Posted in: by Richard T. Jameson, Film Reviews, Westerns

Kevin Costner’s ‘Open Range’ delivers the goods

[originally published in Queen Anne/Magnolia News, August 27, 2003]

Film critics have a lot of things on their plate when they sit down to deal with a movie, and some of those things can be pretty far removed from the concerns and curiosity of the typical reader. When you get down to basics, what most people want to know when reading about a given movie is: Am I going to enjoy it? Am I going to be satisfied that I spent two hours of my time that way?

Open Range will take slightly more than two hours of your time, and viewers who keep a stopwatch handy may not appreciate all of it, because it’s easy to imagine how the film could have been shortened, tightened up. But I wouldn’t part with a minute of it. It moves at the settled pace and with the assured stride of a national genre in a culture that values such a thing.

It’s also deeply satisfying in ways that few movies are these days. Then again, few movies these days are Westerns. Fewer still are Westerns that aspire to give the sort of pleasure that even run-of-the-mill Westerns could once be depended upon to stimulate. Open Range costars and was directed by Kevin Costner, who thirteen years ago won some Oscars for making Dances with Wolves. That movie had its virtues, and the new film is clearly the work of the same man, but a better measure of the satisfaction Open Range delivers is the movie in which Costner, as a featured actor, first connected with audiences: Lawrence Kasdan’s Silverado in 1985.

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Posted in: by Richard T. Jameson, Film Reviews

Sublimities in transit: Steven Spielberg dreams another American Dream

[Originally published in Queen Anne News / Magnolia News, June 23, 2004]

Viktor Navorski (Tom Hanks) is in a bad place.

Flying into an airport that is never referred to as JFK even though that’s what it must be, he has traveled from his homeland of Krakozia, a suppositional satellite of the former Soviet Union, to New York City, U.S.A., on a personal, undisclosed mission. Unbeknownst to Viktor, while his plane was in the air his country has been whisked out of diplomatically accredited existence by a small, messy, yet effective revolution. Hence, he finds himself in an intractable limbo between the debarkation gate and the portals to America.

His passport is invalid, his return plane ticket useless. He can’t go on; he can’t go back. Inconveniently for the beleaguered bureaucrat, Frank Dixon (Stanley Tucci), charged with monitoring international comings and going at the terminal, neither can he be made to go away.

Whereupon director Steven Spielberg sums up the situation with a patented tour-de-force shot. Viktor walks through the International Arrivals concourse to the verge of its public core and stops; then the camera cranes back and up, pulling away from our central character — and very identifiable star — as hundreds of travelers and airport personnel teem through several layers and at least an acre of glass-walled corridors, gift shops, bookstores (Borders!) and grab-a-bite eateries, till only a sheer act of will enables us to keep track of where Viktor’s dim, distant, and helpless figure stands.

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