Review: Volcano (dir. by Mick Jackson)


“Lava? Right here in L.A.?” — Mike Roark

In Volcano, Los Angeles does not just face an earthquake, fire, or some ordinary civic emergency—it finds itself threatened by a river of lava tearing through the heart of the city. Directed by Mick Jackson, the 1997 disaster movie takes a premise that is almost impossible to accept on paper and sells it through speed, scale, and the sheer force of Tommy Lee Jones barking orders at people. A volcano erupting beneath Los Angeles, near the La Brea Tar Pits no less, is not exactly a model of scientific credibility. Still, the film is energetic enough to make its absurdity part of the entertainment.

The setup is wonderfully direct. An earthquake rattles Los Angeles, workers begin dying in underground tunnels, and a strange source of extreme heat is discovered beneath the city. Before long, lava is spilling into the streets, buildings are catching fire, and the city’s Emergency Management director Mike Roark, played by Tommy Lee Jones, has to coordinate an increasingly desperate effort to keep downtown Los Angeles from being wiped out. Anne Heche plays Dr. Amy Barnes, the geologist who realizes that the city is dealing with more than an earthquake or a gas leak. Together, Roark and Barnes become the film’s central problem-solving team: he is the practical, politically frustrated municipal leader, while she is the scientific expert trying to explain the impossible thing happening under everyone’s feet.

What makes Volcano enjoyable is that it does not waste much time pretending to be a subtle character drama. The movie’s main concern is escalation. Every time the heroes think they have contained the problem, the lava finds another way to spread. It comes through the subway. It crashes through pavement. It turns a normal Los Angeles intersection into a landscape from hell. The film understands the simple pleasure of watching ordinary urban infrastructure become a weapon or a liability. A train tunnel, a concrete barrier, construction equipment, storm drains, and even a city block all become parts of an enormous improvised plan to redirect molten rock.

Mick Jackson directs the action with enough urgency that the movie often works even when the science is wobbling badly. The special effects are very much of their era, combining practical fire, miniatures, digital lava, and lots of actors reacting to bright orange light. Some of the CGI has aged about as gracefully as one would expect from 1997, but the physical effects still have impact. The lava itself has a thick, almost muscular quality in the film. It does not just look like glowing liquid; it moves like an unstoppable wall that eats concrete, cars, and people. The images of lava flooding Los Angeles streets remain the reason to watch the movie. They are absurd, but memorably absurd.

The film also benefits from treating the crisis as a citywide emergency rather than simply a personal survival story. Roark is not a scientist, soldier, or superhero. He is basically a city official who has to make decisions under impossible conditions, manage multiple agencies, argue with politicians, and keep people from panicking. Tommy Lee Jones is perfect casting for that role. He has the right mixture of exhaustion, irritation, authority, and reluctant decency. Jones does not play Roark as a polished action hero; he plays him like a man who had plans for a quiet weekend with his daughter and instead ends up trying to stop Los Angeles from being buried under lava. His natural gruffness gives the movie more weight than it might otherwise have.

Anne Heche brings a different energy as Amy Barnes. Her character is often stuck delivering exposition, explaining volcanic activity, underground pressure, and why everyone is probably about to die, but Heche commits to it. She gives Amy enough urgency and intelligence that the scientific dialogue feels less like a lecture and more like another kind of emergency response. The relationship between Roark and Amy is also refreshingly restrained. The movie could have forced a big romantic subplot between them, but it mostly keeps their connection professional. They respect each other because they are both good at their jobs, which is more interesting than a last-minute disaster-movie love story.

The supporting cast is solid as well. Don Cheadle has a memorable role as Emmit Reese, a subway supervisor who becomes one of Roark’s most important allies. Keith David also adds welcome presence as a police lieutenant helping coordinate the response. Gaby Hoffmann plays Roark’s daughter Kelly, and while the daughter-in-peril material is fairly standard, it gives Jones’s character an emotional stake outside the command center. The film occasionally leans hard on familiar disaster-movie formulas, including separated family members, skeptical officials, and civilians making terrible decisions near obviously dangerous lava, but that is part of the package. Volcano is not trying to reinvent the genre. It is trying to make the genre run hot and fast for 104 minutes.

