Unlike the South, the western does seem to rise again. And again and again and again. The genre has been pronounced dead more often than Generalissimo Francisco Franco on Saturday Night Live, but they keep making them. And despite the tendency of the Horse Opera to endlessly recycle plots, this is one of the few explicit remakes I can recall, save for the odd TV movie of the week.
3:10 to Yuma is a movie with its feet in two eras. Continue reading
This mutant, bastard stepchild of Easy Rider and City Slickers was miscarried some time during the process of conception. While William H. Macy can be counted on to deliver up some respectable films more often than not, he finds himself ensnared in a perfect storm found at the nexus between the cinematic dead zones known as Tim Allen and Martin Lawrence comedies. For his part, John Travolta’s career has been running on fumes for a while now. It’s probably time for him to do another Tarantino movie.