, the one attached to the film is the most "blue sky," and it's not really satisfying. The better down-beat ending, unfortunately, depends on a character turning when he's shown no previous sign of doing so. Neither one works completely, but at least the "Happy" ending strains credulity a bit less. Over all, not bad, really.