Hal Ashby's 8 Million Ways to Die (1986)

8 Million Ways to Die (1986) is Hal Ashby's final major motion picture. Jeff Bridges is Matt Scudder, an ex-L.A. County Sheriff's detective who has to resign from his position because of his alcoholism. His wife and daughter cannot take his alcoholism any more either, so Scudder's now alone and attempting to recover from his addiction. Six months without a drink, a fellow member of A.A. asks Scudder for a mysterious favor: could you help this person?

Scudder knows no facts beyond the first name of the person he is to help: Sunny (Alexandra Paul). For whatever reason, Scudder accepts to help and shows at a fancy mansion where Sunny is revealed to be a high-price prostitute in the middle of a party. The guest list includes Sunny's "pimp," Chance (Randy Brooks), a fellow call-girl, Sarah (Rosanna Arquette), and debonair and wealthy Angel (Andy Garcia). Sunny wants Scudder's help but will not say why. As she awkwardly tries to manipulate him into helping him, even poorly trying to seduce him, eventually Scudder asks her what she wants. This direct question she is able to answer: help me escape. To the airport. Tomorrow. A drive to the airport is not an arduous task for Scudder. Scudder takes Sunny to the bank and notes to her that most folks do not keep their airline ticket in a safe-deposit box. One more stop before the airport, but Sunny doesn't make it: she is kidnapped and killed. Scudder gets drunk and blacks out.

From a story from two novels by Lawrence Block, 8 Million Ways to Die and A Stab in the Dark, and an adapted screenplay by Oliver Stone, 8 Million Ways to Die is anything but traditional and conventional. While the narrative is a mystery with Bridges's Scudder as sleuth, 8 Million Ways to Die is an ironically-titled film, as there is really only one way to die in this film: if Scudder has one more drink, as the nurse on the detox ward tells him, he is going to die. The film is a portrait of an alcoholic who really wants to drink and believes he is able to help himself by helping the memory of a dead woman and by trying to rescue another woman who wants help but is reluctant to ask for it. The film keys in on this theme and is quite sensitive to Scudder's true struggle. Like a sobering alcoholic, it appears to Scudder that alcohol is everywhere: Scudder's apartment is behind a dive bar; the circles in which Scudder frequents during his investigation everyone is having a drink; and when he tries to question someone, like Sarah, Scudder sees only the drink tray making the rounds and not the myriad guests walking around. So if it were to seem ridiculous that Scudder would help someone he does not know and risk his life for it (as it is revealed some of the folks in Sunny's circle are some dangerous criminals), Scudder has no choice: helping some one else, any one, is the only way that he is going to help himself.

Stephen H. Burum's photography with Hal Ashby's compositions are often striking. The opening title sequence of the film shot over Los Angeles from presumably a helicopter follow the myriad freeways of the city. In an interesting move, the shots move from downward captures of the city to a slow-camera shift which shows the freeways moving up and down, as if the motorists are climbing into the sky or down into the city's depths. 8 Million Ways to Die, despite its history and legacy, is another human Ashby film; and his compositions emphasize this primarily: as it is a film about characters, Ashby lets his characters be. In a fantastic dialogue sequence, Arquette's Sarah has gotten drunk the night before in front of Bridges's Scudder. Scudder had every opportunity to get drunk with her, as well, but resists. She vomits on him and passes out. In the morning, she sweetly cleans up Scudder's small apartment and this endearing gesture allows her to open up to Scudder. He, unsurprisingly, opens up to her. The camera appears to be capturing this scene from the viewpoint of the counter top over which the two are talking. In the out-of-focus background, there is a picture of Scudder's daughter, just behind him.

Garcia's Angel and Scudder have a really interesting confrontation over shaved-ice and flavored treats (the "Snow Cone.") The scene is multi-layered as so much is going on. Ashby plays with the camera and floats in and out, not erratically, as the two men talk with charged emotion. The scene is really two fantastic actors giving accompanying performances, and Ashby is just ever-so slightly helping them along. In another interesting sequence, Scudder confronts Chance in a park while he is jogging. Ashby's initial composition of the confrontation looks like an arbitrary composition from Pasolini; yet when Chance's bodyguard (Tommy "Tiny" Lister) makes an entrance into frame, the scene is revealed as meticulous and calculated. Very nice.

