8 Million Ways to Die (1986)

Purely Joyful Movie!

A different way of telling a story

The storyline feels a little thin and moth-eaten in parts but this sequel is plenty of fun.

Strong acting helps the film overcome an uncertain premise and create characters that hold our attention absolutely.

Jeff Bridges portrays author Lawrence Blocks' character Matt Scudder in this picture, and his able performance is one of its few virtues. Matt is a detective for the L.A. Sheriffs' Department who is also an alcoholic. Ultimately, his drinking costs him his marriage and his job. However, he is soon approached by a hooker named Sunny (Alexandra Paul) to remove her from her unhappy life, and when he gets involved, he incurs the wrath of a smug drug kingpin (Andy Garcia) and a powerful pimp (Randy Brooks).Sadly, this was the final theatrical credit for editor turned director Hal Ashby. A recovering substance abuser himself, he had little to no creative control over the final product. He wanted something grittier and closer to the novel (which this movie barely resembles), the producers wanted a feature film version of 'Miami Vice'. But what really hurts it is the poor script (credited to Oliver Stone and R. Lance Hill (a.k.a. "David Lee Henry"), which moves at a snails' pace and doesn't encourage us to really care about the characters.The lack of success is not for lack of effort on Bridges' part. He, the intense Brooks, and the amusingly slimy Garcia entertain the viewer sufficiently. But Paul is miscast, and Rosanna Arquette, as one of Sunny's co-workers, looks like she couldn't care less. Familiar faces in supporting roles and bits include Vyto Ruginis, James Avery, Tommy 'Tiny' Lister, Rosalind Allen, and Loyd Catlett.Absolutely gorgeous photography, good use of locations, an atmospheric score by James Newton Howard (one of his earliest), stunning helicopter shots, and some jarring violence work in the films' favor. But it goes on too long (especially that climactic confrontation in the warehouse, which becomes unbearable rather than tense), and has too much inane dialogue.The man who made "Harold and Maude", "Coming Home", and "Being There" deserved a better theatrical swan song than this.Five out of 10.

Actually, a minor but diverting film about marginally alcoholic ex-cop Jeff Bridges, now a private investigator, who is hired by hooker Alexandra Paul to protect her. He fails. She dies.He spends the rest of the film tracking down her killers with the reluctant help of Paul's pimp, Randy Brooks, and one of Paul's stable mates, Roseanna Arquette. He soon links the killing to Latino drug boss Andy Garcia, who killed Paul in an attempt to protect his means of smuggling cocaine into the country. The plot's a bit complicated but that's about all you need to know, going in.Bridges is an interesting actor. He usually brings something extra to each of his roles, but here, with his dark mustache and the chronic temptation to booze it up again, he seems to hold back. Not that he does a poor job, just that he's been more inventive in other roles.Alexandra Paul doesn't last long. Too bad because there's an engaging scene in which she gets stoned on coke and examines her pudendum in the light from a refrigerator. She's not a bravura actress. Neither is Roseanna Arquette, with her little-girl's voice, but Arquette exhibits some over-sized features of face and figure. She has a bosom with authority, for one thing, and large lips and incisors that are at the same time inviting and frightening. Andy Garcia is always a presence on screen. He's terribly slick. But Randy Brooks as the pimp is stuck with a one-dimensional part. There are several subordinate thugs and assorted goons who are mainly around to gin up the body count.Hal Ashby has directed some interesting stuff before, but here he allows -- or seems to allow -- his actors to improvise long talky scenes, mainly arguments. Garcia really picks up the ball and runs with it. Everybody is addressed as "man" or "baby." Sometimes the calumny reaches majestic proportions just before it all explodes. At other time, like near a stadium or in Garcia's flamboyant, Gaudi-designed house, it leads only to anti-climax. The final shoot out in an unusual location is de rigueur.It's not insulting. Nothing blows up, No heads are wrenched off. Blood is minimal. It's absorbing in its own way since it pretends to be nothing more than what it is -- no "Chinatown," just another routine private-eye thriller.

Though far from perfect, this film has enough little gems, to save it. The acting overcomes everything else, and a scene outside of the LA Coliseum between Jeff Bridges and a young Andy Garcia still makes me smile. Compare and contrast this film to "To Live and Die in LA" and you will see why we think Hal Ashby is our generations Howard Hawks. Of course Hawks was greater, but these days, so little stacks up with anything classic, that we can be forgiven for elevating our few originals like Ashby. Jeff Bridges is a movie star, and here he uses his gifts to pull this film from the 80's swamp. If I'm wrong about this film I apologize, but this is in my collection of 23 DVD's for a reason. From the architect "Gaudi" to truly GREAT henchmen, "8 Million ways To Die" is a VERY lovable flawed gem. In my other reviews, I would guarantee my taste. Here I am too much in love with this film to be a good jury member. I like this film, shame on me!

Hal Ashby being sacked explains a lot; so does the disappearance of Oliver Stone. You can imagine how much tougher and seedier it would have been in Stone's hands. But Ashby, it would seem, tightened up and found his movie in the editing room, as this movie is not quite there. There is a curious lack of incidental music, except when it isn't needed, and what is there tends to foreshadow action. Scudder's initial descent into alcoholism is almost skipped over; you suspect that Stone or Ashby, given half the chance, would have added some detail to the descent. Instead of which Scudder's wife suddenly disappears, he's on his own. Perhaps you can explain this by saying 'blackout' but I think it's an error. The movie is realistically slow, treating the characters as real people, which is perhaps a mistake for the genre. There isn't much action until the very end, and the couple of bits during the film are followed by Scudder blacking out, so we don't get him dealing with the aftermath of these violent events. This is one of the few Block/Scudder novels i haven't read, so I can't comment on how similar to the book it is. My guess would be very, since Block tends to go in for very violent climaxes preceded by Scudder wondering if he'll hit the bottle again. Falls nicely into the Jeff Bridges B-movie crime genre which the Coens picked up on with The Big Lebowski.