Flak Magazine: Review of The Last Castle, 11-3-01

A merry-go-round is a merry-go-round: predictable, steady and charming. A rider gets atop a sturdy horse or inside a pristine carriage and drifts along fully aware of which way the machine is turning. To climb aboard is to consent to the nature of the beast.

The same can be said for The Last Castle, a slow-brewing prison drama with scenes that unfold about two minutes after the audience has already imagined them. The movie cannot muster a surprise, especially for anyone familiar with its star, Robert Redford. Yet, Castle grows immensely satisfying as it develops. Thumb-twiddling converts into crackling anticipation.

A hint of conflict initially arises in Castle, when a decorated, revered and court-martialed general (Redford) takes a number in a military prison and meets his petty, cruel warden (James Gandolfini). During their first encounter, the calm general seems resigned to his conviction, his 10-year sentence and prison regulations. He wants to serve his time peacefully and leave, and the warden is pleased to hear it. The meeting starts entirely too well — dooming the relationship.

Sure enough, the general soon indirectly insults the warden's manhood and taste in war mementos. The insecure warden, a soldier whose closest contact with combat comes from watching it on CNN, decides to keep a close eye on the general. Guess what the warden detects? The seasoned general inspires his fellow prisoners to live unbowed like men. He starts by teaching an inmate how to properly salute, even though saluting among inmates violates prison rules. The general begins to build himself an army, and when he becomes disgusted with the warden's sloppy, deadly reign, the seeds of war take root.

With a prison uprising clearly on the horizon, Castle builds into a riveting last act. The fey, of course, die. Rocks strike their marks. The arrogant are belittled. Fire melts the weapons of tyranny. The righteous transform into saints. There is comeuppance all around. (It is impossible to give this movie away; it telegraphs its every move.)

Unapologetically, director Rod Lurie appears to enjoy taking his sweet time presenting a story. He showcases long scenes with lengthy speeches. He is a character actor's wildest dream. In Castle, for example, Lurie allows Gandolfini to breathe laboriously in silence more often than he asks him to recite dialogue, and Redford gets to tilt his exquisitely weathered face in and out of shadow and light just for kicks. Lurie wants his movie characters to loom large as archetypes.

Redford and Gandolfini readily complement Lurie's sedate tone. Redford's star appeal has always been about his unhurriedness, whether as the star of movies like The Natural or the director of leisurely paced movies like A River Runs Through It. On the small screen, Gandolfini introduced the world to Tony Soprano — undoubtedly an explosive character, who nonetheless has spent three television seasons and counting slowly revealing how he can be both vigorous but troubled, lively but unhappy. Gandolfini and Redford thrive for nuance and bear their fine skills in Castle.

If you're not intimidated by a pregnant setup and a rollicking climax will suffice, buy a ticket for Castle. It's an odd thing; most movies whimper out or choke in the last minutes before the closing credits. Castle spins a sturdy yarn then drops the quivering boom.

— Rasheed Newson (rasheednewson@hotmail.com)