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| images courtesy of Arrow Video |
Have you ever stumbled across a movie which seems tailor-made for your tastes that somehow completely slipped under your radar? Tequila Sunrise is one of those films for me. It’s a film jam-packed with impeccable talent, both in front and behind the camera. If you are in the dark like me, allow me to set the stage: This is a narco-police procedural written and directed by Robert Towne, the man who gave us the screenplays for Chinatown, Mission: Impossible (both 1 and 2), and The Last Detail. It stars Mel Gibson, Kurt Russell, Michelle Pfeiffer, J.T. Walsh, and Raul Julia. The icing on the cake is the Academy Award-nominated cinematography by Conrad L. Hall, who won his first Oscar for Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid in 1969, his second in 1999 for American Beauty, and posthumously nabbed his third for the 2002 masterpiece, Road to Perdition.
How the hell did I ever miss this?
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| images courtesy of Arrow Video |
Now that I’ve sampled the new 4K UHD disc from Arrow Video, there’s an even better question: How does a movie with this much talent, charisma, breathtaking imagery, and great performances at its service turn out… just okay? That’s all it is. Tequila Sunrise is just okay.
To be fair, the movie comes out swinging. There’s intrigue and amusement abound in the first scene, which wastes no time putting its two superstars on screen together. Russell and Gibson have good chemistry, playing friends who both started out as weed-smoking wise guys, parted ways, and wound up standing diametrically opposed to each other later in life. Mel Gibson plays Dale McKussic, aka Mac, a former drug dealer trying to go straight. Unfortunately for him, when you’re good at something that makes people rich, they tend to want you to keep doing it. His ties to a Mexican drug cartel have caught the undivided attention of some folks at the DEA. One of those happens to be his buddy Nick Frescia (Kurt Russell), an agent working the case who has a hard time slapping the cuffs on his old friend, even with Agent Hal Maguire (J.T. Walsh) breathing down his neck on a daily basis.
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| images courtesy of Arrow Video |
Agency surveillance tracks Mac to a local Italian restaurant owned by Jo Ann Vallenari (Michelle Pfeiffer), a gorgeous and charming hostess who may or may not know more than she seems about things not related to Rigatoni ai Quattro Formaggi. After all, if a drug dealer frequents your restaurant, there must be a good reason besides the food, right? As you no doubt have guessed, Jo Ann winds up embedded in this cat and mouse game between the two best fiends, and she is the cheese. It’s around this time, when the movie settles into this paint-by-numbers section of the plot, that its energy starts to slowly bleed out. The actors do their best to carry the material through endless talky scenes (some of them brilliantly written, to be fair) with far too little action. Then it dawns on the audience: What began as fun and occasionally riveting is spinning its wheels and digging itself into the mud.
And no mud wrestling pit would be complete without a love triangle between Pfeiffer and her male co-stars. This soaks up far too much screen time and culminates in a “twist” that makes very little sense, unless an obligatory sex scene with Michelle Pfeiffer’s body double is the sense you’re looking for. The real surprise in the film arrives in the form of Raul Julia as a Mexican fed working with J.T Walsh’s headstrong Agent Maguire. When Julia is on screen, the electricity begins to surge through this Frankenstein’s monster, bringing it back to life. He is so good that he singlehandedly saves the last half of the film: Trading quips with Gibson about bull-fighting, singing his drunken heart out in Spanish, and giving us thoughts on friendship and betrayal in scenes that carry more weight than all the love triangle crap ever could. Raul Julia is the real star of the film.
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| images courtesy of Arrow Video |
The other co-star of note is Conrad L. Hall’s cinematography. One scene in particular, shot against a beautiful golden sunset on the beach, is filmed entirely in silhouette, and really allows Gibson and Russell time to dig into their relationship. It’s a true standout moment in this otherwise serviceable but ultimately forgettable movie. Which is a damn shame, because the good people at Arrow Video clearly have a love for this movie, or at least its cinematography. The 4K transfer is impeccable, and it stands as a tribute to one of the best directors of photography who ever lived. The 4.0 surround sound is like the movie itself: Perfectly fine. There were no real “ooh” or “ahh” moments of auditory genius, but it gets the job done.
Tequila Sunrise is sort of a fast food cheeseburger of a movie. It’s virtually devoid of substance, doesn’t look nearly as good as the pictures made it out to be, how good it tastes will depend on your mood, and you’ll forget about it as soon as you pass it into your toilet while scrolling on your phone. With that being said, I’m glad that I saw it. There are vastly more inferior ways you could spend 1 hour and 55 minutes of your time. But at the end of the day, it just makes you wish you’d splurged on a juicy steak instead. Tequila Sunrise is just fine, but it’s nothing you can really sink your teeth into.
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| images courtesy of Arrow Video |
- Blake O. Kleiner