Skip to main content

Reindeer-goat cheese pizza?


Hudson Hawk
(1991)

A movie star vanity project going down in flames is usually met with open delight from press and critics alike. Even fans of the star can nurse secret disappointment that they were failed on this occasion. But, never mind, soon they will return to something safe and certain. Sometimes the vehicle is the result of a major star attaching themselves to a project where they are handed too much creative control, where costs spiral and everyone ends up wet (Waterworld, The Postman, Ishtar). In other cases, they bring to screen a passion project that is met with derision (Battlefield Earth). Hudson Hawk was a character created by Bruce Willis, about whom Willis suddenly had the post-Die Hard clout to make a feature.


But, rather than bowing down in veneration towards its star, Hawk relentlessly deconstructs and mocks its lead. This is the wise-cracking Bruce Willis of Moonlighting, slightly disbelieving of his new status as an action icon, let loose in a toy box with a bag full of cash. Chaperoned by Joel Silver, never one to rein in excess, the budget ballooned along with the constantly under-revision script. Ironically, the chastening effect of the film’s failure (this, and another picture Willis saw as a chance to increase his acting credibility where the changes he ushered in were widely seen as contributing to its failure; Bonfire of the Vanities) resulted in its star leaving behind his anarchic sense of humour (something that also fed into the first Die Hard) and concentrating on sombre, smirk-free fare. Far more in line with what one might have expected of someone with a lack of self-awareness and an unchecked ego. Bruce became boring, basically.


Maybe Willis always caused difficulties on his sets; notoriously restrained Kevin Smith gave him short shrift following comedy classic Cop Out. Antoine Fuqua reportedly found him such a pain he said he’d never work with him again. Richard E Grant documented the disastrous production of Hawk in his With Nails memoir. Reports at the time suggested Willis’ bald spot had been touched up by hand, frame-by-frame. On the other hand, Bruno shows up on Letterman regularly and seems like a fun, self-deprecating guy. Who knows, it’s Hollywood. If two people clash there, invariably both have large egos. Much about his instincts for Hawk cannot be faulted; he brought on Steven E de Souza (Die Hard), then Daniel Walters (Heathers). Although the latter was a result of enlisting director Michael Lehmann, which means Bruce must have seen an enjoyed Heathers. Likewise, Richard E Grant’s casting suggests an awareness of Withnail & I; Willis may be a right-leaning curmudgeon, but he clearly knew what was funny (and let’s not forget he was key to Moonlighting’s success).


Critics, and the general public, disagreed with this. Hawk bombed; it didn’t satisfy as an action movie (which was how it was misleadingly promoted) and the comedy was too anarchic, too cartoonish and unconcerned with sticking to formula. How dare characters suddenly break into song, acknowledge the camera, question plot logic? It was as if the Marx Brothers had been let loose on the set of Die Hard. Of such failures, cult movies are made. It’s rare that you’ll find discussion on the internet of the film without coming across unbridled adoration for it.


But the legacy for those involved was one of difficulty in getting the stink off. Lehmann and Walters had shone so brightly with Heathers, but the former ended up steering lacklustre big screen comedies before finding a current niche in TV (including True Blood, Californication and Dexter). Walters has directed a couple of times, and Sex and Death 101 displayed the same acid humour as Heathers, but there can be little doubt that Hawk adversely affected their careers. Ironically, Arnie would come unstuck with a more calculated piece of post-modern deconstruction a few years later. Last Action Hero attempted to be a commentary on the action genre, but made a number of fundamental mistakes; the director was unable to tonally distinguish between the parodic and the “straight” worlds, the script wanted to be clever but couldn’t escape the shackles of formula structuring. And the child actor stank. Action Hero double-thought itself into oblivion. Hawk, in contrast, did exactly as it saw fit. For better or worse. In my view, consistently for better. A few years earlier, John Carpenter’s Big Trouble in Little China also mocked action heroics. It also flopped, but it wasn’t nearly as expensive as the other two would be.


The assembled cast is suitably divergent in backgrounds and styles. Grant has been noted; his cachet was on the rise at the time as more and more people discovered Withnail & I, all of whom considered themselves in on a private joke. Around this time he was a cult actor, and it seems entirely appropriate that he ended up in a cult blockbuster. A couple of years later, Grant’s mannered vibrancy had worn thin although I’d maintain that much of that is to do with directors not knowing how to get the best out of him (as his founder, Bruce Robinson clearly did). 



