Richard Condon wrote the book this movie is based on, but, since I didn't read the book, I don't know if Winter Kills (1979) is faithful and, therefore, idiotic. Condon was the author of The Manchurian Candidate, and I have no freaking idea what happened--if the movie is, as I said, faithful.
It's that bad.
Making a dark comedy about the assassination of a US President is a stretch. When the whole film, something like 95 minutes (?), tells a heavy-on-meaning, disjointed, and ludicrous mirror image of the JFK assassination, anyone with a shred of maturity would want to scream.
Especially when Sterling Hayden shows up with a flock of WWII armor and tries to blow Jeff Bridges off the planet. He can do it too. Bridges is driving a Ford Pinto, and one good hit will make a beautiful fireball.
John Huston is there, looking like the ancient monstrosity we all came to know and hate. He's the Old Joe Kennedy. We get to meet the second shooter. Bridges has no visible profession, and you can't make a living on running your fingers through your hair at dramatic moments unless you're in the movies.
There's a hooker with an empty space where her heart should be. Bridges finds out that the love of his life is a sham. Couldn'ta seen that one, for sure.
By the end, you know nothing, you feel pretty much ripped off, and Jeff Bridges practices his Big Lebowski look to perfection. Oh, but you do get to see John Huston get his just desserts in a really important and meaningfulish image at the end of this boring trash.
Folks, have at it.
It's that bad.
Making a dark comedy about the assassination of a US President is a stretch. When the whole film, something like 95 minutes (?), tells a heavy-on-meaning, disjointed, and ludicrous mirror image of the JFK assassination, anyone with a shred of maturity would want to scream.
Especially when Sterling Hayden shows up with a flock of WWII armor and tries to blow Jeff Bridges off the planet. He can do it too. Bridges is driving a Ford Pinto, and one good hit will make a beautiful fireball.
John Huston is there, looking like the ancient monstrosity we all came to know and hate. He's the Old Joe Kennedy. We get to meet the second shooter. Bridges has no visible profession, and you can't make a living on running your fingers through your hair at dramatic moments unless you're in the movies.
There's a hooker with an empty space where her heart should be. Bridges finds out that the love of his life is a sham. Couldn'ta seen that one, for sure.
By the end, you know nothing, you feel pretty much ripped off, and Jeff Bridges practices his Big Lebowski look to perfection. Oh, but you do get to see John Huston get his just desserts in a really important and meaningfulish image at the end of this boring trash.
Folks, have at it.