A Walk Among the Tombstones
When watching movies, many moviegoers settle into a comfortable seat of omniscience. The assumption with any story — whether a movie, book or otherwise — is that the storyteller won’t leave any loose ends. By the end of the story, the audience expects to know everything it needs to understand the characters and the plot.
Nearly as expected, and probably more important, is the storyteller’s obedience to the Chekhov’s gun dramatic principle, in which a gun that makes an appearance in the first chapter must go off in one of the following chapters. Or, essentially: If a story brandishes information of potential importance, that powerful morsel of plot must play out in the story through some form or another.
That being said, A Walk Among the Tombstones flies in the faces of both these foundational courtesies of storytelling, with some success. It’s a fun thriller wrapped in a hollow mystery that plays hard-to-get, wearing the visage of intellectuality when it’s really not much deeper than its glossy surface. As the plot leads you down an entertaining rabbit hole, you’re left with a story that leaves gaps and loose ends.
Liam Neeson (Non-Stop) plays Matt Scudder, a hardboiled ex-NYPD cop operating outside the law, offering his unlicensed skills in the usual array of murky activities: private investigations, deliveries, security and general badassery. Scudder reluctantly accepts a drug trafficker’s (Dan Stevens, The Fifth Estate) deal to find the kidnappers who murdered the man’s wife, engaging in a hunt for a pair of killers preying on wives of the wealthy.
The movie’s plot has the trappings of a psychological crime thriller, but ultimately there’s little to designate it as “psychological.” The mystery unfolds too naturally with little proactivity on Scudder’s part. The detective follows lead after circumstantial lead, putting together microscopic pieces of evidence and hearsay in pursuit of the killers, but the only real progress is made almost by luck, making all of Scudder’s work seem pointless.
Surrounding this mystery-turned-happenstance are other scenes that defy Chekhov’s gun, flashing moments that seem important, but aren’t. A common film technique is to feed the audience plot points that at first seem insignificant but reveal their relevance later. Director and writer Scott Frank (The Wolverine) uses this strategy with no end gain. Scudder references elements of his past — corruption in the NYPD, his ex-wife, his alcoholism — that don’t materialize as significant details.
With regard to the audience’s assumed omniscience, Frank holds the audience at something of an arm’s length. We’re shown only so much, with important scenes reduced to cutaways or told only through dialogue, leaving a lot to imagination. Throughout much of the movie, this evasive storytelling works nicely, giving us an on-the-ground feeling, as if we only know as much as Scudder can see.
However, the true victims of Frank’s style are the characters, who get little to no development throughout the story. After A Walk Among The Tombstones, I have no idea what motivates Scudder or the killers, whose motives and aspirations get zero screen time. Despite entertaining performances by Brian “Astro” Bradley (Earth to Echo) and David Harbour (Parkland), I feel no real pangs of empathy when their characters experience loss or triumph because the story never bothers to dive into their characters or expand their personas.
Despite their lack of development, the characters were actually what gave A Walk Among the Tombstones some of its most redeeming moments. Bradley’s charming portrayal of sidekick eager boy T.J. juxtaposed with Scudder’s lovable but stern cynicism gives the movie its genuine laughs, and the chemistry between Neeson and Bradley is evident in their exchanges of repartee.
A Walk Among the Tombstones’ characters are capable of love and loss, so long as you don’t look too deep. Much like a night out at the bars, mimicking true intimacy only goes so far: Once you get home, you realize you didn’t get to know the folks you met at all.
