April 9, 2004 | Maybe moviegoers had it better in the 1940s, way back before Access Hollywood and Entertainment Weekly covered every hiccup of on-the-set, behind-the-scenes turmoil. During that more innocent, less media-savvy age, audiences were free to enjoy the likes of Casablanca, The Big Sleep and Lost Horizon without being distracted by reports of cast changes, cost over-runs, delayed premieres and editing-room alterations.
But that was then, this is now: The Alamo finally arrives in theaters this weekend — four months after its originally announced opening date -– amid extensive gossip about its pre- and post-production travails.
The good news is, this epic drama about the defining event of Texas history is better than the negative buzz might indicate. The bad news is, it’s not nearly good enough.
From the cluttered, confusing montage of its opening scenes to the oddly unsatisfying anticlimax of its finale, The Alamo evidences all the tell-tale signs of a long movie that has been whittled down from a much longer one. Exposition comes in hastily shouted sound bites. Lengthy episodes are interspersed with confusingly abrupt transitions. Characters appear without introduction, then disappear for extended, inexplicable periods.
On the other hand, the blood-and-thunder battle scenes are vividly rendered and viscerally exciting, while the Mexican and Texian combatants -– including a ruthless but not-entirely-unsympathetic Gen. Antonio López de Santa Anna ( Emilio Echevarria) — are depicted in a surprisingly even-handed, warts-and-all manner.
Working from a script he co-wrote with Leslie Bohem and Stephen Gaghan (with uncredited input from John Sayles), Texas native John Lee Hancock takes a respectfully revisionist approach to the same events and characters John Wayne shamelessly romanticized in his own 1960 Alamo epic. To his credit, Hancock -– who also directed The Rookie -– strives for a dramatically sound balance of fact and fancy, men and myth. In this, however, he is most successful only when he turns his camera on Billy Bob Thornton, who more or less dominates the movie with his cunning portrayal of a ruefully self-aware Davy Crockett.
As the wily frontiersman turned living legend, Thornton suggests a 19 th -century version of an aging action-movie star, a celebrity who enjoys the adulation of his fans even while he wearily shoulders the burden of their unrealistic expectations. His Davy Crockett –- who would really, really rather be addressed as David -– winds up pushing himself to greatness during the defense of the Alamo against Mexican forces largely because he knows he can’t disappoint those who expect greatness of him. A nice touch: At the moment of his death, his appears greatly bemused by the realization that the way he dies will ensure his immortality.
Jason Patric plays knife-fighter Jim Bowie as a larger-than-life hero who’s similarly ambivalent about his fame. Unfortunately, Patric’s performance -– most of it delivered as Bowie lies in bed, felled by consumption — is little more than a tediously sustained scowl. Patrick Wilson is slightly more animated as William Travis, the untested commander who demonstrates grace under pressure while leading the doomed Texians at the Alamo. Unfortunately, when the big moment arrives and Travis must rally the troops, Wilson lacks the star quality required to make the scene truly memorable.
Houston-born Dennis Quaid gets top billing as Sam Houston, whose decisive routing of Santa Anna’s forces at the Battle of San Jacinto allows the filmmakers to end The Alamo on a relatively upbeat note. It’s painfully obvious that a lot of his role got left on the cutting-room floor. And that’s a pity, because Quaid’s performance as a tarnished hero who transcends his failings through sheer force of will is so intriguing, you can’t help wishing you could see a lot more of it. Of course, you could say the same thing about The Alamo itself.
