Desperate Hours (1990) – film review

I haven’t seen this film since probably I was a teenager, but it’s amazing how much of it (certain shots and camera moves in particular) that I remember from back then in great detail. I was also quite nervous about coming back to it, mainly due to my concern that, being older and wiser now, I’d simply hate it.

How wrong I was.

I’m a little guilt-ridden for having never seen the 1955 William Wyler directed original and still cherishing what critics usually tend to dismiss and history, it seems, has done likewise; but as a fan of overwrought, over-the-top and over confident curiosities I can’t help but find this remake mesmerising.

After the disaster of Heaven’s Gate reminded the world why directors need to shoot the odd close-up, Michael Cimino had some work to do to regain the confidence of a film industry he almost single-handedly tore down. What emerged was Year of the Dragon, The Sicilian and Desperate Hours – three smaller scale films that condensed Cimino’s fondness for visual flair, epic scale and theatrical acting into enjoyable but sadly forgotten gems.

Even though I’ve got a sincere soft spot for this tale of a group of violent criminals on the run taking a bickering family hostage, I’d warn anyone approaching it for the first time to leave their sensible hats at the door, because it’s a film riddled with ham-fisted dialogue, unconvincing characters, bizarre coincidences and gaping plot holes that beggar belief, but in the same breath entertain mercilessly.

If you can find a reason why Mickey Rourke decides to hole-up in suburbia for the night instead of safely hiding under a bridge in the countryside somewhere, or why Lindsay Crouse is so wonderfully bolshy and bad tempered all throughout the film, or why the police back in 1990 had all the intelligence and subtlety of a piano falling down a flight of stairs then you’re much smarter than me.

But amidst the harmless stupidity, extreme violence and high suspense there are elegant and poignant pauses of peace and natural beauty shot with grace by cinematographer Douglas Milsome, moments that really set it apart from the rest. The thundering orchestral score by David Mansfield racks up the tension from start to finish but also knows when to back off to give the audience a breather. The editing by Christopher Rouse compliments Cimino’s direction admirably, cutting off all the fat and keeping this a lean piece of suspenseful cinema without a single unnecessary frame left on screen.

I’d recommend watching this as part of a triple bill along with Martin Scorcese’s Cape Fear remake and Paul Verhoeven’s Basic Instinct for a great night of shameless, ridiculous cinema that’ll make you lament for the lost art of using camera tracks instead of steadycams.

Best bit: Anthony Hopkins literally taking out the trash.

Sadly we’ve not had a film from Cimino since 1996’s The Sunchaser and I’ve got a terrible feeling we never will… but that won’t stop me from hoping.

Come on, Michael, pull one last masterpiece out of the bag!