Review: Lethal Weapon 2 (dir. by Richard Donner)

Posted on December 16, 2025 by Arleigh

“We’re back, we’re bad. You’re black, I’m mad. Let’s go!” — Martin Riggs

Lethal Weapon 2 is the kind of sequel that doesn’t really try to reinvent what worked the first time so much as crank the volume on everything: the action is bigger, the jokes come faster, and the chaos feels almost constant. Depending on what you loved about Lethal Weapon, that approach delivers more of the high-energy partnership in a flashier package. It’s a confident, very entertaining 80s action movie that knows it’s a sequel and leans into the spectacle that status allows.

Plot-wise, Lethal Weapon 2 wastes no time reminding you what this world feels like. It drops Riggs and Murtaugh into a wild car chase almost immediately, and from there the story locks onto a case involving South African diplomats hiding behind apartheid-era “diplomatic immunity” while running a massive drug and money-laundering operation. It’s a cleaner, more high-concept hook than the original’s murkier web of Vietnam vets and heroin smuggling, and the script makes the villains broad on purpose, almost cartoonishly arrogant, to give the audience someone very easy to hate. The trade-off is that the plot feels a bit more mechanical this time; you always know who the bad guys are and what the destination is, so the film’s real energy comes from the detours, jokes, and set-pieces rather than any mystery.

One of the big shifts from Lethal Weapon to Lethal Weapon 2 is tone. The first film balanced brutal violence and dark humor with a surprisingly heavy focus on Riggs’ suicidal grief and Murtaugh’s fear of getting too old for the job. The sequel keeps those elements in the background but leans harder into banter, slapstick timing, and outrageous gags like the now-famous exploding toilet sequence, with Richard Donner’s direction pushing the script toward action comedy. It’s still R-rated and not shy about blood or cruelty, but the emotional intensity is dialed down compared to the original’s raw edges.

Mel Gibson and Danny Glover remain the anchor, and their chemistry is as sharp as ever. Gibson’s Riggs is still reckless and unhinged, but there’s a looser, more playful side to him this time; he’s less haunted and more of a live-wire prankster until the story gives him something personal to latch onto. Glover’s Murtaugh continues to be the grounded center, constantly exasperated and always half a step away from just walking off the job, and the film has a lot of fun putting his straight-man persona through increasingly humiliating situations while still letting him be competent when it counts. Compared to the first film, where their partnership slowly thawed from suspicion to genuine trust, Lethal Weapon 2 starts from “these guys are already a team” and builds its best moments from how comfortably they now bounce off each other.

The biggest new ingredient is Joe Pesci as Leo Getz, a federal witness turned tagalong who basically functions as the franchise’s third stooge. Pesci leans into the motor-mouthed, paranoid, endlessly complaining energy that would become his signature, and his presence tips some scenes from gritty cop story into broad comedy. He undercuts tension at times, but he also gives the movie a different rhythm, especially in the quieter in-between beats where the first film might have lingered more on Riggs’ inner damage.

In terms of action, Donner clearly has more money and confidence to play with, and it shows. The chases are bigger, the shootouts are staged with a slicker sense of geography, and there’s a steady escalation in scale that makes the film feel like a genuine summer sequel rather than just another mid-budget cop movie. The original had a grimy, street-level intensity, with brutal fistfights and sudden bursts of violence; Lethal Weapon 2 is more interested in creative set-pieces, crowd-pleasing payoffs, and moments designed to make an audience cheer. It’s less intimate, but it is rarely dull.

Where the film lands in a more complicated space is its attempt to keep some emotional stakes alive while also going bigger and funnier. Riggs’ grief over the loss of his wife is still part of his character, and the story finds ways to poke at that wound again, including a new relationship that lets him imagine some kind of future beyond the constant death wish. Those beats are there to echo what worked so well in the first movie, but they have less room to breathe, often getting squeezed between an action scene and a joke instead of shaping the entire film’s tone. You can feel the push and pull between wanting to keep the darker emotional spine and delivering the kind of lighter, more easily marketable sequel a studio would understandably chase.

The villains themselves are effective in that pulpy 80s way: not nuanced, but very punchable. Arjen Rudd, with his smug talk of “diplomatic immunity,” is a villain designed to make audiences grind their teeth, and his main henchman adds a physically intimidating, quietly sadistic presence to the mix. Compared to the original’s more grounded ex-military antagonists, these guys feel one step closer to Bond territory, and that shift mirrors the film’s overall move toward heightened, almost comic-book stakes. What the sequel loses in plausibility, it gains in revenge-fantasy satisfaction.

