The best thing for a franchise (at least artistically) is to quit while it’s ahead. This can give the series a sense of closure, especially when the final entry is intentionally done with seriousness and maturity. Audiences can feel glad about the wrapped-up ending, feeling things have come full circle.
The Dirty Harry series had already had that particular entry – Sudden Impact.
But here comes The Dead Pool, the true final film in the Dirty Harry franchise, and going on 22 years (and one Clint Eastwood acting retirement) later, it seems it shall remain that way. For while artistic triumph is surely one way to end a series, The Dead Pool proposes the other common method – wear the premise thin through silliness.
The Dead Pool perhaps outclasses even The Enforcer as the goofiest, shortest and least consequential of the oft weighty Dirty Harry pictures. And by 1988, there really wasn’t much need for a Dirty Harry film, five years after the last one. The action movie landscape had undergone its final changes by then, changes largely instigated by the original Dirty Harry, becoming a playground for muscle-bound Austrian madmen with howitzers. So it is this realm of easy sequels (something Harry never really existed in before) that The Dead Pool is responding to, even while its contemporary Die Hard was proposing the next new direction for the action genre. All in all, The Dead Pool is something which must’ve seemed outdated even upon release.
And just why does this thing exist anyway? Well, director Clint Eastwood had a new movie prepped for Warner Brothers, a biopic on jazz saxophonist Charlie “Bird” Parker starring Forest Whitaker, called Bird (let it never be said Eastwood can avoid a good Hitchcock comparison, even at their most nebulous). Filmed in 1987, this unreleased film was not a major box office prospect for the studio. Clint was ever the master at turnaround, so he promised one silly entertainment in exchange for Bird. And in this climate of sequelitis, it’s easy enough for Warner Brothers to then, in February of 1988, dust off the Dirty Harry movies, declare they shall be getting their sequel, and then spew one out upon us a mere five months later.
After a great director (Don Siegel), two okay directors (the next two guys), and one of cinema history’s best ever (Clint Eastwood), who’d they go with this time? Buddy Van Horn, Clint Eastwood’s stunt coordinator…Okay then. You’d think there’d be more stunts, then, considering… The three credited screenwriters are equally anonymous, so there.
All this means farewell to the occasional grittiness which has defined the series. The one moment of true grit is the opening flyover, which looks to be lifted directly from the opening of Sudden Impact, only messed around (frames are removed, or something), and with a far less triumphant Lalo Schifrin score playing. The rest of the movie has the cop movie pastiche feel of a Naked Gun film more than anything else. (While ZAZ are on the table, even the cast comes partly from their oeuvre – Evan C. Kim, best known as the ersatz Bruce Lee in Kentucky Fried Movie.)
Behold the evil lair of our unidentified villain for the day. He’s the obsessive stalker type, which movies wouldn’t really learn how to make creepy or interesting until The Silence of the Lambs. Still, here’s his “eccentric” décor (crappy posters of crappy fictional movies like Shadows of the Dead, Hell Without the Devil and Night of the Slasher – way to go, big budget 1988 movie, showing up those passé slasher flicks from the early ‘80s). And the TV is on, announcing a celebrity death. Then it switches to Samantha Walker (Patricia Clarkson, future “Six Feet Under” Emmy winner), all-purpose news reporter (on scene and anchor!) reporting on the recent incarceration of generic mob boss Lou Janero (Anthony Charnota), courtesy of one Harry Callahan.
This is an efficient enough means of justifying why bland hoods are again constantly trying to murder Harry. (An even more efficient means would be to simply say “Harry Callahan exists.”) Thus we move straightaway to three thugs forcing Harry’s car off the road. Then Harry blasts them all dead, murdering one in the back as he flees in terror. Nice one, Harry.
Series semi-regular Cpt. Donnelly (Michael Currie) chews Harry out, not for the wanton, merciless murdering, but for wrecking another squad car. Ah, priorities. And here is a traditional Dirty Harry straw man, Lt. Ackerman (Michael Goodwin), whining about how Harry needs to play more ball with the media. You see, each Dirty Harry movie is about something deeper than simply blasting punks, and here’s The Dead Pool’s thesis – violence in the media. It’s all lip service, really; it could care less. It was simply the thing to do, in the ‘80s, to bitch about how violent horror movies (but not action movies, oh no!) were convincing 95% of the population to commit daily stabbings, or something. All this was rather a crock, and the movie doesn’t even fully commit to its crock of an argument. Still, for the sake of premise, Harry is suddenly popular for the same gangster killings he’s been doing for nearly two decades, apropos of nothing. (Oh right, and since it was 1988, it was fun to directly mock reporters as well, which Die Hard did more efficiently with the “dickless” William Atherton.)
