Review of Papillon (1973) by Mike M — 25 Jan 2009

For its opening hour, this adaptation of Henri Charriere's memoir seems to be an attempt to cross prison drama with Laurel and Hardy-style odd-couple knockaround. Look at McQueen's "why-I-oughta.

.." expression as Hoffman bungles the pair's efforts to land a cushy work detail! Chuckle as they fail to wrestle a snapping crocodile out of a swamp! Thankfully, Hoffman then has his glasses trampled into the mud, McQueen is locked up in solitary after his first escape bid, and the film becomes a greatly more substantial proposition: a near-expressionist portrayal of what it means to exist in a five feet-by-five feet cell and wake up every morning in your own filth, complete with freakout dream sequences and long spells of darkness and silence.

(Steve McQueen, meet Steve McQueen: this was also the stuff of 2008's "Hunger".)... The remainder is a procession of grisly horrors - leper colonies, amputations, death traps, duplicitous nuns, softcore frolics with topless natives, unconvincing old-age make-up - eventually assuaged by a big bag of coconuts and held together by McQueen at his most vigorous: a performance that knows exactly how hard it is to keep one's cool, and one's marbles, when you're shitting in a bucket and pulling out your own teeth.