Chris Knipp
06-02-2014, 11:10 AM
Jim Mickle: Cold in July (2014)
http://www.chrisknipp.com/newpictures/coldinjuly.jpg
SAM SHEPARD, DON JOHNSON, AND MICHAEL C. HALL RIDE THE RED BITCH IN COLD IN JULY
Juicy doings in Texas
In this pleasurably lurid neo-noir thriller-horror story from the prolific pen of Joe C. Lansdale, a young family man in a Texas town called Richard Dane (Michael C. Hall of "Dexter"), with a wife and small boy and a framing shop, kills a burglar in the night, an event that becomes big local news. The cops identify the dead man as Freddy Russell, a wanted felon. Richard is much praised by some locals, criticized by others, himself ridden with guilt. He and his wife are traumatized, their relationship under heavy stress. Worse, Ben Russell (San Shepard), the ex-con dad of Freddy, turns up full of chilly anger when Richard goes to observe his victim's burial. Ben is bent on revenge. It's hard for Richard to get police protection but after the old man breaks into his house he gets it. Then, the plot thickens. And thickens some more. It's not even remotely believable, and the ending, a rush of perversion, horror, corruption, and violence, lacks the satisfaction and intimacy of true film noir. But director Jim Mickle, a good match for writer Lansdale, maintains a pulsating tension with a touch of humor, and there's not much to worry about once first Sam Shepard, then Don Johnson come on the scene.
Richard himself figures out that the man he killed was not Freddy Russell, and the cops are up to a scheme in which he and Ben Russell are equally dupes. Further details (lots of them) come to light when a colorful private detective called Jim Bob Luke (Don Johnson) arrives on the scene. The year is 1989. People still watch videotapes and some still have those oversized American automobiles. Jim Bob's is a glorious long boat of a convertible in a shade of crimson brighter than you've ever seen and its license plates proclaim its name: "Red Bitch." Those who have read the Joe C. Lansdale novel say it's a heck of a good read, but one guy who saw the movie and then read the book claims the latter is a "yawner" by comparison.
Doubtless this is due to the final sequences of violence, in which Mickle makes use of his horror chops. He even includes a drive-in movie sequence where Night of the Living Dead is showing. George Romero is a Mickle hero and mentor. (Lansdale has written about zombies too, as well as the Jonah Hex comics.)
The trouble is that these events, while rich in the down-and-dirty luridness of contemporary noir and indeed redolent of Eighties B-movie fun -- the references to VCRs reminded me of good old adventures at the video rental store -- do not feel like a resolution of the opening premise. That isn't really possible, because Richard has become a pawn in a game that has nothing particular to do with him. Ben, Richard, and Jim Bob are thrown together. There's an odd camaraderie, but this is hardly what you'd call a buddy picture. When Richard sneaks back into bed next to his wife and kid at the end he's right back to where he was after he'd killed the burglar. I guess there's a sneering irony about that that suits modern noir. But this movie lacks the wit and neat rhythms of the genre found in John Dahl's early work. It's doubtless a step forward for director Mickle, whose first three features were zero-budget no-name efforts, though the last one was a critical success. Shepard and Johnson, the latter particularly relishing his role, are fun to watch together and apart, and Michael C. Hall is surprisingly good at turning the dial slowly from meek to macho and back again seemingly at will, so that his presence in all the action makes equally good sense, even if the action doesn't. In a thumbnail review in The New Yorker David Denby comments that "the talented Vinessa Shaw," as Richard's wife, is "badly underused." This is true, but the plot is what it is, obsessed with the macho stuff.
Cold in July, 87 mins., debuted at Sundance Jan. 2014, then played at Cannes' Directors' Fortnight. Its limited US theatrical release began 23 May. The novel adaptation was penned by Nick Damici, Mickle's regular collaborator and sometime star, who also plays the devious cop, Ray Price. The film was all shot in New York State, standing in for Texas.
http://www.chrisknipp.com/newpictures/coldinjuly.jpg
SAM SHEPARD, DON JOHNSON, AND MICHAEL C. HALL RIDE THE RED BITCH IN COLD IN JULY
Juicy doings in Texas
In this pleasurably lurid neo-noir thriller-horror story from the prolific pen of Joe C. Lansdale, a young family man in a Texas town called Richard Dane (Michael C. Hall of "Dexter"), with a wife and small boy and a framing shop, kills a burglar in the night, an event that becomes big local news. The cops identify the dead man as Freddy Russell, a wanted felon. Richard is much praised by some locals, criticized by others, himself ridden with guilt. He and his wife are traumatized, their relationship under heavy stress. Worse, Ben Russell (San Shepard), the ex-con dad of Freddy, turns up full of chilly anger when Richard goes to observe his victim's burial. Ben is bent on revenge. It's hard for Richard to get police protection but after the old man breaks into his house he gets it. Then, the plot thickens. And thickens some more. It's not even remotely believable, and the ending, a rush of perversion, horror, corruption, and violence, lacks the satisfaction and intimacy of true film noir. But director Jim Mickle, a good match for writer Lansdale, maintains a pulsating tension with a touch of humor, and there's not much to worry about once first Sam Shepard, then Don Johnson come on the scene.
Richard himself figures out that the man he killed was not Freddy Russell, and the cops are up to a scheme in which he and Ben Russell are equally dupes. Further details (lots of them) come to light when a colorful private detective called Jim Bob Luke (Don Johnson) arrives on the scene. The year is 1989. People still watch videotapes and some still have those oversized American automobiles. Jim Bob's is a glorious long boat of a convertible in a shade of crimson brighter than you've ever seen and its license plates proclaim its name: "Red Bitch." Those who have read the Joe C. Lansdale novel say it's a heck of a good read, but one guy who saw the movie and then read the book claims the latter is a "yawner" by comparison.
Doubtless this is due to the final sequences of violence, in which Mickle makes use of his horror chops. He even includes a drive-in movie sequence where Night of the Living Dead is showing. George Romero is a Mickle hero and mentor. (Lansdale has written about zombies too, as well as the Jonah Hex comics.)
The trouble is that these events, while rich in the down-and-dirty luridness of contemporary noir and indeed redolent of Eighties B-movie fun -- the references to VCRs reminded me of good old adventures at the video rental store -- do not feel like a resolution of the opening premise. That isn't really possible, because Richard has become a pawn in a game that has nothing particular to do with him. Ben, Richard, and Jim Bob are thrown together. There's an odd camaraderie, but this is hardly what you'd call a buddy picture. When Richard sneaks back into bed next to his wife and kid at the end he's right back to where he was after he'd killed the burglar. I guess there's a sneering irony about that that suits modern noir. But this movie lacks the wit and neat rhythms of the genre found in John Dahl's early work. It's doubtless a step forward for director Mickle, whose first three features were zero-budget no-name efforts, though the last one was a critical success. Shepard and Johnson, the latter particularly relishing his role, are fun to watch together and apart, and Michael C. Hall is surprisingly good at turning the dial slowly from meek to macho and back again seemingly at will, so that his presence in all the action makes equally good sense, even if the action doesn't. In a thumbnail review in The New Yorker David Denby comments that "the talented Vinessa Shaw," as Richard's wife, is "badly underused." This is true, but the plot is what it is, obsessed with the macho stuff.
Cold in July, 87 mins., debuted at Sundance Jan. 2014, then played at Cannes' Directors' Fortnight. Its limited US theatrical release began 23 May. The novel adaptation was penned by Nick Damici, Mickle's regular collaborator and sometime star, who also plays the devious cop, Ray Price. The film was all shot in New York State, standing in for Texas.