CHUCK'S ROUNDHOUSE: The President's Man: A Line in the Sand (2002)

Finding ratings information for obscure television movies from twenty-four years ago is not always easily done. However, I can deduce a few things about the reception “The President's Man” got from audiences in 2000. It drew enough eyeballs for CBS to move forward with the project but not so many that a series order was immediately given. Instead, the greenlight was received for essentially a second pilot. This is typically what happens when a network sees something promising in a show but agrees that some bugs need to be ironed out. It doesn't always happen in public – and then archived forever via home video – as was the case here. “The President's Man: A Line in the Sand” would feature a lighter tone than the first and would recast the younger leading man opposite Chuck Norris. Another big difference was a reflection of how the world had changed between 2000 and January of 2002, when “A Line in the Sand” aired. This is the film that would bring the old school action style of Chuck Norris into the strange, strange era of post-9/11 jingoism. 

It would seem about three years have passed since the events of the first "President's Man" film. Deke Slater is now fully established as the American president's personal man of action, with Joshua McCord and his daughter Que acting as assistants. The U.S.A. is currently under threat by Fadhal Rashid, the head of a militant Islamic extremist faction. Rashid's followers have obtained a small nuclear bomb and successfully smuggled it into the United States, with plans to detonate it in a large city. Slater is air-dropped into the Middle East, where he blasts into Rashid's compound and captures the terrorist leader. However, Rashid's followers, most prominently his son Abir, remain at large and await a coded message from their leader. The plan becomes to sneak the dirty bomb into Dallas before setting it off. Slater and McCord leap into action to find the nuke, disarm it, and make the dastardly terrorists pay. 

If the above plot synopsis didn't indicate as much, "A Line in the Sand" is a distinctly different brand of propaganda from the first "The President's Man" film. The original had the good guys up against South American drug runners and nebulous "terrorists" of uncertain allegiance, connected to elderly enemies left over from the Cold War. Pretty old hat by 2000. The sequel, meanwhile, positions a seemingly Sunni Islamic jihadist as the mastermind behind a plot to kill countless Americans. Al-Qaeda and the 1993 bombing of the World Trade Center are mentioned by name. The words "weapons of mass destruction" are spoken. Rashid is described as Pakistani like Ramzi Yousef, the organizer of the aforementioned attack. However, his tendency to issue video recorded statements from his secret hiding place and his connections to Saudi Arabia also makes him a clear Osama bin Ladin parallel, already a notorious figure by the late nineties. What is not mentioned is 9/11. IMDb's frequently inaccurate information lists "A Line in the Sand's" filming date as May of 2001. If that is correct is true, any relation to the events that would happen later that year were unintentional. (Assuming you don't believe in certain conspiracy theories.) 

However, the film still operates totally in-line with American attitudes after the towers fell. The bad guys are all brown religious extremists who hate the U.S.A. and everyone who lives there as a course of belief. We are the infidels that should be scourged with holy fire. Certainly no mention is made of how the foreign policy of the U.S. and our allies might have radicalized any persons, real or fictional, against us. There are two very weird scenes in "The President's Man II." The first sees McCord – now upgraded to a college professor on all foreign cultures, I guess, not just the Japanese – argue against a student who believes we should indiscriminately nuke all of the Middle East. Chuck's character clarifies that violent terrorists make up a tiny percentage of all Muslims worldwide. That we should not correlate an entire faith with the actions of a few extremists. Later, an American Muslim fires back at Rashid, saying that his bloody schemes are actually in defiance of Muhammad's teachings and that Islam is a religion of peace. These moments stand in stark contrast to the multiple scenes of our white heroes kicking and gunning down brown baddies in turbans and robes. 

These scenes remind me of a speech George W. Bush made in the aftermath of 9/11, denouncing anti-Islamic prejudice here and abroad. Words he presumably spoke before approving military actions in Afghanistan that contributed to the estimated 46,319 civilians killed during the resulting twenty year war. In other words, cinematic moments such as these and their real life parallels read as deeply insincere. "A Line in the Sand" is a film about a bad-ass American being dropped into the Middle East and single-handedly capturing a terrorist leader. Its back half features scenes of red-blooded patriots extra-judicially kicking the asses of stereotypical Middle Eastern terrorists. These are very weird contexts in which to place pleas that your nearest masque has nothing to do with Al-Qaeda. This is aggravated propaganda meant to inflame American hearts and minds against our nebulous enemies, that would soon be the central targets of the war on terror that the U.S. enacted shortly after this movie was filmed. 

I must also say that "The President's Man: A Line in the Sand" is not especially good propaganda.  In the first film, Dylan Neal played Deke Slater as a hot-headed, standoffish jerk who was only beginning to defrost. The character is recast with Judson Mills in this sequel. This was supposedly because of scheduling conflicts. However, Mills plays Slater in such a wildly different manner from Neal that it might as well be a different character, suggesting that this was a deliberate change. Mills' take on the guy is largely jovial, often making sarcastic observations. I would not say this is an improvement, as Mills is actually more wooden and stiff in his acting than Neal was. He's a bright-eyed hunk of meat with a strong chin but delivers all his dialogue like a surprised baby. There's little charisma or screen presence. I did not find myself invested in the character or enchanted by Mills' acting, making it hard to care too much about any of the shit that happens here. 

Judson Mills' appearance here follows a starring role in the last two seasons of “Walker, Texas Ranger.” One assumes that his character was introduced on that show to do the kind of action hero stunts that Chuck Norris was aging out of. That is obviously the case here too. Norris has surprisingly little to do in the first half of “A Line in the Sand.” He spends a lot of the movie standing behind a desk, looking at a screen, and speaking into a com-link. Mills, meanwhile, is doing all the running, leaping, kicking, and punching. I figured this would be the state of affairs throughout all of “A Line in the Sand,” the then-61 year old Chuck Norris having retired to mentor roles. However, the last act of the sequel sees Joshua McCord surprisingly joining the action. This got my hopes up that we might actually see Chuck Norris do some Chuck Norris shit in this motion picture. Unfortunately, “The President's Man II” was made during the era when no attempt at all was being made to disguise that its action star was an old, old man now. The film sees Norris' character doing shit like triple back flips through the air or leaping several feet onto a pipe without any issue. The most action Norris himself has is defusing a bomb, a protracted sequence if I've ever seen one. 

In fact, the action scenes in “A Line in the Sand” are some really silly business. When Slater is fighting off bad guys, his favorite move is a somersault kick that seems to violate the law of gravity to me. During the aforementioned triple back flip, Chuck's character is also accurately firing a gun. The film gets goofier as it goes on, the finale featuring the heroes delivering superhuman blows that launch their opponents across the room. All I can figure is this was some half-ass attempt to catch up with the exaggerated action theatrics of “The Matrix” and the wave of films it inspired. In general, the film is infected with a fatal cheesiness that outstrips the original. There's a random jet pack sequence. Multiple training montages or sparring sessions are scored to hilariously bad rap songs. While some camp value can be derived from ridiculous moments, the impression the film leaves a viewer with is that the project's vision far outstripped its available resources. 

