The movie is a fascinating failure. In essence it's an old-fashioned genre piece, with the kinds of ambiguities that characterized the best film noir of the 40's and 50's: the main characters are conceived in classically muscular thematic colours, and Towne creates a sometimes absorbing network of shifting perceptions, generally leaving it pretty open as to how we should grade the relative professional and personal failings and compromises of the protagonists. The climax makes this moral confusion extremely explicit, but then is followed by a sappy coda that exemplifies the movie's worst aspect - its capitulation to a Miami Vice kind of visual glossiness (on which it may be trying - but if so without success - to form some kind of commentary). The style looks very dated even after a decade, and the music has fared even worse. The actors seem too superficial to do justice to the movie's thematic ambitions: Gibson and Pfeiffer are so one-dimensional as to be outacted by Russell; Julia's character goes far into overdone stereotype and seriously damages the film's later stretches. Given these drawbacks, much of the smart dialogue takes on a rote quality - there are times when the characters seem fated to endlessly analyze and parry, and the nuances sail away along with one's concentration. It still does overall justice to Towne's ambition though, even if it convincingly demonstrates the difference between a great writer and a great director.
Review of Tequila Sunrise
