Nobody does man-on-a-mission-badassery quite like Lee Marvin. Yet this can be even further amplified by a director who knows what he is doing on the style front. John Boorman may not have had an extensive resume in 1967 when he put a healthy European styled stamp on American cinema with Point Blank, but looking back at the mans work, he has visual charisma to spare. I would not be the least bit surprised by his influence on modern pastiche stylists like Brian DePalma, Quentin Tarantino and Steven Soderbergh (the latter of which does commentary duty with Boorman on the DVDs chatter-track). And this film is being quoted extensively in reviews as an influence for Jim Jarmusch‘s The Limits of Control (most likely from the writer/director’s not-so-subtle tipping of the hat via his one-off production company for Limits, named PointBlank Films).

OK, now that we have the influence out of the way, let us focus on the framing, and shots of this segment. It is that strange mix of momentum and meditative waiting (see The Limey or the sex scene in Out of Sight) that is rare and thrilling. Taking full advantage of the medium, Boorman uses echoing bootsteps as a metronome to an eventual encounter. Marvin’s face is determined, Sharon Acker who plays his wife here, previously stole his share of the loot and ran off with his best friend at a crucial point in the films opening robbery, is shown in cramped quarters, pampered and made up. Marvin relentlessly thumping through spacious corridors almost plays like a hallucinatory guilt trip to her ill gotten excesses. While seemingly blissfully unawares, and having herself primped at the beauty shop, she is soon shown to be a broken, unfulfilled shell on a collision course with her cold and hardened Ex. The pay off to the scene off is both explosive and futile, sort of the point of the film in general. You’ve gotta love art-house genre flicks.