After a short, unnecessary prologue about catching a wayward teen (Reese Witherspoon) in Mexico, and that going awry, we return to Los Angeles, where Newman is a very tired old man, living off the charity of Hackman and Sarandon, a pair of washed-up stars. Newman is Harry Ross, a detective no more. Now, he runs various errands for Jack Ames (Hackman), who is dying of cancer. His latest errand is to deliver a mysterious package to a woman. She isn't there, however. Instead, there is a dying man with a gun who shoots at Newman. Once the man collapses, Newman can't resist the detective instinct, and feels compelled to find out who this man was.
Predictably, blah blah, web of deceit, blah blah, corruption, blah blah, sex and murder. The story is less than compelling. While it is true that I didn't figure out who the principal villain was until close to the end, I didn't care either. My mind was not occupied with attempting to unravel the mystery being spun onscreen: a bad sign. My thoughts were more along the line of "Is that really Susan Sarandon, or is it a body double?"
If anything from Twilight deserves to be remembered, it is the score. Elmer Bernstein's original music, strongly reminiscent of Bernard Herrmann's for Vertigo and Jerry Goldsmith's for Chinatown, is hypnotic and beautiful: one of the best scores I've heard in years. In fact, it might be worth it to entirely forgo the movie and just buy the CD. I've never been a major fan of Bernstein, but his work here is outstanding.
Paul Newman, now in his seventies, has finally started to look his age. I don't think it is too great an exaggeration to state that Twilight could be the last movie in which he has first billing. If so, it is a strong one. Like all great noir detctives, Newman is world-weary. It's almost as if he's ready to lie down and die at any time: he displays no lust for life, just regret for all his past misdeed. The film strikes a false note later on, probably more of a screenwriting or directorial error, when Newman's character suddenly perks up and begins displaying a new lust for life.
Hackman and Sarandon play a former movie-star couple who are big, it's the pictures that got small. While both of them are sensationally good actors, it is something of a pity that their roles are underwritten. They start off so well as over-privileged, machiavellian Hollywood elite, so what is the point of turning them, somewhat later, into sentimental, under-brained dupes? Perhaps it was unrealistic of me to expect the Newman-Sarandon relationship in Twilight to come to an end similar to that of Bogart and Astor in The Maltese Falcon. If it had, however, it would have been a lot more satisfying. In any case, what Sarandon does, she does well. She is most fitting as an actress who, after so many years, still drives men to their deaths.
The rest of the cast is of the take-it-or-leave-it variety. I love James Garner, but he doesn't bring anything special to the supporting role of Newman's more successful colleague. Stockard Channing is anonymous as a police detective: I didn't even realize it was her until the final credits rolled. Liev Schreiber and Reese Witherspoon played a pair of slow-witted young people with no real distinction, while Giancarlo Esposito could have been replaced by Cheech Marin without anybody noticing.
It should be a criminal offence to waste a trio of principals like Newman, Sarandon, and Hackman. The script, while not the worst I've ever seen in the movies recently, still leaves a lot to be desired. It has potential, but the climax and denouement are huge disappointments, while the final scene contradicts the spirit of the rest of the film by suddenly making Newman's character break out of his gloominess.
Two-and-a-half stars
Copyright 1998 by Dale G. Abersold
