The history of early Hollywood is filled with fascinating intersections where the raw mythology of the American frontier crashed headlong into an emerging film industry that traded squarely in make-believe. Perhaps no intersection is more evocative than the genuine, documented friendship between silent film megastar Tom Mix and the legendary frontier lawman Wyatt Earp, who spent his final years in Los Angeles serving as an occasional, unpaid technical adviser on early Westerns. This bizarre piece of historical trivia forms the bedrock of Sunset, a highly ambitious, deeply eccentric 1988 genre hybrid written and directed by Blake Edwards. Coming off a string of broad comedies, Edwards attempted something remarkably complex here, trying to fuse a nostalgic period piece, a breezy buddy comedy, and a dark, hard-boiled murder mystery into a single cohesive experience. While the resulting film famously tanked at the box office and divided critics, looking back at it reveals a flawed, deeply fascinating work that deserves a much closer look than its contemporary reputation suggests.
Sunset lives in 1929, right at the transitional precipice when the silent era was giving way to the deafening arrival of talkies. Megalomaniacal studio head Alfie Alperin, played with a brilliant, quietly terrifying malice by Malcolm McDowell, decides to produce a massive, epic Western recounting the legendary gunfight at the O.K. Corral. To guarantee box office success, he casts his premier marquee idol, the flamboyant trick rider Tom Mix, portrayed by a young, pre-Die Hard Bruce Willis. To provide a veneer of historical authenticity, the studio hires the actual, aging Wyatt Earp, brought to life with effortless gravitas by James Garner. What begins as a cynical publicity stunt quickly transforms into a real-world adventure when the real and the reel Western heroes are thrust into a murky web of blackmail, prostitution, and high-level corruption that threatens to tear the shiny facade off the dream factory.
The absolute heart and soul of Sunset resides in the unexpected, electrifying screen partnership between James Garner and Bruce Willis. On paper, the pairing looks like a collision of diametrically opposed acting styles, but on screen, their chemistry is undeniable. Garner, who was revisiting the character of Earp for the second time in his career after starring in John Sturges’s Hour of the Gun two decades prior, grounds the entire picture. He brings a world-weary, laconic dignity to the role, playing Earp not as a flawless superhero, but as a tired historical relic who is deeply amused, and occasionally exasperated, by the ridiculous excesses of 1920s Tinseltown. Garner handles the action beats with an unhurried, muscular authority, reminding audiences why he was one of the premier Western and detective stars of his generation.
Willis, on the other hand, was right on the cusp of global superstardom, still leaning heavily into the cocky, fast talking persona he perfected on television. His interpretation of Tom Mix is a masterclass in performative vanity. Dressed in increasingly absurd, pure white cowboy outfits complete with oversized ten-gallon hats, Willis captures the essence of a silent film star who has bought entirely into his own hype. Mix is a showman who treats every room he walks into as a stage, yet Willis wisely infuses the character with a layer of genuine bravery and professional insecurity. When the bullets start flying for real, Mix does not cower; he draws his heavily ornamented prop revolvers and stands shoulder to shoulder with the genuine article. The banter between the two men, which oscillates between affectionate teasing and mutual respect, keeps the film engaging even when the surrounding plot threatens to derail.
Where Sunset ultimately stumbles, preventing it from achieving the status of a true Hollywood classic, is in its severe, whiplash inducing tonal shifts. Blake Edwards, an undisputed master of sophisticated slapstick and high energy comedy, struggles to find a unified rhythm for this story. The film frequently bounces back and forth between a lighthearted, breezy Hollywood romp and a genuinely sleazy, sadomasochistic noir thriller. One moment, the audience is treated to a charming, witty sequence where Earp thoroughly embarrasses a corrupt studio security chief, and the next, they are dragged into a sordid underworld of institutionalized prostitution, brutal beatings, and systemic domestic violence.
This dark undercurrent centers around a high class brothel run by Cheryl King, played by Mariel Hemingway, who caters exclusively to the twisted whims of the Hollywood elite. The central mystery involves the framing of a young man, played by a very young Dermot Mulroney, for a horrific murder tied back to a sadistic ring of powerful men. Edwards attempts to channel the cynical, hard boiled spirit of Raymond Chandler, but the transition from the sunny, optimistic studio lots to the pitch black violence of the crime scenes feels incredibly jarring. The film asks the viewer to laugh at physical comedy gags and romantic subplots while simultaneously asking them to invest in a heavy, depressing story about the victimization of young women by monstrously powerful industry executives.
