Movie Review: The Magnificent Seven

Denzel Washington and Chris Pratt saddle up for a remake of The Magnificent Seven, which itself was a remake of Seven Samurai. ‘Spose this one will do until the next.

There are certain pictures considered too sacrosanct to remake. Citizen Kane. The Godfather. Ghost Dad. (Actually, there’s probably a different reason that last IP has not been further exploited.)

Why then is it open season on Akira Kurosawa’s Seven Samurai, widely considered among the greatest entries into the cinematic canon?

In 1960 – just six years after Kurosawa’s own masterpiece became one of Japan’s highest grossing films – John Sturges supplanted its 16th century tale of wandering ronin recruited by helpless farmers facing an attack by bandits.

Sturges changed the landscape to America’s wild west and cast Yul Brynner and Steve McQueen as the leading guns-for-hire. It wasn’t better than Seven Samurai - far from it - but it had iconic vistas, charismatic performances for days and a timeless musical sting. It too has been escorted into the pantheon of greats.

And yet, it’s not above pillaging either. Six decades later, another iteration arrives.

You need a damn good reason – and better execution – to warrant a third remake of anything. (The recent Ben-Hur was the third of its line, and the box office figures indicate it failed on both fronts.)

Antoine Fuqua’s Magnificent Seven never finds an excuse for its being better than, “We will show you a moustached Denzel Washington on a horse.” At least the execution is entertaining. Indeed, if you want to see a moustached Denzel Washington on a horse, this is the place to get it.

He plays Sam Chisolm, a bounty hunter who raises plenty of eyebrows whenever he rolls into town. (Note that this takes place not long after the Civil War, in formerly Confederate country.) A young woman by the name of Emma Cullen (Haley Bennett) spies his gun-slinging talents and pleads with him to protect her small town of Rose Creek from its tormentor, Bart Bogue (Peter Sarsgaard), a violent industrialist as handy with a weapon as he is indiscriminate with his targets.

Chisolm - seeking righteousness and maybe a bit of vengeance on the side - recruits six fellow head-hunters for a battle against Bogue’s army of plunderers. There’s the wisecracking Faraday (Chris Pratt, in the McQueen part), Mexican outlaw Vasquez (Manuel Garcia-Rulfo), Native American warrior Red Harvest (Martin Sensmeier) and lumbering bear-man Jack Horne (Vincent D’Onofrio). Most dangerous is the knife-wielding Billy Rocks (Byung-hun Lee), who was tutored by sharpshooter Goodnight Robicheaux (Ethan Hawke), a long-time friend of Chisolm’s. (Maybe they bonded over breakfast?)

They arrive at Rose Creek and begin preparing the simple townsfolk for warfare. You’d almost say the odds were against them, if you hadn’t already seen the same plot unfold twice before.

Washington, as you’d expect, is reliably sturdy – and quite a bit playful – out front of his magnificent septet. Pratt, disappointingly, is being consistently relied upon to be generically handsome rather than sweetly funny, where his truest talents lie. He’s a pleasant presence, but stepping into the spur-prints of Steve McQueen (and Toshiro Mifune before both) is a challenge that goes beyond even FBI agent Burt Macklin's expertise. Instead, scenes are stolen with ease by Lee and Hawke, a cute and endearing double act (as far as ruthless murderers can be).

Screenwriters Richard Wenk and True Detective’s Nic Pizzolatto don’t have to break the back of the narrative, already set in stone; their challenge comes from giving each of the seven stars a fresh introduction and fresher barbs to hurl at one another. They do right by their charming performers, giving each a hero’s welcome, and, in some instance, a hero’s exit. However, they had no chance of bettering the introduction of this sword-slinging samurai.

(NB: I will assume Pizzolatto provided Sarsgaard’s opening, baffling speech about the comparative values of land and dust until told otherwise.)

Fuqua, a filmmaker with many lows and modest highs, deftly handles his ensemble and conducts the feature’s climactic shootouts with vigour and poise. He’s fighting the tide of history here, volunteering his name for comparison with Kurosawa and Sturges. His frequent collaborator, cinematographer Mauro Fiore, does him a solid, evoking the silhouetted framing of classic westerns.

Though it’s not enough to make you want to scrub his predecessors from the history books, Fuqua does enough here to leave a mark. In fact, his very presence is enough of a statement, setting aside his black leading man and otherwise culturally diverse cast. Fuqua brings a new perspective to a tired, often problematic (through 2016's lens) genre; reverent, but also mischievous. As often as he honours TM7’s legacy, he seems just as intent to subtly, subversively undermine it. Loyalists might be disappointed that his movie loses the defeated nihilism of the originals’ endings. Still, the particulars of the survivors who ride off into the sunset turn long-held – and racist - cinematic expectations on their head.

This is the way to remake. Hollywood keeps calling mulligans on Spider-Man, changing nothing except the precise manner in which Peter Parker shoots his webbing. Look to the lineage of The Magnificent Seven for real evolution; a variety of voices behind and in front of the camera. We've even seen bugs have a crack. I look forward to a female interpretation in the not-so-distant future.

3.5/5

In cinemas September 29. Rated M for violence.