Truthfully, most of “The President's Man II: A Line in the Sand” is dull. The action scenes are repetitive and rare. Far more of the film is devoted to people standing around and talking about shit. Its obviously Islamophobic content is interesting from an anthropological perspective, as a relic of a time that we have hopefully moved past, but is just reheated bullshit in execution. While I can imagine a perspective “President's Man” series further building off the national mood of blind jingoism and paranoia that would follow, not even that was enough to get the public interested in this one. The film would be the end of this particular franchise. More dire than the already pretty lame original, this film represents the point where it dawned on me that watching all of Chuck Norris movies might have been a mistake. [4/10]

[THE CHUCK OF NORRIS: 2 outta 5]
[X] Facial Hair
[X] Jumps or Kicks Through a Window or Wall
[] Performs Spin Kick or Spin Punch to Enemy's Face
[] Shows Off His Hairy Chest
[] Sports Some Cowboy Getup

 

 

 

CHUCK'S ROUNDHOUSE: The President's Man (2000)

After nine seasons and two hundred and three episodes, “Walker, Texas Ranger” would hang up his silver star in May of 2001. Presumably because he had roundhouse kicked every bank robber, crime boss, drug runner, human trafficker, Neo-Nazi, Satanist and skinwalker in Texas. Chuck Norris was not going to take it easy though. Instead, a year before “Walker” ended, he was already trying to get a follow-up going. CBS would air “The President's Man” on April 2nd of 2000, Norris Brothers Production having their logo right at the front of the presentation. As with “Logan's War,” the perspective series being set up by this TV movie would place Norris in more of a mentor role, while a younger, more agile performer shared the spotlight. In this case, Dylan Neal, another stout-chinned hunk of meat TV actor whose career never quite took off. Did it work better on a second go-around? 

It turns out that the President of the United States has a special operative, a secret agent infiltrator and all-around bad-ass, that answers to him and him alone. The current President's Man is Joshua McCord, a Vietnam veteran, college professor of Asian history, and martial arts expert. After rescuing the First Lady from South American terrorists, McCord fears he is getting too long in the teeth. Along with his daughter, Que, they seek out a protege. They find one in Sgt. Deke Slater, an Army Ranger who got dishonorably discharged for punching out a commanding officer and is now serving a thirty year prison sentence for killing a White Supremacist in a jail yard brawl. Slater is sprung from jail and taken under McCord's wing, the hot head bristling against the expert during the grueling training. Soon, the team is back in South America, seeking out a kidnapped nuclear physicist being blackmailed into building a nuke for the drug cartel. A cartel led by a former South Vietnamese general that McCord has unfinished business with.

 

The opening of "The President's Man" features Chuck Norris parachuting out of a stealth bomber, dispatching some baddies via knife throws and window dives, before paragliding the First Lady to safety. As this happens, a musical sting on the soundtrack that sounds suspiciously like the James Bond theme plays. This clarifies "The President's Man" as an attempt to do some super spy antics on an extremely TV budget. The drop out of the airplane features some sketchy CGI. Unlike the always horny Bond, McCord never makes any moves towards the totally grandmotherly First Lady, because that wouldn't fit television standards. For a movie about global politics and black operations, the sets and locations are seriously limited. The top secret training center for the presidential hit squad looks a lot like a suburban gym or recreational center. They hang off monkey bars, get kicked in the chest while doing pull-ups, and throw knives at spinning targets. A lot of the international missions seem to take place in sparsely forested fields surrounding farm houses. I really wouldn't expect a movie about the president's personal Rambo to feature this many scenes in offices, ranches, and sheds. 
 

The cheap production values of "The President's Man" point towards the film's status as basically the pilot for a series and not a work meant to stand alone. You also see this in the story structure. Within this ninety minute runtime, we see: The rescue of the First Lady, the botched mission that got Slater kicked out of the Army and dumped in prison, his first mission with McCord to snatch a Senator's daughter from a weird cult compound, and the saving of the nuclear scientists from some sadistic foreigners. Each of these story threads essentially stand alone, making "The President's Man" feel less like a single narrative and more like a couple of scripts for different episodes shoved together. The connecting fiber is devoted to the repetitive scenes of Slater training with McCord and his daughter, the kind of standard sequences used to establish the general set-up of a weekly show at the start of every hour. If "Logan's War" was an attempt to squeeze a whole backstory for a hero and his first adventure into one movie, "The President's Man" is an even shakier test-run for a concept more ready to air every Wednesday at 9PM than be watched as a complete story in its own right. 

One of the movies that makes up the episodic structure of “The President's Man” is basically a TV series version of “Missing in Action.” It's interesting how the television star portion of Norris' career saw him recycling ideas from his movie roles. “Walker” was “Lone Wolf McQuade” while “Logan's War” drew a little from “The Delta Force” and “Good Guys Wear Black.” This one makes McCord a Vietnam veteran. Much like Braddock, he has a Vietnamese wife and a child with her. As in “Missing in Action III,” she's murdered. To make the connection all-but-explicit, Soon-Tek Oh plays the killer who has returned, after previously appearing as the sadistic general in “Missing in Action II.” Chuck was too old at this point to take on-screen abuse so Dylan Neal gets strung up by the villains, shirtless and soaking wet, for an electrified torture scene. Braddock had a son that he didn't know about for years while McCord has a daughter that has grown up with him, Jennifer Tung playing the female lead. “The President's Man” also emphasizes this Chuck hero as a master of martial arts, who even gives lectures on samurai culture and practices zen meditation. Nevertheless, it would not take a lot of editing to make this a years later TV continuation of the “Missing in Action” flicks.

Does any of this prove especially entertain or interesting? The bits where Chuck is playing a wise sensai, especially when he's simply reading a book while his protege blusters around, are mildly amusing. While most of his kicks and punches continue to come from off-screen at this point, he does get a semi-decent fight with Soon-Tek Oh. The opening incursion he does got me to smile once or twice. Unfortunately, the action throughout is mostly extremely unremarkable. As a lead, Dylan Neal is astonishingly uninteresting. He's got a swell chin and a heroic build but little in the way of charisma or screen presence, instead merely acting like a generic tough guy. This is most apparent in the training montages, of which are there are many and all of them are quite dramatically inert. Jennifer Tung is a little more interesting and it was nice to see Stuart Whitman, in his final role, as Chuck's mentor. Sadly, most everything about “The President's Man” resists being memorable or compelling at all.

The greatest value “The President's Man” has might be as unintentional comedy. The film features an extremely corny inspirational rock song during its training montage, both of which made me laugh from how repetitive they are. Another quirk that's impossible not to notice is the awful sound design. Every punch sounds like a thunder crack, which because especially funny when Neal is driving several into a random goon's face at once. In general, this one is very cheap, extremely derivative and lame in its narrative, and doesn't present us with any characters to care about much. It's directed like an unambitious episode of television, which is more-or-less what it is. I guess it's a little more entertaining than “Logan's War,” if only becomes Chuck has more to do – despite really, really starting to show his age – and at least it's not 70% set-up. Consider this damning with the faintest of praise. [5/10]

[THE CHUCK OF NORRIS: 3 outta 5]
[X] Facial Hair
[X] Jumps or Kicks Through a Window or Wall
[X] Performs Spin Kick or Spin Punch to Enemy's Face
[] Shows Off His Hairy Chest*
[] Sports Some Cowboy Getup

*Chuck has a shirtless scene but, extremely distressingly, he has obviously shaved! 