We’re now on a movie set, though the off screen “Cut!” later makes me think we’re supposed to buy this seedy, music video hotel with pumped-in Guns ‘n’ Roses music as a real place. “James” Carrey (yup) prances around as drugged-up rocker Johnny Squares, unconvincingly lip-synching to Axl Rose. It’s like people who learned about ‘80s rock solely through This is Spinal Tap. And it’s “James” Carrey’s nutty, rubber-faced mugging that prompts the “Cut!,” from horror movie director Peter Swan (Qui-Gon Jinn himself, Liam Neeson). How’s that, two future superstars in very early roles?! Quick, let’s play “pick the nascent talent!” Naw, I can’t do it, not as the roles are played here. And director Swan is making his latest horror opus, Hotel Satan (tagline: “You check in. You die.”) up here in the meat lockers of San Francisco, solely because it makes “James” Carrey’s breath look “cold.” Sure, that justifies filming outside of L.A., unlike the real production of The Dead Pool. And it always amazes me, how clearly unrealistic movie sets are shown to be in most movies about movies. You’d think these people would know a little about this stuff. No matter, Hotel Satan is clearly the sort of creatively bankrupt horror flick that would surely not receive such financing in 1988 (Sudden Impact’s 1983 would’ve even been too late, so I’m not sure who they think they’re lambasting with this whole mess.)
“James” Carrey quits this horror shoot for a quick heroin shoot, doping up in his trailer as is a rock star’s wont. Suddenly a killer’s hands (yeah, they’re using giallo techniques in this one, ‘cause that whole horror movie argument is quickly lost on hypocrites) grab “James” by the rubbery face, forcing some deadly new drug down his mouth hole. For anyone who’s wanted to see “James” Carrey die the instant he hits your movie screen, here’s the film for you!
Harry responds to the “James” Carrey crime scene, along with new partner Al Quan (the aforementioned Kim) – an Asian-American, at dickhead Ackerman’s insistence the media likes such things. Here’s that media now, represented by Samantha in all her blonde, hilariously short glory. And yeah, she’s an attractive blonde because she and Harry will eventually endure a romantic subplot, which will lead to her predictably playing damsel in the climax. (In a sense Sondra Locke had a similar role in Sudden Impact, but that was the point of that movie.) For now, though, Harry will have none of this proto-TMZ ridiculousness, cameramen hounding the poor bereaved for ratings. (Some things never change.) Harry hurls a camera into the bay.
Back to the villain’s lair, to remind us he exists. “James” Carrey’s name is removed from a list of celebrities. Our next potential victim is seen on TV – priggish movie critic Molly Fisher, criticizing a fictional comedy High and Dry for being funny. I suspect she’s a Mary Whitehouse stand-in.
Harry and Quan stroll through Chinatown, where Harry has the sort of random run-in with violent crime that only such fictional characters experience. An old dude is shot dead in a restaurant, so Harry goes in and shoots three young punks dead. (They were robbing the place, though I think Harry shot a third party person just for the hell of it.) Here is our token one-liner for the entry: “You’re shit out of luck.” Online resources seem to think this phrase originated with The Dead Pool, then entered the common vernacular. How’s that for a disposable action flick’s contribution to society?
That old dead dude they coincidentally saw getting made dead? He’s Dean Madison, producer of Swan’s cheapjack slasher flick. And in his pocket is the clue that’ll break this uninvolving case. That’s just a little more coincidence than is healthy in your diet. And that clue – a Dead Pool.
No, not the Merc with the Mouth! I mean it’s a list of celebrities, with guesses as to who will die next – My guess: Mel Gibson. (Clint Eastwood, by the way, will never die.) Harry might have time to follow up this clue, except Donnelly is too busy chewing him out over that destroyed camera, so it’s Samantha on the evening news who first breaks the story. She also suggests a Bird-like compromise over the camera – Harry shall go to dinner with her.
This is the start of the expected, dreaded romantic subplot, though it’s ostensibly so Samantha can ask Harry to give an interview. There’s a little blah blah blah about media responsibility and whatnot, but at least they’re not ragging on horror films.
Leaving the restaurant, the mob starts randomly firing upon Harry in an elevator. (This is the same lame setup as in Sudden Impact, except it never seems as stupid here, because the whole movie has stooped to its level.) Harry kills them. Five movies in, there’s no variation to this. And here come the reporters, right on cue, as Samantha laments being on the other side – Ooh, deep! [Sarcasm.]