When stacked directly against Lethal Weapon, the second film feels like a classic case of “if you liked hanging out with these characters once, here’s more time with them.” The original is tighter, more emotionally focused, and arguably more distinctive, with a stronger sense of danger and genuine unpredictability around Riggs’ mental state. Lethal Weapon 2 smooths some of those jagged edges and replaces them with quips, bigger set-pieces, and a more overtly crowd-pleasing structure, which makes it an easier, more consistently fun watch but also a slightly less resonant one. It is still a good film, but in many ways it is also the moment where the franchise shifts from a character-driven cop thriller with action to a full-on action-comedy machine.

As a fair, middle-of-the-road assessment, Lethal Weapon 2 works very well on its own terms and delivers exactly what most people want out of a late-80s buddy-cop sequel. The chemistry is intact, the action is energetic, and the film moves with the kind of confident pace that never really lets you get bored. At the same time, the tonal tilt toward broader humor and more cartoonish villains means it doesn’t quite have the same staying power or emotional punch as Lethal Weapon, especially if what hooked you the first time was how wounded and volatile it all felt. For fans of the original, it’s an enjoyable continuation—a louder, flashier second round that may not hit as hard, but still knows how to entertain.

Review: Lethal Weapon (dir. by Richard Donner)

Posted on December 15, 2025 by Arleigh

“I’m too old for this shit.” — Roger Murtaugh

Lethal Weapon is one of those action movies that looks like pure genre formula on paper but somehow plays like lightning in a bottle on screen. From the opening moments, it feels like a film that knows exactly what kind of ride it wants to deliver and leans into that mission with confidence, attitude, and just enough heart to make the bullets and explosions actually matter.

The premise itself is as straightforward as they come, and that simplicity is part of the charm. Martin Riggs is the textbook “cop on the edge,” a former special forces sniper whose life has completely fallen apart after the death of his wife. He’s volatile, depressed, and teetering on the edge of suicidal, which gives everything he does an extra layer of danger. On the other side of the pairing is Roger Murtaugh, a seasoned detective staring down his 50th birthday, trying to balance a long career in homicide with the quiet, constant pull of his family at home. When these two are thrown together and assigned to a case involving drugs, dead bodies, and shady ex-military criminals, the story plays out across familiar beats: suspicious deaths, escalating confrontations, close calls, and a trail that leads them deeper into a dangerous operation. The crime plot is pulpy and direct rather than twisty, but the film uses it as a sturdy framework rather than the main point of interest, keeping the investigation moving while the characters come into focus. Much of that sharp setup and snappy progression comes from Shane Black’s script, which crackles with knowing genre savvy, pitch-perfect banter, and a keen eye for how personal pain fuels action-hero antics.

What really makes Lethal Weapon feel alive is how much time it spends letting Riggs and Murtaugh exist as people before they fully morph into the “classic duo” that pop culture remembers. The film doesn’t rush past the small stuff. Riggs is introduced living in a rundown trailer on the beach with his scruffy dog for company, drinking and stumbling through life with the casual recklessness of someone who genuinely doesn’t care if he sees tomorrow. Those early moments of him alone, flirting with self-destruction, give his later heroics a sense of tragic context: he’s not just fearless, he’s half-convinced he has nothing left to lose. Murtaugh’s introduction is a complete contrast: a crowded home, kids, a loving wife, and the kind of loud, chaotic domestic life that’s full of relatable irritation and warmth. Seeing him grumble through birthday milestones or awkwardly handle family situations does more for his character than any speech about his years on the force could. These slices of everyday life build a strong emotional foundation so that when the bullets start flying, there’s something at stake beyond catching bad guys. Black’s writing shines here, weaving those intimate details into the thriller beats without ever feeling forced or preachy.

