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Michael Cimino is said to have had a hand in this movie,
though the credited director is Stuart Rosenberg--an impersonal
craftsman often hired in midshoot after the star and a more
volatile director had parted company. This helps account for
the picture's overall lack of rhythm and its wavering between
overemphatic, Ethnic-with-a-capital-E idiosyncrasy, and low-key
befuddlement. Still, it has its charms, most of them deriving
from a terrific cast. At the time it came out, in the summer
of 1984, Rourke and Roberts were both exciting, unpredictable
talents; Roberts in particular had an amazing talent for being
somebody brand new--psychologically, even physically--in every
film he made. But even though they're hitting on all cylinders,
the boys are quietly upstaged by some redoubtable old pros:
the great Kenneth McMillan, the ineffable M. Emmet Walsh, and--scoring
her umpteenth OscarR nomination as the mother of an ill-fated
cop--Miss Geraldine Page. (amazon.co.jp)
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