Stone's original screenplay for the film did not survive the filming process nor did Ashby. He was fired by the producers after the principal photography, so there is no Ashby final cut. The best source of learning about the production history of 8 Million Ways to Die is from Nick Dawson's biography, Being Hal Ashby (the link also serves as one for purchase and reference, as any and all objective facts in this review are derived from it.) I would refer any one interested to Dawson's book, as it is far more detailed in facts (which, interestingly, calls for more questions). To say in a very understated manner, the production was a fiasco, and the film did poorly commercially and critically. Seemingly, most criticism derives from the film's narrative: crime thriller or character portrait? As a plot-driven film, it does oscillate. I find, however, narratives in films their most least-interesting aspect, so my take will undeniably be different from the majority. Bridges, Brooks, Arquette, Garcia, and Paul give excellent performances. From all my searching, 8 Million Ways to Die appears absent from Region-One DVD. A shame, as any film from Ashby well merits a viewing, as he was a true artist.

Hal Ashby's The Last Detail (1973)

The little film. Overshadowed at the Academy Awards, Hal Ashby's The Last Detail (1973) had three collaborators up for a nomination (the credibility and weight of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, I leave to you). According to Amazon, specifically its editorial review by Dave McCoy, Jack Nicholson's performance as "Bad Ass" Buddusky was "overshadowed" by some of Nicholson's other performances in the 1970s; although according to the Internet Movie Database, specifically its reference to Premiere Magazine's 100 Greatest Performances of All Time, Nicholson's performance in The Last Detail ranks the highest (the credibility and weight of Amazon, The Internet Movie Database, and Premiere Magazine, I leave to you). According to the Wikipedia entry, The Last Detail's other collaborator up for a nomination, Robert Towne, adapted a screenplay which was initially met with studio pause and trepidation for its litany of profanity but later celebrated (or rather sold) for its expletives: "No *#@!!* Navy's going to give some poor **!!@* kid eight years in the #@!* brig without me taking him out for the time of his *#@!!* life." (the poster tagline for The Last Detail; the credibility and weight of Wikipedia and Columbia Studios, I leave to you). The Last Detail's final collaborator up for a nomination, the baby-faced and relatively inexperienced Randy Quaid, as Meadows, was either a big risk or a perfect piece of casting. Hal Ashby's contribution perhaps was downplayed and not least of all, the performance by Otis Young as "Mule" Mulhall is often overshadowed/shined/looked by popular trivia tidbit, the "Before They Were Famous Small Roles" of Gilda Radner, Nancy Allen, Carol Kane, and Michael Moriarty. Yet, for whatever reason (standout performance, bold script, etc.) The Last Detail is one of the finest American films of the 1970s, period. But which?Robert Towne's fine screenplay of The Last Detail, adapted from a novel by Darryl Ponicsan, has as its narrative the story of three sailors: two "lifers," Navy careermen, Buddusky (Nicholson) and Mulhall (Young), who are interrupted from his quiet sleeping and ironing, respectively, by an order of the "MAA" (Master-at-Arms). The "detail" (or "shit detail," as Mulhall likes to point out) is to escort recently-convicted Meadows (Quaid) from their Norfolk base to the prison in Portsmouth. Eighteen-year-old Meadows attempted to steal forty dollars from the "old man's old lady's" charity fund and received a "DD," dishonorable discharge, and eight years in prison. The duo has five days to deliver Meadows (we're talking "per diem," here, says Buddusky, so the two attempt to make the journey worth their while). The Last Detail then begins, as a series of episodes in various cities and their locales on the way to Portsmouth. There are scenes of the trio in a bus, in a bus station, on a train, in a train station, in the train station's bathroom, in restaurants, in a train's dining car, in an arcade, in an adult bookstore, in a whorehouse, in an alley, on the streets, and in Meadows's childhood neighborhood. Not to forget a very long sequence where the trio are in their underwear in a hotel room, getting drunk and chatty. The five-day order of the detail, ending with the delivery of Meadows at the prison, creates an inherent ending to the narrative. At its most basic story level, The Last Detail is a "plot-driven" film, but not a plot, in the traditional sense, really worthy of admiration. No circumstances of intricate development are explored to create the sense of intrigue or the unexpected for the viewer or any intricate webs of various storylines which all converge to an apex, where everything is revealed as neat or tidy and consistent. A chronicle of five days is hardly a strong plot framework in cinema, not least of all in 1973 (see George Roy Hill's The Sting (1973)).The Last Detail is also not a traditional "character-driven" film, where the film's characters create situations from their own actions and then have to make choices which drives their storylines (see Sidney Lumet's Serpico (1973) and George Lucas's American Graffitti (1973)). Also, in the traditional "character-driven" film, it is the character(s), rather than the plot, which experiences the acts and the arcs, ending with not a climax but a revelation or an epiphany. The fates of the characters in The Last Detail are determined from the beginning: one of the trio is going to end up in prison, and the other two are still going to be "lifers." While the pair of Buddusky and Mulhall walk away from the prison, at the end of the film, the attitude towards the "shit detail" hasn't really changed and both are eventually going back to Norfolk. As for Meadows, sitting in his new cell, he will have a lot of time to think about whether he has accepted his fate.

