Okay, here's the deal. There was a meeting the other night at the Order of the Purple Crown lodge, and me being a member, I felt obligated to go. I've been a Knight of the Purple Crown for about ten years or more, but I rarely go to the meetings. Hearing Carver Point's finest businessmen and pillars of the community argue over what they're gonna sell at their food booth at the county fair is not a big priority in my life, you know? I only joined because, at the time, the Purple Crown Lodge was the only place you could see pay-per-view wrestling events, because Henry Cavender donated a satellite dish from his electronics store. For some reason, one particular year, I felt the need to see Wrestlemania III. I got Henry to nominate me for membership, and I was admitted the next week. Wrestlemania III was pretty cool, Hulk Hogan beat Andre the Giant, and I was officially a Knight.
But, according to Henry, I had to be at the meeting this weekend. So, with no great sense of duty, I drove over to the lodge. I sat through the old business (hamburgers and corn dogs will be sold this year at the fair, by the way...y'all come...), and the new business was over pretty quick (Cletus Quick and Marshall Nowberry are now Knights...All Hail Knights!), the debate set in. For the next two hours, I had to listen to these guys with silly hats argue over whether or not we needed to start a new award. The National Office was trying to decide if there should be an annual Noble Knight of the Year, given to one particular person who has made some distinguishing mark over the course of the year.
After hemming and hawing for two hours, I stood up and told Henry that I was leaving. I told him that he had my proxy to vote however the majority went, and that I thanked him for notifying me about this important meeting. I also told him that, next year, I wanted him to lead the campaign for chili-cheese dogs, and I'd back him 100 percent.
But, some three hours later, I called Henry and asked how the vote went. The Knights will have a Noble Knight of the Year, I'm happy to say, and I've already nominated two people to serve as co-holders of this fine honor. After the meeting, I went and saw Ronin, the new De Niro movie, and I do hereby nominate John Frankenheimer and David Mamet as co-Noble Knights of the Purple Crown, because, folks, these two, along with a kickin' cast, have managed to create one of the smartest, tightest, and absolutely absorbing thrillers to come out of Hollywood in recent years.
Ronin, for those of you who don't know, is a Japanese word given to samurai who have been dishonored by allowing their master to be killed. These samurai are fated to roam the earth, acting as mercenaries, hired guns or swords, as it were, doomed to serve whomever pays them. It's a great word, actually, because it describes perfectly the group in this movie. Robert De Niro, Jean Reno, Stellan Skarsgard, and Sean Bean are all former alphabet soup (CIA, KGB, etc.) spies who were left out in the cold after the Cold war ended. These men were left without masters, and they're now hired guns, doing whatever job they can pick up.
A young Irish woman (Natascha McElhone) brings the four together. She is representing a mysterious contractor (Jonathan Pryce). Their assignment is to get ahold of a suitcase that has become the number one target between some Irish terrorists and the Russian Mafia. The four gentlemen are to retrieve this suitcase, at whatever cost, be it life, limb, or both.
I will not blather about the plot, nor will I discuss any more great detail. Why? 'Cause to do so would be the greatest injustice I could do to a movie of this caliber. There are some amazing aspects to this movie, though, thanks to the direction of Frankenheimer and the superhuman script by Mamet, who did a rewrite under the pseudonym Richard Weisz. This thing is classic Frankenheimer. Echoes of The Manchurian Candidate in the search for a hidden sniper. There are two fantastic car chases that push the limits of both the stunt drivers and the audience, especially one through the streets and underground tunnels of Paris. Mamet's scripting is way up there on the excellent scale. It's quick, it makes its points, and, like the best of Mamet, it uses silence as well as words to shoot those points home.
The casting of De Niro helps, too. De Niro seems to work well with Mamet's writing style (witness Wag the Dog), but he's always worked well with writers that know the value of a few select words. Skarsgard leaves his "professorial" persona from Good Will Hunting behind, and becomes icy cold, just like a good ex-spy should be. Jean Reno is making this particular character a career, the silent but deadly man that nobody knows a lot about. He bought the pumpkin with The Professional, carved the face in Mission: Impossible, and lights the candle here. And Pryce seems to always be good playing people you would never trust in a hundred years. He has a way of smiling that makes you want to check his hands for knives.
But, why belabor the dissection? This is a thriller the way a thriller ought to be. Too many so-called "suspense-action-dramas" these days are as transparent as Saran Wrap in bright light. The Usual Suspects and Seven were two rare exceptions, and brought legitimacy back to the genre. Ronin is the best of the bunch though. It plays the Hitchcock joust of making you paranoid about anyone and everyone, and never lets you stop guessing. The suitcase itself -- the MacGuffin -- as Hitch called it, is only the focal point to this story. The real story is in this team of people who may or may not be pure of heart as to their goal. Mamet and Frankenheimer wisely avoid probing deep into every character's emotional story. While that kind of storytelling is essential in a good drama, nobody cares here. And rightly so, I might add. Who gives a rip if De Niro had a bad marriage, played hooky in the fifth grade, or writes beat poetry in the bathtub. Fully developed characters have their place, but in the best of this genre, the characters work better if you don't know everything. All the more to guess with, my pretty....
There are those that'll say crap like "You have to think too much," or worse yet, "It's too complicated." Complexity is one of the most endangered species in Hollywood these days. Too many people are still committed to the idea that we, as an audience, are ignorant fools who need everything spelled out for us. Whoever made the decision to spill every curve of Snake Eyes in the TV ads ruined a pretty good movie. Thankfully, the Ronin crew had more common sense, and, more importantly, more faith in their product and our intellect. Yes, you may have to pay more attention to Ronin than you did to Armageddon. Tough schnikes, goofball. You want fireballs, explosions and action, there you go. If you want an intelligent thriller, crafted to keep you guessing until the very end, you should pay attention for a change.
No bones about it, folks. Ronin is the top of the world as far as Hollywood is offering right now. Go see it now, and go see it quick, because it may be a long time before you get the chance to see something this dang near perfect for quite a while. And, knowing how folks are about thinking, it will probably get blown away and into the dollar movies in a couple of weeks, unless the Noble Knights of the Year award adds the needed publicity to put it over the top. Doubtful, but, hey, there are still people ticked off about the People Magazine's Best Dressed issue. Whatcha gonna do?
Image copyright MGM.
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