CHUCK'S ROUNDHOUSE: Logan's War: Bound by Honor (1998)

By 1998, “Walker, Texas Range” had been running for seven seasons. This was clearly a deal that had worked out for Mr. Norris and his bosses at CBS. Why not expand this surely profitable partnership some? That year would see the network airing “Martial Law,” a similar series mixing police procedural elements with martial arts and starring an action icon: Sammo Hung, Jackie Chan's old pal. While not a direct spin-off, Sammo would crossover with “Walker” and the show was clearly an attempt to recreate its success. A direct “Walker” spin-off would follow next year, with “Sons of Thunder.” That program only ran for six episodes but at least it made it to series. The same cannot be said for “Logan's War: Bound by Honor,” a TV movie Norris co-starred in that aired after a new “Walker” episode on November 1st of '98. 

Logan Fallon is the ten year old son of a district attorney. The boy seemingly has psychic premonitions of danger. His dad prepares a case against gangster Sal Mercado, despite his son's warning. This leads to the Fallon family being assassinated, Logan as the sole survivor. He's adopted by his uncle Jake, a former Army Ranger/kickboxing expert who has retired to a horse ranch following years of adventures. Logan swears vengeance against the mobsters who killed his parents and sister. Uncle Jake teaches him everything he knows, Logan following in his footsteps by becoming an Army Ranger. After returning home, Logan goes undercover in the Chicago mob, posing as a hit man. His final plan is to infiltrate the Mercado operation until he's close enough to take out Sal himself. 

By 1998, Chuck Norris would be pushing sixty. While “Walker” would run for another two seasons, it was clear that the action star could not pull off those roundhouse kicks and spin punches with quite the same level of limberness as he did in his glory days. Obviously, the instinct is to pass the baton onto to the next generation of acrobatic brawlers who can't act. Thus, “Logan's War” sees Norris stepping into a mentor role. The title character is played by Eddie Cibrian, Chuck mostly appearing at the beginning and end of the film. Honestly, it's a shift that Norris had been building towards for a long time. He was already depicting himself as a teacher to younger characters in “The Hitman,” “Sidekicks,” and “Forest Warrior.” Amusingly, while the film mostly sees Chuck passing on his knowledge and teaching Cibrian his bad-ass ways, he does leap right back into action at the end. In fact, “Logan's War” sees Chuck pulling off his trademark move of jump-kicking through a car's windshield. The implication is clear: Younger dudes must appear to fill these roles but that doesn't mean grandpa still can't kick some ass too, presumably in a reoccurring guest role in future episodes. 

While the star's production company would come onto “Walker” after the premise had already been conceived, “Logan's War” is based on a story by the Norris brothers. This means that, while the aging Lone Wolf does not play the title character, Logan is still blatantly a Chuck Norris type hero. Uncle Jake is a cowboy and an Army Ranger and an expert in melee combat. He passes all these skills onto Logan, who has a glorious and commendable career in the Army as well as being highly skilled in kicking and fighting. “Logan's War” also has the new guy involved in a very Norris-like subplot, wherein he defends a troubled woman and her young son from an abusive, shit-head boyfriend. This plot point contributes to the story in no meaningful way, there strictly to show audiences how noble and tough this guy is. That the script goes the extra mile and gives Logan an actual superpower is almost unnecessary. He's already hyper-capable and able to fight his way out of any situation.

Unsurprisingly, this means that Logan's precognitive abilities basically disappear from the story about half-way through. Why the guy has some sort of Spidey Sense is never explained. This is another symptom of “Logan's War” making its hero such a talented guy. The script is hopelessly top-heavy, as it sets up all of Logan's back story. First the extensive flashbacks to establish his need for vengeance. Then the lengthy training and sparring sessions and brave army record. By the time Logan is actually infiltrating the mob, “Bound by Honor” is already half-way over. The guy's trip into the criminal underground doesn't amount to much beyond some rough-housing, a quickly executed initiation ritual, and one hit. Is that all it takes to become a made man? When he pulls a gun on all the gangsters and reveals his true identity, nobody seems that shocked. Probably because they barely know this guy and have little reason to trust him anyway. 

Indeed, why should the audience give a shit about Logan either? Eddie Cibrian does not have the action star legacy of Chuck Norris. He was predominantly a pretty boy TV guy, having previously starred on “The Young and the Restless,” “Sunset Beach,” and the supernatural investigation spin-off of “Baywatch.” He can convincingly deliver a kick. Or at least swap places with a stunt double decently. He simply doesn't have much charisma. This pairs with a presentation that is nothing but workmanlike. Director Michael Preece was a TV lifer, whose most prominent work includes seventy episodes of “Walker” and sixty of “Dallas.” Which is to say that “Logan's War” never looks anything more than average, the blocking being extraordinarily standard and the imagery largely bland. I'm honestly surprised that the film features some passable action in its back half. When Chuck is punching and kicking, the film almost starts to feel a little more lively. 

While “Logan's War: Bound by Honor” ends with its title character getting his revenge, the film was clearly still designed to launch a series. The final scene has the protagonist being asked what he plans to do next, the obvious implication being that more adventures are to come. With Chuck still starring on “Walker” at the time, I suppose Uncle Jake would have only made occasional guest appearances. We'll never know, since no further installments followed. Considering how hard the film leans into the cowboy angle, not much effort was taken to avoid comparisons to “Walker” anyway. Mostly thanks to a story more focused on set-up than pay-off and a lead lacking any charm, “Logan's War” is a snooze. I'm glad Chuck got to fly through the wind shield of a car one more time though. [4/10]

[THE CHUCK OF NORRIS: 5 outta 5]
[X] Facial Hair
[X] Jumps or Kicks Through a Window or Wall
[X] Performs Spin Kick or Spin Punch to Enemy's Face
[X] Shows Off His Hairy Chest*
[X] Sports Some Cowboy Getup

*Wears a low-cut tank top during a sparring scene, the Carpet of Virility briefly visible

CHUCK'S ROUNDHOUSE: Walker, Texas Ranger: One Riot, One Ranger (1993)

Chuck Norris ending up on a TV show was probably inevitable. As the eighties changed into the nineties, the action genre was undergoing some big changes. "Die Hard" became a repeatable formula that popularized a more easily injured hero. The violence was growing more excessive, often to the point of self-parody. "Terminator 2" was the climax of the Schwarzeneggerian era of action, a massive success that pointed towards the future with its CGI effects and polished tone. The video market was increasingly becoming the home for that older breed of kick-punching action. Van Damme, Seagal, and even Sly ended up there by the end of the decade, the ultimate sign a star was washed-up. I suspect Norris was tapped in enough to cinematic trends to see that was the direction his career was headed too. Why not cash in on whatever name recognition his dwindling star power had by moving to another medium and maybe get a few seasons out of it? Or maybe I'm full of shit. Chuck had a TV show before, kind of. What we do know for certain is that "Walker, Texas Ranger" began life as a production of Cannon's short-lived television decision and Chuck Norris surely became involved early on. Especially since the series was clearly inspired by "Lone Wolf McQuade," with the producers of that film eventually suing over the similarities. 