So what about the performances? Nicholson's "Bad Ass" Buddusky, shown in the opening scenes asleep and waking up grumpy when the sailor arrives with orders from the MAA, enjoys the predictable and secure routine of Navy life but also loves just cutting up and being mischievous and fun. Likewise Nicholson's performance is a reflection of this character: often he patiently speaks to Meadows, as if talking to a big child, then gives Meadows a corresponding look to Meadows's answer, as if a big child gave a predictably dumb answer. In certain scenes, Nicholson's Buddusky becomes amazingly animated, for example, when he pulls his pistol on a bartender for refusing to serve Meadows a beer or when he uses the bathroom in a train station only to have the opportunity to pick a fight with some Marines. Don't you ever just get angry? asks Buddusky. Sometimes, answers Meadows. Buddusky is seemingly not a complex character but a dual-sided one, and Nicholson's performance has two volumes, quiet and loud. Baby-faced Quaid, as Meadows, towers over Nicholson and Young. His large stature really reinforces his most glaring character trait as a big child. Quaid cries quite a bit in The Last Detail and keeps his chin down, shrugs his shoulders, and often mumbles quietly. Young's Mulhall never really gets emotional: he plays his character as one who is grateful for his Navy career. Mulhall occasionally may be diverted by Buddusky on a small frolic or detour but Mulhall's got a job to do and is going to complete the "shit detail."If you couldn't tell by now (unless you knew me personally), I am being a complete asshole towards Hal Ashby's The Last Detail. The script, the direction, the authentic locations, and the performances, and about everything else, are all worthy of the highest admiration available. The spiritual glue (keep chanting) that keeps everything together is The Last Detail's overwhelming sense of genuineness and sincerity. From feeling the harsh snowy cold as the trio eat grilled hot dogs from sticks to the telling look on Nicholson and Young's faces as Meadows is quickly shuffled upstairs by two marines, The Last Detail feels so very real. In one particular scene, for whatever reason, had me laughing aloud. The screen becomes black, as Meadows turns off the lamp, and the trio goes to bed (in very close proximity to each other) and deliver this exchange:

Meadows: Bad Ass?

Buddusky: What the fuck is it now, Meadows?

Meadows: If you're Catholic, do you think it's sacrilegious to chant?

Buddusky: Did it get you laid?

Meadows: No.

Buddusky: Then, Meadows, what the fuck do you want to go on chanting for?

Mulhall: Chant your ass off, kid. But any pussy you get in this world you're going to have to pay for, one way or another.

Buddusky: Hallelujah.

Just the actors' voices. In one of the film's most heartfelt scenes, Buddusky and Mulhall take Meadows to see his mother. Upon arrival, the three learn that she has taken a day trip and is gone. Buddusky suggests that at the least, Meadows should wait inside "his own house." Buddusky pushes open the door and with one cinematic glance at the interior, Ashby paints a powerful portrait of Meadows's childhood and upbringing. The Last Detail is filled with unassuming and unexpected touches of emotional vulnerability. As Carol Kane, as the young prostitute to whom Meadows loses his virginity, sits with her hair covering her nude body, she allows Meadows to gently stroke her arm and the side of her thigh. "I have a very good body," she says. "Not a great one but a very good one." She shares one of her supposed shortcomings after Meadows shares one of his. The driving emotional force of the film is the total inequity of Meadows's sentence compared with his crime. Nicholson delivers to Young, with his head snuggled as far into his collar as possible out in the snow, that this poor kid is going away for a long time and there's nothing they can do about it. Nicholson, with seemingly little effort, conveys in a small exchange the love the two have developed for Meadows. When the final fifteen minutes or so begins in The Last Detail and Buddusky says, "We don't have to be there until eighteen hundred," the viewer doesn't want this detail to end or to see these three characters split up.

A master artist is one who is able to craft characters, despite their flaws, actions, or shortcomings, who every viewer comes to love. Ashby, Towne, and the actors all deliver. Mightily. Finally, the biggest "fuck you" isn't delivered within any dialogue in The Last Detail but with the film's completion by its collaborators: they all made a film that they wanted to make regardless of its reception (a favorite here on this blog and its credibility and weight, I leave to you).