Sandra Bernhard came from stand-up, and the two (outrageously indiscreet luvvies, both) bonded off screen and on. In contrast, the down-to-earth Danny Aiello was one of Bruce’s real life buddies; at the time, I’ll admit he seemed a bit out of place, as if he was a last minute replacement (he wasn’t). He also seemed to be in every other film you watched during that period. Now, it’s clear that he brought essential warmth to the main relationships; which may sound redundant given the film’s rule breaking remit, but you still need to touch some bases. 



Andie McDowell replaced Maruschka Detmers, who in turn had replaced Isabella Rossellini. I’ve never been McDowell’s biggest fan, to the extent that there are several films where you’d swear the leading man went off with the wrong lady (Green Card, Four Weddings and a Funeral, even Sex, Lies and Videotape), but she deserves much credit in this for her deadpan playing, comic timing, and dolphin impressions.

Anna: I feel like a dolphin who's never tasted melted snow. What does the color blue taste like? Bobo knows? Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! I must speak with the dolphins now. Eeeee-eeee-eee-eeeeeee!

Probably my favourite cast member (and from the evidence of the DVD commentary, it sounds like he was tops with Lehmann) is veteran James Coburn. Lehmann acknowledges the debt the film owes to Coburn’s ‘60s persona (Our Man Flint and The President’s Analyst in particular, with the passcode on Hawk’s electronic cuffs quoting Flint). Coburn’s screen presence during the ‘80s had been patchy, having suffered (and professed to have cured himself of) rheumatoid arthritis. Coburn has a wonderful, inviting screen presence, and his toothy grin at times seems to suggest genuine delight in the witty lines Waters gives him.

George Kaplan: The last time you saw me, I was bald, with a beard and no mustache, and I had a different nose. So if you don't recognize me, I won't be offended.
Hudson Hawk: My high school science teacher?

George Kaplan, of course, references the man Cary Grant is mistaken for in North By Northwest. Also appearing are Donald Burton as a vicious butler (Alfred) and David Caruso in a pre-fame role as Kit Kat, one of Kaplan’s CIA team. Frank Stallone, Sly’s brother plays one of the Mario brothers (just one of the film’s overt Nintendo references; these were cut down, but represent a running gag as to how out of touch Hawk is with the modern world).


The ostensible plot sees Hawk pressed back into service to purloin works of art created by Leonardo Da Vinci; these contain the key to a device that will convert lead into gold. That’s all you really need to know, except that the Mayflowers (Grant and Bernhard) are out to get it along with the CIA and the Vatican. The prologue shows Da Vinci hiding the secret to his device (while deciding what to do about his Mona Lisa portrait – his model has a ghastly smile, of course); the voice over comes from William Conrad, known for Rocky and Bullwinkle (as a British viewer I was unaware of this, although readily able to appreciate Conrad’s distinctive delivery).


The introduction of Willis, exiting prison, sets up a number of elements that undermine his presumed status as an action star. While we see him get one-up on his parole officer, his self-conscious badinage with Aiello’s Tommy “Five-Tone” has homo-erotic undertones, underscored by the jabs at each other’s sexuality. Hawk has a preference for “unmasculine European coffee” (Cappuccinos were not as widely known at the time, and there was even talk of whether this should be changed as the audience wouldn’t get it; hard to believe today). This sets the tone for Hawk, who gets his fair share of “heroic” moments, but is consistently undermined and beaten and bested by other characters. He is even knocked out by a model winged horse, just as he is extoling his heroic virtues (“Because danger, doc, is my middle na…”). He and Tommy are paralysed, then “modelled” displaying effete hand positions. He is roundly mocked (by heroes and villains alike) for not realising that Anna is a nun.


But, crucially, he is the inimitable Bruce Willis who we knew and loved as David Addison in Moonlighting. In a classic set piece, he flies out of the back of an ambulance on Brooklyn Bridge, clinging to a gurney. He catches a discarded cigarette and tosses it away in disgust (“Menthol?!) before giving a bemused look as a bimbo in a sports car asks, “Hey, mister, are you going to die?


