THE LONE RANGER

(Gore Verbinski, 2013)

An insanely ambitious, barking mad western adventure epic, it feels somehow miraculous that The Lone Ranger exists at all. It's commercial underperformance only underlines this - what studio would be mad enough to spend (a reputed) $200 million on a film in a genre which is always a box office gamble based upon a character who has largely faded from the pop culture memory?
But exist it does, and, though it is probably an hour longer than it has any right to be, it might actually be the most roundly entertaining of this summer's blockbuster movies.
It takes the theme park approach to the Western genre, bringing the audience on a tour through stock situations. So we have a bank robbery, a train holdup, cavalry versus indians, an ambush in a mountain pass, heroes buried up to their necks in the sand, the travelling construction of a raildoad by Chinese workers, an explosion in a silver mine, a whorehouse...
The story serves as an origin: John Reed (Armie Hammer, likeable throughout) travels back to his childhood home in the West after years studying law on the East coast. There the murder of his brother, legendary lawman Dan Reed (James Badge Dale) opens up a complex conspiracy involving the railroad, silver deposits, the exploitation of the Comanche and a vicious psychotic cannibal killer Butch (William Fichtner). Reed winds up believed dead and wearing a mask alongside the possibly insane Comanche Tonto (Johnny Depp).
The plot is unnecessarily convoluted, with too many characters and too many pointless episodes (Helena Bonham Carter as a Madame is entirely superfluous as is Barry Pepper and his Cavalry detachment) but that adds to the epic, frenzied feel. An issue is the way it all has to rise to an action crescendo every fifteen minutes or so. Luckily Verbinski has honed his abilities in that department over three Pirates of the Caribbean movies and some of the action set-pieces here are absolutely inspired, most obviously the climactic twin-train sequence, which nods to Buster Keaton in its mix of slapstick and complex action choreography.
That is only one of dozens of references, mostly to classic Westerns, with obvious homages to Sergio Leone and John Ford amongst them. This reflects one of the film's greatest strengths; in this season of big dumb movies with no ideas, it actually has a theme. It is about how history is written by the victors, no matter what the truth may be ("Print the legend") and also to some extent about the power of myth. The way it integrates this within it's packed narrative - the whole thing narrated by an aged Tonto (in what looks like a Little Big Man reference) to a young boy at a San Francisco fair in 1933 - is often problematic, but its ambition and the extent to which it succeeds is admirable.
Also likeable is its comedy; subtler and wittier than the Pirates films, it uses Depp's superb deadpan in contrast to the insanity often surrounding him, and scores some laughs through ironic takes on classic or corny old tropes.
It looks absolutely beautiful; cinematographer Bojan Bazelli and Verbinski stage and shoot some scenes which appear generically familiar with wit, invention and imagination, and of course that familiarity fades as the true sense of delirious fun here is revealed. It rollicks along, its humour and action balanced by some interesting darker elements, it's occasionally dull script enlivened by the direction, design and strong cast.