It is hard not to compare Volcano with Dante’s Peak, the other major volcano disaster movie released earlier in 1997. Dante’s Peak at least tries to ground its eruption in recognizable volcanic warning signs, scientific procedure, and the danger of officials ignoring experts until it is too late. Even when it becomes exaggerated, the film wants viewers to feel that its disaster could plausibly grow out of real geological conditions. Volcano, on the other hand, does not have much interest in maintaining that kind of credibility. Its premise is already much wilder: molten lava suddenly emerging beneath one of the largest cities in the United States. Rather than fight that inherent silliness, Mick Jackson’s film leans into it. Where Dante’s Peak aims for science-flavored suspense, Volcano goes for spectacle, turning Los Angeles itself into a giant disaster-movie set piece.

The biggest issue is that the movie never really decides how seriously it wants to take itself. At times, it is a grim urban catastrophe film in which people die in horrifying ways. One scene involving a transit worker trying to rescue another man from the lava is still surprisingly brutal and sad. At other times, Volcano is close to accidental comedy, especially whenever the film attempts to explain its geology with complete confidence. The idea of a full-scale volcanic eruption beneath Los Angeles is already a major stretch, but the movie goes beyond that into a kind of aggressively convenient science. The lava moves where the plot needs it to move, barriers hold until they need to fail, and the city seems able to mobilize massive engineering projects at a speed that would make any real emergency planner laugh.

Still, questioning the realism too closely misses the appeal. Volcano belongs to that specific 1990s era when major studios were throwing big budgets at destruction spectacles with recognizable stars and high-concept premises. The movie is essentially a monster film where the monster is a river of lava rolling through Los Angeles. Instead of a creature smashing buildings, it is molten rock swallowing streets, derailing infrastructure, and forcing ordinary people to run for their lives.

The movie is also unintentionally revealing about late-1990s disaster filmmaking. It has a strong faith in public-service workers, engineers, transit employees, firefighters, police officers, and regular people doing dangerous jobs because somebody has to do them. Roark’s strategy is not to defeat nature through one genius solution. It is to coordinate an enormous group effort, with people hauling concrete barriers, driving equipment, evacuating neighborhoods, and taking risks to buy the city more time. That civic-minded quality gives the film a little more heart than its reputation as a silly lava movie might suggest.

In the end, Volcano is neither a great disaster movie nor a completely disposable one. It is too scientifically goofy to be taken seriously as a realistic thriller, and its dialogue can be very blunt. Yet it has pace, personality, some genuinely effective spectacle, and a reliably entertaining Tommy Lee Jones performance at its center. It is the kind of movie where a man can face a molten river in downtown Los Angeles and somehow make you believe that yelling louder might solve the problem. For viewers in the mood for a big, fiery, unapologetically 1990s popcorn movie, Volcano remains a fun eruption of chaos.

Review: Deadwood (by David Milch)


“Be in my joint in two hours—we’re forming a fuckin’ government.” — Al Swearengen

David Milch’s Deadwood is one of those rare television series that feels less like a conventional prestige drama and more like being dropped into a living, breathing, filthy historical world. Set in the rough gold-rush settlement of Deadwood, South Dakota, during the 1870s, the HBO series takes the familiar pieces of the Western—lawmen, gunfighters, prospectors, saloons, prostitutes, corrupt businessmen, and murder—and turns them into something far richer than a genre exercise. It is a Western, but it is also a story about the difficult, often ugly process of creating a society in the middle of chaos. Civilization in Deadwood is not built by noble speeches or clean acts of heroism. It is assembled through greed, fear, business deals, compromise, bloodshed, exploitation, loyalty, and the occasional act of real compassion.

