So many movies mature into something better than what they were when they were young. Cimino's Heaven's Gate, for example, grew into itself; the director's cut is a lavish, visually beautiful, poignant western, having distanced itself from the director's excess when it was made. Raising Arizona and Repo Man both established themselves as brilliant-but-formerly-misunderstood classics, even funnier today than when they were released to the "lukewarm critical reception" filmmakers dread. But Kasdan's 1994 Wyatt Earp was bad prior to release, bad upon release, and remains bad over a quarter of a century later.
Made as a Costner-centric response to the flawed-but-fun Tombstone, Wyatt Earp is more tribute to one man's ego than to one man. Costner withdrew from the wildly popular Tombstone project to create a film more narrowly focused on one character - coincidentally, the very character Costner attempted to portray, Wyatt himself. He mumbles and glowers his way through a muddy, weepy, angsty version of Wyatt and the events that shaped the man. Costner's weak pre-pubescent voice is a perfect fit for this flimsy but star-filled vehicle.
The normally-reliable Kasdan is at his worst here. The normally-lovable cast of the film, depicting what are apparently supposed to be "headstrong" women (read: bitchy and insufferable), carefree villains (read: indistinguishable from each other), introspective heroes (read: fond of hearing themselves emote), and politically-oriented townspeople (read: gnat-like and annoying), are unmemorable, unlikable, and most certainly unlovable. With the possible exception of Dennis Quaid's bug-eyed Doc Holliday, the cast fails at rising above the bland, predictable, sappy script. Unlike Tombstone, arguably the most quotable movie of its decade, Wyatt Earp offers not a single quote worthy, memorable line - except those you'd quote to mock the movie, like the final exchange between Wyatt and Josephine. (Although hearing various Earp brothers say, "Shut up, Allie," is always welcome.)
What makes the move so unbearably bad, though, is that it takes itself so very, very seriously. It's too earnest, too proud of its dull exterior, too self-assured of its own profundity. Like a college kid who hears a cool concept in Philosophy 101 and can't wait to tilt his head and, with gravitas, repeat the idea at every bar he visits, Wyatt Earp is sure you're going to be duly impressed. Instead, you find yourself anticipating each line and saying it aloud before the character gets around to making an intense expression and then proffering it with so much deliberateness. Need another movie drinking game? Guess the next line and drink up each time you get it right! Pro-tip: Stock up heavily on what you'll be drinking, and arrange for that designated driver in advance.
Visually, the movie fails to enchant. This can't be blamed on the shortage of western costumes available due to not one, but four, westerns being produced at the same time - because Costner's team got first pick. From Wyatt's sad little hat to a weird slope-brim confection that real-life Johnny Behan would NEVER be seen in, the headwear is dismal. The women's dresses, usually such a joy in good westerns, are bland. Does Mattie Blaylock even OWN more than one dress? What desperate dudes would even visit hookers in such drab duds? Kudos to the Tombstone team for having period clothing made by everyone from the Opera company in Tucson to Stetson, while having those exquisite - and colorful - women's clothes shipped in from Europe. The western vistas are ... wait, did western vistas even make an appearance in this shadow-filled mostly-indoor film? Filmed largely in Las Vegas, New Mexico - an endearing, authentic, gritty, historic western town built around a terrific square - the street scenes are surprisingly flat, the town curiously devoid of its own character. If Costner was worried about focus being shifted away from his Earp, he needn't worry with the stages set for this debacle. These sets will never upstage him.
Historically, the film gets a nod for depicting Behan's conversation with Earp in which he tells Earp there's enough to go around, but that's about it. Virgil and Morgan weren't shot on the same night, but months apart. Johnny Ringo committed suicide after a day of drinking, and wasn't the victim of a revenge shooting. Virgil Earp was shot in the OTHER arm. There's no way in hell Wyatt mumbled as much as Costner's character, or people around him would've shot him just to be rid of that incessant whining.
Worst of all, the film is brutally ill-paced. Overlong, it would still be languid had it been a merciful 90 minute production. I have visions of the wonderful Val Kilmer version of Doc Holliday from Tombstone butting in and saying, "Oh, I know! Let's TALK" in a paraphrase of his iconic "I know! Let's have a spelling contest!" jibe. That's what these characters do: They ... talk. And talk. And talk, and yet purport nothing.
This might just be one of those films you have to watch just to appreciate the sheer badness of being. You might even want to take notes, in fact - because you most definitely do not want to have to watch it twice if you miss anything.
Want to see if you can get through it? Here's a link (and I do earn a commission if you opt to torture yourself this way): Wyatt Earp film. If you can find something good to say about this movie, please share. You'll be a daisy if you do.
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