Whatever its origins, "Walker, Texas Ranger" could probably be described as the biggest success of Norris' career, at least in terms of getting eyeballs on his rugged features. The show ran on CBS for nine seasons and regularly saw high ratings, despite often facing mockery from critics and audiences. It certainly kept a star, that probably would've otherwise faded quickly into lower budgeted action schlock, somewhat relevant for another decade. The initial season was composed of only four pilot episodes, owing to Cannon's financial woes at the time. The first episode was the feature length "One Riot, One Ranger," which was soon afterwards released on VHS as a standalone movie of sorts. This is how I can justify including what would otherwise just be a TV show in my journey through the cinema of Mr. Norris. After all, you can't truly talk about his whole career without at least mentioning "Walker."
 

Cordell Walker is a Sergeant in the Texas Rangers, based out of the Dallas/Fort Worth area. His mastery of karate kicks, propensity for taking down crooks personally, and tendency to skirt rules if they get in the way of justice often sees him coming face-to-face with the criminal element and receiving stern lectures from his superior. His cowboy cop ways sees him assigned a partner, in the form of the more technologically inclined James Trivette. He also gets help on cases from attorney Alexandra Cahill and a retired ranger named C.D., whose bar and grill functions as a base of operation of sorts. “One Riot, One Ranger” sees a group of bandits robbing a bank, their leader posing as a blind man to catch security off-guard. One of Walker's old friends is killed in the resulting shoot-outs. Now teamed with Trivette, Walker attempts to hunt down this team of crooks, their sunglasses wearing and nut chomping leader, and the explosive specialist they recruit. Meanwhile, a family of circus entertainers are terrorized by some yahoos, seeking shelter at the home of Walker's Native American uncle, Ray Firewalker.

For whatever merits the idea may have, the pilot of “Walker, Texas Ranger” does a good job of squeezing the Chuck Norris style into the scope and standards of prime time television. The parallels to “Lone Wolf McQuade” are set up early, as the very first scene has Walker crossing the Mexican border to beat up some thieves in a bar. It's a moment that recalls multiple bar room brawls for Chuck before, him decimating the bad guys with spin-punches and roundhouse kicks while croaking cheesy one-liners. There's a surprising amount of shoot-outs in the back half. Also recalling “McQuade” is Walker's fondness for his pick-up truck, which naturally leads to a car chase. There are some explosions too, though of a much more modest level than the pyrotechnics from Norris' Cannon days. While the scope is much smaller, the plot and politics of this would also fit in with Chuck's eighties work. He runs rough-shod over the law to track down some scary brown people. A would-be bomber mentions a connection to Libya, which is treated as sinister. When he's captured, Cordell and his partner have no problem physically intimidating the guy. While the villains are lawless, anti-government types with black tattoos and blacker sunglasses. Clearly, threats such as these necessitate a roundhouse kicking cop who makes the right to remain silent into a sarcastic joke.

 

The “Walker” pilot can't afford the massive fireballs nor allow the bloody squibs of “Lone Wolf McQuade” but this episode shockingly outpaces its inspiration in one regard. As in “McQuade” and a hundred other buddy cop narratives, the loose cannon cop and his by-the-book partner do not get along at first. Unlike most examples, Walker first meets Trevitt as the latter steps out of a swimming pool in nothing but a speedo. The moment is filmed from a low angle, as if to emphasize certain dimensions, and Trevitt wears only this throughout the rest of the scene. During which Walker glares at him skeptically but intently. The moment ends with Cordell sarcastically declaring “I love him,” which can only read as an admission of attraction in the context of what we're actually seeing. A few scenes later, Trevitt chases down and tackles a perp. After which Walker pulls up in his truck and asks – I swear to god, this is real – “Why are you pumping so hard?” Is that really the most heterosexual way he could have asked that question? The two eventually bond over cowboy partnerships of the past, while Trevitt seductively slurps on his juice bottle. The pilot ends with the men leaping into the air together, Trevitt in garish clown make-up. What a pair of queens! I really didn't expect the pilot movie for his long-running cop show to be the queerest thing Norris ever put his brawny, hairy pecs in. 

I doubt Mr. Norris would appreciate the suggestion that any of his characters were acting in a less than strictly heterosexual manner. Walker has belligerent sexual tension with the district attorney lady, who became a series regular, alongside a fairly gratuitous scene of a bank teller asking if he's single or not. That's because, much like “Sidekicks” and the general tone of Norris' work as he took over more control of the writing and production, “Walker, Texas Ranger” is partially an ode to its star's ego. The pilot depicts its title character as always a morally upright and ultimately reasonable man. If he beats the shit out of some guys or shoots somebody, or even momentarily gives into his anger while viciously fighting the episode's main villain, it is always justified. Cordell Walker is not only a bad-ass and a good guy but he's a pillar of the community. The B-plot about Walker providing a place to stay for the traumatized circus performers never connects with the main story about the bank robbers. It seems to be in the film mostly to give Chuck Norris a dramatic monologue about his own childhood trauma, an Emmy moment for the action star if I've ever seen one. Further into the pilot is a C-plot about Walker getting talked into performing at a rodeo for the benefit of some orphaned kids or something. He's such a stand-up guy!

The combination of the questionable ethical perspective of a wild west sheriff getting things done, corny old fashion moralizing, casual homoeroticism and kicking proves rather amusingly surreal. “One Riot, One Ranger” adds another seemingly unrelated ingredient to this stew: Hokey Native American mysticism. At various times in his career, mostly in “Firewalker” and “The Hitman,” Chuck has referenced his supposed Native American lineage. It is part of the self-built mythology of the man. That thread comes to fruition in “Walker,” where the title character is a white boy with an indigenous uncle. He weaves in and out of the episode to sprinkle some exotic flavor here and there. Most notably in a scene where Walker visits his dad's grave and performs some sort of ritual with a cape and feather. It has little to do with the rest of the story but mostly exists to further flesh out the kind of hero this guy is. He is, simultaneously, a defender of law and order and established authority but also closer to the Earth and the Old Ways than your average white man. It's a natural extension of Chuck's mastery of Eastern martial arts, trading Bushido and ninjatsu for chanting and communing with the Earth spirits. (Further episodes of “Walker” would also reveal the hero was a Vietnam veteran, adding yet another layer of mythic American do-goodery to his origin and also making him basically the right-wing Billy Jack.) 

