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Wolfgang Peterson's In the Line of Fire is cunning and occasionally a truly white-knuckled ride, even if once or twice we might feel like we've been down similar roads before. How could one not when Clint Eastwood, right after (allegedly) closing the book on his western legacy, likely closes the one on his gritty detective pictures (don't count Blood Work in there). But there's more than that because Eastwood's character, here a hard-bitten, demon-ridden and hard as nails secret service agent, has a slightly charming side to him, even the more romantic side that one never got to see in the pictures where he spouted his trademark lines. There is some complexities going on here that don't rely on just the usual swagger, and it's note-worthy for how such a possibly contrived back story (didn't save Kennedy from being assassinated in 63) is made somewhat believable amidst the rest of his persona, which more than likely hides his wounds- most of the time. Eastwood goes to town to make himself a great presence in the film, however, and under the circumstances the character seems tailor made for him.
But there would be the risk of his part in the movie being slightly conventional (we still get the 'Harry' type scenes of him being smarter- and as smart-ass- over everyone else in the room, and being scolded and told to back off by the top brass, here a chief of staff), including here protecting a president that (wisely) we never really see or know at all. Even the romantic sub-plot, which is sort of undercooked if there for some machismo laughs, would make the picture a little sub-par if the other quasi-Dirty Harry aspect didn't come into the picture: an indelible villain. This time there's some extra Hollywood suspense, however brillaintly intelligent suspense (almost smarter than the rest of the movie deserves), with the "John Booth" character, played in an Oscar nominated performance by John Malkovich, as someone who's described more as a predator than an assassin. There's ways this could go wrong with the Eastwood character, but Malkovich possibly trumps some of his former villain counterparts by being extremely cool and un-collected (there's that devastating, cringe-worthy scene where he kills the bank teller and her roommate), and as his past is revealed, there's still that element of 'what the hell is with this guy' that keeps the audience and Eastwood's agent guessing and extra paranoid. It's a classic Malkovich performance, quintessentially creepy and always measured in the level of insanity and professionalism.
It's also, aside from the conventional points, just a sleekly made picture from Peterson and company, and they come pretty close to the spunky pulp realism of Don Siegel. But Peterson also has a couple of cinematic tricks up his sleeve that had me grinning at times; anytime someone puts in such a blatant but exciting homage to Vertigo- jumping from rooftop to rooftop, hero dangling from the ledge, the 'twist'- it still provides some shivers down my spine. There's also the phone conversations between Eastwood and Malkovich, where we see the depths of the cat and mouse game, probably another kick in the ribs to Hithcock. But in the end, even with all the excitement and brutal danger and crisp formalism in the climax, it's also a characters picture in some ways throughout, and everything is fairly realized to give the audience a fine amount to ponder over, at least in the suspense-movie sense. Eastwod's a great lead, Russo plays the female possible love-interest sincere and mature, and Malkovich is top of the pops. There's also a few notable supporting roles too, and a fine studio score in there. One of the better films of 1993.


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