It’s a tribute to Paul Schrader’s unnerving skills as a filmmaker that his least interesting outings are still pretty damned fascinating. Happily, The Walker, though occasionally hindered by its micro-budget and tax-busting Isle Of Man location shoot, is a worthy addition to a quadrilogy that includes Taxi Driver, American Gigolo and Light Sleeper.
Like those titles and Robert Bresson’s Pickpocket (famously Mr. Schrader’s favourite film), The Walker centres on a ne’er-do-well who transcends the triviality that previously defined his existence. As with Richard Gere’s gigolo and Willem Dafoe’s insomniac drug-dealer, Woody Harrelson’s Carter Page III is purified in the cauldron of a murder investigation. And like Robert De Niro’s transplanted Ethan Edwards, much of the action involves The Man In His Room, or failing that, The Man In His Car.
With a nod to Jerry Zipkin, who “walked” Nancy Reagan and Betsy Bloomingdale, Mr. Harrelson does a mean Truman Capote impersonation as the titular “walker” to Washington society ladies including Kristin Scott Thomas, Lauren Bacall, Mary Beth Hurt, and Lily Tomlin. Together, as they swap high-class gossip and sigh their way through grandiose functions, they make Dorothy Parker’s Algonquin Round Table seem like a teddy bear’s picnic. In the quieter moments between canasta parties and covering for Ms. Scott Thomas’ affairs, Mr. Harrelson’s modern ‘eunuch’ retreats to his fashionable apartment and wearily removes his cufflinks and toupee.
His flashy existence is finally disrupted when Ms. Scott Thomas finds her lobbyist lover (Hartley) stabbed to death. By helping her out, Carter becomes the prime suspect and is forced to turn amateur sleuth. Aided by his German-Turkish lover Emek (Bleibtreu), our reluctant hero discovers that the deceased had all manner of dirt on his own dear vicious circle. All available shoulders suddenly become very cold indeed.
Unfortunately, by hurriedly unravelling the conspiracy in the final minutes, the film becomes somewhat unravelled as well. It’s a shame that the denouement feels premature in an otherwise compelling picture distinguished by entertainingly catty performances. But don’t let that deter you. Frequently The Walker is up there with Auto Focus and that, you’ll recall, was worth crossing the street for, even if that street was infested by rabid zombies.