All of the above is wrapped up in a fairly standard mid-nineties television presentation. Surprisingly, “One Riot, One Ranger” was directed by Virgil M. Vogel, a journeyman filmmaker who was close to wrapping up a sixty year career in Hollywood. Vogel got his start as an editor at Universal in the forties, cutting motion pictures like “The Invisible Woman” and “Abbott and Costello Meet the Invisible Man.” His most prestigious work is probably editing “Touch of Evil.” To me, however, Vogel most intrigues as the director of “The Mole People” and “The Land Unknown.” Rather than stick with cheesy sci-fi/monster movies, he would make the leap to television shortly afterwards and that's what he did for most of the rest of his life. In many ways, “One Riot, One Ranger” looks and feels exactly like every other cop show that aired in 1993. At the same time, some cock-eyed camera angles are employed from time to time, adding to the slightly surreal feel the entire presentation has. 

That zone of utterly average, weirdly personal, and the unintentionally hilarious is where this ninety minute pilot resides. See also: The hilariously awkward “as you know” dialogue, such as when Uncle Ray pauses to tell Walker his own backstory early on. Or the extremely odd decision to hide not one but two bombs inside ash trays that are, as far as I can tell, shaped like giant flies. I can't imagine all of this silly bullshit being stretched out for nine whole seasons. However, the premiere of “Walker, Texas Ranger” is suitably ridiculous enough for me to want to watch more of it. Mission accomplished, I suppose. [7/10]

[THE CHUCK OF NORRIS: 4 outta 5]
[X] Facial Hair
[] Jumps or Kicks Through a Window or Wall
[X] Performs Spin Kick or Spin Punch to Enemy's Face
[X] Shows Off His Hairy Chest
[X] Sports Some Cowboy Getup

 

Director Report Card: Danny Boyle (2001) - Part Two

 

8. Vacuuming Complete Nude in Paradise

 

“Strumpet” would air on the BBC in July of 2001. By the end of September of the same year, the second film to emerge between this collaboration between Danny Boyle and dramatist Jim Cartwright would debut on BBC Two. Which raises a second question: Who is Jim Cartwright anyway? I sure as heck don't know, because I'm not especially familiar with the world of modern British stage plays. If you are into that particular string of theatre, you probably already know who Mr. Cartwright is. He emerged onto the scene with his 1986 play, “Road,” a scathing and darkly funny condemnation of life in Thatcher's England. He became quickly acclaimed for his gritty and bizarre style, writing fifteen more plays, six other films, and an original novel. His subsequent work seems to vacillate between simplistic, single-word titles – other examples include “Bed,” “Baths,” and “Two” - and productions with more elaborate and unusual names, like “I Licked a Slag's Deodorant” and “The Ancient Secret of Youth and the Five Tibetans.” The film he wrote exclusively for television and Mr. Boyle has a title in that second tradition. “Vacuuming Completely Nude in Paradise” sure grabs your attention, doesn't it? The project would see Boyle fine-tuning the techniques he first discovered on “Strumpet.” 

Pete dreams of becoming a party DJ but has, thus far, seen little success for his beats. In the meantime, he assembles music for his stripper girlfriend's dance routines. While she performs at a retirement party for an elderly door-to-door vacuum sales man, Pete is offered a job. He's not especially interested in selling vacuum cleaners but his girlfriend demands he start pulling his weight. He is paired with Tommy Rag, a vulgar and violent veteran salesman who has devoted his entire life to selling vacuums to people who don't need them. Tommy dreams of winning the Golden Vacuum, the award given to the most successful salesman of the year. (In-between seducing lonely house wives and chastising his trainee for every mistake he makes.) Pete finds the world of sketchy salesmanship difficult to adapt to, often feeling guilty for the few sales he does make. After his girlfriend dumps him due to his continued lack of success, he accompanies Tommy to the ceremony for the Golden Vacuum. There, new paths in life emerge for both men. 

I found “Strumpet” to be too didactic in its themes, presenting its thoroughly well-trodden ideas of anti-corporate ranting within a story that couldn't decide if it wanted to be gritty and grounded or dreamy and fantastical. “Vacuuming Completely Nude in Paradise” has a similar point to make. This is another screed against the business world, depicting the life of a salesman as one devoted to cheating poor and desperate people out of what little money they have to sell them junk they don't need, all in the name of creating greater success and glory for the company and the individual. Tommy Rag is a thoroughly vile human being and his lack of a life outside his job contributes to that. Pete, meanwhile, longs to create music, to make art simply for the sake of it. Naturally, he ultimately finds self-fulfillment by pursuing his dream while Tommy Rag's life of relentless capitalistic greed leads to nothing but self-destruction. The message is clear as day: Do what makes you happy and don't worry about making money, because that will simply turn you into a wretched human being.

It's not exactly a fresh or revolutionary point to make. While "Strumpet" was mostly serious about its ideas, "Vacuuming Completely Nude" is a largely glib and outrageous comedy. It sees Boyle returning to the tone of "Trainspotting" or "Shallow Grave," creating humor by focusing on characters that regularly indulge in socially unacceptable behavior. Tommy's nonstop vulgarity, dancing erotically with castanets and a vacuum for a client, Pete's much more embarrassing and awkward attempt at sexual conquest, and opening with a striptease establishes the ribald and outrageous tone here. (Showing once again that BBC broadcast standards are a lot different from what we have in the U.S.) We are inhabiting a world here that is like our own but a little weirder and more unpredictable, Boyle adapting a thoroughly madcap and unhinged tone throughout. It is often hilarious, especially in the way Cartwright's script piles one unlikely event atop another. A particularly amusing sequence has Pete stumbling upon the recently deceased body of his elderly neighbor, whose hoarded collection of vintage newspapers end up combusted and adhered in pieces to his body. Tommy then summarizes each ancient new story on his protege's semi-nude body with odd specificity, multiplying the absurdity of the moment further. 

There are other ideas on the film's mind too. From the opening scene, where a decrepit old man is rewarded for a life of work with a naked young woman grinding on him, the film links a man's success in the business world with his sexual potency. Despite being a grotesque human being, in appearance and behavior, Tommy Rag's ability to sell a product also gives him the ability to seduce pliable. (Though not any woman he wants, as the attractive new employee to the agency is immune to his rat-like charm.) Pete's girlfriend, purring around in a skin-tight leather cat-suit, refuses him sex until he's made a sale. After he experiences seller's remorse, he goes for an unsettling quickie with the first available female – who is mentally disabled in some way – out of a need to re-assert his masculinity. The movie ends with a random burst of some S&M-like whipping, an inability to be successful as he envisioned turning a man into a rampaging, naked beast. It's an astute observation, that a man's desire to satisfy his sexual urges and the constant need for success demanded by the business world are not too dissimilar. Both must constantly be met or else risk frustration of the highest level. 

Notably, however, Pete's encounter with the disabled woman doesn't make him feel any better. He feels a lot worst, actually. The one vacuum sale he makes in the film is to a sickly, unemployed mother who is considering selling naked photographs – showing that our modern age of digital online sex work as a response to financial pressures are only the modern mutation of an older tradition – of herself to make end's meet. Her situation is so pathetic that Pete feels compelled to give her the money back. That results in his girlfriend denying him sex, calling him a “loser,” and leaving him. A man's worth in this world, right down to his sexual attractiveness, is often connected with his perceived “success.” Tommy's commitment to work gives him access to sexual conquests but the same barter leaves Pete feeling hollow, used, and filthy. By abandoning a life that insists a man is only worthwhile if he's taking advantageous of others does he find happiness. It's a lot deeper handling than “Strumpet's” worn-out insistence that corporate rock music sucks and D.I.Y. tunes are more real. 

