After Dark, My Sweet

This film is in the Film Noir Encyclopedia under neo-noir, but all of the other films I've seen so far in that category are much better than this one. I'm not sure if it's the fault of the original material or the screenplay or the director or the actor Jason Patric, but the lead character is not at all engaging and his apparent mental problem that disappears partway through is confusing. The femme fatale was interesting in the beginning as she was spinning her web, but then she got soft and mushy and the inconsistency was a let-down. The ending is the only good thing about the film. The ending explains why the Jason Patric character has been acting so strangely but the last 5 minutes could not change my opinion that the film is a waste of time. There are so many better films to see...

In James Foley's After Dark, My Sweet, drawn from Jim Thompson's moody suspense novel, Jason Patric gives a late riff on early Brando. He plays `Kid' Collins, a `retired' boxer who spent some spells in mental institutions after killing an opponent in the ring; now he's frozen into a perpetual fighter's crouch. Now on the road, he drifts into a bar frequented by Rachel Ward and her unexplained Cornish accent (still a juicer, she's not quite the slatternly shrew of the book). She takes him home and stashes him in a trailer out back among the date palms. Next, up pops `Uncle' Bud (Bruce Dern), who suborns Patric into a half-baked scheme for kidnapping a rich kid. As happens with such schemes, things go awry (the kid turns out to be a diabetic, for one thing), and it falls to Patric to put matters right by a supreme act of self-sacrifice. But the somnolent pace and elliptical plotting that worked in Thompson's telling sit uncomfortably on the screen. Even in the 1950s, the novel felt that it belonged to the conventions of a decade (or two) earlier – it's a Depression-era, or immediate post-war kind of story. Fast-forwarding it to the 1990s proved more a shock than it could sustain, a disparity exaggerated by misguided fealty to the book. While there's some fussy updating (the anonymous sticks of Thompson's vision become a faintly upscale desert enclave; an airport replaces the bus terminal), elements that need freshening stick out as anachronisms. For instance, the solicitous attraction felt by the 50-year-old bachelor doctor (George Dickerson) toward Patric can only be homoerotic. While Thompson, chafing under the constraints of his time, left that to be distantly inferred, there's no reason to be coy about it more than 30 years later (there's little coy about the lovemaking between Ward and Patric). To his credit, Dickerson gives the game away with his doomed looks of longing; was it Charles Laughton who remarked `They can't censor the gleam in my eye?' And the long fuse between Ward and Patric sputters on and on; the movie could only be improved by losing half an hour of downing drinks and exchanging alternating glances of hatred and lust. The best thing about After Dark, My Sweet is Patric's performance, even if, in keeping with the fads of the 1950s, it gives off too many whiffs of `method.' At least he gives the role his best shot. The movie's flaws, however, can't be ascribed to Thompson. Latter-day filmings of his work, like The Grifters of the same year and (especially) The Kill-Off a year before, show there's plenty of punch left in the old pulpmeister.

