Francis Ford Coppola brought to light many Italian-American actors, filming the legendary trilogy of the Godfather. Naturally, the laurels went to the great Al Pacino, and I must say, deservedly. The young Robert De Niro was able to take advantage of the opportunity, thereby giving the world of cinema another brilliant actor. Some things fell to other guys who in the frame did not chase balls and charisma was not much inferior to the main giants. But they clearly lacked the talent. These innate “mafiosi” became captives of their images and this predetermined their fate in the big cinema (but secured bread with “Doctor’s” sausage, said Vassya). The main minors were actors such as John Mantegna and Chazz Palminteri.
In today’s review, we will talk a little about Joe Mantegna, who for some time lit up in the title role of the detective “Walking shadow” (in Russian, the film was presented under the names of the Shooter or Faster Shadow). Most of all, the actor is remembered by me in the family comedy “Baby’s Day Out”, in which Joe plays impulsive bandit Eddie. Or as amused in the film adaptation of the eponymous King's work "Weightening", appearing in the image of a gangster Ricci, who serves as a "black angel" white man from the city. Surprisingly, in the film Walking Shadow (which can be roughly translated as Wandering Shadows), Mantegna appeared in an unusual image for himself, a private detective Spencer. And the campaign is partisan of his case Eric Roberts.
Unfortunately for the actors, they got into the wrong project. Director Po Chi Leong is unable to control the situation and gives the fuck what. It seems that he is not a professional, but some random person who is either trying to imitate some director (not you, Guy Ritchie?), or does not know how to dramatically turn around in the manner of Elvis Presley. Oh, you're Leong, with a cast that even has retired ghost hunter Ernie Hudson. And this guy's not the last African-American actor, I'll tell you. But what can you do? . .
Detective Spencer (Joe Mantegna) is engaged in one investigation and during the events, witnesses the murder of the artist, right on the stage. I don’t know what Robert Parker’s novel is about, but it’s a bit ridiculous in the movie. People watch some "clownade" in the theater, a major artist jumps on the stage and begins his part of the musical, defiantly straightening his chest and singing some shit. It's like he knows he'll be slammed by some idiot behind the curtain. And in order not to hinder his executioner, if possible, he keeps a good man. And the killer is so "inventive" that he first poses behind the scenes for two minutes with a crossbow, showing his shadow, and then shoots directly in the chest of the poor thing. Well, how not to get here, the guy went out of his way on stage, only those words from the old song "Choose me" were missing. And then Spencer starts digging deeper and deeper, and the investigation leads him to the Triad. The closer Spencer gets to the truth, the riskier things get for his life. The main character is waiting for shootings and fights in Chinatown, unnecessary conversations with the theater director and the wife of the head of the group, “attack” blonde seductresses, etc. There are few action scenes in the film, but some episodes look very good and realistic. Also, in the pluses I can count the skillfully transmitted Asian flavor, the acting of all the above-mentioned people, three very prominent virgins in secondary roles. The latter can be compared with a pearl, given the “fertility” of this stupid detective. In such television films, performers are not rarely slightly more beautiful than an ordinary tarcatan. And here, we can say lucky, very sexy girls caught. But what they do, artistry can be called with a normal stretch (Oh, you perverts, I actually meant their game).
To talk about such a movie for a long time makes no sense. The director could not turn the plot (although the script also had to be worked on) properly. And many of the episodes in the film look silly and disproportionate. This is due to the lack of sensitivity of the director. As a result, a shapeless and equally lifeless figure of a failed sculptor remains on his hands.