O Assassino de Mojave

Something that looks like a 'film', specifically this term and the aesthetic to which it implies, I feel has come to be expected of contemporary dramas/character studies. Mojave knows it. It looks to tick a lot of these archetypal boxes: jaded, frustrated characters, blatant motifs (the temptation of Christ?), a redemptive narrative, an undertone of despair that never loosens up until the end of the last arc. Yes with all these elements motivating it's narrative, the movie never achieves a sense of coherency; it's Hitchcockian one moment with it's intermittent key score, and then Fincher-esque the next with it's sweeping pans and use of negative space in shots. It's an actor's playground that, as charming and talented as all the individuals are, doesn't leave a lot for the audience to soak in, unless you really, really like angry, shout-y Mark Wahlberg, who is playing quite possibly the closest characterisation to his real life personality in this role. I never fully understood the goal of the protagonist... I guess it had something to do with doing the right thing and his daughter? Too much Tyler Durton syndrome in concepts like these I feel.

Poor thriller reuniting Garrett Hedlund and Oscar Isaac a few years after they drove to Chicago together with John Goodman in Inside Llewyn Davis. Both are more or less on equal footing here, though. Hedlund plays a screenwriter who goes out to the Mojave to commit suicide. Instead, he meets up with dangerous drifter Isaac who pops into camp obviously just to kill him. Instinctively he resists death, but in the process angers the drifter. When Hedlund returns to civilization, Isaac follows him, hoping to continue their game of death. Not much about this works. Hedlund is a boring actor, and Isaac gives his worst performance ever, at least since he's been a star. You'd think the script must have looked great on paper, but the dialogue comes off as silly and desperately trying to be cool. Walton Goggins and Mark Wahlberg also waste their time in this. It does look good, and it has a few good moments, but, in general, it's just bad.

Greetings again from the darkness. The isolation of the desert seems the perfect place for an artist to achieve the existential awakening necessary during a time of personal doubt and crisis. The journey to find one's true self becomes much more complicated when the one-man desert getaway is interrupted by heavy boozing, self-destructive tendencies, and a serial-killer sociopath. Such is the case with writer/director William Monahan's (Oscar winner for his screenplay of The Departed) latest film.

Garrett Hedlund plays Thomas, a very successful filmmaker, who seems to take no joy from his life of luxury … a mansion in the hills, cool cars, a wife and daughter, and endless adulation. Sporting the ultra-cool celebrity look of sunglasses and long hair, Thomas heads off into the desert to either clear his mind or end his life. We aren't really sure which, and neither is he. Lots of Vodka and reckless Jeep driving leave Thomas in a showdown of wits and machismo across a campfire from a sinister yet articulate drifter.

The drifter is Jack, played by Oscar Isaac, and it's no surprise when we learn he is a serial killer … the sociopath part we figured out quickly, right along with Thomas. Their under-the-stars confrontation leads to a tragic accident the next day, and pits these two in a B-movie game of cat and mouse with a tone that reminds a bit of Cape Fear (1991) and U-Turn (1997).

Heading back to L.A., Thomas comes up with an incredibly stupid plan to cover his tracks. Being famous "since I was 19 years old" and having financial success with movies hasn't trained Thomas on facing off against a clever nemesis. Even his discussion with his manager (played by an unusually low-key Walton Goggins) comes across as literary-speak rather than real advice. "Worry about what seems to be" is the advice Thomas rolls with.

Monahan fills the screen with tough-guy dialogue for these two characters that are both simultaneously stupid and smart. Jack and Thomas go at each like a couple of intellects, but it's the class warfare that stands out. The 99% versus the 1%. The message seems to be that it comes down to circumstance on whether one is an artist or a psychotic felon … and the line separating the two is pretty slim. It's also not a very well disguised ripping of the film industry … especially of producers. Mark Wahlberg chews some scenery as a d-bag movie producer who talks loud and fast while accomplishing little. It's a pretty funny turn for Wahlberg, though unfortunately his character spends limited time on screen. Louise Bourgoin has a couple of scenes, and quickly proves more would have been welcome.

The film may not be much to look at, and doesn't really make much sense, but some of the dialogue duels and "brother" banter, manage to keep us interested throughout. "Take a left. Take a right." It doesn't much matter with these two well-read adversaries from opposite sides of the tracks.

This neo-noir should have been better. It could easily have culled an 8 from me. But the writing did not deliver. It's almost as if the writer-director lost a bet, and had to pull out the plot points that meant the difference between this being a good film people would talk about, vs something no one's heard of. Which is a shame, because the writer-director is one of hollywood's most lauded writers going.

I'm soft for desert movies. This one starts out well. Then it moved to L.A. and fast lost its momentum, its pacing, and sill in plotting. And Mark Wahlberg's part? Just filler. Same with Goggins. Literally nothing more than someone for the protagonist to speak to so we don't have to use thought bubbles. In fact, most of the other actors that have talking don't need them, because they don't go anywhere in the story.

If you're watching this in hopes of a twist, then don't bother. There is none.

Otherwise, there's oddly inserted literary references that would only come from a director who was also a writer. Shakespeare, Melville, don't add to the story. They barely even fulfill the purpose of making this story feel more philosophical.

A screenwriter who submitted this script would have been rejected if he was new. Something this flawed could only get greenlit if the writer was already A-list, as this writer was. It violates one of the so called "rules" of scriptwriting -- that every scene, every act, every word, has some role in moving the story forward. This one had too many that didn't.

It's an ages-old conceit that experienced hollywood filmmakers like to make films about hollywood that reveal its meaninglessness, its shallowness, its callous narcissism. This one does all that. Complete with asskissing personal assistants or bedraggled personal assistants. PAs are the lifeblood of the industry, but are rarely depicted in compelling ways. This film is no exception. But not in an instructive nor satisfying way.

Films are too expensive to make merely to make a statement that the film biz doesn't matter. But this one sure works hard at it.

There are some writers who seem to think if they quote Shakespeare and Herman Melville within their own work, they might automatically be regarded as possessing a higher level of intellect - not so, and Mojave offers a reasonable example as proof. Here we have writer/director William Monahan (The Departed) doing just this in a rather lame attempt to dress up his lowly 'character' study about a suicidal 'artist' (why suicidal? because he has success and luxury laid on, a loving wife and delightful young daughter who idolizes him) I ask, what better reason could you have for wanting to commit suicide?. Borrowing a leaf from the Travers character in Paris Texas our 'artist' wanders into tho desert to explore how many ways he can kill himself. Failing at several, he appears to settle on drinking himself to death.

While still in the desert he meets another equally disturbed fellow who is obviously quite happy to do him in. Instead of excepting the offer, our suicide contender suddenly decides he won't allow this and begins looking at ways of murdering this chap - another perfectly reasonable idea! The ensuing cat and mouse game goes on interminably, with each man sprouting endless expletives & pseudo-psycho-babble as they attempt to kill each other...as well as any innocent by-standers who just happen to get in their way.

All this might sound most interesting to those who enjoy Tarantino type nonsense but, any thinking viewer might beware. Is there anything that's good in all this?. The desert is well photographed, Oscar Isaac and Garrett Hedlund are occasionally OK in the leads and some bits of the score music by UK born Andrew Hewitt are quite interesting. As for the supporting cast, Walton Goggins' character is so bad it's laughable, as is Mark Walberg's foul mouthed sex obsessed producer.

Cultists may enjoy the over-the-top foolishness but this is supposed to be a dramatic modern classic!. Next thing to down right awful nastiness.