The chemistry between Mel Gibson and Danny Glover is the film’s true secret weapon. Gibson plays Riggs as an unpredictable live wire, able to flip from goofy physical comedy to chilling seriousness in an instant. He sells the idea that this is a man barely keeping it together, yet still razor-sharp when it comes to the job. There’s a constant sense that his jokes and antics are a flimsy barrier over something very raw. Glover, by contrast, keeps Murtaugh grounded and human; his performance is packed with little sighs, muttered reactions, and weary facial expressions that speak volumes. He comes across as a guy who has seen too much, loves his family, and genuinely wants to do the right thing, but is exhausted by how hard that is in practice. Their initial friction hits the expected “mismatched partners” beats: Murtaugh thinks Riggs is unstable and dangerous, while Riggs treats Murtaugh like a fussy old man who doesn’t get it. Yet as they move through stakeouts, interrogations, and gunfights, their banter evolves from pure irritation into an easy rhythm filled with barbs, mutual respect, and eventually real affection. Shane Black’s dialogue is the glue for all of it—witty, profane, and laced with just enough vulnerability to make the laughs land harder and the tension feel real.

Richard Donner’s direction is a huge part of why all of this clicks as well as it does. He has a knack for blending big, commercial genre instincts with an eye for character detail, and Lethal Weapon is a textbook example of that balance. He stages action scenes with clear geography and rhythm, so even when things get loud and chaotic, you always know where you are and what everyone is trying to do. At the same time, he’s just as interested in the quiet beats: a pause on Riggs’ face after a joke lands flat, Murtaugh’s body language when he walks into his noisy home after a brutal day, the way a conversation in a car can shift from banter to confession in a couple of lines. Donner keeps the film moving at a brisk pace, but he knows when to let a shot linger or a silence hang long enough to tell you what the characters can’t quite say out loud. His tonal control—jumping from dark to funny to tense without completely losing the thread—is a big reason the movie doesn’t collapse under its own genre juggling, and it pairs beautifully with Black’s script that sets up those shifts so precisely.

Tonally, Lethal Weapon walks a tricky line, and that’s a big part of its identity. On one hand, this is a story with genuinely dark undercurrents. Riggs’ suicidal impulses are not a throwaway character quirk; the film gives time to scenes where he nearly acts on them and struggles in a very raw way with his grief and loneliness. The case they’re working breaks open into territory involving drugs, exploitation, and violence that’s sometimes nasty rather than cleanly heroic. On the other hand, the film is full of humor, ranging from quick one-liners to broad physical bits. The Murtaugh household provides a lot of that levity: awkward conversations with his kids, Riggs stumbling through family dynamics, and the contrast between domestic calm and the chaos of the streets. The movie often jumps from heavy emotional beats to comedic ones and back again, and while the transitions can be abrupt, that mixture is part of what keeps it from feeling like just another grim cop story. The laughter doesn’t erase the darker material, but it does give the movie a sense of momentum and charm that keeps it entertaining instead of oppressive. Black’s screenplay nails this push-pull, using humor as both release valve and revelation.

As an action film, Lethal Weapon delivers a steady run of sequences that are energetic, clear, and tactile. The action is built around physical stunts, dangerous-looking falls, and gunfights that feel chaotic without becoming incoherent. One memorable sequence has Riggs dealing with a jumper on a rooftop in a way that instantly tells you everything about his mentality and willingness to risk himself. Another set piece in a more open, exposed environment lets the film escalate tension step by step before violence finally erupts. Through it all, Donner keeps a strong sense of spatial clarity; you can track where the characters are, what they’re trying to do, and how each decision raises the stakes. The fights feel scrappy and painful rather than overly slick, and that slightly rough quality actually works in the movie’s favor, making each impact land harder. Riggs, especially, moves like a human weapon, hurling himself into situations with a recklessness that ties directly into his psychological state, all fueled by Black’s clever plotting that makes those risks feel personal.

Underneath the gunfire and explosions, there’s a surprisingly sturdy emotional core tying everything together. Riggs’ grief isn’t just window dressing; it’s the lens through which his every decision makes sense. The movie doesn’t lecture you about what he’s feeling, but it shows it—through quiet moments alone, through the anger that erupts at all the wrong times, and through the way he throws his body into danger almost as if daring the world to take him out. Murtaugh’s arc is more subtle but still strongly drawn. He’s at an age where he has to confront the reality that he can’t keep pace with younger, more reckless colleagues forever, and yet his sense of duty keeps pulling him into situations where his family might lose him. Throughout their investigation, Murtaugh’s protective instincts—toward his loved ones, toward Riggs, and toward innocent people caught in the crossfire—become as important as his skills as a detective.

