1990 gangsta movie
Rating: 19/20
Plot: A movie about hats. Or, the story of a guy playing chess with himself. Or, a gangster Yojimbo. Take your pick, but I think it’s a movie about hats.
“There’s nothing more foolish than a man chasing his hat.”
Coen brother movies, like classical music pieces I’ve never heard before. I’ll hear something new to my ears; think about how it’s always been around before, always been as beautiful as it is, and will stick around forever; and think about the genius that goes into the creation. The Coens are like virtuoso musicians. And they’re contemporary, of course, making things in the present tense that have obviously not “always been around before,” but that’s how you know you’re watching a masterpiece. This movie’s considerably younger than I am, but it feels like it belongs in the history of movies, canonical and classic. This, like a lot of Coen Brother movies, will last forever. They’re playing a music that is familiar, one that definitely fits snuggly in a genre, but it’s a piece of music that will last forever because they hit all the right notes perfectly.
The right notes: That hat blowing through the woods in what we later learn is a dream sequence; Marica Gay Harden’s Verna’s open blouse; Leo’s squeaking shoes; the slang, even when a “wart on his fanny” idiom doesn’t register with one character; the looks of a dog and a little kid in a flat cap at a dead guy; dead guy’s drooping toupee; the colors of that ladies room; Verna’s right hook and the shake of her rump as she walks out of that room; the crack of a mirror; the way Turturro is dwarfed by the chair he sits in when we first meet his character; a fat kid’s sailor outfit, an outfit he has to be squeezed into; Mike Starr, Kenny from Ed, and his size and the patience demanded as he prepares for a pounding; rumpus choreography; a match lit on a cop’s badge; curtain transition; curtain transition again, majestically; gagging accompanied by “Oh, Danny Boy;” walks up flights of stairs in unison; smoke from a Tommy gun; dialogue with dialogue–shifts from Tommy to Leo during the revelation about Verna; an elongated scream that could very easily be the new–female–Wilhelm; a slowly-passing street car; blue-gray smoke; the sound of a stretching leather glove; a sly silver gun on a tiny table; bruised faces and the groaning of trees; a pair of nearly identical Italians sitting on the mayor’s couch; Sal’s shaving nicks; another hat on the stairs and an old lady concerned about her cats.
I’d always had a little trouble keeping up with gangster plots and characters until I realized they’re a lot like samurai movies. This one is a lot like Yojimbo or, if you’re a cowboy, A Fistful of Dollars. The plot’s complex because you don’t get the internal monologue of these characters and their motivations are often difficult. The Coens borrow from two Hammett novels and, of course, The Godfather since you really can’t make a gangster movie since The Godfather without borrowing from The Godfather. This is the one that led to some writer’s block which led to Barton Fink which made me give this a bonus point because I love Barton Fink so much. The characters are well-defined and brilliantly acted. You could always do worse than starting a movie with Jon Polito–that mustache, the way he smacks his lips as he prattles on about the ethics of fixed fights, establishing a sort-of theme right from the get-go. Finney’s Leo is a great character, too, a boss so flimsy beneath his tough exterior that it almost seems like he’s already bullet riddled. “Johnny, you’re exactly as big as I let you be and no bigger” makes him Godfather-esque, but that’s just the brawn talking. But Finney can punch, and Leo can shoot, evidenced by his escape from his assassination with one of the most amazing death scenes of all time, all machine gun chatter and absurd fire and jerking around. Byrne’s Tom Reagan is a suitable Irish Eastwood/Mifune, foreshadowing with his “When I’ve raised hell, you’ll know it,” and almost exactly as smart as he thinks he is. I’m not sure Harden’s worth a war, but she’s really good here, too. Or maybe she is worth a war. She can tug on a cigarette, and as I mentioned, I did watch her walk out of that restroom. Eddie Dane seems like a composite of a bunch of other characters; J.E. Freeman plays him like a cliche, but it works, and his death is another absolutely ridiculous scene where the character’s surrounded by antlers and a gorilla screams madly. Mike Starr’s great although having him sing at the titular crossing wasn’t the best move, and Tic-Tac (Al Mancini) is awesome, especially with his laughter during “hanky time.” But check out John Turturro! Man, I love that performance! There’s a little Jesus in his walk at one point, and he manages to create the most pitiful soul that I think you’re ever likely to see on the screen during the scene at Miller’s Crossing at the center of this movie. It’s powerful stuff. I love these fragile characters in their tough-guy hats, and I love the story they find themselves in.
