John Sayles (1996)
In the opening fifteen minutes or so of Lone Star the audience is introduced to a large cast of characters in Rio County, Texas – white, black, Hispanic, in the present and the past. The film is ambitious in the sense that John Sayles means to paint on a broad canvas. He evidently wants to educate the viewer: the characters impart information and make points about the ethnic and political history of Texas as if we were going to be tested at the end of the movie. Although some of the people are brought to life by the actors playing them, this is not enough to obscure the writer-director’s didactic intentions. The plot is worked out so as to illustrate the interracial tensions and complexities of the place, the ironic shifts in social status and values of succeeding generations of the same families.
At the heart of Lone Star is Sam Deeds, who grew up in Rio County and has returned there as sheriff. When a couple of off-duty soldiers exploring the desert near their army base discover a partly buried skull and a sheriff’s badge, it’s the trigger for Sam to reopen an investigation into the disappearance, many years ago, of one his predecessors – the notorious Charlie Wade, a racist psychopath who tyrannised the place. Sam’s father Buddy, Wade’s successor as sheriff, had the nerve to take him on. Chris Cooper seems physically reduced by Sam’s awareness that the folks of Rio County think he’ll never be the man his father was. Sam is also energised by wanting to find out whether Buddy really was the man sanctified by local legend – and whether he killed Wade, as Sam suspects he did. Cooper is marvellous – Lone Star would be a much better film if it was more focused on Sam (and shorter) and if John Sayles had done more to develop his character.
Because of his preoccupation with delivering an essay on Texas, Sayles doesn’t give enough attention – or much originality, at any rate – to people’s relationships and situations. They’re rather clichéd – enlivened only by the surprising (and not so surprising) revelations of who-fathered-or-killed-who that keep being sprung. The cast includes: Elizabeth Peña as the widowed Mexican teacher Sam loved as a teenager and wants to love again; Kris Kristofferson as the vile Charlie Wade (his trimness and relaxed presence make the character less obvious than it might be but it’s still basically a smiley villain turn); Matthew McConaughey as Buddy Deeds (he soon gives us clues that he’s not a one hundred per cent hero); and Clifton James, who’s excellent as Wade’s former sidekick and now the mayor of Rio County. Frances McDormand has a small role: her performance, like several others in the movie, is vivid but suffers from make-the-most-of-your-brief-appearance syndrome. There are fine images of the landscape, photographed by Stuart Dryburgh, and a notably eclectic soundtrack that’s a bit too pleased with its eclecticism.
20 May 2012