After Dark, My Sweet is a great, modern noir, filled with seedy characters, dirt roads, and, of course, sweaty characters. It seems that most of the truly great noirs of the last two or three decades have taken place in the South, where the men glisten and the ladies, um, glisten too. Why? Because it's hooooottttttttttt. And because everyone looks better wet (at least the men do - sweaty women leave me clammy). Anyway - there might be some spoilers in here. This film is a wonderful example of everything a noir should be - steady pacing (though some with attention disorders refer to it as 'slow'), clearly and broadly drawn (though not simple) characters, and tons of atmosphere. Noir, if anything, is about moods and attitudes. That's why the great ones are not marked by your traditional definitions of 'great' acting (look at Bogart, Mitchum, Hurt, and Nicholson - they (and their characters) were anything but real - but they had style and sass and in a crime movie that's exactly what you want). or quickly paced adventures (again all great noirs seem to be on slow burn like a cigarette). Great noirs create an environment and you just inhabit it with the characters for a couple hours. After Dark My Sweet let's you do that - and it let's you enjoy the company of some very interesting and complex characters. Uncle Bud and Collie are intriguing - never allowing the audience to know what really makes them tick - and Patric and Dern (I love Bruce Dern, by the way) are pitch perfect, Dern especially (see previous comment). They take the basic outlines of a character and give them depth and elicit our sympathies. The story itself is also interesting. There're better plots in the world of noir (hardly any mystery here - mostly it's suspense), but this one is solid. If anything, the simply 'okay' plot has more to do with Jim Thompson's writing than anything else. With Thompson, plots are almost secondary; he eschewed the labyrinthine tales of Hammett and Chandler for simpler stories with stronger, more confusing characters. Look at a novel like The Killer Inside Me and and you'll see right away (from the title) what it's all about. When it comes to Thompson, it's not what it's about, it's how it's about it (to quote Roger Ebert). So, really, the relatively simple plot of a kidnapping is not the point and, if you don't like it, well the jokes on you. Why this is an 8star movie rather than a 10star one is because of the female lead. She's not bad, per se, but she's not Angelica Huston or Anette benning (see the adaptation of Jim Thompson's The Grifters if you don't know what I'm talking about - besides it's a better movie and you should start there for contemporary noir - it's the best of the 1990s and challenges Blood Simple for the title of best since Chinatown). She simply doesn't have the chops (or the looks for that matter) and though she and Patric have some chemistry, I don't have it with her. So there.

What was the purpose of this film? I suggest it was to make a handful of actors and their producers and director a big payday for doing nothing. Even my favorite actor, Bruce Dern, couldn't keep my interest in this boring movie. A braindead ex-pugilist falls in with a weird woman and her relatives. He starts out as a fix-it man for the woman, and winds up beating a man and getting caught up in a kidnapping scheme. It was so confusing I can't even write a decent critique. If you see this one, my sweet, make sure it is after dark so you can go right to sleep.

An ex-boxer drifts into a town and becomes involved with a rich widow and her shady friend. It moves very slowly, which is fine if the characters are interesting or the plot is compelling, but that's not the case here. The characters are very poorly developed and the plot wanders aimlessly, making for a rather dull movie. Patric's performance is somewhat one-note, with that one note being a smoldering look. The whole psychological mumbo-jumbo regarding his mental state is not the least bit interesting. Ward lacks the allure required for her role. Dern does what he can with a sketchily drawn character. The direction is journeyman at best.

It is rare that one comes across a movie as flawless as this. It's truly one of the best acted, most tightly structured films I've ever seen. Every line of dialogue can be interpreted in several ways, relating to each of the three main characters differently. The film weaves an intrinsic web of motivations and double crosses that snare you and refuse to let go. Add to this that the slow-burning romance between Kevin and Faye is as moving as anything that's ever been committed to celluloid and you have the ingredients for a perfect film. It exposes the romance of movies such as "Titanic" as the trite cliches they are. If you're looking for a movie to watch while you fold laundry, this isn't it. You have to commit yourself to this film. You can't have a conversation while running in and out of the room. This movie demands your attention. Treat it with the respect you deserve and you'll get a lot out of it. Unless you think "Titanic" is the greatest film ever.

The first of two Jim Thompson adaptations released in 1990 (the other being the more well-known GRIFTERS), AFTER DARK has all of Thompson's hallmarks: dangerous women, the confidence game, and characters that are either not as dim as others suspect them of being, or not as harmless. Jason Patric is superb as a former boxer disqualified from the sport for life due to an incident in the ring (director James Foley uses RAGING BULL-esquire sequences to flesh out the back story) and the too-little-seen Rachel Ward also delivers a great performance. But Bruce Dern is the film's secret weapon: his sweet-talking grifter Uncle Bud subtly commands each of his scenes. there's almost no comic relief in this film, so watch it prepared to be sucked into the void.