Ah,
the movie that launched a thousand Tarantino references. This movie made
me think that the worst thing you can do to Elmore Leonard is let a director
who is as obsessed with smooth craftsmanship as he is adapt his work. Working
from Leonard's screenplay adaptation of his own novel, director Richard
Fleischer creates a film so faithful, it is virtually redundant to see
if you've read the book. [OOPS. I found out later that in
fact, Leonard wrote the screenplay first than the novel. Sorry about
that.] In fact, a few plot points and the book's showpiece (an
attempt to spring a mobster from a prison bus) get handled a bit worse
in the film. The main pleasures of watching this flick are, of course,
watching Charles Bronson (as Victor Majestyk) talk obsessively about bringing
in the melons (he's a melon farmer) and trying to guess which words he's
going to an-nun-ciate. If anything, Bronson overacts the role which Leonard
has written as so cool and collected, the guy probably could keep an ice
tray in his pants. And, of course, everyone in the movie has to talk funnier
than Bronson so that he sounds halfway normal: the rough, tough hitman
that Majestyk pisses off sounds like he just took diction lessons from
Lou Ferrigno. Despite all this, hell, maybe even because of it, Mr. Majestyk
radiates a sort of leanness and cinematic confidence you just won't find
in american action movies any more.
All written material on these pages is © 1997 by Jeff Lester. With the exception of non-profit distribution, all other rights are reserved.