The relationship that develops between Riggs and Murtaugh is the heart of the film and the main reason it sticks in the memory. At first, Murtaugh just wants to survive partnering with a man he genuinely believes might be unhinged, while Riggs seems to treat their pairing as just another chaotic twist in a life already off the rails. As they trade confessions, back each other up in tight spots, and slowly understand what the other is carrying, their bond shifts into something like brotherhood. Murtaugh becomes a kind of anchor for Riggs, offering not just backup in a fight but also a place at the table, both literally and figuratively. Riggs, in turn, forces Murtaugh out of his comfort zone, reminding him that he still has plenty of courage and fire left in him. The film doesn’t turn their connection into a sentimental soapbox, but it lets small moments—a shared laugh after a narrow escape, a quiet conversation after the chaos—do the emotional lifting, with Black’s words giving those scenes their understated power.

If there’s a clear weak spot, it’s that the villains are fairly thinly drawn, operating more as looming threats than fully realized characters. They are dangerous and organized, capable of serious brutality and clearly involved in serious criminal operations, but the movie doesn’t spend much time exploring their motivations or inner lives. They’re the kind of antagonists designed to be obstacles: formidable enough to make the heroes’ victories feel earned, but not so complex that they distract from the central duo. For a character-driven action film, that trade-off mostly works. When Lethal Weapon is firing on all cylinders, the tension doesn’t come from wondering what the bad guys will do next so much as from seeing how Riggs and Murtaugh will handle whatever gets thrown at them and what that reveals about who they are.

Structurally, the film keeps a tight pace, always nudging the story forward even when it pauses for character beats. Expository scenes rarely feel like dry info dumps; they’re often laced with jokes, personal jabs, or subtle shifts in how the two leads relate to each other. The downtime moments—a quiet drink, a shared meal, a conversation in a car between partners who would rather pretend they’re fine—are as important as the louder ones. By the time the case ramps up to its most intense passages, there’s been enough time with these characters to care less about the mechanics of the plot and more about whether these two damaged, stubborn men can come out the other side with something to hold onto.

What ultimately makes Lethal Weapon work so well is that it doesn’t settle for being just a checklist of genre requirements. Yes, it has gunfights, dark humor, car chases, and tough-guy posturing. But wrapped around all of that is a story about grief, aging, loyalty, and how unlikely partnerships can change the trajectory of a person’s life. Donner’s steady hand behind the camera, Shane Black’s razor-sharp script, and the powerhouse performances turn what could have been a forgettable cop thriller into something much more memorable. For anyone who enjoys action movies that care as much about the people pulling the triggers as the bullets they fire, Lethal Weapon stands out as a defining entry in the buddy-cop mold, powered by the messy, heartfelt dynamic at its center and the sure-footed craftsmanship that brings it all together.

4 Shots From 4 Christmas Films

Posted on December 1, 2025 by Lisa Marie Bowman

4 Shots From 4 Films is just what it says it is, 4 shots from 4 of our favorite films. As opposed to the reviews and recaps that we usually post, 4 Shots From 4 Films lets the visuals do the talking.

Happy holidays!

Let’s get December started with….

4 Shots From 4 Christmas Films

The Godfather (1972, dir by Francis Ford Coppola, DP: Gordon Willis)

Lethal Weapon (1987, dir by Richard Donner, DP: Stephen Goldblatt)

Die Hard (1988, dir by John McTiernan, DP: Jan de Bont)

Die Hard 2 (1990, dir by Renny Harlin, DP: Oliver Wood)

Review: Conspiracy (dir. by Frank Pierson)

Posted on November 11, 2025 by Arleigh

“We will not sterilize every Jew and wait for them to die. We will not sterilize every Jew and then exterminate the race. That’s farcical.” — Reinhardt Heydrich

HBO’s Conspiracy (2001) masterfully dramatizes the infamous Wannsee Conference, held on January 20, 1942, where high-ranking Nazi officials orchestrated the Final Solution. The film’s running time mirrors the historical meeting itself, distilling one of the darkest moments in history into a single, chilling sitting that balances historical fidelity, psychological insight, and dramatic restraint. The premise is stark and deceptively simple: a group of men, most of whom had never previously met, gather in a sun-drenched villa outside Berlin to discuss systematic mass murder while enjoying fine food and polite conversation. This contrasting setting, rendered with careful attention to period detail, powerfully underscores what Hannah Arendt called the “banality of evil.” In Conspiracy, evil is not the property of villainous caricatures, but of functionaries and technocrats—chillingly rational and disturbingly mundane.

