Gus Van Sant's New Film Returns to His True Crime Roots
Al Pacino does not appear to ever stand up in this film. by Dom Sinacola Al Pacino does not stand up at any point in Dead Manâs Wire. He's in three scenes, sitting in all of themâsupine, in fact. We could call the performance somnambulant were he to ever actually get up and walk. However, no one expects Pacino to put his whole mid-octagenarian, egregiously feather-haired self into what amounts to a glorified cameo. What everyone should expect, though, is that heâll roll that old-ass tongue around an accent that must be from the Kentucky side of Indianaâwhere Gus Van Sant, Dead Manâs Wire director, grew upâbecause why else would he sound like an ambienâd-up Foghorn Leghorn? Pacino plays mortgage broker M.L. Hall as a pretty straightforward, low-effort Bad Dad, the kind of hyperquiet rich monster whoâd rather whisper goodbye to his own son Richard (Dacre Montgomery) than admit to any wrongdoing or compromise with Tony Kiritsis (Bill SkarsgĂ„rd), a desperate behind-on-his-mortgage-payments everyschlub who has taken his son hostage. Dead Manâs Wire is based on a real 1977 Indianapolis hostage situation, where the real Tony Kiritsis kidnapped the son of his mortgage broker at the end of a 12-gauge sawed-off shotgun. In Van Sant's film we see Kiritsis rig the shotgun with the titular wire, setting it up to blow Dickâs head to smithereens if he tries to escape. At first glance, Dead Manâs Wire looks like a return to the media-obsessed true crime Candyland of Van Santâs early breakthrough To Die For (1995), which was a breakthrough amongst breakthroughs Van Sant enjoyed throughout the late â80s and 90s, squeezed between Good Will Hunting (1997) and the twin triumphs of Portland outsider tales, Drugstore Cowboy (1989) and My Own Private Idaho (1991). But the most surprising thing about Gus Van Santâs first feature in seven years might be that it's a mostly uncomplicated potboiler. Unlike Pacino, SkarsgĂ„rd attacks Kiritsisâ whole deal with barely sublimated intensity, constantly smoothing out his thin mustache to tamp down anger and a sense of personal justice bubbling beneath the surface of his eternally moist dermis. Itâs an undeniably charming performance from a preternaturally handsome SkarsgĂ„rd, but his Kiritsis is a whole different physical specimen from the actual Kiritsis. We know this because Van Sant fills his film with actual news footage from the 62-hour standoff, constantly smearing his fictionalized Indianapolis with the well-documented, if sensationalized, events. Cinematographer Arnaud Potierâmost recently employed by Harmony Korine for 2023âs Aggro Dr1ftâhelped Van Sant maintain some notion of vĂ©ritĂ© throughout the film. Potier's late-â70s Indiana (filmed in Louisville) is an ochre-and-gray winter urban nowhere that stitches up seamlessly with the well-aged broadcasts from the time. As a result, watching the film feels like being a bystander both at home and on the scene, wondering what all the fuss is about. If you know this story, you know how the movie ends: Kiritsisâ plan to hold the young Hall until he gets the money he feels heâs owed, an apology, and a pardon doesnât quite go his way. But even if you donât know this story, itâs difficult to imagine that you wouldnât have heard about it, had it really broke bad. Deluged by reality, Dead Manâs Wire begins to leak tension, and even the manufactured parts of the narrative don't reveal much we couldnât gather from a well-written article about what happened. The film never quite exits that liminal space between adapted and contrived. In that sense, Dead Manâs Wire resembles last yearâs The Smashing Machine, directed by Benny Safdie and based with meticulous verisimilitude on the 2002 John Hyams documentary of the same name. Led by Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson's performance as iconic mixed martial artist Mark Kerr, the film goes to great lengths to essentially reenact the documentary, in many cases shot-for-shot, to the extent that Safdieâs attention to detail begins to function as an exercise instead of any sort of unique perspective. During the softer moments of Dead Manâs Wire, questions may drift to the back of your mind, like: With all this material, why not just make a documentary? Even Van Santâs admitted that this was a for-hire directing gig. As geeked as he seems to be able to make a movie quickly in his hometown, he doesnât exactly evince any real emotional connection to the script, nodding along with the vague thematic ties to his own work. Still, it warms the heart to see Van Sant somewhat back in his thriller element after the sparsely pleasant Donât Worry, He Wonât Get Far on Foot (2018), which was preceded by my nomination for Van Santâs worst film, treacly suckfest The Sea of Trees (2015). That an old hand like Cary Elwesâin a very un-Cary-Elwes-like role as scummy cop Mike Grableâand a new working titan like Colman Domingo (as effortlessly cool DJ Fred Temple), are game to join Van Santâs cast for glossless character work helps liven up the otherwise A-to-B proceedings. It's interesting to have Domingoâs presence, as it reminds us of the last film in which he was the source of light for a dreary ensemble, the spineless Running Man remake starring Glen Powell. And like Powell, SkarsgĂ„rdâs overt handsomeness and effusive likability belies the real anger and naĂŻve sense of injustice at the heart of Kiritsisâs story. Far from a heady dissection of the media mechanisms that convinced Kiritsis that he could get away with such a planâthat were so prevalent even in the â70s that he believed popular consensus would prove him to be the heroâDead Manâs Wire is about as compelling as Pacinoâs performance. Regardless, the film should give us hope for a new prolific era in the 73-year-old directorâs long career. At least heâs doing something. Dead Manâs Wire opens in wide release on Fri Jan 16, 105 minutes, rated R.
