Skip to main content

On Bruce Willis

“Death Wish” is--indeed--about violent death.

Bruce Willis leaves his home address in a highly-visible place, in a car. A valet sees the address. The valet then plots a break-in. But: a problem! Willis’s wife and daughter are home. Wife (that’s Elizabeth Shue! from “Leaving Las Vegas”!) tries to end the incident by hurling scalding-hot water at Robber One’s face. But: Boom! Elizabeth is dead.

Bruce Willis is frustrated with the cops. What does it take to get justice in the world? Inspired, Bruce purchases a gun and goes around murdering people who are not nice. One sells drugs out of an ice-cream stand and covertly tortures children. Another steals cars from people at gunpoint.

By chance, Bruce (a doctor, in the daylight) finds himself operating on the guy who murdered his wife. The guy has a tattoo, and Bruce recalls the tattoo from the valet-parking incident, and he puts two and two together. And so then he goes on an Agatha Christie-ish sleuthing tour of Chicago, and he finds all the other robbers who interfered with his wife, and he kills them while wearing a hoodie. (The hoodie is his trademark, but if you ask me, a hoodie doesn’t really effectively conceal your face.)

The movie’s set-piece--sure to be discussed for decades--is when Bruce finds Robber Three in a car-repair shop. Robber Three won’t cooperate with an interrogation, so Bruce slices open Robber Three’s arm and pours brake fluid on the open wound. He says this sensation--a caustic agent on an exposed nerve--is the most pain you can endure without passing out. It’s effective: Robber Three coughs up valuable info, and then he says, “What, are you going to kill me?” And Bruce says: “No, but Jack will.” He’s referring, I guess, to the jackhammer that is propping up the car that rests directly above Robber Three’s head. He then pulls some kind of cord that moves the jackhammer, so the car comes crashing down and smashes the head, and we actually see Robber Three’s brain matter all over the floor, for about one second, before we move on to the next scene.

Everything ends happily. Dean Norris--who was always “Breaking Bad”’s Most Valuable Player, in my view--is a cop, and he sort of likes Bruce, and understands that Bruce has done some bad things. He says, “Let’s let bygones be bygones.” Bruce goes off to tend to his daughter, who was severely wounded in the break-in, and it turns out she’s just about recovered and ready to begin her studies at NYU. Meanwhile, we spend quality screen time with Kimberly Elise, who is actually in her fifties, and whom you may not have seen since “Beloved.”

This movie has maybe a ten-percent approval rating on Rotten Tomatoes. That’s because its moral is questionable. It’s maybe not a good idea to show a vigilante in a sort-of glowing light. But, to me, it seems condescending to conclude that Americans will run out and see a violent movie and then shoot up their neighborhoods. Julianne Moore is an ardent gun control activist, but she also made “Hannibal.” It’s possible to understand that entertainment is simply entertainment. And it’s nice to see Bruce Willis on the big screen. He still has a twinkle in his eye. It’s mid-March, and my brain is fried, and I do not for a moment regret having spent sixteen dollars on “Death Wish.” You get some valuable mid-career Vincent D’Onofrio footage. You get twists and turns: Bruce is continually struggling to lie intelligently, and to stay alive. Treat yourself. Damn the critics.

My two cents.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

Joshie

  When I was growing up, a class birthday involved Hostess cupcakes. Often, the cupcakes would come in a shoebox, so you could taste a leathery residue (during the party). Times change. You can't bring a treat into a public school, in 2024, because heaven knows what kind of allergies might lurk, in unseen corners, in the classroom. But Joshua's teacher will allow: a dance party, a pajama day, or a guest reader. I chose to bring a story for Joshua's birthday (observed), but I didn't think through the role that anxiety might play in this interaction. We talk, in this house, quite a bit about anxiety; one game-changer, for J, has been a daily list of activities, so that he knows exactly what to expect. He gets a look of profound satisfaction when he sees the agenda; it doesn't really matter what the specific events happen to be. It's just about knowing, "I can anticipate X, Y, and Z." Joshua struggled with his celebration. He wore his nervousness on his f...

Josh at Five

 Joshie's project is "flexibility"; the goal is to see that a plan is just an idea, not a gospel, not a guarantee. This is difficult. Yesterday, we went to a restaurant--billed as "open," with unlocked doors--and the owner informed us of an "error in advertising." But Joshie couldn't accept the word "closed." He threw himself on the floor, then climbed on the furniture. I felt for the owner, until he nervously made a reference to "the glass windows." He imagined that my child might toss himself through a sealed window, like Mary Katherine Gallagher, or like Bruce Willis, in "Die Hard." Then--thank the Lord!--I was able to laugh. The thing that really has therapeutic value for Joshie is: a firetruck. If we are out in public, and he spots a parked truck, he wants to climb on each surface. He breathlessly alludes to the wheels, the door, the windows. If an actual fire station ("fire ocean," in Joshie's parla...