Much of the film unfolds in real time, utilizing dialogue taken from the sole surviving minutes of the Wannsee Conference. Screenwriter Loring Mandel and director Frank Pierson avoid unnecessary embellishments, allowing the facts and the conversations themselves to carry the full, horrifying weight. Kenneth Branagh gives an Emmy-winning performance as Reinhard Heydrich, the orchestrator and presiding presence at the conference. Branagh’s portrayal is both urbane and authoritative, presenting Heydrich as a figure whose affable composure thinly veils his unwavering commitment to genocide. There is no soaring rhetoric or overt menace; Heydrich’s evil is presented with administrative casualness, making it all the more chilling.

Stanley Tucci is equally compelling as Adolf Eichmann, Heydrich’s logistical right hand and the architect of the machinery of death. Tucci infuses Eichmann with a quiet efficiency and bureaucratic pride—a portrait of a man more attached to process than morality, disturbingly bland in his demeanor. The supporting cast is no less impressive. Colin Firth, as Dr. Wilhelm Stuckart, portrays a legal architect of Nazi race law who appears increasingly unsettled as the agenda shifts from disenfranchisement to extermination. Each attendee is rendered with psychological nuance. Some are disturbingly enthusiastic about their roles, while others are quietly apprehensive, yet ultimately complicit. These subtle gradations of doubt, ambition, and opportunism animate the film’s psychological landscape.

The dialogue, rooted in the actual transcript and skillful dramatic writing, eschews melodrama. The horror emerges not through spectacle, but in analytic exchanges about logistics, quotas, and definitions—the cold calculus of genocide. The men’s debates around how to classify mixed-race Jews, whether sterilization is preferable to extermination, and who should be spared create a bureaucratic puzzle as vile as its intent. Their discussions are delivered in a neutral, even mundane tone, which heightens the chilling reality of what they are planning. Pierson’s direction is restrained; the film never leaves its confined setting, emphasizing the claustrophobic mood of collective complicity. The camera lingers on faces rather than violence, building tension through small gestures—a glance, a pause, the clinking of glassware. The impact of what is said is matched only by the weight of what goes unsaid, until Heydrich, in a quietly devastating moment, makes the true purpose explicit.

More than a simple history lesson, Conspiracy meditates on themes of collective guilt, moral responsibility, and the terrifying ease with which ordinary people become accessories to atrocity. The film is haunted by bureaucracy; if everyone is “just following orders” or “simply doing their job,” the boundaries of blame blur and diffuse. The characters’ debates skillfully skirt the language of murder, favoring euphemisms such as “evacuation” or “resettlement.” This allows viewers to witness, in real time, the kind of moral erosion that enables atrocity on a massive scale. The dry, matter-of-fact tone of the film deepens its emotional impact, forcing the audience to comprehend that such horrors were conjured not in a frenzy, but in calm administrative exchanges over lunch.

For both historians and general audiences, Conspiracy earns praise for its meticulous adherence to historical detail. The screenplay closely follows the Wannsee minutes, and the film’s design choices—muted score, period-accurate costumes, and careful pacing—all serve to render bureaucratic evil as mundane and unremarkable. This unwavering restraint, however, does impose certain limits. The film’s dramatic arc is inherently subdued; the absence of conventional action or narrative tension makes it unfold like an extended negotiation rather than a traditional drama. Some viewers may find this lack of overt conflict stifling or static, resulting in a work that feels more “important” than “entertaining,” but this is clearly by design.

Conspiracy received widespread acclaim for both its historical gravity and psychological depth. Branagh and Tucci, in particular, were celebrated for their nuanced performances. The film is often cited as a model example of how the “banality of evil” operates—not through monsters, but through functionaries in tailored uniforms, sipping wine and rationalizing extermination. For those unfamiliar with the events, the manner in which these men discuss matters of life and death with casual detachment is shocking. As one critic noted, “Most people believe they know what evil looks like… But in Conspiracy, men of true evil met in pristine, gorgeous surroundings… and go about their business leisurely… with a smile and barely a hint of remorse.”

