Once upon a time, in the 1970s, Burt Reynolds vied with Clint Eastwood for Hollywood male movie star domination at the box office. He was one hell of a popular guy, no denying, but when it came to outlasting and outstripping Mr Eastwood in terms of popularity, creativity and sheer movie mythology, ultimately he was on a hiding to nowhere.
Eastwood saw himself more as a film-maker than a star. Reynolds saw himself that way too. Problem was, the films Burt made were mostly uninspiring and forgettable box-office bubblegum time-wasters. Where Eastwood could boast powerfully iconic characters like The Man With No Name and Dirty Harry and Josie Wales Reynolds had Bandit, Gator McKlusky and Stick Stickley. When Eastwood started directing audiences got PLAY MISTY FOR ME, HIGH PLAINS DRIFTER, THE OUTLAW JOSIE WALES, and eventually the Oscar-baiting UNFORGIVEN. Reynolds gave audiences a taste of his directorial skills with GATOR, THE END, SHARKEY'S MACHINE and STICK.
By the eighties, neither actor seemed to still be at the top of their game, but Eastwood continued to remain a timeless epitome of cool machismo. Whereas Reynolds, with his 70s porno-star moustache and intricately coiffed toupé looked sadly hokey and anachronistic.
Which brings me to MALONE. This is one of those films that you feel you shouldn't like but do in-spite of your better judgement. Burt is an ex-special forces operative and CIA troubleshooter proficient at wet work. He loses his edge, aborts an assassination and walks away because he's had enough of the killing and stuff, etc, etc. He ends up stranded in a one horse town in a beautiful valley somewhere in California when his car breaks down. As is the way of such things, the parts he needs to get his car working again have to be ordered so he shelters with the local garage owner and his nubile daughter.
Meanwhile, mega rich and frozen-faced landowner Delaney (Cliff Robertson) is buying up all the local properties and strong-arming the populace out of his way. He's an ultra right-wing nut-job building an army to fight for truth, justice and the American way. Which translates as "kill anyone who doesn't agree with us or is in any way, shape or form different than us." Soon, Malone crosses the path of some of his hired goons and you can pretty much guess the rest. Yes, they've met the wrong guy this time. When Malone's ex partner and lover (Lauren Hutton) ends up with a plastic bag over her head at the hands of Delaney's thugs his aversion to all the killing and stuff, etc, etc, is forgotten and Burt and his trusty toupé embark on a one man wigged-out mission to blow them all away.
What can I tell you. It's dumb, predictable, contrived, thick-eared and really quite low rent. And it's great fun. Burt takes it all quite seriously, but ironically looks utterly absurd. The moustache, the wig, the denims, the paunch. But he punches, runs, jumps and shoots with remarkable enthusiasm and prowess. Whilst looking utterly absurd. Cliff Robertson has the quizzically stunned expression of a man who once won a best actor Oscar and is now wondering just what the hell happened to his career and just how did he wind up a second stringer in films like MALONE.
Yet I don't resent this movie one iota. Certainly not enough to call it a guilty pleasure because I don't feel guilty in the least. I like this film because I enjoy it. And if it came down to a choice of kicking back with some DVDs at home and watching either MALONE or MILLION DOLLAR BABY (even though Eastwood is number one in my book) it's going to be a clear case of home MALONE.
Eastwood saw himself more as a film-maker than a star. Reynolds saw himself that way too. Problem was, the films Burt made were mostly uninspiring and forgettable box-office bubblegum time-wasters. Where Eastwood could boast powerfully iconic characters like The Man With No Name and Dirty Harry and Josie Wales Reynolds had Bandit, Gator McKlusky and Stick Stickley. When Eastwood started directing audiences got PLAY MISTY FOR ME, HIGH PLAINS DRIFTER, THE OUTLAW JOSIE WALES, and eventually the Oscar-baiting UNFORGIVEN. Reynolds gave audiences a taste of his directorial skills with GATOR, THE END, SHARKEY'S MACHINE and STICK.
By the eighties, neither actor seemed to still be at the top of their game, but Eastwood continued to remain a timeless epitome of cool machismo. Whereas Reynolds, with his 70s porno-star moustache and intricately coiffed toupé looked sadly hokey and anachronistic.
Which brings me to MALONE. This is one of those films that you feel you shouldn't like but do in-spite of your better judgement. Burt is an ex-special forces operative and CIA troubleshooter proficient at wet work. He loses his edge, aborts an assassination and walks away because he's had enough of the killing and stuff, etc, etc. He ends up stranded in a one horse town in a beautiful valley somewhere in California when his car breaks down. As is the way of such things, the parts he needs to get his car working again have to be ordered so he shelters with the local garage owner and his nubile daughter.
Meanwhile, mega rich and frozen-faced landowner Delaney (Cliff Robertson) is buying up all the local properties and strong-arming the populace out of his way. He's an ultra right-wing nut-job building an army to fight for truth, justice and the American way. Which translates as "kill anyone who doesn't agree with us or is in any way, shape or form different than us." Soon, Malone crosses the path of some of his hired goons and you can pretty much guess the rest. Yes, they've met the wrong guy this time. When Malone's ex partner and lover (Lauren Hutton) ends up with a plastic bag over her head at the hands of Delaney's thugs his aversion to all the killing and stuff, etc, etc, is forgotten and Burt and his trusty toupé embark on a one man wigged-out mission to blow them all away.
What can I tell you. It's dumb, predictable, contrived, thick-eared and really quite low rent. And it's great fun. Burt takes it all quite seriously, but ironically looks utterly absurd. The moustache, the wig, the denims, the paunch. But he punches, runs, jumps and shoots with remarkable enthusiasm and prowess. Whilst looking utterly absurd. Cliff Robertson has the quizzically stunned expression of a man who once won a best actor Oscar and is now wondering just what the hell happened to his career and just how did he wind up a second stringer in films like MALONE.
Yet I don't resent this movie one iota. Certainly not enough to call it a guilty pleasure because I don't feel guilty in the least. I like this film because I enjoy it. And if it came down to a choice of kicking back with some DVDs at home and watching either MALONE or MILLION DOLLAR BABY (even though Eastwood is number one in my book) it's going to be a clear case of home MALONE.