It's all quite interesting but that's not the real reason “Vacuuming Completely Nude in Paradise” made such an impression on me upon this viewing. Instead, the film is totally dominated by a tornado of a performance. Timothy Spall plays Tommy Rag. His already let's call it “distinctive” appearance is further emphasized by crummy suits and garishly coufed hair. He enters the film spewing a cloud of profane, colorful dialogue at a rocket's pace. From then, he rarely slows down. Spall's thick-accented voice nevertheless wraps itself so naturally around Cartwright's creatively vulgar writing that it seems to be emerging totally naturally from his own brain. Rag is a repulsive figure, living out of his car, always coated with a fine layer of sweat, lascivious towards women, and taking every chance he has to make a sale. (Which includes trying to sell a vacuum cleaner to a seemingly homeless hitchhiker.) When he explodes into a violent fury at the film's conclusion, it's merely the natural escalation of his already unhinged energy. Despite that, Spall remains utterly captivating. It's the exact kind of attention grabbing sliminess that people like this possess in real life. You know they are dreadful but somehow the eye is drawn towards them nonetheless. 

In other words, the role is an ideal use of Spall's ability to dig fully into thickly scripted lines and become a physical dynamo of crazed force. Tommy Rag represents everything vile, cheap, and unbecoming about the world of commerce. As much as the character spends nearly his entire screentime being a grotesque villain, the film also grants him two surprising moments of serenity. Seemingly unprompted, while on hold over the phone, the character launches into a soft-spoken monologue describing a dream he had. It lends the film its odd title while also suggesting that, as monsterous as this man is, he does long for something simplier. His vision of an idyllic afterlife is one where he is done with the rat race, no longer needing to sell and can instead enjoy the bizarre tokens of the world he's absorbed himself in. A little while later, Spall gets another aside where he describes childhood memories, in which an innocent mind attempted to navigate a world that is far too often cruel. This provides context for the man Tommy Rag has become, while further suggesting that he has a lot more depth than his egotistical, materialistic attitude otherwise shows.  

These scenes represents rare moments of calm in a movie that is more often a storm of wild nervousness. Continuing the digital video cinematography Boyle first used on “Strumpet,” much of “Vacuuming Completely Nude in Paradise” is composed of grainy and sometimes handheld camerawork. When paired with Spall's whirling performance, it lends the entire movie a captivatingly wild feeling. When Rag's insane driving skills are displayed, the film often attached itself directly to the perspective of the car as it sails in and out of busy traffic. However, “Vacuuming Completely Nude” also looks a lot better than Boyle's earlier experiment with digital video. Much like Spall's striking monologues, the film pauses for shots of grungy beauty among the gritty settings. We see a degree of the same precise framing that made Boyle's earlier films so visually captivating here, in a shot of a face, a pregnant pause in a conversation as two lips are positioned at either end of the frame. 

The film seems much more in-tuned with its behind-the-scenes choice of technology too. Early on, the idea is introduced that soon the door-to-door salesman way of life will be utterly antiquated. A Japanese company is introducing younger workers to the company who will push the sales job into the realm of strictly by-phone and online orders. Tommy Rag doesn't know it yet – and refuses to acknowledge it, despite subconsciously sensing it – but he's the last of a species about to go extinct. Made in 2001, when the internet was quickly making in-roads into being an inescapable part of everyday life, “Vacuuming Completely Nude in Paradise” captures a moment when evolving technology was about to change everyone's life. That makes the choice of shooting the film on D.V., a newly emerging tech, all the more meaningful. 

Running only a little over an hour also works for the film. If expanded to any longer, it's sweaty and frantic vibe probably would have become exhausting or overbearing. Kept to a tight 75 minutes leaves “Vacuuming Completely Nude in Paradise” as a concussive blast to the viewer's brain. It's a darkly funny and bizarre look at the world of commerce that is suitably vivid and gritty in its visuals. Home to an earthquake causing performance from a character actor operating at the top of his power. That makes the film an easily overlooked gem in Boyle's career, a strong correction of the flaws of “Strumpet” and a propulsive bit of filmmaking in its own right. Absolutely seek this one out, if you can find it. [Grade: A-]

Director Report Card: Danny Boyle (2001) - Part One

 

7. Strumpet
 

The sequence of events seems to paint a clear narrative. Danny Boyle made two of the most acclaimed British films of the decade. Sure, he stumbled with his next movie but that's okay, because he was ready to go to Hollywood and become a real deal big shot director. Unfortunately, studio filmmaking is a thorny, compromising path. Beaten down by the experience of CEOs barking in his ear during the making of “The Beach,” Boyle returned to his old stomping grounds at the BBC. While collaborating with playwright Jim Cartwright on an original film for television, the writer presented a previously unproduced script he had written. Taken with the material, Boyle decided to take the budget allocated for one project and shoot two on digital video, a fast emerging and much cheaper alternative to traditional film. In other words, "Strumpet" was essentially a bonus movie to emerge from the same deal that produced Boyle's next made-for-TV movie. Running all of seventy-two minutes, you get the impression that "Strumpet" is little more than a trifle but it represents a stepping stone for the director between his bigger works. 

Strayman is a poet living in the city of Manchester. He has attracted a small local following for his fiery readings but lives in a largely rundown apartment with a dozen stray dogs he's adopted. His antisocial manner often makes him enemies. While wandering around town one night, he discovers a seemingly homeless woman being pawed at by a creep. He invites her back to his apartment and discovers that the girl, named Strumpet, can play the guitar. Inspired by his poetry – which Strayman scrawls on the walls – the two start to sing and play together. His neighbor and would-be talent agent records the impromptu performance. He gets the tape to record execs who like what they hear but want to polish it up. Strayman's confrontational personality and his improvisational method with Strumpet quickly gets him kicked out of the studio. Shortly afterwards, he hears Strumpet becoming a big pop star, singing reworked and commercialized versions of his lyrics. When she plays a performance at a nearby recording of a Top of the Pops episode, Strayman seeks his former musical partner out. 

"Strumpet" tells a very familiar story, of art versus commerce.  The protagonists make raw, highly personal music in a sincere environment strictly because they have to. Strayman has no commercial goals in mind with his writing, scribbling his poems on the walls of his apartment because he has no choice in the matter. He must express these thoughts and feelings or else go completely mad. Strumpet sets his words to music as a totally natural act, almost as a way to thank him for giving her a place to stay for the night. When their creation is presented to the money people at a music label, they don't get it. Moreover, they can't replicate the impulsive collaboration in the sterile, controlled studio environment. When Strayman is forcibly removed from the process, the result is his poem becoming a dumb and meaningless pop ditty with a big, thumping, dance-music beat behind it. When Strayman sees a drunken old woman warbling the words he wrote at a local pub's karaoke night, it represents all the soul and sincerity being sucked out of his work. Strumpet can only be saved from the heartless clutches of cold, empty capitalism by reuniting with her muse and creating the same way they used to.