Within the canon of Holocaust cinema, Conspiracy stands apart from films like Schindler’s List or The Pianist, which focus on the suffering and survival of victims. Instead, it occupies a space similar to Downfall and the earlier Die Wannseekonferenz, dramatizing not the machinery of genocide but the mindsets of its architects. By confining itself to dialogue and implication, the film compels viewers to reflect on how civilization’s facades both enable and obscure horror.

The film’s lingering effect is not found in dramatic catharsis or tears, but in an enduring sense of discomfort. Conspiracy dramatizes not just a choice among evil options, but the ease with which those choices become rote procedure and social negotiation. The silence in the final act, as the men calmly disperse after codifying genocide, lands with a cold, almost procedural finality. The closing captions, briefly summarizing the fates of those present, deliver a sobering message: accountability was sporadic, often delayed, and never guaranteed.

Conspiracy is not casual entertainment, nor is it meant to be. Instead, it is essential viewing for anyone interested in the psychology of atrocity, the peril of bureaucratic amorality, and the enduring question of how ordinary people become complicit in extraordinary evil. With a screenplay of surgical precision, outstanding ensemble cast (especially Branagh and Tucci), and a director committed to understatement, HBO’s film demonstrates how history’s darkest decisions are forged not in chaos, but in chilling consensus. To those seeking to understand not only what happened at Wannsee, but how, Conspiracy offers an unblinking and quietly devastating answer.

8 Shots From 8 Films: Special Robert Evans Edition

Posted on June 29, 2025 by Lisa Marie Bowman

4 Or More Shots From 4 Or More Films is just what it says it is, 4 shots from 4 of our favorite films. As opposed to the reviews and recaps that we usually post, 4 Shots From 4 Films lets the visuals do the talking!

95 years ago today, Robert Evans was born in New York City. He started out working in his brother’s clothing business but a chance meeting with actress Norma Shearer led to him becoming an actor. And while Evans, by his own account, was not a particularly good actor, he did prove himself to be very skilled at playing the games of Hollywood. Evans eventually moved from acting to production, first as an executive at Paramount and then as an independent producer.

He lived a life as glamorous and tumultuous as the stars of his pictures and his memoir, The Kid Stays In The Picture, is considered to be one of the classic show biz autobiographies. He hung out with cinematic rebels like Jack Nicholson and Robert Towne and counted Secretary of State Henry Kissinger as a friend. He suggested that Francis Ford Coppola should direct The Godfather and, when Paramount put pressure on Coppola to cut the film down to two hours, it was Evans who famously announced that a two-hour Godfather was nothing more than a trailer. He lost Ali MacGraw to Steve McQueen and, again by own account, he lost a lot of potentially productive years to cocaine. (The Cotton Club scandal is one of the wildest in the history of Hollywood, though it should be noted that Evans himself was never charged with any wrongdoing.) But, for all that he lost, Evans continues to gain admirers as being the epitome of the producer who was willing to take chances. For all of his flamboyance, Evans had an eye for good material and the willingness to protect his directors. In many ways, he was as important to the cinematic revolution of the 70s as the directors that he hired. When Evans passed away in 2019, it was truly the end of an era.

Here, in honor of the birth and legacy of Robert Evans, are 8 Shots from 8 Films that Evans produced, either as studio chief at Paramount or as an independent producer.

8 Shots From 8 Robert Evans Films

Rosemary’s Baby (1968, dir by Romnn Polanski, DP: William A. Fraker)

Love Story (1970, dir by Arthur Hiller, DP: Richard Kratina)

The Godfather (1972, dir by Francis Ford Coppola, Cinematography by Gordon Willis)

Chinatown (1974, dir by Roman Polanski, DP: John A. Alonzo)

Marathon Man (1976, dir by John Schlesinger, DP: Conrad Hall)

The Cotton Club (1984, dir by Francis Ford Coppola, DP: Stephen Goldblatt)

The Two Jakes (1990, dir by Jack Nicholson, DP: Vilmos Zsigmond)

Sliver (1993, dir by Phillip Noyce, DP: Vilmos Zsigmond)

4 Shots From 4 Films: Special Richard Donner Edition

Posted on April 24, 2025 by Lisa Marie Bowman

Today would have been the 95th birthday of director Richard Donner. It’s time for….

