Clint EastwoodThe plot is simple and, for the most part, true. In the toilet, he removed his shirt and armed himself with an assault rifle, a clint eastwood new movie, and oxymetholone opis box cutter. Carrying almost three hundred rounds of ammunition, he emerged and made his way into the adjacent car. The rifle was wrested from him by an American-born Frenchman, Mark Moogalian, only for Khazzani to shoot him with the pistol. The assailant retrieved the rifle, levelled it at eastwod young American airman, Spencer Stone, and clint eastwood new movie.
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The plot is simple and, for the most part, true. In the toilet, he removed his shirt and armed himself with an assault rifle, a pistol, and a box cutter. Carrying almost three hundred rounds of ammunition, he emerged and made his way into the adjacent car. The rifle was wrested from him by an American-born Frenchman, Mark Moogalian, only for Khazzani to shoot him with the pistol.
The assailant retrieved the rifle, levelled it at a young American airman, Spencer Stone, and fired. He was beaten in the face with the rifle butt, subdued, and tied up. Stone, badly cut in the struggle, then attended to Moogalian, who was bleeding profusely from a neck wound.
The train soon stopped at Arras and the French police arrived. Khazzani was arrested and taken away. Paramedics took over from Stone. It was quite a story at the time, and the news coverage was excitable and widespread. But how do you make a ninety-four-minute movie out of an incident that lasted a matter of minutes, however crazed those minutes may have been? Just as the attack on the train is about to erupt, we cut to Sacramento, in , where Spencer and Alek are buddies, and where their mothers are called in by the principal, who diagnoses attention-deficit disorder and advises medication.
An excellent retort, for anyone wishing to hold back the tide of Ritalin, but even here you can feel the movie glancing to the future: The boys are moved to a Christian middle school, where, once again, they are constantly in trouble, and where they meet the young Anthony on the basketball court. In one peculiar sequence, he goes round to see Spencer, who opens his closet and hauls out an entire arsenal of toy guns, tossing them onto the bed.
As I watched the scene, I thought, You could cut it out of this movie and paste it, unchanged, into another one, about a nice suburban kid who grows up and carries out a mass shooting. The toys will save lives. To be fair, such an argument will make perfect sense not just to members of the N.
Think of the Iraqi boy and his mother, also armed with a grenade, whom the sniper shoots when they approach a U. Think of the creepy scene in which, back in Texas with his wife and children, he pretends to be a cowboy, prowling his own home with pistol drawn. Some viewers hailed that film as a waving of the flag. Others saw the price that was paid by the soldiers and their kinfolk, in body and mind, for the sake of a questionable cause, as uncomfortably high.
To an extent, that is accurate; scores of people could have died on the train were it not for Stone and his pals, and everything in the movie arrows toward that point. What makes the movie peculiar is not the plot, or the back-and-forth structure, or the staging of the climactic fight, which is done with the clarity and the economy that we have come to expect, over the decades, from the director.
He is now eighty-seven. The oddity is the cast. There are professional actors in the film, but mostly in lesser roles: But all the major protagonists, as grownups, play themselves—Stone plays Stone, Sadler plays Sadler, and so on. Most disturbing of all is that Moogalian plays Moogalian. In other words, he has to run down the corridor of a train, pretend to get shot, pretend to collapse, and lie there with fake blood pouring out of a fake hole in his neck, which is being plugged by the fingers of a real compatriot.
Looking on is his real wife, Isabelle, who also plays herself; rushing to his aid, before too long, is the same paramedic who originally hurried aboard at Arras and gave him morphine for the pain.
But there is no pain, this time. Though unusual, this kind of thing is not unprecedented. He was kind of a shrimp, a source of amusement to his men. He has one advantage over his modern counterparts, in that many of his lines of spoken dialogue are either on the battlefield or under conditions of service, between ranks—useful cover for any stiffness of delivery. I hope the drinks were real, at least.
One guy coming out of a toilet, however monstrous his intentions, is no match for that. Imagine if professional actors had assumed command. Imagine if everybody involved in the desperate tussle had received the biographical treatment, in much more concentrated form, that Eastwood bestows on Stone, Skarlatos, and Sadler.
What was his story that day? Or the French banker who was the first person to tackle the gunman? He elected not to appear in the film, and his name has not been released. We are told that two French citizens were decorated for their bravery on the train, but that important information is shyly tucked away in the end credits.
Above all, what of Ayoub El Khazzani, the Moroccan at the heart of these events, who was already on the radar of the authorities in both Spain and France? Was this not an ideal opportunity to trace the paths—whether of grievance, paranoia, faith, or wrath—that lead a young man to dreams of slaughter?
Was he not, in his way, catapulted toward his purpose no less firmly than Stone and his companions were, and with an equally fervent belief that he was obeying the decrees of his God?
For answers to such inquiries, of course, you would have to ask Khazzani himself, but he was not at liberty, for understandable reasons, to re-create his role for this perplexing movie. Not even Clint Eastwood could arrange that.
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