Despite these narrative inconsistencies, the film boasts a collection of superb supporting performances that elevate the material. Malcolm McDowell is particularly unforgettable as Alfie Alperin. The character is an overt, deeply uncharitable pastiche of Charlie Chaplin, right down to his signature on screen persona, The Happy Hobo. McDowell plays Alperin with a chilling duality. To the public, he is a beloved, whimsical genius of silent comedy, but behind closed doors, he is a tyrannical, borderline sociopathic monster who uses his immense wealth and power to control, abuse, and destroy everyone in his orbit. It is a deeply uncomfortable performance that highlights the inherent darkness lurking behind the carefully manufactured innocence of early Hollywood celebrity.
Backing up Alperin are two dependable character actors playing deliciously corrupt authority figures. M. Emmet Walsh is fantastic as Marvin Dibner, the brutish chief of studio police whose primary responsibility is sweeping the elite's crimes under the rug. Walsh pairs brilliantly with Richard Bradford’s Captain Blackworth, a venomous, compromised LAPD officer. The scenes where James Garner’s Earp systematically dismantles these two crooked bullies through sheer, unbothered intimidation are easily among the highlights of the film, providing a satisfying burst of traditional Western justice in an environment defined by modern, bureaucratic rot.
From a purely technical perspective, Sunset is a gorgeously mounted production that beautifully captures the transitional aesthetic of the late 1920s. The production design by Rodger Maus is incredibly rich, painstakingly recreating the sprawling, chaotic nature of early studio lots, complete with massive open air stages, vintage camera rigs, and bustling crowds of background extras. The costume design by Patricia Norris is equally impressive, contrasting the immaculately tailored, high fashion evening wear of the Hollywood elite with the exaggerated, theatrical Western costumes worn by Tom Mix and his stunt team.
The film's visual identity is further enhanced by Anthony Richmond’s cinematography, which bathes the entire production in a warm, sepia-tinged nostalgia. The lighting captures the dust and glare of the California sun during the daytime sequences, while the nighttime scenes are defined by a glossy, high contrast look that mirrors classic film noir. Binding this entire experience together is an exceptional, evocative musical score by the legendary Henry Mancini. Mancini avoids his traditional comedic sensibilities here, delivering a rich, melancholic soundtrack that balances sweeping, old-fashioned Western motifs with low, jazzy, ominous orchestrations that emphasize the story's underlying danger.
One particular sequence stands out as an absolute stroke of cinematic genius, perfectly encapsulating the film's meta thematic ambitions. While watching a terribly inaccurate, highly sensationalized rough cut of the O.K. Corral silent film, Wyatt Earp experiences a sudden, internal flashback to the actual historic gunfight. Edwards seamlessly cuts to a stark, brutally realistic depiction of the shootout, devoid of Hollywood glamour or theatrical heroics. When the memory ends, a stunned Earp looks over at Tom Mix and quietly mutters that it was exactly like the movie. It is a quiet, profound moment that beautifully acknowledges the tragedy of history being permanently erased and rewritten by the seductive power of popular entertainment.
Sunset is a movie that bites off considerably more than it can successfully chew. It attempts to be a clever buddy comedy, a nostalgic valentine to the silent era, and a gritty, uncompromising neo-noir all at once, and it never quite manages to harmonize these disparate elements. The pacing can feel sluggish across its two-hour runtime, and certain subplots, particularly the romance between Earp and Hemingway’s character, feel underdeveloped and narrative-bound.
However, despite these undeniable flaws, the film remains an incredibly entertaining, highly unique piece of late eighties commercial filmmaking. The sheer novelty of seeing Bruce Willis and James Garner bounce off one another is worth the price of admission alone. It represents a bygone era of mid-budget studio filmmaking where a legendary director could get a massive budget to make a weird, personal, genre-blending historical fiction. It may remain a messy, fragmented experiment in Blake Edwards' legendary filmography, but it is a beautiful, deeply compelling mess that rewards viewers who appreciate films that take massive, wildly ambitious swings.
Physical media collectors have a direct incentive to revisit this title, as a new Blu-ray edition from Alliance Entertainment becomes available to own tomorrow, Tuesday, June 23. This release is a part of their popular retro VHS collection, which sports beautiful, nostalgic packaging designed to mimic a classic rental-era tape jacket. While the presentation looks fantastic on a shelf, fans should note that the disc itself is a bare-bones affair with no special features included. Despite the lack of bonus material, Sunset remains a fascinating, albeit imperfect film that absolutely belongs in any serious physical media collector's stash for its unique star pairing and historical ambition alone.
Comments