Striking Distance
(1993)
For a star who became very quickly identified with action
heroics on the big screen, it took Bruce Willis a few years to succumb to
formula vehicles. Partly, this was no doubt down to his desire to stretch
himself (the variety of parts, lead and supporting, in a variety of genres
between ’88 and ’95 is testament to this, the consequent number of turkeys not
withstanding). Partly I like to think it was because he had an eye for a script
with a bit more to it. Of late, I’ve realised that was most likely wishful
thinking, based on the guy who made Die
Hard, Hudson Hawk and Last Boy Scout (and even Death Becomes Her) in quick succession.
Rather than the one who picked Color of
Night. Striking Distance is the
first time Willis looks to be in real danger of losing his new crown.
Fortunately, reinvention in Pulp Fiction
and Twelve Monkeys would keep him
ticking over until The Sixth Sense,
but Rowdy Herrington’s film is a harbinger of how it will all go pear-shaped
for action-Bruce in the years to come.
A big part of it, and something Willis still doesn’t seem to
realise, is that Bruce the action star requires a sense of humour, self-effacement
if you will, to work. It’s a combination of an essentially unassuming physical
presence combined with a Moonlighting
delivery that made him so appealing in the first Die Hard. Take away the latter and you get a run of dry
any-lead-will-do vehicles that do middling-at-best box office. See Last Man Standing, Mercury Rising, Tears of the
Sun, Hostage, Lucky Number Slevin, Surrogates. The list goes on. There is the occasional exception, with Bruce
either rediscovering his comic chops (The
Fifth Element) or being well cast in a character/action piece (16 Blocks), but he decided he wanted to
be a serious actor in the mid-90s. And became a boring one.
So why did Striking
Distance bomb so badly? One might blame audience preconceptions or
reshoots, but really the problem is that the script is a derivative stinker. Director
Rowdy Herrington received a lot of attention for Patrick Swayze-starrer and
surprise hit Road House, and I recall
thinking at the time that he was a solid choice for the next big Bruce movie.
But he also co-scripted the film, which wasn’t, in bare bones at least, another
action flick. No, it was a serial killer movie. Given how tired and formulaic
the genre became so quickly, the only surprise is its legs. Seven came along to completely
reinvigorate the genre a few years later, both stylistically and in terms of
motive.
In Striking Distance,
the writers take their cues from other movies rather than strike out in new
directions. It’s not as if a cop-turned-serial killer was a new idea (I’m not
giving anything away here, since Willis’ character is convinced of this from
the first scene) and Herrington fails to imbue the premise with any freshness.
Then there is the use of a classic song as a calling card of the
killer (Little Red Riding Hood);
anyone seen Sea of Love? A few years
later Fallen would repeat the trick
with Time Is On My Side). Red
herrings are liberally daubed throughout the screenplay, such that when the
killer’s identity is eventually revealed it is the most ridiculous choice
possible. And therefore, perversely, the most appropriate. For someone
convinced for years that the identity of the killer is a law enforcement
officer, Willis appears to have done zero investigative work for all this time.
Every obfuscation he encounters, or signpost hanging over a suspicious
character, yells, “Look into this further” but he does nothing, so allowing the
killer to lead the plot (a good method when a writer doesn’t wish to do any
heavy-lifting).
Willis plays former homicide detective Tom Hardy (no, not that
Tom Hardy), reduced to working for the Pittsburgh River Rescue following the
death of his cop father (John Mahoney) during an attempt to apprehend the
Polish Hill strangler; Hardy became a persona non grata with the force when he
gave evidence against his former partner (Robert Pastorelli). This was only compounded
by his partner’s subsequent suicide, and the final straw was his claim that the
suspect apprehended for the killings was just a patsy; that the killer was
still free and a police officer. When we join Hardy as a river cop two years
later, he has turned to the bottle (of course) and is given the prerequisite
young female cop, Jo Christman (Sarah Jessica Parker), as a new partner. And
then the Polish Hill strangler starts calling Hardy, playing the song and
leaving a trail of fresh victims; all of whom Hardy has formerly had a
relationship with.
It’s all too hyperbolic to be taken seriously, and as a result
Herrington makes heavy weather of it when he tries to apply gravity to the
proceedings. The original title was Three
Rivers, and the beefed-up title is symptomatic of the reshoots that took
place, following negative test screenings, to increase the action quotient.
It’s unclear what was added when (the romance subplot with Parker was amended),
but far-and-away the most successful scenes are ones not involving the main
plot. Basically, anything where Willis has to apprehend a suspect or
momentarily forget how tortured he is and break into a wise-ass mode.
Was the ever a concrete plan to set Die Hard 3 on a boat? We can at least be certain that that Under Siege got in there first. Striking Distance gives us an inkling of
what it might have been like, as Hardy singlehandedly storms a hijacked river
barge and takes out the bad guys armed with a shotgun and some choice quips (“Land shark!”). Throughout, you can see a
better film struggling to get out, but it would need to divest itself of the
portentous tone that is part and parcel of the serial killer flick.
Willis comes off none-too-well when he’s doing the po-faced
emoting, such that you end up recalling his piss-taking of such modes in Hudson Hawk. But when he’s verbally
sparring with a foe or romancing his partner, he’s all-together better-served.
Jo Christman: There’s something I should tell you.
Hardy: Are you really a man?
Jo Christman: No.
Hardy: Good.
A particularly amusing exchange given the number of comments
there have been about Parker’s… er, man-ish looks. Elsewhere, every scene with
Brion James is dynamite. James plays Detective Eddie Eiler, a thundering
douchebag who crassly bags Hardy at every opportunity. Every scene between them
ends in a physical altercation, and James knows not to take the part too
seriously; if he’s going to play a complete prick, he’s going to have some fun
with it. Honestly, I miss a good Brion James supporting turn; he passed on far
too early.
The consequence of such digressions is a film tonally all over
the shop. With the main meat consisting of characters blustering aggressively
at each other, it’s an exercise in keeping the big reveal at bay. Herrington
has assembled a strong supporting cast; Michael Mann favourite Dennis Farina
plays Uncle Nicky (a cop, surprise!) and filling out the ranks are Tom Sizemore
(younger and almost fresh-faced!) and Andre Braugher (in his first year of Homicide: Life on the Street). You never
once buy Parker as a cop, but everything else here is so daft that her presence
doesn’t stand out that much.
Bruce is on a cusp in 1993, clearly having one long bad hair
day. He’d ditch his receding fronds completely over the next couple of years
(the odd toupee job aside). In Striking
Distance, whether or not its a combination of rug and comb-over, the
results aren’t pretty. Indeed, the actor takes every opportunity to don a
baseball cap. At one point he seems to be wearing very similar clothes to Butch
in the following year’s Pulp Fiction.
He apologised for the film a couple of years later. But this is a guy who
approved John Moore to direct Die Hard 5,
so any perspective he claims requires a pinch of salt.
Not helping matters is a cheese-laden score from Brad Fiedel that
does all the wrong things at all the wrong moments.
When the climax comes, the number of false finishes for the
villain reaches new heights of idiocy; he just keeps coming back, all-the-while
screaming, “Who’s the best cop?” It’s
painful, and never self-conscious enough (like most of the film) to become fun.
The wonderfully-named Rowdy Herrington’s career appears to have
dried up; he’s hasn’t directed or written anything that has made it to screen
in nearly a decade and Striking Distance
remains his most high-profile assignment. It’s a serviceable time-passer if you
have nothing better to do and a high tolerance for idiocy; worth a look for
Brion James’ screen time at very least.
**1/2