Midnight Run
(1988)
(SPOILERS) Midnight
Run has a lot to answer for. It gave Robert De Niro the impression he was
great at comedy. He is great in Midnight Run. It’s easily his funniest
performance. But that performance is a consequence of the alchemy of co-stars,
script and director and, most fundamentally, that De Niro isn’t playing for
laughs. Sure, he’s been funny in stuff since, mostly he’s been mugging off his
taciturn tough nut persona, a one-trick pony show that’s usually been milked in
undemanding and inconsequential material. Midnight
Run is something else entirely; a buddy movie with genuine heart, a road
trip that never feels like its simply pushing formula buttons, an action comedy
with genuine stakes and drama. It’s a very, very funny movie, with probably the
highest quota of memorable lines per scene that side of Tarantino. We should
all be grateful a sequel hasn’t had the chance to besmirch its memory.
Well, one kind of has. Make that three. Six years later a
trio of TV movies, with the enticing titles Another
Midnight Run, Midnight Runaround
(really?) and Midnight Run For Your Life
(WTF? Still, I guess this kind of thing inspired the Die Hard series) with Chrisopher McDonald as Jack Walsh (the De
Niro character) and Ed O’Ross as Marvin Dorfler (John Ashton’s). Writer George
Gallo has opined that, even though a bona fide sequel has been mooted as of
2010, he’s not really sure what would be done with it, particularly since for
him it felt like the original was a contained story; it was over, and doing
something else would be like “taking a
shit on something”. Which is succinct. And fair.
Gallo recalls that the picture came out the same week as Die Hard (in wide release, that’s indeed
the case), although even while the Willis actioner was a franchise starter it
didn’t take the top spot (it never rose above 2, Run never above 5 in the charts). Die Hard made more than twice Run’s
gross, and as Gallo tells it Universal thought they had a big hit on their
hands (despite, or because of, being rebuffed when they wanted Cher to play the
Charles Grodin role). If I had to pick the better of the two pictures, I’d be
hard-pressed, but there’s no doubt Midnight
Run has aged more gracefully, free of the burden of being overly bound by
‘80s trappings, paraphernalia and style.
So the picture perhaps underperformed, albeit the whys are
elusive (it was a critical darling). Perhaps audiences were uncertain about De
Niro playing for laughs (We’re No Angels
a year later would apparently confirm it as territory he should avoid), or
perhaps it’s simply as unquantifiable as the question is “How is it that Midnight Run is so good?” On their own,
none of the key players (except De Niro, but obviously in different genres) has
reached these dizzying heights before or since. One can only come back to that
elusive thing called alchemy.
Gallo gives the key credit to Martin Brest, a director
pegged as difficult (exacting at best) who has vanished from the scene in high
dudgeon in the wake of the lambasting received by Gigli. For a career with seven movies in nearly 40 years, he’s a
hardly a Kubrick in terms of painstaking quality. He was kicked off War Games, then hit it big with Eddie
Murphy in Beverly Hills Cop. Post Run he made Scent of a Woman (Pacino Oscar bait) and Meet Joe Black (oft-slated, but I kind of like it) before Gigli. Run’s very definitely the highpoint in his career, but he seems to
have something of the erratic quality of a Doug Liman. No master stylist, nor
thematically a particular purist, but occasionally able to knock it out of the
park with the right ingredients (he most definitely is not a Brett Ratner, rumoured for the remake and a death knell to
quality).
Writer Gallo’s career is similarly unremarkable aside from Run (he furnished Bad Boys with its story, but you’d be hard-pressed to label any of
his other work hits or classics). Then, it is
known that Run featured a great deal
of improvisation, so how much of the memorable dialogue is Gallo’s? Astin tells
how he and De Niro had a “fuck meter”, gauging the judicious, but not too much,
use of the word (yet it’s the sheer quantity that gains Run an 18 certificate; but they’re absolutely right, it’s the way
they’re used as punctuation, rather than their proliferation).
The story beats are certainly all Gallo’s (including
suggesting Marvin survived at the end after seeing how likeable-despite-himself
Astin made him), and that’s a deceptively easy-looking construction. After all,
isn’t the road trip a staple of A to B narratives? The (hero’s) journey that
writes itself, here with a bickering couple who grow to like each other. It
could be a more dramatic version of the previous year’s Planes, Trains and Automobiles (maybe the thought of repetition put
audiences off), peppered with crosses, double-crosses, twists and turns.
Without a doubt, if the foundation weren’t so solid then nothing liberally sprinkled
on top, from the perfectly poised cast to the delicious dialogue, would be
quite as successful.
