The Untouchables

The Untouchables is a weird movie with a severe identity crisis. It really wants to be this prestige, dramatic, serious showpiece. A document of one of America’s most legendary law enforcement officers and his battle against the country’s most notorious organized crime lord. But at every turn, it betrays itself by being so pulpy, so corny, so hammy, it feels less like real life and more like a Dick Tracy movie without the loud color and comically disfigured criminals. Is it well acted? Well, maybe “earnestly” is a more appropriate adjective. Kevin Costner the platonic ideal of a truth north babyface. He is noble and determined to get his man, and that’s about it. Sean Connery is a wise, middle-aged Irish beat cop (with a Scottish accent) who’s the only honest man on the Chicago PD. He’s every old mentor friend character and every “never made it past the beat” policeman cliche rolled up with an incongruent accent. Robert DeNiro leaves no scenery unchewed as a classic Chicago mobster with no redeeming values whatsoever; fiery, impetuous, boastful. Everybody in this movie has an orientation, not a character, and that’s it, but everybody plays that orientation to the hilt. Is it well directed? That depends on what you want. From a technical sense, yes. Action scenes are easy to follow, it’s lit and staged well … even though you have scenes like the opening, where there is a very long and very unnecessary push-in on someone approaching a bar, and the camera is two streets away, and the shot milks every second it can zooming in slowly. But it also feels like it’s directed to be a comic book movie; bright, flashy, high-octane. For a movie being about the gritty war between the government and organized crime, the “war” is about as intimidating as a paintball match. You’re only reminded of the ugliness when you see someone get shot, and a comic amount of blood sprays like a sprinkler. And everybody is a crack shot, regardless of distance or armament. Shoot someone dead center in the torso from 50 feet with a pump action shotgun? Yup. It’s all pretty standard from Brian de Palma, a director who is capable of delivering a movie, but never the movie you think or expect. He never understands the homework; you tell him “make me a ham and cheese”, and he comes back with a PB&J. It’s a properly made sandwich sure, but it’s the wrong sandwich. How about the score? It sure is a score. A lot of energy, a lot of tones and styles, from funky bass-driven pieces to pieces led by the oboe to soulful, almost sexual sax solos. These just never match the moment. It’s a good score, but it’s in the wrong movie. Just about every element of this movie is working against what it feels like the movie wants to be. Now, if you go in knowing this movie is 100% pure pulp, a campy comic book distortion of history and treat it as such … it’s not bad. If it were a little more self-aware, it would probably score a little higher, but even as is … it’s fun in a dumb way. But the reputation of both the movie, the cast, and the director betray what this movie actually is. It feels more like a half-hearted satire of the movie it wants to be.