The comedy in Hudson Hawk is scattershot, both base and highbrow, at times within the same sequence of gags. I mentioned The Marx Brothers, but a more accurate reference point would be The Three Stooges (curiously, also a touchstone of action star and current persona non grata Mel Gibson) for the sight gags, and the Road… movies (Hope and Crosby) for the Willis/Aiello chemistry.


As a result we go from incredibly lowbrow culture gags (“That’s a lot of Wong numbers” notes a security guard, leafing through the telephone directory), to similar but more surreal (an Italian security guard empties spaghetti from his thermos flask, Hawk orders a dish with perfect Italian pronunciation then adds, “Oh, and bring me a bottle of ketchup, will ya?” Copious fat gags (“Big Stan”) nudge next to those teetering on the surreal (the Pope’s TV reception acting up, so he can’t watch Mr Ed in peace). Hawk lands on the top of a lamp post, before falling backwards into a truck full of chickens. As it careers around a corner he is ejected and lands, perfectly seated, at dinner with Anna. Coughing, feathers fly out of his mouth. Either you’re on board with the tone or you’re not. There is little middleground. On the commentary track Walters suggested the feather-coughing was a beat to far (as he does later when a sprung spring noise is used for Alfred being hit with a tennis board. All I can say is, he’s wrong. The feathers are the perfect punchline to the sequence.


Unlike Coburn’s The President Analyst, there is no serious attempt at satire or commentary. As Kaplan plunges to his death, his last words are “MY PENSION!”Any spikey remarks are as absurdist as the flashing crucifix intercom that Anna (the nun) speaks into (“Catholic girls are scary!”).

Cardinal: Oh, the Pope warned me never to trust the CIA!

Darwin Mayflower introduces his intentions with “I’m the villain!” It’s a film that can be that flippant about its artifice. Yet Walters cannot just right gags, great lines flow from his pen (apologies if this was a de Souza).

Darwin Mayflower: I’ll torture you so slowly, you’ll think it’s a career.

As Lehmann also notes during his commentary, Hawk did the dog flying out of a window gag seven years before There’s Something About Mary. It also indulged cruelty to soft toys, namely Pokey (“Can you believe that kooky little elephant?”)


When all else fails, and the unlikeliness of the plot is exposed (Tommy’s escape from a fiery wreck) there’s nothing else to do but acknowledge it.

Hudson Hawk: Yeah, that’s probably what happened.

And tonally, once you’ve been introduced to the surrealistic tendencies, the sudden lurches into gore still come as a jolt; when the parole officer request his cut, Alfred slashes his throat open (“So much for his “cut”. Forgive my dry, British humour”). When Minerva takes Darwin literally and shoots Ig and Ook, Darwin exclaims, “God, Minerva! I was only joking!” before leading her on an impromptu waltz. There’s even a rape joke. It’s the kind of ramshackle, take-no-prisoners approach that recalls John Landis at his peak.


Back, briefly, to George Kaplan. Not only is Coburn’s performance a joy, his lines are solid gold. From quoting “the late, great” Karen Carpenter, to reminiscing about the heady days of the Cold War.

George Kaplan: Yes, I have always had a soft spot in my heart for Rome. I did my first bare-handed strangulation here. Communist politician.
Hudson Hawk: Why George, you big softie.

As noted, the musical numbers didn’t go down well. Lehmann notes that they debated how big to go with it (sung or given the full orchestral backing) but he was absolutely right with his choices. There’s an unfettered glee in the way that, as the “number” finishes, Hawk and Tommy are not even paying attention to their surroundings any more (they are supposed to be engaged in a robbery).


Dante Spinotti’s cinematography is gorgeous, although it’s never certain where he begins and originally contracted Jost Vacano (a frequent Verhoeven collaborator) ends.  Then there are the jump cut scene transitions, which are a willful affront to narrative logic; Hawk falls from the roof of a building towards an awning, “landing” in a chair in front of the Mario brothers.


It is nearly 22 years since Hudson Hawk was released, and it seems unlikely that it will ever be fully rehabilitated as a neglected comic masterpiece. It has a dedicated cult following though, which may not seem like much given that any old crap can have an underswell of appreciation. I don’t know if Willis has ever spoken about the film, but he should embrace it to his bosom in the knowledge that other comedy flops that have been recognised as classics in the fullness of time (Duck Soup, Bringing Up Baby) and still more remain tantalizingly on the periphery of wider acclaim or acceptance. Yes, there are elements that don’t work, gags that fizzle and moments that are over-played, but Hudson Hawk is the most lovely of failures; one that reveals not an empty carcass, bereft of life, but a strange, unruly, crazed creature that just needs a little openness and understanding to appreciate.




