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A Brutal 'Way' With Words

By Desson Howe
Washington Post Staff Writer
Friday, September 8, 2000
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Nicky Katt, Ryan Phillippe and Taye Diggs in "The Way of the Gun."
(John Baer/Artisan Entertainment)
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As I write this, a ring of perpetual gunfire echoes though my head. I can almost taste the blood that in "The Way of the Gun" oozes from a plurality of exit wounds. And I can still hear the screams of Juliette Lewis as she undergoes well, that would spoil too much.
I'm talking about an intense, gun-blazing finale, to say the least. And I have to remind myself that leading up to this plasmatic conclusion was an extremely smart, enjoyable pastiche of sepia-toned tough-guy movies, the kind that used to star Warren Oates or were directed by Sam Peckinpah.
Writer-director Christopher McQuarrie, who wrote "The Usual Suspects," has made a film that I admire more than I love, whose ending makes me recoil emotionally, even as I recommend the thing. Hope this makes sense to you; I'm still trying to make head or tail of it myself.
Here's another thing that rises to the surface of my first impressions: the magnificent Benicio del Toro. Remember him? The mumbly Fred Fenster in "The Usual Suspects." A fantastic performer, who exudes presence in a way that his co-star, Ryan Phillippe, cannot. Watching del Toro's character, a raccoon-eyed would-be kidnapper known only as Longbaugh, is the movie's greatest pleasure.
Longbaugh and Parker (Phillippe) are career bottom-feeders in the American Southwest (as filmed in Utah), looking for some easy money. Their great idea the inevitably doomed inspiration that leads to all the trouble in this story occurs in a doctor's office, where our unapologetically unlovable losers are donating sperm for money.
They overhear a conversation about this girl who's having a surrogate baby for some loaded clients. A dingy light bulb flickers above both heads: Kidnap Robin (Lewis), the pregnant woman, then hit the parents-to-be for millions.
Robin walks around everywhere with two bodyguards (played by Nicky Katt and the impeccably handsome Taye Diggs), so the kidnapping is going to be difficult. Parker covers his face in a stocking. Longbaugh hides behind a surgical mask and they go for it.
But these bodyguards aren't particularly afraid of dying just failing. And it takes a bizarre sequence of events for our dazed kidnappers to find themselves with one pregnant, huffing-puffing woman at their command. Unfortunately, they find out too late the client is Hale Chidduck (Scott Wilson), a money launderer for some scary people. It's going to be the hardest money they ever made; and this Robin girl is far from just a passive pawn.
McQuarrie's film is a complete deconstruction and nose-thumbing of things Hollywood. Our main characters are not particularly redeemable, even by tough-guy standards, although both actors certainly know how to get you to like them.
Almost no one is pure, except perhaps Chidduck's agent of death, a self-described "adjudicator" named Sarno (James Caan), who has a sweet bedside manner as he plans appropriate retribution for those who deserve it. And there are no sacred cows, as the opening scene demonstrates: When a sewer-mouthed woman screams a torrent of obscenities at Parker, she gets hers like any guy, and the movie moves on without a backward glance.
McQuarrie doesn't mess with tradition when it comes to music, however. Joe Kraemer's score is one of the best in recent memory, rich in classic film noir atmospherics, as it underlines this multileveled plot. When Parker and Longbaugh first set eyes on Robin, their lucrative quarry, Kraemer's music fills the air with velvet forebodings, a sense that there's going to be something more to this plan than mere kidnapping. How right that music is.
From this point, Parker and Longbaugh are in for the bumpiest ride of their lives, as they make for the Mexican border. And for two hours, at least, so are we. That bumpiness eventually becomes my personal issue, as this movie segues from cool retort to gun report. Should I be feeling this queasy? I wondered, as gun casings and shells hit the Mexican dirt, time after time. I guess that's just the Way of this World. But I'd rather remember "Gun" for its cine-kid smartness and, of course, Benicio del Toro.
THE WAY OF THE GUN (R, 119 minutes) Contains intense violence, obscenity and gory baby-delivery details.
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