Suicide Kings
Suicide Kingsi is a bad film built on a good premise. The premise is that some kids kidnap a mobster. Not some random soldier or anything. A heavyweight. A don. A big wig. You know, the sort that talks low because he's so used to everybody shutting the fuck up when his lips are moving. The sort that's sweet to everybody because why the fuck not, if you take it the wrong way it's on you not on him.
Christopher Walken is great in that role. He's doing okay here (and really, he's the only reason I'm watching this sort of trash) even though it's a difficult job. You see, acting is not unlike fucking : teamplay. It's really, really difficult to act well if you're stuck acting with terminal retards like the B series made for TV comedians and bartenders that he's stuck with here. I suppose on paper this might have appeared workable, the thinking man kidnapped by monkeys played out by an actor and five monkeys. In practice however things don't work that way, playing a monkey is one of the most difficult things in the book, and it certainly doesn't wash to simply release some caged monkeys on stage.
The script also suffers from invasion of the apes. For one, it has the mobster alone. This absolutely never happens. A top guy is never, ever, ever alone. If you see him alone it's most likely because you're about to die. That aside, it's just not practical, there's too many things he can't do by himself that still need doing. He's going to be with a couple of guys at the very least, lightest of the light escort.
For another, it has the mobster go along with some random kids he doesn't know. In their car, like. If you think this ever happened in the history of automotive transporation (because the history of the Mob extends past that) you're never making it on the street. What's this guy, the three year old mobster-puppydog ? The real article could not sit down in that seat, too much like an offing for confort.
This would cover the first two minutes. As you can imagine it goes downhill from there. Remarkably economic use of bullets, there's something like one casualty through the first hour. Imagine what Tarantino'd have made out of this one!
But, as an amusing aside, the one point where the evil mastermind monkey boy explains to the other oo-aa kokos just how evil and bad this bad and evil motherfucker is... wait for it... ok. Ok, let me tell you. I am telling you now. So, about eight years ago as a retired guy in a white suit living in Costa Rica I was awoken in the middle of the night by a dumbass dog barking. Bark-bark-bark. Then wait a minute. Bark-bark-bark again. And again. And again. For an eternity of at least ten minutes with this. I cursed, poured a drink, got up and did something else.
The next night, again. So that day I had a baseball bat delivered, and as the night came I didn't go to sleep. I just waited. And when the bark occurred as it was wont to occur I went out there to make that dog pate with my own hand. The dog ran away. On the sight of me, it simply turned and ran, full blast, top of its speed. Rather than spend an hour chasing a mad dog I went back in and went to sleep, figuring hey... even a dog can learn new tricks.
The next night ? Bark. Bark-bark. Bark-bark. So that day I had a handgun delivered, and that night I shot eleven rounds into the dog, increasing its dead weight by like a tenth or something. I didn't miss one, I kept one. You know, just in case anyone had any questions. I guess that makes me just about as much a mobster as this guy's character, because that's their big unmasking story : he shot some dog barking out of order. Har har. Come cut my pinky off why dontcha. Ridiculous, I say.
But then, there's a twist. And then, there's another twist. And then... there's another twist. Not that those save anything.
This should be redone. Preferably by someone who can direct, using some people who can act and most of all on a script that's written by a different set of aspiring pizza delivery boys.
———- 1997, by Peter O'Fallon with Christopher Walken. [↩]
