Debuting in 2004 during the initial boom of prestige TV
series, HBO’s Deadwood
arguably was and still may be the best program of the so-called “Golden Age of
Television” since the turn of the millennium. Over three seasons, the show presented a bleak, rough, intensely
vulgar view of history and society, but one that was also beautiful and full of
arresting characters. Then, just as civilization seemed to be reaching the
show’s namesake goldmining town, it was cancelled before it had the chance to
reach its planned conclusion.
Now, after years of rumors and false starts, the HBO version
of Deadwood lives again, at least for just under two hours. And things have
changed since last we visited. The town is now part of the new U.S. state of
South Dakota and looks positively modern by the standards of 1889. The
residents we came to know over the show’s run are grizzled and grey.
Obscenities still pepper their ornate dialogue, but it seems a little less
potent (whether this is a stylistic touch to reflect the town becoming more
civilized or just because the envelope for explicit content has been pushed ever further since the
show ended, I’m not sure).
Being a single telefilm, some limits that don’t befall a
season of a series do apply here. For instance, on Deadwood the show, nearly every speaking role had
depth, even if they only appeared in a few or even a single episode. The show's town of Deadwood was not just the canvas for the story of the lead characters, but a fully populated,
living community. Well, there’s little time for that in the film, and clock constraints also
reduce some rich, beloved main and supporting players to little more than
cameos. Also, the structure where each episode comprises a single day in the
town is abandoned, though the action is more confined than a general nebulous
timeframe commonly used in film.
In fact, the first 40 minutes or so comprise a single day,
and it’s here the movie feels most like its series counterpart. True, it mostly
consists of the residents walking around town and catching up with one another (thus letting the
viewers also catch up), and a few flashbacks to moments from the show for those who don’t remember the exact plot
details (which might be superfluous to those who rewatched the series ahead of
this movie, myself included). But, there is a joy at simply spending
time with these characters again, even if it doesn’t feel quite the same as
before. This portion also inventively contains several reflections of the terrific first
episode of the show, some obvious, some possibly coincidental. It’s definitely
fan service, but it’s fan service done right.
After that nostalgic opening act, conflict rears its head (I won’t go
into details, just say that Gerald McRaney’s evil robber baron George Hearst,
now a U.S. Senator, is back in town). Despite the shortened runtime, though,
said conflict still moves at a similar pace to a season of the show. Thus,
there isn’t near enough time for it to reach a boiling point. Moreover, the
narrative ultimately doesn’t seem terribly interested in it. Just when things
start to get brewing, the film instead shifts to saying its goodbyes, letting the conflict all but fizzle out.
So, too, does any sense of plotting or structure, all the more apparent in the coda to a series that was so expertly plotted and sterlingly written and rewritten to perfection. On the other hand, as the movie melancholily ambulates toward an endpoint, there are moments with characters who do get
screen time which still display some of that fantastic writing.
Among the cast, the standout is Timothy Olyphant as now-U.S. Marshal Seth Bullock. A little more mellowed and polished than before (perhaps a bit of Raylan Givens rubbed off from Olyphant's time on Justified), he nonetheless is as righteous and swift to dispense justice as ever. Often, the show seemed to relegate him to secondary lead behind costar Ian McShane, but here, he’s the lynchpin, and riveting as can be. By contrast, McShane’s saloonkeeper Al Swearengen is quieter, withered, and much scarcer than before, no longer the force in town he once was (but still one onscreen). This is the most affecting part of the picture, all the more so because one can see the real-life parallels with Deadwood creator David Milch. And the most uplifting story is that of Joanie Stubbs (Kim Dickens) and Calamity Jane (Robin Weigert), especially turns the latter’s arc takes.
Among the cast, the standout is Timothy Olyphant as now-U.S. Marshal Seth Bullock. A little more mellowed and polished than before (perhaps a bit of Raylan Givens rubbed off from Olyphant's time on Justified), he nonetheless is as righteous and swift to dispense justice as ever. Often, the show seemed to relegate him to secondary lead behind costar Ian McShane, but here, he’s the lynchpin, and riveting as can be. By contrast, McShane’s saloonkeeper Al Swearengen is quieter, withered, and much scarcer than before, no longer the force in town he once was (but still one onscreen). This is the most affecting part of the picture, all the more so because one can see the real-life parallels with Deadwood creator David Milch. And the most uplifting story is that of Joanie Stubbs (Kim Dickens) and Calamity Jane (Robin Weigert), especially turns the latter’s arc takes.
Deadwood: The Movie
doesn’t provide a ton of closure, and does not continue many specific plotlines or
tighten any loose ends from the series. Frankly, the show’s final episode—a bit
abrupt and so downbeat, but conclusive and thematically fitting—is a better
ending. The film is more like an overdue funeral and memorial service for the show. It’s sad at times, and laments the fact that it never got to do everything it wanted,
but also happy and celebratory, and mindful of
why the show was so good and beloved.