It’s time to put a stop to this silly mobster subplot, now that they’ve wrung enough action sequences out of it. Harry pays a visit to San Quentin, running through a lengthy scene where he convinces generic Janero to leave him alone – under the usual prison threat of fatal butt rampage. For a 91 minute movie, there’s a reasonably amount of filler here.
We have to rejoin Swan’s shooting of Hotel Satan, to remind us this is the central plot here, and to impress just how crummy this whole operation is. (And to set up a great big freaking movie prop harpoon for later…) Oddly, Guns ‘n’ Roses are actually all here, Slash firing said harpoon. What the hell sort of slasher movie was this supposed to be?
Likewise, our Dead Pool Killer (body count so far – one) needs to earn his rep, halfway through this rather stagnant serial killer movie. So he goes ahead and murders that movie critic wench, in pure horror movie style. This is too beyond the pale for an action picture, so we cut away…
- to Donnelly watching a collection of Swan’s “films,” all the hardened cops wincing in girlish terror at the stage blood on display (way to oversell your anti-horror movie agenda, violent action movie). These clips, by the way, include Cujo, It’s Alive III, and Phantasm (which surely doesn’t deserve such disrespect). Donnelly insists to Harry that therefore Swan must be the killer, so – What damn sort of investigation is this supposed to be?! Go and question Swan already!
Nope, here comes another non sequitur distraction, as some jerk has amassed a crowd as he threatens himself with a road flare (before a church, because subtle symbolism is a lost art form). Said jerk, Gus Wheeler, is a crewmember on future classic Hotel Satan, and apparently these semi-connected deaths are so much he’s been driven over the edge! He ain’t the killer, by the way, so don’t get your hopes up. Anyway, he wants attention, wants to be on the evening news for a fiery suicide. Samantha is here, and she makes the “tough” choice not to broadcast this man’s gory self-immolation live on television. Ooh, character development! Then Harry saves the guy, ‘cause that’s what he does, but not until after he’s been set on fire, ‘cause you don’t set up something like that and not follow through.
An elderly tennis player strolls out of his house. I know he’s a tennis player ‘cause dumb movies have lead me to believe they always carry a tennis racket in their hands; I know he’s elderly ‘cause he’s elderly. He goes into a car, then a tiny remote controlled car drives underneath his (killer nearby operating it). Everything explodes.
Okay, the RC car thing is silly; it’s also the most memorable thing in this film – and there’s more of it to come…
Around now we start to learn the Dead Pool Killer is trying to frame Swan for his crimes, using the same victims on Swan’s recreational Dead Pool list. Of course, he forgot one little thing – alibis. Such as dozens of people around him during both of the past two killings. The news informs our killer buddy how Harry acquitted Swan (‘cause no other cop in this universe is that competent). Dwelling in his lair, the killer thrashes all about in a rage, angry over how stupidly ineffective his master plan was.
Harry jogs along the bay when he has another random run-in with the mob – I thought they’d dropped this silly thread. No matter, it’s a chance to see Harry punch men a little (no shootings this time, ‘cause Harry’s body count is already astronomically higher than the “bad guy”). It ends with the two thugs saying Janero sent them to be Harry’s bodyguards. And that’s the last we’ll ever see of them. Well, that was useless.
Movie nearing its end, it’s about time for Swan to reveal to Harry the one bit of info he’ll need so this investigation can start – the killer is Swan’s celebrity stalker, Harlan Rook (David Hunt, still not seen yet). That’s the sort of thing Harry should learn in the first half hour, not the last. And now Harry’s name has been added to Rook’s (but not Swan’s) death list – so that’s why they set up Harry as a celebrity.
Oh well, so he’ll go right after Rook now, right? Nope! Harry goes and has off screen sex with Samantha instead. That’s right, they gotta juggle an unrelated subplot too.
Harry drives off with Quan when Rook gives pursuit in his own car, somehow managing to control another explosive Associated RC 10 ahead of him. Harry sees the RC, and the chase is off – a chase which somehow manages to out-silly the ice cream motorcycle/retirement van chase from Sudden Impact. Harry speeds away from a (surprisingly fast) RC car all throughout the streets of San Francisco, Rook’s car following along in the rear. It’s supposed to be a spoof of Bullitt, which a Dirty Harry movie shouldn’t be doing in the first place, and which isn’t done right anyway. And in a genre that highlights the tireless efforts of stuntmen, behold the artistry of world-champion radio control driver “Jammin’” Jay Halsey! Oy. This is pretty rigoddamnridiculous!
