In the middle of “The Devil’s Own” (1997), Brad Pitt mentions that a story he just told doesn’t have a happy ending because it’s not an American story, it’s an Irish one. I’ll let you find out for yourself which kind of story this film is, but the ending disappointed me. An IRA commander (Pitt) goes undercover in the U.S., living with a cop (Harrison Ford) and his idyllic, Irish-American family while trying to conclude an arms deal. There’s plenty of great performances amidst the irony (wife Margaret Colin particularly shines), but the plot doesn’t go out with a bang.
Archives for posts with tag: Natascha McElhone
At the end of “Ronin” (1998), spy/hitman/something-or-other Jean Reno becomes narrator and utters, “no questions and no answers.” Well, I have questions and would like some answers. If anyone other than John Frankenheimer had directed, could a post-Cold War espionage flick starring Robert De Niro have possibly been as pointless and opaque? And what is Frankenheimer’s obsession with assassination attempts at big events? And how do you have a seemingly endless car chase through Paris and encounter only one cop? There’s willing suspension of disbelief and then there’s willful ignorance of reality. Is that what was in the secret case?
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