This is, you'll notice, a fairly standard narrative you'll find in almost any story about artistic integrity and the commercialization of a highly personal art form. It's the punk rock ethos, of doing something strictly for the art of it and being disgusted by any and all attempt to turn that into a profitable venture. Every musician biography under the sun has tackled this same dilemma. "Strumpet" brings nothing to it. Truthfully, it's treatment of the matter strikes me as childishly simplified. The execs who steal Strayman's words and who force Strumpet to work in their preferred fashion are vacant-eyed idiots. Studio productions are presented as insincere and fake and bloated and bad and lame. Art done on the streets is raw and real and heartfelt and good and important. The question of "selling out" is something every craftsman who has tangoed with corporate concerns has had to weigh and it won't go away as long as money is being charged for something a person made. It's a complicated issue and reducing it down to simply "corporate = trash" and "homemade = good" doesn't truly tackle the idea. 

Especially when – and this is a perhaps petty but I would argue important detail – the art being presented in the film is, ya know, bad. Anytime the narrative of an amazing artist going up against the soul-crushing tyranny of executive meddling is told, there's the difficult matter of making sure the eventually presented art lives up to the hype. If the music sucks, the audience simply won't care about whether it's ruined by control freak producers. Obviously, taste is totally subjective. There's a lot of music I can't stand that means something to a countless number of people. Something being to my personal liking doesn't give me the right to dismiss it for all the fans who love it. I've got to tell you though, the music in "Strumpet" is not pleasing to the ear. It does not stir the soul and move the heart and motivate the brain. Basically, the movie has one song in it that is, as far as I can tell, called "Get It Out." The lyrics are shouted and incoherent, any deeper meaning impossible to decipher. The four chord guitar strumming is repetitive and unimpressive. The seventy minute presentation plays variation of the song many times and for multiple extended sequences. Not to be a dick about this but I find Jenna B. – an actual singer, for the Manchester-based group Un-Cut – to have a meek singing voice and a muddy delivery. This is why the based-on-facts musician biopics are, no matter how repetitive they are, a reliable formula. Those are about songs that have already proven to be beloved. Untested material has a much more uphill battle to fight in selling this kind of story. 

I don't think of myself as having "normie" taste in film and music. I like lots of weird, lo-fi, challenging art. However, "Strumpet" seems to cross a line from music that is willfully abrasive in an interesting way to simply being noisy. To be totally blunt, this is a film with a number of long scenes of a crazy barking man shouting and screaming at the top of his lungs while a sometimes naked lady strums tunelessly on a guitar. In fact, there's a lot of yelling in "Strumpet." The opening sequence is devoted to Strayman huffing and puffing his way through the entirety of John Cooper Clarke's "Evidently Chickentown." Whenever he becomes too upset by a given situation, he degrades into literal barking and biting. There's multiple scenes in which their would-be manager, played by Stephen Walters, rambles loudly about his vision for the music or it's value. If my theory is correct, that "Strumpet" and its companion film represent Boyle reacting to the experience of making "The Beach," all this screeching and bellowing is clearly an expression of the deep frustration he felt. Sure, that's valid. Putting your primal scream therapy to film is also, maybe, not a valuable use of the viewer's time. 

Maybe “Strumpet” being so continuously loud and screaming is meant to go hand-in-hand with its visual presentation. This was Danny Boyle's first collaboration with cinematographer Anthony Dod Mantle, who would soon become his go-to D.P. Mantle had previously worked on “Julien Donkey-Boy,” so clearly the handheld, grainy look was something he specialized in at the time. In the year 2001, digital video technology was being adopted by a number of artists. This is the same year David Lynch started releasing a bunch of weird short films to his website, for example. Much like those examples, “Strumpet's” visual approach feels a bit like an established filmmaker playing around with a new technology. Of a director inspired by the instant and impulsive nature of digital video, as opposed to the long and expensive process of shooting to film. Some of the visuals, especially when the shadows of a pack of barking dogs are cast on a derelict wall or a P.O.V. shot of a guitar falling towards the viewer, are quite striking. 

The gritty aesthetic of “Strumpet” pairs well with its themes, of valuing art that is real over commercial pap. This means we can presume the film takes place in what can be called the real world. Boyle includes some of the subtly fantastical touches he used throughout his previous films. A truck driver Strayman irritates gets revenge by dropping a load of gravel in front of his building. Strayman himself seems to be more dog than man sometimes. There's a clear metaphor here, of abandoned cultural outsiders needing to flock together should they hope to survive in this world. Ya know, that's why the guy always surrounded by stray dogs is called “Strayman” and rescues the title character off the street. However, such a surreal character does not pair well with the hyper-realistic setting of the story. Simply put, Strayman acts like a schizophrenic person for a lot of the movie. He writes on walls, cinematic shorthand for being a lunatic. He spews poetry almost as if he's narrating the voices in his head. I can not imagine any record label taking a chance on this guy. I can't imagine someone like this being allowed into the room. When paired with music that is not the most melodic, it starts to feel like “Strumpet” is not following the conceit of its own ideas.

I'm not opposed to a film that has protagonists who are loud, annoying, or difficult to appeal to. Boyle managed to make gold out of unlikable characters in “Shallow Grave” and “Trainspotting.” Nor do I demand absolute realism from any cinematic production. However, there is a difference between heroes we find interesting or plausible and heroes we can relate to at all. Strayman's erratic behavior covers up any deeper characterization he might have. There is a certain unnerving energy to Christopher Eccleston wild-eyed and foaming-at-the-mouth performance. However, I finished the film having no deeper an idea of who this person was than when I came in. As for the title character, Strumpet is so quiet and soft-spoken that we simply never get a peek into her interior life at all. Honestly, it's easy to accuse “Strumpet” of being yet another movie where the female character exists as nothing but an empty blank canvas for the male hero to project all his wants and desires onto. She's that poorly defined and Jenna B.'s performance is impossible to read.

As with a few of Boyle's previous BBC production, “Strumpet” also features a wide variety of thick accents. When combined with all the shouting and fast paced dialogue and barking, the movie becomes absolutely indecipherable at times. Perhaps, after becoming disenchanted by the studio experience of “The Beach,” this was the kind of movie the director needed to make to get his groove back. Maybe he needed to screw around with some cam-corders for a bit and scream out all the frustration and anger. I can't say I found the result anything but vague, cliched, and kind of annoying. Put this one thoroughly in the “not for me” column. [Grade: D]

 

Director Report Card: Danny Boyle (1989)

2. The Nightwatch

"Scout" aired on BBC2 on September 8th of 1987. Quite literally the next night after Danny Boyle officially became a director of film and television, his second "movie" also aired on the same network as part of the same program. "The Venus DeMilo Instead," about Irish school boys coping with the Troubles, ended up being the second of five "ScreenPlay" installments Boyle would direct. He contributed "The Hen House" in the fourth season, "Arise and Go Now" in the sixth season, and "Not Even God is Wise Enough" in the eighth and final season. "The Venus DeMilo Instead" appears to have been available for rent on British streaming services at one point – it's not anymore – but Boyle's other "ScreenPlay" episodes, as far as I can tell, have remained elusive in the years since they aired. This is true for a lot of his early TV work. The two episodes of "Inspector Morse" he directed and "Mr. Wroe's Virgins," a four episode series about nuns that he oversaw, can currently be found on BritBox and Tubi. 

