“I need a drink,” offers a character (who shall remain nameless to avoid spoilers) as the final line of “Dead for a Dollar,” director Walter Hill’s return to the Western. It’s a note of exasperation, not triumph, following the genre’s inevitable shootout. And the line is perhaps the only way to end a film whose primary function is to strip away the trappings of myth from the West and leave behind only people performing a job. Cowboys and their ilk have quitting time, too.
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The Ties in Hill’s incarnation of the West, which he co-wrote with Matt Harris, are contractual first, ethical second. The two men at the crux of the film exist on either side of the law: Christoph Waltz’s Max Borlund is a private investigator, while Willem Dafoe’s Joe Cribbens is a gambling outlaw. But what ultimately unites them in begrudging respect is an economic axis in fidelity to themselves above all. These are not noble men bound to some lofty code of morality or manifest destiny. These are workers fulfilling their duty to the almighty dollar, irked first and foremost by threats to completing the task at hand.
It’s a bit dodgy to foil their internal compasses so boldly with the Mexican businessmen and law enforcement officials who bear witness to a conflict that spills across the southern border. Yet it sets up an undeniable contrast between the world-weary duo and everyone else around them. And, in fairness, their sensibilities also clash with the young guns who set the story in motion. Hamish Linklater’s wealthy businessman Martin Kidd sends the wise-cracking but plain-spoken Max to retrieve his wife, Rachel Brosnahan’s independently-minded Rachel, from the clutches of Buffalo Soldier Elijah Jones (Brandon Scott).
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That’s not the full story, though, as Max finds out from his companion, Elijah’s military mate Alonzo Poe (Warren Burke). It’s not necessarily an abduction if someone leaves of their own volition, and Rachel digs in her heels to resist Max returning his bounty. When pressed by the target of his mission if he has a code, Max replies affirmatively – and states he tries not to question it. Nonetheless, the smart and slightly shifty gunslinger must undergo a state of silent self-examination as he debates holding firm to his truth or executing an assignment premised on a lie.
Elsewhere in Mexico, Joe gets back to his mischievous card-counting ways and runs afoul of Benjamin Bratt’s powerful landowner Tiberio Vargas. In order to make amends for taking out a powerful target, he agrees to repay the debt by putting a familiar target in his crosshairs: Max. “Dead for a Dollar” gets interesting and entertaining when it becomes clear that the frequent and formidable foes are on their collision course. Yet for far too long, the two men look to be operating on tracks that appear headed in opposite directions and spinning their wheels in boilerplate banality.
It doesn’t help that Hill treats the characters beyond Max and Joe as merely tangential to this classical struggle of lawman and outlaw, even if those roles are stretched a bit for this particular pair. “Dead for a Dollar” attempts to shoehorn in elements of race and gender to add a contemporary spin to the proceedings, but these attempts fall flat because the film does not care enough to flesh them out within the context of the story. It’s clear that the interests of the film lie squarely and solely within the realm of the genre’s wheelhouse: white men.
Such a focus is not disqualifying, but it demands more than the shallow characterization given to Max and Joe. The complexities of each fellow extend about one step beyond the archetypes presented in the synopsis. When loyalties get twisted, the complication is obvious and entirely expected. The always-charismatic Waltz and Dafoe manage to add a little color to the characters, but that can only go so far within the boundaries of thinly-sketched figures. Any larger thematic resonance does not break through.
“Dead for a Dollar” mistakes deep excavation for playing around in a sandbox. This streamlined simplicity might suffice for a B-movie, but it clearly has higher ambitions. The desaturated palette of browns and grays suggests a wearier West drawing near to its sunset, just as the aging characters are. The potential for rich commentary on the genre — or even the varied and storied career of octogenarian Walter Hill — go frustratingly underexplored in the name of topline topicality and economic entertainment.
But hey, Hill himself is just a man with a job. Who can fault his choice to live out the very ethos of his film? “Dead for a Dollar” provides a decently intriguing yarn within the framework of the Western that burrows a few inches below the surface. No one can say Hill didn’t hold up his end of the deal, which may be all that matters to him in the end. [C+]
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