Directed by John Frankenheimer
With Robert DeNiro, Jean Reno, Natascha McElhone, Stellan Skaarsgard
Watched Ronin again recently. I used to adore this John Frankenheimer movie unreservedly. It's brisk, suspenseful, brain-teasing in the spy-versus-spy way that today's Jason Bourne flicks are, and it's a French travelogue to boot. I still like it fine, but perhaps a bit less slavishly than before. Only because on repeated viewings I've become more aware of its plot holes and more shocked by its violence and muted misogyny.
There's a scene in Nice, France, where Irish rebel operative Natascha McElhone and American hired gun Robert DeNiro sit in a car, staking out the parties they plan to ambush and steal from. They've only met days earlier. When a car approaches, in order to look like a harmlessly amorous couple, DeNiro's quick thinking Sam wordlessly leans over and plants an unexpected smooch on "Deirdre." And she just goes with it, to the extent that even after the danger is past she continues the kissing. And that's basically how you have to be with this movie. From the first frame, without any real warning or an introduction, this flick is going to lean right in and tongue kiss the shit out of you and you will just have to go with it because it's so strong, attractive, and sure of itself.
In a Montmartre bar we are plunged into the first meeting of a group of international mercenaries, some of them referred for the job to the mysterious and badass ringleader Deirdre by "the man in the wheelchair." That's all we know about him, there is no name and no reason and we never see said man or his wheelchair. These hired guns are pulled together with various skills -- automotives, computers, weaponry, tactical warfare, resources -- and told they must wrest a "case" from a group of 3 to 8 men by force, and expect heavy retaliation. Again, no one is told what is in The Case or why it's so important to the parties willing to die for it. It's a MacGuffin of the highest order, in that what's in The Case proves immaterial to the narrative. Our interest is piqued by the setup.
And now, to the boys: Actor Sean Bean, who succumbs to a bad case of ring lust in The Lord of the Rings flicks, here plays an Irish hooligan who can't keep his mouth shut or his shit together during their very first weapons buy and gets canned as a faker before the action. The others -- steely American DeNiro, thoughtful French resource man Jean Reno, shifty eyed German computer wiz Stellan Skarsgard, and chain smoking American stunt driver Skipp Sudduth -- set up camp in a Nice hotel room to plot their assault.
As in most movies, whatever can go wrong will go wrong, and despite the perfect ambush plan that sends them on a nail-biting car chase through the town and hillsides of Nice and nets them The Case (while dozens of innocents die in the crossfire), they've been double-crossed by greedy asshole Gregor (Skarsgard), who snatches the case for himself to sell to the decadent Russians and leaves the others to die. Only American Sam is too freaking smart for the okeydoke.
In fact, Sam's all-seeing wisdom, tactical competence, and calm under fire begs the question of just who the hell he is, where he comes from, and why he's on this mission. As Vincent (Reno) tries to gently pry, Sam skirts questions about past and present affiliations with corny jokes. We know from the first that there's more to him than meets the eye -- and so does Vincent, who has some interesting affiliations of his own. Now that these two understand each other, it's a buddy film with Sam and Vincent doing the heavy lifting to find the case and save each others' skins in the process (France did give us the Statue of Liberty and we, like, owe them). The quest takes them, along with Deirdre and driver Larry, to the medieval town of Arles for a shootout, where poor Larry gets his throat slashed and Deirdre gets abducted. Now they follow Gregor back to a Paris ice skating extrvaganza to tangle with some treacherous Russians and Deirdre's superior, a rogue IRA operative named Seamus (played with evil gusto and a mean Irish brogue by normally mild-mannered Brit Jonathan Pryce).
The genius of director John Frankenheimer is in the chase scenes, particularly a white knuckle setpiece in which Deirdre takes the wheel -- with Seamus and Gregor along for the ride -- and attempts to evade Sam and Vincent by driving her Audi (or is it a Mercedes?) the wrong way through a Paris tunnel (the same one that later claimed the life of Princess Diana). Certainly Frankenheimer knows how to shoot speeding cars after helming 1966's Grand Prix, a feat of incredible filmmaking about French car racing (not to mention that he is a master of the taut suspense plot, having served up The Manchurian Candidate, The Train, and 1973's nail biter Black Sunday). He puts the camera and the actors right in the car and shoots live, often going up to 120 miles per hour. But yo -- there's driving fast and then there is driving fast AGAINST ONCOMING TRAFFIC. As a movie goer I don't think I'd ever seen a chase scene quite like this one, where the camera puts you in the driver's seat, and it left a big impression.
Yada yada yada. Turns out Big Bad Sam is only perpetrating as a gun for hire, he's still very much engaged by his "high school" -- as he euphemistically refers to the CIA -- and we can infer that Vincent has been similarly dispatched by European intelligence. Both men are not as concerned with the case and its contents as with putting a stop to the baddie who set all this international kerfuffle in motion, i.e. Seamus, who, as it turns out, has been ejected from the IRA and is acting alone. His capture helps Ireland's Sinn Fein party gain enough stability to sign a peace agreement with Great Britain, and all is well with the world. Cut to Sam and Vincent, raising a pint together at the bistro in celebration.
But back to the issue of the flick's mild misogyny, if indeed bias against women can ever be termed "mild." Sam's handpicked reward for all of this political aggravation -- a prize to which he feels eminently entitled -- is Deirdre herself. At the very end of the flick, to Vincent's bemusement, Sam hangs around the Montmartre bar where they first met a moment longer, hoping she'll show up. The audience is left wondering as Sam's wondering. But DeeDee, Girl, if you have any self respect, you won't show.
Although "Deer-dree" is presented at first glance as a pants-wearing, no-crap-taking boss lady, Sam constantly challenges her authority, tells her to call her "handlers" even when she insists that she's the shot caller, tells her "you look good cleaned up" when he forces her to pose as his rich tourist trophy wife (as if she didn't look good and/or was dirty before), and calls her "the woman" more than once. At one point he even tosses her the leather jacket he's wearing and tells her to "clean the paint off of it"; WTF, when did she become a domestic, no less an industrial dry cleaner? (And how the hell do you get silver spray paint off a leather jacket on Christmas Eve???) That kiss I mentioned at the top comes out of the blue; these two hadn't flirted or so much as smiled at each other up to that point, and yet Big Bad Sam instantly conquers and tames Queen Deirdre through the sheer power of his sexual prowess. But she's willing, folks. The film has her going in for more because that first kiss was so good -- I mean, that was all it took! Then, at the conclusion of the film, as Deirdre is just about to complete her mission by scooping up both Seamus and The Case, Big Bad Sam swoops down and plays Captain Save-A-Hoe. "Walk away!" he instructs her. Because, you know, otherwise she would be apprehended as an Irish terrorist -- and then who would be the grateful little cherry on Sam's sundae when all this is over?
The only other woman in the flick is a gorgeous Russian ice skater (played by East German Olympic gold medalist Katarina Witt), whose role in the film is to kiss and caress a Russian gangland gargoyle 20 years her senior, catch a bullet between the eyes and fall lifeless to the ice in the middle of a performance. (Witt: What's my role in the film going to be? Frankenheimer: You get to act out "a cold day in hell." Witt: Oh, danke!)
Ronin is still one of DeNiro's best mid-career screen efforts, and the combination with the fantastic Reno is hard to beat. There are explosions, incredible car crashes, a miniature set of Ronin (the masterless samurai the title refers to), and DeNiro extracts a bullet -- from himself! Adding significantly to the film's mood is the ominous and tense score by Czechoslovakian composer Elia Cmiral. Recommended for those who really like a good thriller with a splash of old school sex thrown in for flavor.
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