Finally the dinky little RC car (so unintimidating the sound effects guys had to add a growling engine) has Harry cornered. Then Harry figures out the answer – just reverse a little. Thus the C4 RC only ka-booms Harry’s front engine (oh, and Quan’s torso too).
(Quan’s okay, despite all genre dictates that say the ethnic partner always dies. Astoundingly, this is the only Dirty Harry movie apart from Dirty Harry where the partner isn’t killed.)
Okay, so now Harry can barge in on Rook’s hideout – merely some normal San Francisco apartment, full of horror movie posters. Ooh, he likes horror movies – he’s evil! Of course Rook isn’t there, masturbating in his own scat or whatever it is celebrity stalkers do in their off time – ‘cause it isn’t Rook’s off time. He’s gone right ahead and added Samantha’s name to his Dead Pool list, ‘cause to hell with the original intent or premise or motive or anything, and he’s off to nab her and act crazy in front of her.
Rook (still not revealed by face) kills Samantha’s poor dumbass cameraman (who was on no one’s lists), and hauls her off to the abandoned meat locker movie set. (Ah, action sequence potential, that’s why there were filming in a meat locker!) Harry (and only Harry) figures this all out, so he shows up soon enough for the classic hostage scenario movie climax. (So common again by 1988 that Die Hard, forever my yardstick, was already inverting this situation.) Okay, so Rook has a knife; Harry has a .44 Magnum. Who’s got the upper hand here? Well, Rook, ‘cause the villain has to in the climax – somehow. Then he gets his fool hands on Harry’s Magnum, and chases Harry all throughout whilst firing off with typical imprecision. (I mean, a dozen mobsters per entry cannot kill Harry, what chance does a schizophrenic fanboy who thinks Liam Neeson is stealing his dreams stand?)
So it makes sense why Rook cannot hit the broad side of a barn, leaving me to wonder why he’s the ultimate villain in the final Dirty Harry picture. And with the Magnum now empty, Harry can emerge from the cinematic steam clutching the freaking harpoon gun! “You’re shit out of luck.” Harry fires the goddamn huge-ass PROP harpoon through Rook’s stupid chest, recreating a scene from Hotel Satan in a “clever” moment. And now the cops arrive instantly. Ending the film, Donnelly asks where Rook is, and Harry says he’s “hanging out back there.” Oh god, a James Bond pun!
So this is ultimately how Dirty Harry ends – mired in the morass of late ‘80s, pre-Die Hard action, the sort of thing which directly led to the creation of Last Action Hero. You know, for how influential all these Harry movies are, I’m afraid that is the legacy of The Dead Pool – that, and the whole SOL thing. This is the sort of pure formula dilution one connects with Roger Moore or the Schumacher Batman movies. The box office somewhat reflects that, with The Dead Pool being the second least successful Dirty Harry movie (somehow, Dirty Harry itself remains at the back of the pack, even though it’s a stone cold classic).
Clint Eastwood was sure as well not making any more Dirty Harry movies, seeing as this was a favor from Warner Brothers to finance his ongoing artistic ambitions. And four years later, Best Picture Unforgiven handsomely proved how Eastwood was in an entirely new phase of his career. And only the most myopic movie fans would sincerely lament Eastwood’s evolution from action potboilers to excellent dramas.
Still, because The Dead Pool is stupid, there remain occasional mutterings about resurrecting the Dirty Harry franchise. In a world with Live Free and Die Hard, Rambo, Rocky Balboa, surely this doesn’t seem like too much of a bizarre stretch to some – and a recent fervor for serious, gritty reboots means another Harry could even be done well. But some people forget, we’ve sort of had our sixth Dirty Harry movie, unofficially, in Gran Turino, which even saw the likely last time Clint himself will ever perform. Barring a remake starring someone like Hugh Jackman (unlikely – we’ve evolved from making remakes of '70s movies, to making remakes of ‘80s movies), Dirty Harry is out to pasture, but a single chapter in the mighty and ongoing career of cinematic legend Clint Eastwood.
But it is Eastwood himself who should be given final word:
“Dirty Harry VI! Harry is retired. He's standing in a stream, fly-fishing. He gets tired of using the pole – and BA-BOOM! Or Harry is retired, and he catches bad guys with his walker? Maybe he owns a tavern. These guys come in and they won't pay their tab, so Harry reaches below the bar. ‘Hey guys, the next shot's on me.’”
Related posts:
• No. 1 Dirty Harry (1971)
• No. 2 Magnum Force (1973)
• No. 3 The Enforcer (1976)
• No. 4 Sudden Impact (1983)
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