”He’s responsible. Him and all the motherfuckers like him. They’re all the same. You know why they’re all the same? Because it’s never their ass that’s on the line. It’s always somebody else’s. Always yours, mine, ours.”It feels almost trite to say this is a perfect specimen of post-Vietnam alienation and post-Watergate alienation. It speaks to both of those, yes, but it also speaks to a sense of exhaustion, of living without the hope of a future, of knowing that there’s something better and also knowing you’ll never touch it. There’s Cutter, chewed up by the war. Bone, aimless and resigned to a life without meaning. And Mo (played by a revelatory Lisa Eichhorn) trapped in domestic purgatory, unable to give her love even when she desperately wants to. This is a movie made for a country that is going through the motions, one which can only rouse itself into action in pursuit of a villain who may not even be responsible for the crime it seeks to avenge. It’s a movie that could have been released in 2001 as easily as 1981, and honestly feels most appropriate for 2021.














