TO LIVE AND DIE IN L.A. Directed by William Friedkin; written by William Friedkin and Gerald Petievich; produced by Irving H. Levin for MGM/UA. Starring William L. Petersen, Willem Dafoe and John Pankow. Rated R (lots of violence and obscene language, some male and female nudity and explicit sex—did I leave anything out?)
More reviews by —
TITLE:
RATING:
If you liked The French Connection, then you'll like To Live and Die in L.A. At least, that's implied by the ads for this movie, the latest from French Connection director Friedkin. And the hype is probably right.
The current movie has all the good stuff the older one had—stylish visuals, hard-boiled realism and some exciting and very well-filmed chases.
Unfortunately, To Live and Die in L.A. is also as bleak and as unrelievedly depressing as its predecessor. It displays the same astoundingly low opinion of humankind—bad guys, good guys and hangers-on—and the human condition.
A code of honor, of sorts, prevails among these low-lifes, but only in certain circumstances. A cop's partner is accorded fanatic loyalty, but his lover is treated like garbage. A successful counterfeiter is a perfect businessman, never welshing on a deal. But he's murderously cruel when he's ripped off.
Chance (Petersen) is the driving force in To Live and Die in L.A. And his engine runs on hate and restless energy. When his partner is killed following up a lead on a counterfeiting operation, he vows revenge. And he pursues it for the rest of the movie with a single-mindedness, and a penchant for violence, that would do Rambo proud.
Along the way he acquires a new partner who for some reason actually volunteers to pair up with him. This guy Vukovich (Pankow) spends most of the movie trying, with little success, to dampen Chance's excesses.
Originally fairly likeable himself, Vukovich eventually succumbs to the "my partner right or wrong" line of the cop code. He ends up being just as disgusting as his buddy.
Vukovich's attraction to Chance in the first place is never adequately explained, a major problem in the movie. Throughout we keep thinking: "Why is this nice kid getting mixed up with this creep?"
But wait! These are the good guys I've been talking about. The villains are much more despicable even though in some scenes it's hard to tell them apart without a scorecard.
The counterfeiter, Masters (Defoe), however, usually stands out in the crowd. His insane, sadistic personality, coupled with his obvious skill and intelligence, is truly frightening.
From the standpoint of form, as opposed to content, To Live and Die in L.A. is well worth seeing. The pacing is brisk for the most part, in spite of the predictability of most of the events. And the images are so strong. Friedkin, or someone on his staff, is a genius at finding locations for shooting—some stunning, some seedy, but always interesting.
The acting is also good. With no big, or even familiar, names among them, the cast has a fresh look. But their skills are well-honed.
So, for an excessively violent, sexist and definitely downbeat cops and robbers movie, To Live and Die in L.A. is pretty good. No more, no less.
November 20, 1985