The show’s biggest strength is its ability to make Deadwood itself feel like one of television’s great settings. At the beginning, the camp exists outside the reach of formal American law, which means everyone who arrives sees an opportunity. Some people come looking for gold. Others come looking to escape old lives, make money, gain power, or take advantage of people too desperate to protect themselves. Every character has a different idea of what Deadwood should become, and the series finds drama in the collision between those competing visions. A claim dispute, a murder, a business arrangement, an illness, a newspaper article, or even a random rumor can become part of the larger struggle over who gets to shape the town’s future.

At the center of that struggle is Seth Bullock, played by Timothy Olyphant with an intensity that makes him seem like he is always one bad conversation away from throwing somebody through a window. Bullock arrives in Deadwood with his friend and business partner Sol Star, hoping to start a hardware business and leave behind his past as a lawman. He wants a calmer, more stable existence, but the town almost immediately drags him back toward violence and public responsibility. Bullock has a powerful sense of justice, but he is not a smooth, patient hero. He is rigid, angry, stubborn, and frequently driven by instinct before reflection. Olyphant gives him a clenched physicality—the hard stare, the tense posture, the barely restrained frustration—that makes it clear Bullock is always fighting to keep the more destructive side of himself under control.

That is what makes Bullock such a compelling protagonist. Deadwood never treats him as a simple white-hat sheriff who comes to tame the frontier. He is more decent than many of the people around him, but he is not uncomplicatedly good. His moral certainty can become self-righteousness, and his willingness to defend the vulnerable can slide into an urge to control a situation through force. At times, Bullock’s anger is justified; at other times, it is frightening. Olyphant’s performance works because he does not try to make Bullock effortlessly likable. Instead, he makes him believable as a man who wants order, justice, and dignity in a place that seems designed to expose every violent impulse he is trying to bury.

If Bullock represents Deadwood’s rough version of moral order, Ian McShane’s Al Swearengen represents its ruthless understanding of power. As the owner of the Gem Saloon, Swearengen initially appears to be the obvious villain: a man who profits from vice, manipulation, intimidation, and murder. McShane gives him such enormous control over the role that every scene becomes more charged when Swearengen walks into it. His speech has a strange, unforgettable rhythm, moving between elaborate insults, sly observations, sudden bursts of rage, and dry comedy. He is part Shakespearean king, part criminal entrepreneur, and part exhausted manager trying to hold together a business and a town full of people who are constantly making life harder for him.

What makes Swearengen one of television’s greatest characters is that the series refuses to flatten him into a conventional bad guy. He is undeniably brutal, often monstrous, and capable of treating human beings as disposable pieces in a larger game. The show never asks the audience to forget that. But as Deadwood faces pressure from outside business interests, political maneuvering, and wealthy figures who see the camp as a resource to be absorbed, Swearengen’s investment in the town becomes clearer. He does not become a hero, but he develops into something more complicated: a man whose selfish ambition is inseparable from a practical, almost territorial loyalty to Deadwood. He understands that the camp can only survive if its people occasionally work together, even if he usually has to manipulate them into doing so.

The relationship between Bullock and Swearengen gives the series much of its electricity. They are rivals, reluctant allies, ideological opposites, and men who recognize certain necessary qualities in each other. Bullock sees Swearengen as a moral disease at the center of the camp. Swearengen sees Bullock as an unpredictable nuisance, but also as someone with the strength and authority to be useful. Their confrontations work because neither man can completely dominate the other. Olyphant and McShane create a tension that goes beyond physical threat. Their conflict reflects the show’s larger question: can Deadwood become a place governed by something closer to law and principle, or will it always belong to the people with the most money, violence, and influence?

Still, Deadwood would not be nearly as great if it were only the Bullock and Swearengen show. Its ensemble is one of HBO’s best, filled with actors who make the camp feel populated by people with histories, grudges, private fears, ambitions, and complicated ties to one another. John Hawkes is excellent as Sol Star, Bullock’s business partner and closest friend. Sol is quieter and more patient than Bullock, but Hawkes never lets that quietness fade into the background. He gives Sol an intelligence and decency that make him a crucial moral and emotional counterweight to Bullock’s volatility. His friendship with Bullock is one of the show’s most believable relationships because Sol understands the good in Bullock without ignoring the damage Bullock’s anger can cause.