Otherwise? "Monkeys," an intriguing sounding television movie about John DeLorean from 1989, doesn't appear to have ever been released. "For the Greater Good," a 1991 BBC mini-series about the aftermath of World War II, seems to pop up in various places from time to time. I couldn't find it as of this writing. Among the obscure projects from this stage of Boyle's career, I was able to locate "The Nightwatch." That's a late night hour-long movie, also about the Troubles and also made for the BBC, that Boyle also directed in 1989. Some helpful soul uploaded it to that sketchy Russian YouTube clone that is frequently a godsend for those seeking movies totally unavailable through any official channels. The video quality is a bit crunchy and there's a distracting time strip running along the top of the whole time. However, for pedantic film nerds like me who try to get as close to 100% on a director's Letterboxd page as possible, this hard-to-find presentation can at least be observed. 

Not that I was able to understand "The Nightwatch" much anyway. And not only because of the lack of subtitles for all the distinct elocution going on. The film is loosely inspired by the Littlejohn affair. That is, as far as I can tell from the kind of convoluted Wikipedia page, an incident that occurred in 1973. Brothers Kenneth and Keith Littlejohn, two British expats with a long history of criminal behavior, pulled off the then-biggest bank robbery in Dublin history. While being held for trial, Kenneth claimed to have been an English double agent in the Official Irish Republican Army the entire time, committing all his crimes on behalf of the British crown to destabilize the Irish rebellion. The story gets more bizarre from there, as the brothers made a daring escape from prison and went on the run, with Kenneth eventually being arrested while in his underwear. I am absolutely certain that I do not have enough of a grasp on the history of the British/Irish conflict to truly understand all the nuances of these events. However, I will say that it sounds like a pretty compelling premise for a movie. 

Unfortunately, "The Nightwatch" seems to operate with the assumption that the viewer is familiar with this true story while also understanding that a British made-for-TV movie in the late eighties certainly did not have the budget necessary to accurately portray such a tale. Instead, it heavily fictionalizes Kenneth Littlejohn's story as practically a chamber drama. It follows bank robber and MI6 asset David Smallman as he busts his brother out of prison in Northern Ireland. They relocate to Amsterdam. Four years later, Smallman is recruited by the crown again on behalf of a pair of American businessmen planning some kind of illegal activity. Smallman reassembles his band of former partners-in-crime under the pretense of them joining the operation. However, following a night of debauchery in the Dutch city, Smallman reveals that he has a far more personal matter to resolve.

I didn't know any of the above information about the true story that inspired "The Nightwatch" when I sat down to watch it. Yes, I was acting like your typical ignorant American, assuming that homework was not required to understand an obscure TV movie from 1989. This meant I was very confused almost the entire hour I was watching the film, having little familiarity with the political turmoil of the Troubles and the specific historical affair being referenced here. From the perspective of my dim, thoroughly mid-Atlantic eyes, "The Nightwatch" is almost entirely an hour of men with difficult Irish accents having conversations inside restaurants, hotel rooms, or night clubs. I would say a good seventy percent of the runtime is devoted to interior scenes, of the cast seated around a table. They argue and bicker about vague and secret plans. Sometimes they pull guns and threaten one another. Most often, they sneer hardboiled dialogue laced with resentments over long since passed events and battles. 

That "The Nightwatch" is largely devoted to a stage play-like sequence of events, of people talking about things that happened, is frustrating for another reason. The film resembles a well-known structure. Namely, any number of previous narratives about putting together a team of rough and tumble guys to seek out an objective of debatable morality. I always love a good "men on a mission" movie. Of course, "The Nightwatch" decidedly is not that kind of story. It starts and stops at the "putting together a team" step of this familiar formula. I don't think we see Smallman and the band of scumbags he gets tangled up never actually set out on their mission only because the BBC clearly didn't have the money for it. This is a movie, partially anyway, about frustration. It is purposely an extended first act. These guys hate each other and wouldn't make a good team anyway. The idea, I suspect, is to subvert expectations by showing that a group of hardened criminals are exactly the kind of people who don't play well with others. 

It's an interesting idea but that doesn't mean it's a pleasant one to watch. "The Nightwatch" produces an overall mood of cruelty and bitterness. Leslie Grantham plays Smallman as someone who is constantly scowling and griping. James Cosmo, as the first associate recruited for the job, plays a character who is a dead-eyed, racist psychopath that has no problem reminding others of the violent acts he has performed in the past and has no qualms about performing in the future. Tony Doyle as the second recruit is more outwardly obnoxious and confrontational. Don Fellows is the American businessman who regales the others with his stories of sexually abusing women in Vietnam. Once the gang gets together, they visit a brothel and beat a homeless man in an alleyway. These are deeply terrible people and spending time with them is not exactly rewarding, interesting, or compelling. 

I do think there is a point here. Smallman's MI6 recruiter is a pathetic figure, an alcoholic who whines and moans at the agent he's watching over more like he's an old drinking buddy than a spy in his employ. This is not an exciting call to adventure for the protagonist but a humiliating obligation. The final act takes place in a brothel, where Smallman begins to rant to a prostitute about power and control while also humiliating and threatening her. That is where the heart of the movie is, I think. This is a story about power and control, about a desperate need to reclaim power from the system that controls. "The Nightwatch" has neither the runtime nor the interest to fully explore these ideas. It ends rather abruptly not long after this thematically establishing moment. In the espionage genre, where spies are usually action heroes, a film that considers how assets are at the beck-and-call of their masters, in a twisted power play that recalls the same systems of control that direct international affairs, is an interesting approach. 

However, I'll say this much about "The Nightwatch:" You can tell Danny Boyle directed it. Since I'm currently unable to see the missing films between "Scout" and this one, I can only speculate on how it happened. However, the director had definitely developed his own style by this point. New Wave music plays throughout the film, with notable needle drops from the Art of Noise and The Cure. (Not to mention a cameo from the memorably bizarre video for New Order's "True Faith.") A few times, these musical choices are paired with quickly edited montages. The descent into depravity that occurs before the final third, where our characters explore the Amsterdam red light district while becoming more unhinged, is easily the highlight of the film. If only because it allows some of the nervous energy, confined to the tight interiors for most of the runtime, a release. 

By the way, here in reality, the Official IRA would disavow the Littlejohn brothers as ever being members of their outfit, calling some of the details of their story into question. Kenneth would serve six years in prison for another bank robbery in 1981. The current whereabouts of the notorious figure doesn't seem to be public knowledge and I doubt we'll know all the details of his story for a long time. "The Nightwatch" has a much more permanent, far more downbeat ending, unsurprisingly. The true story is probably a good degree more interesting than this fictionalized account, which is clearly compromised by a lack of budget and resources and a decision to play too many of its details close to its chest. Not the best work of the burgeoning filmmaker behind it, though it does present some interesting – if ultimately unfulfilled – opportunities. [Grade: C-]