Review

A Walk Among the Tombstones

Matt Scudder (Liam Neeson) is an ex-cop investigating the kidnapping and
murder of a drug kingpin’s wife in A Walk Among the Tombstones.
Matt Scudder (Liam Neeson) is an ex-cop investigating the kidnapping and murder of a drug kingpin’s wife in A Walk Among the Tombstones.

Liam Neeson's late-career resurgence, began, I suppose, with the reprehensible Taken series and has sprung from there into the kind of auto-branding most stars get to enjoy in the prime of their youth. In these brutal action films, the 62-year-old plays a series of strapping, self-confident former hitmen and ex-CIA agents, filled with the knowledge and wisdom of all the best ways to kill an enemy, and the brazen self-assurance of someone accustomed to getting his way. As one older critic at this year's Toronto International Film Festival said after a screening featuring a similarly disposed vigilante played by the 59-year-old Denzel Washington in The Equalizer, "I just like watching these old guys beating up on the young punks."

They're Clint Eastwood's Dirty Harry or Charles Bronson in his Death Wish period, older, wiser and even more likely to put a .44 magnum to someone's skull if crossed. These films play out like a hyper-violent Viagra ad: Elderly men who are still fully capable of fixing an outboard motor in the open water, starting a campfire with a knife and a piece of flint, or gunning down a squadron of sadistic sex traffickers if called upon. Their resolute infallibility is the moat-and-drawbridge against their growing old and inconsequential.

A Walk Among the Tombstones

77 Cast: Liam Neeson, Dan Stevens, Boyd Holbrook, David Harbour, Brian “Astro” Bradley, Adam David Thompson

Director: Scott Frank

Rating: R, for strong violence, disturbing images, language and brief nudity

Running time: 113 minutes

So, if nothing else, we can at least say that Matthew Scudder, the former-cop-turned-private-eye character Neeson plays in writer/director Scott Frank's grim sludge of a thriller, at least shows more than once just how capable he is of screwing things up. We first meet him in 1991 at a bar in the early morning, enjoying a double shot of whiskey with his coffee. When a couple of thugs try to rip the place off, killing the owner in the process, Scudder swings ineffably into action, shooting down both those punks, and their accomplice, trying to make a getaway.

When we see him again, eight years later, he's older, more beaten-down looking, and is no longer with the force, choosing instead to go his own way as a P.I. for reasons not at first made clear. He's also in Alcoholics Anonymous, which is where he is approached by a fellow acolyte, Peter (Boyd Holbrook), who enlists Scudder's aid on behalf of his drug-trafficking brother, Kenny Kristo (Downton Abbey regular Dan Stevens, in a role, shall we say, appearing against type), whose wife was kidnapped and murdered by a couple of former DEA lowlifes, Ray and Albert (David Harbour and Adam David Thompson), now turned to ripping off high-level dealers and gleefully killing their hostages.

Scudder gets embroiled in the case -- though, truthfully, it's never really made clear why these rich and powerful traffickers see fit to use this burnt-out rent-a-cop to wreak their vengeance instead of an army of far better qualified assassins presumably at their disposal -- and before long is tracking down the demented perps, and setting up a dubious hostage exchange, with the help of T.J. (Brian "Astro" Bradley), a homeless street kid Scudder befriends in the library, who wants to be an investigator himself.

While the film's tone is consistently grim and dour, there are just enough peculiar character inventions and plot incongruences to keep things sort of lively for a time. Though we never really learn the killers' exact motivation or back story, the film offers us instead a bizarre domestic scene. One morning they're at breakfast together in their house with the more loquacious Ray sitting in his underwear and eating homemade biscuits while reading the Post, and Albert, the quiet, more twisty one, enjoying a bowl of what we can only hope is porridge.

There are moments like that peppered throughout the movie. They don't add up to terribly much, as it happens, but as with Neeson's oddly disaffected, soul-grieving P.I., at least an attempt is being made to shake up our expectations. If this were a slasher film, we would be spending an inordinate amount of time watching the killer select the right footwear for the occasion, and a lot of attention would be paid to one of the victim's relationship with his cat.

Despite this effort, though, the film still isn't terribly much good. As the plot progresses, it makes less and less sense, and screamingly idiotic logic gaffes begin to multiply (as but one shining example: during the climax, a character being garroted points his gun behind his head to shoot at his assailant, and fires it numerous times right next to his own ear without any oratory repercussion), but this hardly comes as a shock. At this point in the game, deep into what we may call Liam Neeson's Viagra period, you can more or less count on what you'll be getting yourself into: He may be old, but he's at an age where he knows how to get things done -- even if it doesn't end up making a hell of a lot of sense how he gets there.

MovieStyle on 09/19/2014

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