By
Ian Caruth
Arizona Daily Wildcat
"Way of the Gun" hits its target
Grade: B+
Christopher McQuarrie first came to the attention of the mainstream movie-going public with his Oscar-winning screenplay for 1995's "The Usual Suspects," a superbly conceived and executed psychological whodunit masquerading as a crime thriller.
For his directorial debut and first script since then, McQuarrie serves up "The Way of the Gun," another tricky, darkly humorous thriller with noir underpinnings.
The talented Benicio Del Toro and the impossibly photogenic Ryan Phillippe star as a pair of pseudonymed, amoral low-lifes bent on finding "the fortune that was waiting for (them)." This fortune comes conveniently packaged in the form of the very pregnant and singularly annoying Juliette Lewis, who seems like she was put on earth for the sole purpose of playing mentally-retarded white trash.
Lewis is the paid surrogate mother for the child of a rich entrepreneur and his shrewish wife and is under 24-hour watch by a pair of ruthless hit men/bodyguards. After kidnapping Lewis and making a run for the border, Phillippe and Del Toro realize that they have kidnapped the unborn child of a mob-connected, possibly supremely-evil and certainly determined entrepreneur, who is resolutely dedicated to the recovery of his child - with or without the surrounding mother and bystanders.
From this point, things start to go really wrong, as they always do in movies like this.
McQuarrie's film is, on the surface, quite similar to other crime-on-the-road movies, borrowing elements from Terence Malick's "Badlands" and various Quentin Tarantino films. However, like "The Usual Suspects," what distinguishes "The Way of the Gun" are the monstrous elements that lurk just beneath the surface.
Much remains hidden in the film - elliptical dialogue alludes to past events, relationships and unseen characters, giving the impression that there is some very important information being tantalizingly withheld from characters and the audience. Often, dialogue and important action takes place just outside the frame of the film, reinforcing the idea that what is unseen is just as important as what is seen.
Beneath the veneer of nihilistic cool-speak and detached, uncaring violence, Phillippe and Del Toro's characters explore new territory for anti-heroes. Throughout the film, it is implied that the two are lovers, making them cinema's deadliest homosexual couple since the hand-holding hit men Wynt and Mr. Kidd in the James Bond film "Diamonds Are Forever," or at least the strapping convicts of "Con Air."
Performances all-around range from at the least passable to strong. The acting-impaired Phillippe - who has been abysmal in everything except "Cruel Intentions," which did not ask much of anyone involved - turns in an entirely tolerable, and even appealing, performance. Del Toro, who has been great in just about everything he has ever done, does not break his streak - his world-weary, coolly ironic character is nothing new in the crime genre, but the actor brings his personal charms and idiosyncrasies to the role, creating an almost sympathetic, very human sociopathic killer.
There is little new ground to be covered in the crime genre - lately, success within the genre has meant rearranging previously canonized elements. By shuffling together interesting characters, a twisty but compelling plot, some of the blackest humor in recent memory and a rich, layered subtext, McQuarrie has created a fine film, and hopefully a hint of more mature work to come.
