Mojave Review - AVClub

AVClub: By turns inert and logorrheic, William Monahan’s pseudo-intellectual nut-scratcher Mojave is a movie of barely furnished mansions and lens flare-speckled landscapes, where sneering men say things like “I’d believe Ahab if he had two legs” and “Let’s talk about the desert… Jesus came out here” and call each other “brother” while waving guns around. Stroking his inner Norman Mailer as hard as he can, Monahan spurts out digressions on machismo, lame swipes at the film industry, and unsolicited opinions on the greats. (Byron, Rimbaud, Shakespeare, Shaw: If they had a dick and pen, Mojave has something to say about them.) Like all undisciplined exercises in writer ego, Mojave is perversely watchable, though Monahan—screenwriter of The Departed, Kingdom Of Heaven, and the remake of The Gambler, and before that a bad-boy writer for the New York Press—never manages to elevate this nonsensical cat-and-mouse thriller to demented, parodic camp on the level of Mailer’s Tough Guys Don’t Dance.

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