Popular posts from this blog

What’s so bad about being small? You’re not going to be small forever.

Innerspace (1987) There’s no doubt that Innerspace is a flawed movie. Joe Dante finds himself pulling in different directions, his instincts for comic subversion tempered by the need to play the romance plot straight. He tacitly acknowledges this on the DVD commentary for the film, where he notes Pauline Kael’s criticism that he was attempting to make a mainstream movie; and he was. But, as ever with Dante, it never quite turns out that way. Whereas his kids’ movies treat their protagonists earnestly, this doesn’t come so naturally with adults. I’m a bona fide devotee of Innerspace , but I can’t help but be conscious of its problems. For the most part Dante papers over the cracks; the movie hits certain keynotes of standard Hollywood prescription scripting. But his sensibility inevitably suffuses it. That, and human cartoon Martin Short (an ideal “leading man” for the director) ensure what is, at first glance just another “ Steven Spielberg Presents ” sci-fi/fantas

The Illumi-what-i?

Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness (2022) (SPOILERS) In which Sam Raimi proves that he can stand proudly with the best – or worst – of them as a good little foot soldier of the woke apocalypse. You’d expect the wilfully anarchic – and Republican – Raimi to choke on the woke, but instead, he’s sucked it up, grinned and bore it. Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness is so slavishly a production-line Marvel movie, both in plotting and character, and in nu-Feige progressive sensibilities, there was no chance of Sam staggering out from beneath its suffocating demands with anything more than a few scraps of stylistic flourish intact.

This risotto is shmackin’, dude.

Stranger Things Season 4: Part I (SPOILERS) I haven’t had cause, or the urge, to revisit earlier seasons of Stranger Things , but I’m fairly certain my (relatively) positive takes on the first two sequel seasons would adjust down somewhat if I did (a Soviet base under Hawkins? DUMB soft disclosure or not, it’s pretty dumb). In my Season Three review, I called the show “ Netflix’s best-packaged junk food. It knows not to outstay its welcome, doesn’t cause bloat and is disposable in mostly good ways ” I fairly certain the Duffer’s weren’t reading, but it’s as if they decided, as a rebuke, that bloat was the only way to go for Season Four. Hence episodes approaching (or exceeding) twice the standard length. So while the other points – that it wouldn’t stray from its cosy identity and seasons tend to merge in the memory – hold fast, you can feel the ambition of an expansive canvas faltering at the hurdle of Stranger Things ’ essential, curated, nostalgia-appeal inconsequentiality.

Is this supposed to be me? It’s grotesque.

The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent (2022) (SPOILERS) I didn’t hold out much hope for The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent being more than moderately tolerable. Not so much because its relatively untested director and his co-writer are mostly known in the TV sphere (and not so much for anything anyone is raving about). Although, it has to be admitted, the finished movie flourishes a degree of digital flatness typical of small-screen productions (it’s fine, but nothing more). Rather, due to the already over-tapped meta-strain of celebs showing they’re good sports about themselves. When Spike Jonze did it with John Malkovich, it was weird and different. By the time we had JCVD , not so much. And both of them are pre-dated by Arnie in Last Action Hero (“ You brought me nothing but pain ” he is told by Jack Slater). Plus, it isn’t as if Tom Gormican and Kevin Etten have much in the way of an angle on Nic; the movie’s basically there to glorify “him”, give or take a few foibles, do

Whacking. I'm hell at whacking.

Witness (1985) (SPOILERS) Witness saw the advent of a relatively brief period – just over half a decade –during which Harrison Ford was willing to use his star power in an attempt to branch out. The results were mixed, and abruptly concluded when his typically too late to go where Daniel Day Lewis, Dustin Hoffman and Robert De Niro had gone before (with at bare minimum Oscar-nominated results) – but not “ full retard ” – ended in derision with Regarding Henry . He retreated to the world of Tom Clancy, and it’s the point where his cachet began to crumble. There had always been a stolid quality beneath even his more colourful characters, but now it came to the fore. You can see something of that as John Book in Witness – despite his sole Oscar nom, it might be one of Ford’s least interesting performances of the 80s – but it scarcely matters, or that the screenplay (which won) is by turns nostalgic, reactionary, wistful and formulaic, as director Peter Weir, in his Hollywood debu

Are you telling me that I should take my daughter to a witch doctor?

