Low expectations are the key to enjoying this movie. Keep in mind that the film is anchored by a dubious ballad by Phil Collins, an even more dubious performance by top-billed actress Rachel Ward, and was directed by a man who has the word "hack" in his name (Taylor Hackford). It is a re-make of Jacques Tourneur's equally stylish but infinitely more cynical 1940s classic "Out of the Past." While Tourneur's film took us on a death-trip that proceeds with cold logic to its blazing suicidal finale, this film is too invested in the romance at its core to allow the characters to be truly bad or truly alive.
Let's face it, Jeff Bridges is not a replacement for Robert Mitchum. It says everything about the difference in these two films, that Mictchum's character is a broken-down man who operates a gas station in the high deserts of Nevada, while in this version Bridges plays a football player. That's right, and the plot actually has something to do with football players, coaches (Alex Karras appears prominently), bookies (Dorian Harewood and James Woods), corrupt real estate moguls (Jane Greer, from the original film) and professional fixers (Richard Widmark). The primary weakness of the script is that it spends the first half trying to convince us that Rachel Ward is a femme fatale, and then by the time we're halfway believing it (she deserts Bridges in Mexico after murdering Karras' character), the rest of the movie is spent trying to convince us that she's got a heart of gold. Her character makes no sense, and she doesn't have the screen presence to make us look past that fact.
A high speed chase with sports cars that takes place 10 minutes into the film is the highlight of the entire film. We also get to see Kid Creole do his best Cab Calloway impersonation, and other bits of 80s "nostalgia" for things that weren't worth showing in the first place. The director is mostly concerned with having his characters walk through rooms that are stylishly decorated and architecturally moderne. If he had spent more time working on the script and less time scouting locations, it might be worth something. As it is, this film is not only an embarrassment to anybody who is a fan of the original film, but just a poor effort in and of itself. Widmark is the only actor who comes out looking better than he did going into it. Eminently skip-able.
Let's face it, Jeff Bridges is not a replacement for Robert Mitchum. It says everything about the difference in these two films, that Mictchum's character is a broken-down man who operates a gas station in the high deserts of Nevada, while in this version Bridges plays a football player. That's right, and the plot actually has something to do with football players, coaches (Alex Karras appears prominently), bookies (Dorian Harewood and James Woods), corrupt real estate moguls (Jane Greer, from the original film) and professional fixers (Richard Widmark). The primary weakness of the script is that it spends the first half trying to convince us that Rachel Ward is a femme fatale, and then by the time we're halfway believing it (she deserts Bridges in Mexico after murdering Karras' character), the rest of the movie is spent trying to convince us that she's got a heart of gold. Her character makes no sense, and she doesn't have the screen presence to make us look past that fact.
A high speed chase with sports cars that takes place 10 minutes into the film is the highlight of the entire film. We also get to see Kid Creole do his best Cab Calloway impersonation, and other bits of 80s "nostalgia" for things that weren't worth showing in the first place. The director is mostly concerned with having his characters walk through rooms that are stylishly decorated and architecturally moderne. If he had spent more time working on the script and less time scouting locations, it might be worth something. As it is, this film is not only an embarrassment to anybody who is a fan of the original film, but just a poor effort in and of itself. Widmark is the only actor who comes out looking better than he did going into it. Eminently skip-able.