Molly Parker is equally strong as Alma Garret, a wealthy widow who gradually becomes much more than an outsider caught in Deadwood’s orbit. Alma could have been written as a standard symbol of refinement in a crude frontier town, but Parker gives her tremendous resolve, intelligence, and emotional restraint. Her story is about survival in a different but no less dangerous form. She is forced to navigate grief, addiction, business interests, motherhood, and the expectations placed on a woman in a violently male world. Her relationship with Bullock is complicated in the best way because it is built from longing, frustration, guilt, repression, and circumstance rather than easy romance.

Anna Gunn brings similar depth to Martha Bullock, who becomes increasingly essential as the series develops. Martha could have been pushed aside as merely the protagonist’s wife, but Gunn makes her one of the clearest-eyed people in the camp. She understands the weight of family, grief, responsibility, and compromise, and she gives the character an emotional firmness that Bullock himself often lacks. Martha does not need grand speeches to establish her strength. Her endurance and intelligence gradually make her one of the show’s most quietly powerful figures.

Robin Weigert’s Calamity Jane is another unforgettable character, and one of the series’ most heartbreaking. Jane is loud, drunk, funny, self-destructive, and seemingly incapable of admitting how deeply she cares about people without covering it in profanity or sarcasm. Weigert finds the sadness beneath every messy outburst. Her love for Wild Bill Hickok, her loyalty to those who treat her with kindness, and her profound discomfort with herself make Jane much more than a colorful Western side character. She can be hilarious one minute and devastating the next, which is exactly the emotional balance Deadwood handles so well.

The supporting cast is so strong that the show continually finds new ways to make minor characters feel essential. Gerald McRaney brings a cold, weathered authority to George Hearst, the wealthy mining magnate whose arrival makes Deadwood’s conflicts larger and more dangerous. Hearst is not simply another local schemer. He represents the corporate and political forces that can crush a place like Deadwood from the outside, turning its chaos into something colder and more organized. McRaney plays him with a calm menace that is often more unsettling than open rage. He does not need to shout to make it clear how much power he has.

Brian Cox is terrific as Jack Langrishe, the theatrical and charismatic impresario whose arrival adds another kind of intelligence to the camp. Langrishe can be charming, funny, and seemingly generous, but Cox always lets the audience see the calculation behind the performance. He understands how to survive around men like Swearengen and Bullock because he knows that people are always playing roles, especially when power is on the line. Garrett Dillahunt also does remarkable work in two very different roles. He first appears as Jack McCall, the disturbed and dangerous killer whose actions leave a permanent mark on the camp. Later, he returns as Francis Wolcott, a polished, educated, deeply unsettling man whose manners barely conceal something vicious underneath. Dillahunt’s ability to make those roles feel so distinct is one of the more impressive acting achievements in the series.

Keith Carradine gives Wild Bill Hickok a tired, melancholy gravitas that makes the legendary lawman feel human rather than mythical. He is aware of his reputation, perhaps exhausted by it, and Carradine captures the loneliness beneath the public image. Jeffrey Jones is wonderfully eccentric as A. W. Merrick, Deadwood’s nervous but idealistic newspaper editor. Merrick’s love of language and belief in the importance of a free press make him both funny and unexpectedly vital. In a town shaped by violence and backroom deals, the act of recording events and trying to tell the truth becomes its own form of resistance.