The core of the picture is the relationship between Walsh
and the Duke, of course. Reportedly most of those who went to read with De Niro
were wholly deferential to the screen legend. Grodin completely wasn’t and,
partial to improvising, treated him with the kind of disdain the Duke would
show a bounty hunter. The result was that De Niro and Brest held out for the
actor over studio demands for a bigger name. Certainly, as Grodin readily
admits, this is the best work he’s done on film (he also says making it was a
great experience) and Joe Pantoliano (Eddie Moscone) shrewdly observes that Grodin’s
the glue that set the tone of the movie; “everybody
is deadly serious and out if it all this comedy comes”.
Without Grodin, De Niro doesn’t have a foil for his exasperation,
someone wheedling out his inner thoughts and feelings. Indeed, elsewhere Walsh
has opponents who allow him clear one-upmanship, be it their exasperation with
him (Yaophet Kotto’s Alonzo Mosely) or their sheer stupidity (Marvin). And when
it comes to the confrontation with Jimmy Serrano (Dennis Farina), it’s deadly
serious, as it should be, but it doesn’t call on a huge expression of
motivation (on the other hand, Farina is absolutely hilarious when interacting
with lawyer lackey Sidney, Philip Baker Hall; “Don’t say a word, Sidney. Don’t say a fucking word. Or I’ll get up and
bury this telephone in your head”).
Gallo notes Run is
quite a sentimental movie at times, but this is counterbalanced with the grit
(or swearing), and that’s the key to the Duke-Walsh relationship. Feuding from
the start (“You can start by shutting up.
I’ve known you for two minutes and already I don’t like you”), the irony
that they’re both in the situations they’re in due to Serrano is intrinsic.
Walsh is “tired of this miserable fucking
business”, but he is honour-bound to do what he says even when others let
him down.
It’s one of De Niro’s best-modulated performances (cards on the
table, it’s my favourite of his irrespective of genre, just for sheer pleasure
of seeing him at play). One only has to look at the conversation on the train
(everyone of their conversations is gold; Run
is much like The Big Lebowski for
each scene being a gem), as it steers from a discussion on what Jack will do
with the reward money (“If I were your
accountant… “) to a lecture on cholesterol steering back to the Duke’s own
living a denial (“Oh, so you’re aware of
your behaviour and yet you continue to do things that aren’t good for you”).
The Duke: Jack, you’re a grown man. You have control
over your own words.
Walsh: You’re damn right I am, so here are two
words for you: shut the fuck up.
It sets the tone for the conversations and bickering that
continues throughout (“Why aren’t you
popular with the Chicago police department?” and the marvellous “You lied to me first” attempts to get in
the last word; “I cant even argue with
you I don’t even know what the fuck you’re talking about”). De Niro
understands the humour in Walsh lies in his inability to outsmart Grodin
verbally; it’s the blue collar versus the white, making the “two words for you” possibly the stand
out line in a picture replete with great lines (“Well, I tell you what, if you don’t cooperate your going to suffer from
fistophobia”). When Jack comments, “What
a pain in the ass this guy is” its sounds almost an off mike gesture at
Grodin’s virtuoso improve skills.
Walsh: You fuck with me?
The Duke: And you’ll hit me on the head and drop me in
a thing.
Grodin can do superior (his look at the checkout woman when
Walsh is attempting to buy a ticket is a sublime, and then there’s his
commandeering of the situation in Red’s bar to get some money) and cutting (“Don’t pretend you care” when Jack tells
him about the witness protection programme) and wry (“I’m a white collar criminal” he informs Jack’s ex’s son after the
lad comments “You don’t look much like a
criminal”; even the kids in this movie get good lines).
That scene is the most overtly sentimental in the picture,
but it absolutely works, and is absolutely justified. If the whole business
with Jack’s stopped watch (“Sometimes you
just have to let yourself go. Just get yourself a new watch”) is bit
laboured, his interaction with his daughter Denise (Danielle DuClos) is
touchingly sincere. Likewise, the final scene where Jack lets the Duke go is
genuine but not mawkish, framed as it is by Jack’s own sense of values (“Now, say goodbye you lying little piece of
shit, because I’m letting him go”).
Joey: Oh, you’re dead. Do you know who you’re
fucking with?
Dorfler: No, why don’t you tell me about it? And make
sure you speak into the microphone.
The Coens comparison is particularly apt, because Run, like Lebowski, ensures every single character is memorable. As such you
get every actor citing it as one of the best things they’ve done. Certainly,
John Astin is phenomenal as slobbish dullard Marvin Dorfler, a guy with enough
smarts to continually pick up Jack’s trail where others fail but so dumb he
falls for Jack’s “Marvin, look out!”
every time (the punches in this movie are wonderful, jaw to the floor moments
on each occasion) and takes a photo with the name of the hotel he’s holed up in
prominently displayed on some towels behind The Duke. Dorfler is so
monumentally crass, vulgar and coarse to everyone he meets it’s a joy to behold
(“Hey, nothing personal Jack, but fuck
off” is almost his first line).
