The Way of the Gun

"The Way of the Gun" is an instant testosterone classic, a completely amoral combination of two classic manly scenarios: the border skirmish and the botched heist. Written and directed by Christopher McQuarrie, who also wrote for "The Usual Suspects," this film embraces cliches as it simultaneously reinvigorates and then moves past them. "The Way of the Gun" oozes blood, celebrates violence, showcases no heroes, steeps itself in treachery and malice, and ends in a cataclysm that renders what came before seemingly meaningless. And yet, in an odd way, it's an uplifting film nonetheless--a tribute to what filmmaking can still do for us, a celebration of the elemental power of images and sounds and faces and oddly poetic phraseology delivered amid gunfire and mistrust. This film shows McQuarrie's mastery of what has come before cinematically and his mastery of what can be done now. And it totally kicks ass.

The basic materials of this film's plot, as noted above, are familiar and basic to cinema. The idea of two antiheroes is nothing new, and the noir plotline merely updates those of classic films of the 1940s. No new ground is broken in action staging, as in "The Matrix," or in characterization. Our characters play out their basic, simple types to the bitter end. But there is a difference between the act of making a mishmash of older, better films and the act of making a film that acknowledges and (in some ways) surpasses its elders. McQuarrie sets out to reinvigorate the violent noir in much the same way that Cormac McCarthy set out to reinvigorate the Western novel, and with similar results: everything feels realer than it has before, even at the farthest remove from reality, simply because of the artistic skill employed in depicting it.

The glories of McQuarrie's directing are too numerous to list here, but a few stand out in the crowd. His firefights flow with a perfect, arid logic from the strategic complications with which he presents the characters. Everything has its place, and nothing lies outside it. The final shootout is a textbook example of this; one can see the probable outcome from the very beginning. This does not decrease the kinetic joy of McQuarrie's firefights; he directs crisply and bruisingly at the same time, according each action its proper time in which to occur and each bullet its proper place on the screen. He also provides us with a slow-motion car chase which, in its odd way, is more compelling than many which occur at 120 mph. McQuarrie also excels at showing faces, recognizing that a good actor with a good face says more standing still than he does while talking. He delineates the plot in the best way possible, providing just enough information for the audience to want more until the very end. An atmosphere of ominous expectation permeates the film: every note of music, every gunshot, every face seem to promise facts yet unrealized, dangers yet unfaced, sorrows yet unknown. This is the shortest-feeling two-hour film in recent memory, simply because of its sheer magnetism and perfect control of tone and atmosphere.

None of the actors let McQuarrie down. Even pretty boy Ryan Philippe manages a decent snarl as Parker, though he cannot compare to raccoon-eyed Benicio Del Toro as his cohort Longbaugh. These two make a likable, if morally bankrupt, pair; neither of them pretend they are anything but scum, and their honesty about themselves carries them through the film. Taye Diggs makes an effective (and quite attractive, for those who care) bodyguard, and James Caan navigates the delicate tone his character must sustain with great success. The rest of the actors, too, fall into line; there is no weak link in the cast, which is all to the better for McQuarrie's opus.

"The Way of the Gun" is serious filmmaking that immediately joins the discussion for best film of the year; one suspects that it will figure in discussions of best film of the decade as well. Admittedly, it lacks human virtues; those who prefer their cinema to tell the nobler truths will be disappointed at best and repulsed at worst by "The Way of the Gun." But those of you who appreciate the poetry of a blood-drenched landscape or endless cold double-crossings or the simple zing of a bullet across a space will have a hard time finding a film to serve you better than "The Way of the Gun."

I have a sneaking suspicion that this is not as good on the TV screen as it is on the big one. I haven't watched since I saw it that one time, because I remember it so vividly that I don't think I need to see it again. But I'll pass along that warning.

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