PUBLIC ENEMIES

(Michael Mann, 2009) A synopsis makes Public Enemies sound like dozens of other crime movies; it details the efforts of the FBI, and in particular Agent Melvin Purvis (Christian Bale, turning a lead role into an eccentric little character part) to capture celebrated Bank Robber John Dillinger (Johnny Depp, bringing both his charm and intelligence to the fore) in the American Midwest in the 1930s. At the same time it addresses Dillinger's love for Billie (Marion Cotillard) and touches, with a panoramic view, upon many quirks of American culture and politics in that period. Here is an art film disguised as a Summer blockbuster; an uneven but coldly poetic story of the impossibility of true communication and of outrunning fate dressed up as a '30s gangster picture, all sharp suits and tommy guns. Mann, a genuine visionary, doesn't play with convention, he utterly ignores it, it is an irrelevance. Instead hes after immersion, immediacy, a quicksilver study of the fleeting instant, and he gets that, alright, with his use of digital photography, with his shot-choices and passages of beautifully edited dreamy visual poetry. That DV photography, controversial upon release, is not an issue. Mann is trying to change the way movies look, and yet he is capable of making this a film loaded with amazing tableaux, with breathtaking shots. That those shots are undeniably raw, feel as "real" as fictional feature films ever feel, is a massive part of what makes it all possess such a fresh tone. Mann's style has shifted and loosened in the last few years, with more and more handheld work meaning that his camera is always moving, and much of the beauty lies in this motion, in the fleetingly lovely glories it finds as it glides. That and the fact that there is little or no exposition, that the supporting characters drift in and out without explanation or introduction add to the odd, unique tone. And the fact that the characterisation avoids the usual spoonfeeding beloved of most Hollywood cinema in favour of trusting the audience to find these people themselves. When Dillinger gives Billie a potted summation of his life and likes ("What else do you need to know?"), it is as if Mann is daring the audience to go with him, promising that this film offers more than such reductive dialogue, more than tart, glib "explanations". What it offers is an impressionist trip through a fast and brutal life, with death forever hanging overhead. It is an extended meditation on death, with multiple scenes of one man watching another die. Dillinger and Purvis even discuss it in their brief prison-set exchange. The particulars are undeniably impressive; Dante Spinotti's photography is frequently astounding, Elliot Goldenthal's score mixed superbly with some contemporary standards, and the supporting cast is filled with excellent turns by a variety of great actors, most notably Stephen Graham as Babyface Nelson and Billy Crudup as J. Edgar Hoover. But like all Mann films it is primarily a movie of great moments - like the many action sequences, particularly the nocturnal gun battle at Little Bohemia, the black of night starred with yellow muzzle flashes, the sounds of tommy guns and revolvers thunderous. Or the two sublime scenes of Dillinger in cinemas, watching himself on a wanted poster and in a fictionalised form as played by Clark Gable. Or that perfect ending with Stephen Lang and Marion Cotillard in a small room, when the emotional payload finally hits on three little words: "Bye Bye Blackbird". Or possibly the finest scene of all - Dillinger's sunlit stroll through the "Dillinger Unit" at police headquarters, his glee at pulling it off, at getting away with so much.

RANGO

(Gore Verbinski, 2011)

A true oddity, this Spaghetti Western for 8 year olds feels thrillingly original and bold in a cinematic genre (the animated Childrens film) as filled with mediocrity and outright trash as any other. While it may feature a quite slavish devotion to Joseph Campbell's "Heroes Journey" principals, much of the finer detail here is marked by genuine eccentricity. The character design is bizarre; sometimes ugly, often beautiful, occasionally hilarious, these fascinating animal players look like no other cast.
The hero embodies the films oddness. Voiced brilliantly by Johnny Depp, Rango is a chameleon-fantasist, with a thriving inner life and a highly developed sense of drama. He hams his way through the story and it's perils until forced to take it all seriously in the final act, and is introduced by an almost daring monologue interrupted by a sudden and violent event which provides instant context and begins the plot.
Verbinski's experience with big set-pieces is a boon here, where he can let his imagination go and orchestrate absolute mayhem, but this film has more wit and originality than all of the Pirates films combined.
Not that it's all originality; the plot is lifted from Chinatown and there are references to numerous Westerns throughout (a ghostly Clint Eastwood - voiced by Timothy Olyphant - even appears to Rango as the "Spirit of the West" during the films long, imaginative fantasy stretch), but they are at the service of the narrative rather than driving it.
Visually, the film is rather extraordinary. Master cinematographer Roger Deakins repeats the work he did as "visual consultant" on How to Train Your Dragon last year with even more impressive results. This pitiless desert sun is precisely evoked, the various textures of life in a frontier town indelibly, precisely captured. Drought is a key plot point, and Rango made me thirsty, no small achievement.
Most importantly, Rango works. As a Western, as a comedy, as a film for children and adults. And it needs no 3D gimmickry to sell itself.