Kim Dickens is excellent as Joanie Stubbs, a woman carrying deep emotional scars while trying to carve out independence in a world that treats vulnerability as an invitation to exploit someone. Her performance brings tenderness and pain to a character who could have easily been reduced to a plot device. Brad Dourif is another major presence as Doc Cochran, the camp’s exhausted, haunted physician. Dourif makes him funny, strange, compassionate, and spiritually worn down by everything he has seen. Jim Beaver is equally memorable as Whitney Ellsworth, the gruff prospector who gradually reveals himself to be one of the show’s warmest and most honorable people. Powers Boothe’s Cy Tolliver, meanwhile, offers a sharp contrast to Swearengen. He is just as ambitious and cruel, but he lacks Swearengen’s strange capacity for loyalty and for understanding that a town, however dirty and violent, is still an ecosystem that must be maintained.

Milch’s writing is famous for its dense, ornate, profanity-heavy dialogue, and it can take a little time to adjust to the show’s rhythm. These characters do not speak in the clean, direct language of a standard television Western. They circle around their meanings, launch into bizarrely poetic insults, turn routine negotiations into verbal duels, and sometimes say more through implication than through plain statements. But once the language clicks, it becomes one of Deadwood’s greatest pleasures. The dialogue gives the show its own identity. It makes the town sound as alive and unpredictable as it looks.

That stylized language also supports what Deadwood is really about. The series is not interested in selling a clean myth of American rugged individualism. It shows the frontier as a collision between people who need one another and often cannot stand one another. Deadwood grows through compromise, manipulation, sacrifice, corruption, and a slow recognition that nobody can survive entirely alone. Even the most vicious people become tied to a larger network of obligations. The show understands that communities are not built by saints. They are built by flawed, wounded, selfish people who occasionally discover that cooperating is better than destroying each other.

The original series ended after three seasons, which leaves it with an undeniably unfinished quality, but that does not lessen its accomplishments. If anything, the lack of a neat conclusion suits the show’s view of history. Deadwood is always changing, always threatened, and never fully settled. The later film provides a welcome return to the characters and offers some emotional closure, but the series remains the core achievement.

Deadwood is demanding television, but it is never hollow television. Its violence has consequences, its humor is vicious and surprisingly warm, and its characters become richer the more time the audience spends with them. Timothy Olyphant gives Seth Bullock the rage of a man trying to force order onto a world that resists it. Ian McShane turns Al Swearengen into a full, contradictory human being rather than a one-note villain. Around them, Milch assembled an extraordinary ensemble that makes every saloon, storefront, street, and muddy patch of ground feel inhabited. People may start the show for the gunfights, the outlaw mythology, and the famously inventive profanity, but the reason Deadwood endures is its people. It understands that civilization is not born cleanly. It is dragged into existence, often unwillingly, by damaged people trying to make a home in a place that barely resembles one.

A Movie A Day #29: Boss of Bosses (2001, directed by Dwight H. Little)


bossWho was the boss of bosses?  According to this movie, he was Paul Castellano.  A cousin-by-marriage to the notorious crime boss Carlo Gambino, Castellano grew up in New York City and first became a made man in the 1930s.  After four decades of loyal service, Castellano succeeded Carlo as the boss of the Gambino Crime Family.  As portrayed in this movie, Castellano attempted to keep the Gambinos out of the drug trade and tried to steer both his biological and his crime family into legitimate businesses.  However, not everyone appreciated Castellano’s vision of the future and, in 1985, he was assassinated on the orders of his eventual successor, John Gotti.

Considering that this biopic was made for TNT and was directed by Dwight H. Little (who was best known for directing films like Halloween 4 and Free Willy 2), it’s probably not surprising that not a single mob cliché goes unturned in Boss of Bosses.  At first, I had a hard time accepting Chazz Palminteri as Castellano because Palminteri sounded exactly like Joe Mantegna voicing Fat Tony on The Simpsons.  Once I got over the vocal similarities, I saw that Palminteri was actually giving a very good, noncartoonish performance as Castellano but the film itself never convinces us that Castellano was anything more than a forgettable placeholder between the reigns of the legendary Gambino and the flamboyant Gotti.

Boss of Bosses, which is also known as Godfather of New York, is currently available on YouTube.