GONE ARE THE DAYS (2018)

You don’t see much of the western anymore, especially in the low budget direct-to-video world. A combination of waning audience interest in the genre and the costs of shooting a period film have mostly to do with this. It’s nice when the western is still trotted out from time to time, but it’s even nicer when that western comes courtesy of a filmmaker who is clearly trying to do something more than just the usual shoot’em-up that appeals to the lowest common denominator of the genre. In the same way that very good and very bad horror films can enjoy similarly quiet releases, Gone Are the Days proves that the western can suffer the same obscure fate.

What’s readily apparent right off the bat is that Gone Are the Days is borrowing from the Unforgiven mold, arguably Clint Eastwood’s masterpiece as a director, in that it's another take on an aging cowboy reckoning with the sins of his past, confronting his mortality, and embarking on one last mission. Gone Are the Days at least adds a twist on this simple formula by borrowing from another, and less likely, source: Martin Scorsese’s little seen 1999 drama Bringing Out the Dead, in which Nicolas Cage plays a frazzled paramedic psychologically haunted by the ghost of a girl he wasn’t able to save, and with whom he occasionally interacts. This offers Gone Are the Days a bit of poignancy and meaning beyond your aging cowboy being a cowboy and doing typical cowboy things. At least as far as the western goes, this small Dickensian slice offers Gone Are the Days a sense of its own identity, even if it’s basing its plot on a well worn concept.

From now until the end of time I will tell anyone who listens that Lance Henriksen is the most undervalued actor alive. The man bleeds talent in every role he has ever played, even if the last two decades of his work have been relegated to quiet genre titles no one ever sees (his “alimony movies” as he calls them). To mainstream audiences, he’s belovedly known as Bishop from Aliens and a handful of sequel appearances. To cult audiences, he’s Frank Black from Millennium and Ed Harley from Pumpkinhead. To action audiences, the villain from Van Damme’s Hard Target. This list goes on and on, into every genre there is and with every kind of character played. Regardless of the quality of those films, I’ll guarantee Henriksen’s performance was high-tier in every single one. So as he steps into the William Munny shoes of the aging (and dying) cowboy Taylon, Henriksen not only embodies the character but also pays respect to his entire career. (He played a cowboy three times in 1995 alone: Gunfighter’s Moon, Jim Jarmusch’s Dead Man, and Sam Raimi’s majestically dumb The Quick and the Dead.)  As to be expected, he’s superb here, as he is in everything else.

While the artwork presents the likes of Danny Trejo and Tom Berenger, neither of whom are exactly commanding theatrical releases anymore, don’t let that dictate what kind of film you’ll actually be seeing. Without getting into spoiler territory, let’s just say Trejo is used exactly as he should be in this kind of movie, whereas Berenger very comfortably slips into the role of a western lawman doing a fair bit of aging on his own. He doesn’t just play “the villain” because, except for a small role by cult actor Steve Railsback, there really is no villain. Because Gone Are the Days isn’t that kind of film.

The most impressive aspect of Gone Are the Days is its willingness to strive for something more. It’s very philosophical and even haunting in some ways, and it’s also very very old fashioned — from its musical score to its final shot. As a film it’s not a total success, as the plot can become a little wayward at times, but the action is always moving forward, whether that’s noticeable or not. Henriksen, in a rare leading role, sells both Taylon’s weakness and resolve, and Berenger does strong work in his smaller part. While, of course, Gone Are the Days comes nowhere near the heights of Unforgiven, it’s still a fine and admirable film, one fitting for Henriksen’s storied career, and a nice reminder that small surprises like these can still be found in quiet releases. Gone Are the Days isn’t for everyone, but I would recommend that everyone give it a try, anyway. You might just be surprised, too.

REVIEW: THE SCARLET WORM

Every modern western will most likely be compared to Clint Eastwood’s 1992 epic Unforgiven. And any western should be flattered when used in the same breath; however, any western is also doomed in the same respect. Beyond the tenuous connection between The Scarlet Worm and Unforgiven, in that both of them are westerns, there is actually quite a bit similarly thematic between the two than just the former's lineage. Unforgiven – about a former and aging outlaw tasked with dispatching a couple of ruthless cowboys for cutting up a whore - is a rightful classic. The film, in which Eastwood’s Will Munny teams up with a young hotshot and an equally aging loyal partner, was a movie made in a time when the western was all but dead. Any other western brave enough to try since has no choice but to pale in comparison. Such similarities will serve as The Scarlet Worm’s own condemnation, simply because the similarities cannot be ignored.

A rogue and hired gunman named Print (Aaron Stielstra) brings a tedious and almost poetic touch to his assassinations. He’ll spend hours crouching in a ditch, waiting for just the right moment to unleash a single bullet that will claim the lives of not one but two of his targets. One day, he receives his next assignment from his contact, Mr. Paul (Brett Halsey). It seems that there’s a rather vicious whoremaster named Heinrich Kley (Daniel Van Husen) forcing graphic abortions among his hired women. Mr. Paul wants a stop to it, and so he bequeaths the job to Print…with a twist. Print must also shepherd a wet-behind-the-ears, would-be assassin to accompany him on the job. Along the way, Print and his protégé infiltrate Heinrich’s operation, and because of Print’s unusual way of dispatching his targets, Heinrich’s assassination does not come quickly. Print immerses himself in Heinrich’s world, becoming privy to his sociopathic mind firsthand. During this time, the protégé grows a little too attached to one of Heinrich’s women, and all sorts of complications arise because of it.

The Scarlet Worm really wants to be more than the sum of its parts. The introspective narration provided by Print, as well as the seemingly unconnected opening/closing involving a Native American shaman, seems to really want to suggest a spirituality and otherworldliness. The problem with The Scarlet Worm is that it doesn't know how to do so with enough confidence. The pace is a plodding one, causing the viewer not to stop and smell the flowers, but rather to check their watch. It falls victim to the problems that plague most low budget features. While the direction is assured, the performances aren’t confident, the tone isn’t consistent, and the editing is way too lose. Shots linger far longer than necessary, something "Twin Peaks" director David Lynch does on purpose to flip convention on its ears. Meaning, watch a man laugh for too long and it becomes uncomfortable; watch a woman cry for too long and it becomes funny. Doing this on purpose is a tactic rarely utilized, but doing it by accident is just plain unfortunate. And the audio, my god, the audio! Someone buy this crew a windscreen for their mics, please! Nearly every outdoor scene sounds just as poorly recorded as your uncle’s camcorder capture of your soccer match from autumn, 1989.

Stielstra as Print provides the strongest performance, but even he falters from time to time, not quite infusing it with enough bravado. At times he seems unsure of the antiquated western jargon his character must unfurl, and such instances lose the viewer almost immediately.

Van Husen as Heinrich Kley is consistently effective, and his understated evil provides a nice complement to Print’s understated good. His biblical reiteration of the crimson (aka scarlet) worm is very well done, and might be the strongest and most assured scene.

Director Michael Fredianelli has talent – there is no denying that. Though the movie might be an inconsistent mess, he has a keen eye, and he beautifully captures the bright surroundings of the sandy landscape, utilizing natural light in most scenes to illuminate every nook and cranny of the location. Many of the shots are beautiful, almost heavenly…until the wind blows directly into the mic and sends you screaming from the room.

Seriously, folks! Wind screens!

Any person attempting a western – especially one with a low budget – deserves accolades. It’s a genre most consider dead, and one which even the most seasoned veterans won’t touch. It's just a shame it didn't make for a better experience.