The Exorcist (1973) (SPOILERS) Vast swathes have been written on The Exorcist , duly reflective of its cultural impact. In a significant respect, it’s the first blockbuster – forget Jaws – and also the first of a new kind of special-effects movie. It provoked controversy across all levels of the socio-political spectrum, for explicit content and religious content, both hailed and denounced for the same. William Friedkin, director of William Peter Blatty’s screenplay based on Blatty’s 1971 novel, would have us believe The Exorcist is “ a film about the mystery of faith ”, but it’s evidently much more – and less – than that. There’s a strong argument to be made that movies having the kind of seismic shock on the landscape this one did aren’t simply designed to provoke rumination (or exultation); they’re there to profoundly influence society, even if largely by osmosis, and when one looks at this picture’s architects, such an assessment only gains in credibility.

That, my lad, was a dragon.

The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug (2013) (SPOILERS) It’s alarming how quickly Peter Jackson sabotaged all the goodwill he amassed in the wake of The Lord of the Rings trilogy. A guy who started out directing deliciously deranged homemade horror movies ended up taking home the Oscar for a fantasy movie, of all genres. And then he blew it. He went from a filmmaker whose naysayers were the exception to one whose remaining cheerleaders are considered slightly maladjusted. The Desolation of Smaug recovers some of the territory Jackson has lost over the last decade, but he may be too far-gone to ever regain his crown. Perhaps in years to come The Lord of the Rings trilogy will be seen as an aberration in his filmography. There’s a cartoonishness to the gleeful, twisted anarchy on display in his earlierr work that may be more attuned to the less verimilitudinous aspects of King Kong and The Hobbit s. The exceptions are his female-centric character dramas, Heavenly Creat

Gizmo caca!

Gremlins (1984) I didn’t get to see Gremlins at the cinema. I wanted to, as I had worked myself into a state of great anticipation. There was a six-month gap between its (unseasonal) US release and arrival in the UK, so I had plenty of time to devour clips of cute Gizmo on Film ’84 (the only reason ever to catch Barry Norman was a tantalising glimpse of a much awaited movie, rather than his drab, colourless, reviews) and Gremlins trading cards that came with bubble gum attached (or was it the other way round?). But Gremlins ’ immediate fate for many an eager youngster in Britain was sealed when, after much deliberation, the BBFC granted it a 15 certificate. I had just turned 12, and at that time an attempt to sneak in to see it wouldn’t even have crossed my mind. I’d just have to wait for the video. I didn’t realise it then (because I didn’t know who he was as a filmmaker), but Joe Dante’s irrepressible anarchic wit would have a far stronger effect on me than the un

Twenty dwarves took turns doing handstands on the carpet.

Bugsy (1991) (SPOILERS) Bugsy is very much a Warren Beatty vanity project (aren’t they all, even the ones that don’t seem that way on the surface?), to the extent of his playing a title character a decade and a half younger than him. As such, it makes sense that producer Warren’s choice of director wouldn’t be inclined to overshadow star Warren, but the effect is to end up with a movie that, for all its considerable merits (including a script from James Toback chock full of incident), never really feels quite focussed, that it’s destined to lead anywhere, even if we know where it’s going.

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls… dyin’ time’s here!

Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome (1985) Time was kind to Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome . As in, it was such a long time since I’d seen the “final chapter” of the trilogy, it had dwindled in my memory to the status of an “alright but not great” sequel. I’d half-expected to have positive things to say along the lines of it being misunderstood, or being able to see what it was trying for but perhaps failing to quite achieve. Instead, I re-discovered a massive turkey that is really a Mad Max movie in name only (appropriately, since Max was an afterthought). This is the kind of picture fans of beloved series tend to loathe; when a favourite character returns but without the qualities or tone that made them adored in the first place (see Indiana Jones in Kingdom of the Crystal Skull , or John McClane in the last two Die Hard s). Thunderdome stinks even more than the methane fuelling Bartertown. I hadn’t been aware of the origins of Thunderdome until recently, mainly because I was