Malone

Malone reworks more than a few movie conventions in its spare, understated 90 minutes. But, if there’s little that’s new about the film, it is at least a moodily effective version of an old story.

It’s a modern retooling of Shane and countless other Westerns. In this case, the gun-toting loner is a CIA man, Malone (Burt Reynolds), who has lost the stomach for covert work. So he pulls a disappearing act into the wilds of Oregon (actually filmed in British Columbia), but his car breaks down and he has to stop in a tiny country town, nestled in a lovely valley, and wait a few days until the parts come in.

Naturally, the town is under the total control of a slick, ruthless congressman (Cliff Robertson) who is hatching a sinister plot masquerading as patriotism. He’s buying up all the land, and the townsfolk are being run off – all except the gas station owner (Scott Wilson) and his daughter (Cynthia Gibb), with whom Malone is quickly aligned.

As you can see, this is a variation on the old cattle rancher vs. sheep farmer plot, with Malone as the one man who can save the day for the little folk. And that plot pretty much follows its course.

But this movie has a few things going for it. Interestingly, the utter simplicity of the story is a boon; no clutter, no fuss, just smooth storytelling. And the grim tone of director Harley Cokliss is matched by Reynolds’ quiet performance. There’s almost none of the good ol’ Burt wisecracking here. When he knocks heads together, he does it with gravity, almost sadness.

Reynolds is good, although the film isn’t interested in delving very deeply into this man’s character. There are fine supporting performances, too; Kenneth McMillan does a weasely turn as a compromised sheriff, and Philip Anglim pours an extra layer of slime over his one-scene role as a high-priced hit man.

There’s no need to go overboard on Malone; it’s a small film with obvious limits (one of which is not knowing quite what to do with Malone’s old flame, a CIA operative played by Lauren Hutton, who is sent out to terminate him). But it does establish its own mood and pace, and it doesn’t pander or sensntionalize. That counts as a modest measure of success.

First published in The Herald, May 5, 1987

Director Cokliss has apparently changed his last name to Cokeliss, presumably tired of a lifetime of jokes. He did Black Moon Rising, too (I see now that when I posted that review in 2011, I also noted the name change). I don’t much remember this movie, except that it generated a laid-back feeling of efficiency that was rather refreshing. This is one of the few film appearances by Philip Anglim (Haunted Summer), who had a moment of heat back then. The movie came in the midst of Reynolds’ shocking decline – following Stick and Heat, just before Rent-a-Cop – but it deserved better.