Dorfler: (looking
around the room) One, two, three, four,
five, six, seven. Got the whole fucking force after me, huh?
His interaction with Mosely (“Son of a bitch stole my cigarettes”; “Why don’t you quit? It would be cheaper for both of us”) is a churlish
treat, as is his dumb bombast towards mob heavies (“Who the fuck are you guys?”) and disinterest in the Duke’s
manipulations (“Yeah? Well, why don’t you
relax and sleep through it?” is his response to the Duke’s fear of flying,
punching his lights out). In fact, Marvin’s smoking is a continual source of
mirth (“Take a wild guess” he
responds to Brest, cameoing at a check-in desk, when Marvin is asked if he will
be smoking or non smoking). Gallo was absolutely right that Marvin should be
kept alive, and Astin’s improvisations (“Yeah,
watch your cigarettes with this guy, Jack”) are delicious. There’s a bit of
El Bruto to De Niro’s El Buono in their relationship, and if anything had
justified a sequel it would have been seeing these two squaring off again (how
to fit in the Duke, though).
Train Porter: Mosely? Are all you guys named Mosely?
Kotto is also enormous fun, his increasing indignance at
everything falling apart around him mirrors Serrano’s in terms of these bounty
hunters messing up their best laid plans. His enraged “I’m Mosely!” in response to a porter informing him of Walsh’s real
name is perhaps the highpoint. Even Serrano’s goons (Richard Foronjy and Robert
Miranda) are entirely memorable (“Tony?
He ain’t mad at me is he?” asks Miranda’s Joey after a call to Serrano).
Serrano needs to be a potent force for the balance of the picture to work, so
his threat to the Duke that he will die that night and then he will find his
wife and kill her too is powerful and icily vivid (fortunately, Marvin shows up
to undercut this; Serano asks “Who the
fuck are you?” to which Dorfler replies “What are you, writing a book? Who the fuck are you?”)
Moscone: Everybody’s telling me to go fuck myself!
Then there’s Joey Pants, who had been around as an actor for
about 15 years at this point but only really made an impact for the first time
here. His might be the part you appreciate more and more on revisits, because
he’s such a gloriously manipulative little weasel (yet unable to see that Jack
Kehoe’s Jerry is leaking information under his nose and that the Feds are
sitting outside), and willing to say or do anything to get what he wants (he
is, as Walsh memorably comments, a “slime
ball in a sea of puss!”) Pants is probably now best known as Cypher in The Matrix, but this might be his
signature movie role. His increasingly hysterical responses to Walsh are
hilarious (“Fuck the bus! I want to know
what happened to the goddam plane!”), and gives De Niro some of his best
lines (“I’m in the lobby of Howard
Johnson’s and I’m weaning a pink carnation”; “Eddie, Eddie, don’t start with me now or I swear, I’ll shoot him and
drop him in a fucking swamp”).
Walsh: I’ve come too far, and I’m too close.
Brest might not be a master, but he knows how to put action
sequence together (and take a look at Brad Pitt getting hit by a bus in Meet Joe Black). Here, he’s wonderfully
complemented by an early Danny Elfman score that’s infused with delirious,
upbeat brio yet delineated distinctly according to each character.
The
highlight set piece is probably the trail of carnage in the wake of the FBI
catching up with Walsh and the Duke in Arizona (although other great vignettes
include the helicopter chase leading to Walsh and the Duke ending up in a
river, and the Duke attempting to escape on a biplane). Cop car after cop car
manages to pile up or roll over as Walsh decides to go cross-country, and Brest
includes a marvellous helicopter shot at the end showing off the trail of
wreckage.
In contrast, the set piece at the airport is finely tuned to low-key
tension, building as the disparate elements climax in Serrano’s arrest. Elfman’s
score is as much a part of leaving audiences on a high as the bittersweet
ending (Jack gets his money, the Duke gets to escape, but there’s a wistful
melancholy to the way Jack the former has to walk because he can’t get change
for a thousand).
Walsh: Yeah, in the next life.
Midnight Run is probably thought of as an action comedy, but it’s not an action movie in the way its sort-of competitor Die Hard is. Midnight Run propels forward through locations and set pieces, but the aforementioned is the only really big action scene (and there’s a distinct lack of killing too). It’s a testament to the work of Brest and Gallo that the whole feels so propulsive, that a movie filled with so much talking – two guys bantering – is so alive and gusty. Midnight Run is lightning in a bottle and, fortunately now De Niro’s into his 70s, I think we can probably forget about the proposed sequel, or anybody taking a shit on something. At least until Brett Ratner plunges into the remake with Bradley Cooper as Walsh and Miley Cyrus in the Grodin part.
