One approaches this adaptation of Cormac McCarthy’s novel with caution. Director Billy Bob Thornton had his final four-hour cut slashed by the distributor to two hours so theaters could squeeze in twice as many shows per day. In retaliation, Thornton has vowed to keep the complete version away from view (for instance, in a director’s cut DVD) until it is first allowed a theatrical run. He was unhappy with the two-hour cut, and so is everyone else.
Except me. Obviously, I might like the complete version even more, but the hatcheted version is plain wonderful—a beautiful, ironical, grazingly melancholy western, set shortly after World War II, that tenderly mines a young cowboy’s slippage across the border from Texas into Mexico as his journey into his unconscious and into his moral development. Matt Damon, deeply affecting as John Grady Cole, perhaps matches the high watermark of his glowing role in Walter Hill’s Geronimo: An American Legend (1993)—and the passage of years hasn’t made a dent on his open face. Damon is spiritually attuned to Thornton’s quiet, brutal meditation on honor, guilt, responsibility, confession, moral ascendency. The final shot, a long-shot, captures a reunion back in Texas that richly satisfies.
Thank goodness Thornton doesn’t appear in the film. Alas, Penélope Cruz does, and her performance as Cole’s love interest is the weakest aspect of the film—one that only recasting, not additional footage, could correct. Henry Thomas—remember Elliott in Steven Spielberg’s E.T. (1982)?—well plays Cole’s companion, Lacey Rawlins. It is part of Cole’s naïvité, circling out of a pure heart, that he believes that neither of them is the leader of the pair. Cole must corral the necessary self-confrontation to appreciate his own heroic strength. Kudos to Thornton that he doesn’t invest his perception of Cole, or ours, with rhetoric attesting to this heroism. His camera simply observes as Cole proceeds with his painful pilgrim’s progress.
Let me tell you, Ang Lee’s mediocre result with Brokeback Mountain (2005) looks even more shabby after one sees All the Pretty Horses, from which so much spirit and atmosphere were stolen. As for the animal that is the bone of contention in Thornton’s film, I don’t want to let the horse out of the bag by telling you which side I come down on. Rather than debating who owns what, we should be debating the whole idea of ownership—not only the ownership of a horse, but the ownership of land, including that magical border between Mexico and what-used-to-be Mexico.
I don’t care how bad you’ve been told this movie is. Its currency is being constantly renewed.
Barry Markowitz and Fred Murphy contribute achingly gorgeous color cinematography.
This entry was posted on November 4, 2007 at 3:46 pm and is filed under Informal Capsule Film Comments. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
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ALL THE PRETTY HORSES (Billy Bob Thornton, 2000)
One approaches this adaptation of Cormac McCarthy’s novel with caution. Director Billy Bob Thornton had his final four-hour cut slashed by the distributor to two hours so theaters could squeeze in twice as many shows per day. In retaliation, Thornton has vowed to keep the complete version away from view (for instance, in a director’s cut DVD) until it is first allowed a theatrical run. He was unhappy with the two-hour cut, and so is everyone else.
Except me. Obviously, I might like the complete version even more, but the hatcheted version is plain wonderful—a beautiful, ironical, grazingly melancholy western, set shortly after World War II, that tenderly mines a young cowboy’s slippage across the border from Texas into Mexico as his journey into his unconscious and into his moral development. Matt Damon, deeply affecting as John Grady Cole, perhaps matches the high watermark of his glowing role in Walter Hill’s Geronimo: An American Legend (1993)—and the passage of years hasn’t made a dent on his open face. Damon is spiritually attuned to Thornton’s quiet, brutal meditation on honor, guilt, responsibility, confession, moral ascendency. The final shot, a long-shot, captures a reunion back in Texas that richly satisfies.
Thank goodness Thornton doesn’t appear in the film. Alas, Penélope Cruz does, and her performance as Cole’s love interest is the weakest aspect of the film—one that only recasting, not additional footage, could correct. Henry Thomas—remember Elliott in Steven Spielberg’s E.T. (1982)?—well plays Cole’s companion, Lacey Rawlins. It is part of Cole’s naïvité, circling out of a pure heart, that he believes that neither of them is the leader of the pair. Cole must corral the necessary self-confrontation to appreciate his own heroic strength. Kudos to Thornton that he doesn’t invest his perception of Cole, or ours, with rhetoric attesting to this heroism. His camera simply observes as Cole proceeds with his painful pilgrim’s progress.
Let me tell you, Ang Lee’s mediocre result with Brokeback Mountain (2005) looks even more shabby after one sees All the Pretty Horses, from which so much spirit and atmosphere were stolen. As for the animal that is the bone of contention in Thornton’s film, I don’t want to let the horse out of the bag by telling you which side I come down on. Rather than debating who owns what, we should be debating the whole idea of ownership—not only the ownership of a horse, but the ownership of land, including that magical border between Mexico and what-used-to-be Mexico.
I don’t care how bad you’ve been told this movie is. Its currency is being constantly renewed.
Barry Markowitz and Fred Murphy contribute achingly gorgeous color cinematography.
This entry was posted on November 4, 2007 at 3:46 pm and is filed under Informal Capsule Film Comments. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.