4 Shots From 4 Richard Donner Films

The Omen (1976, dir by Richard Donner, DP: Gilbert Taylor)

Superman (1978, dir by Richard Donner, DP: Geoffrey Unsworth)

Lethal Weapon (1987, dir by Richard Donner, DP: Stephen Goldblatt)

Scrooged (1988, dir by Richard Donner, DP: Michael Chapman)

Horror Film Review: The Hunger (dir. by Tony Scott)

Posted on October 3, 2024 by Leonard Wilson

Whoa! Hold your horses! This isn’t the only review for The Hunger. Take a look at Lisa’s Review and if you’re so inclined, feel free to double back here.

It seems fitting that we start our descent towards Halloween with Tony Scott’s first feature film, The Hunger. As a fan of Vampires in general, it may not be a great film, but I feel like it does have a place in history where creatures of the night are concerned.

When I think of Whitley Streiber, Wolfen comes to mind and anyone who knows me also knows how much I adore that film. I don’t usually associate him with Vampires, but 1983’s The Hunger is pretty interesting. To me, there’s a nice beauty and mystery to the film as the undead involved could just be regular people asking the same questions about mortality we do, all to some beautiful movie throughout. They are practical vampires. There’s no real explanation as to how John and Miriam move about through the day. Rather than biting, they use small knives to acquire blood. The powers they wield are subtle, putting the story on par with Kathryn Bigelow’s Near Dark when it comes to avoiding vampire cliches. Additionally, this film also never mentions the word ‘vampire’.

Miriam (Catherine Deneuve, Belle de Jour) and John Baylock (David Bowie, Labyrinth) are vampires living in present day Manhattan. Enjoying their existence as any member of the undead would, they spend their nights mingling among the living and discarding bodies by dawn. What seems like a great unlife takes a turn when John finds himself unable to sleep. This restlessness escalates as he finds he’s losing his hair and gaining more wrinkles. The pair stumble on the Park West Sleep Clinic, and Dr. Sarah Roberts’ (Susan Sarandon, Blue Beetle) studies on sleep and aging. For me, one of the best scenes of the film was a parallel between John’s rapid aging while waiting in the Clinic alongside a lab monkey that is also suffering a similar issue. Sarah doesn’t really get to check in on John (who ages a quick 15 years during the wait), but their meeting does eventually introduce her to Miriam.

Miriam eventually loses John after he falls into a near mummified state. Although he becomes incredibly old, he’s still far from death’s touch. I love her explanation for him: “Humankind die one way, we another. Their end is final. Ours is not. In the earth, in the rotting wood, in the eternal darkness, we will see and hear and feel.” We also learn that this has happened with all of Miriam’s former lovers over the ages. Miriam then turns her sights on Sarah, which blossoms into a mix of a romance at first. Trivia fans will recognize the piano piece Miriam plays for Sarah (Lakme by Delibes), which Scott reused for True Romance. That was a nice touch. Needing a new partner, Miriam’s approaches become more predatory after Miriam’s true nature is revealed.

The cast in The Hunger all do well, but let’s face it, the real draw here was always Bowie (at least for me, anyway). It’s a shame his character doesn’t stay on screen for long, but he makes good use of the scenes he has and he’s there for at least half the movie. The film essentially belongs to Deneuve, who brings some charisma to Miriam’s character. Whether she’s being playfully flirtatious or deadly serious, she seems to be in control. I don’t have anything particular against Susan Sarandon as an actress. She’s quite good in this, but part me kind of imagined Lesley Ann Warren (Clue) doing all this a bit better.

Tony’s directing style is beautiful but slightly disjointed, with flashbacks giving an idea to Miriam’s past. On the one hand, they aren’t enough to be too revealing, but they’re also accompanied with some strange sound zingers that could be a bit off-putting. He moves quickly between scenes, but the general ideas of immortality and her longevity are suggested. Cinematographer Stephen Goldblatt (Outland) would go on to work on the Lethal Weapon films and Schumacher’s Batman films. There are some good uses of shadow and light here.

The music a mix of classical pieces, mixed with what sounds like either wind chimes and synth keyboards. The classical music stands out. The score, not so much. It’s not a terrible thing by any means, but it’s a strange selection of sounds. Other than the music, I was bothered by the film’s ending. What occurs seems like it could have happened at any time, and why it does is never explained in any way. I guess it worked. By the end, though, I felt like I watched something where the first 3 acts were fully thought out and the production team threw a dart at a board full of possible endings.

Overall, The Hunger is a interesting film to watch if you catch it late at night. Every director has to start somewhere, and while it’s a little sketchy in the end, there’s some style and grace to it all.