There’s hardly an extended action scene in Ed Harris’ new Western “Appaloosa.” Everybody is such a good shot that almost all the gunfights last about two seconds. Actor/co-writer/director Harris, working from a book by Robert B. Parker, is clearly not worried about modern action conventions. He also knows what classic Westerns should look and sound like—lots of gorgeous landscape shots at dusk and homespun, crowd-pleasing humor that celebrates the “simple” man. A traditional Western in every sense of the word, it seems weird to call “Appaloosa” new at all.

Set in 1882, the movie stars Harris as Virgil Cole, a town marshal who is buttoned up a little too tight for his own good. He and his faithful sidekick, the laconic Everett (Viggo Mortensen), know each other better than brothers. Everett even regularly finishes sentences for Virgil when he gets hung up on big words—a running joke that gets old after the first time. Watching each other’s back for 12 years, the duo have become essentially nomadic lawmen for hire, and they travel from town to town taking out the trash (the bad guys). In order to do that, the lawmen require total authority. The town of Appaloosa, New Mexico hires them to take on the nasty Randall Bragg (Jeremy Irons), a rancher whose bullies regularly beat up and kill whomever they please, and in order to do that, town leaders must give up complete executive control.

But the biggest threat to Virgil and Everett comes off the train one day in the form of Allison French (Renee Zellweger), a widow who raises both men’s eyebrows. It’s a tried and true Western theme: the only thing that can come between the honor and respect that two men have for each other is a woman. In the case of Allison, she’s not really the typical virtuous woman in Westerns who just needs protection from a good man. Everything about her past is a mystery. This test to the men’s friendship is at the heart of “Appaloosa,” but what’s interesting is that the pair never doubt each other’s loyalty. Rather, the test is about how far each man will go and what they will give up for the other person.

The conflict between Bragg and the lawmen is one of iron wills, and all the actors involved have more than enough chops to involve an audience deep enough into their macho standoff. Everett seems the most human, confiding in a local prostitute, while Virgil has a darker side—a deep, simmering rage that is hinted at but only seen once. Had it been explored any further, this could have been a very different and far trickier, movie. Had Virgil abused his power on a regular basis, it would have leapt “Appaloosa” into different territory altogether. The key to Irons’ villainous Bragg is in his eyes. While his steely gaze suggests a man at the ready to fight at a moment’s notice, you also get the feeling that he may have met his match in Virgil.

There are several interesting subplots and minor characters, such as a young ranch hand brave enough to tattle on Bragg, whose backstories aren’t really delved into. It feels like Harris may have jettisoned elements from the novel in favor of setting a relaxed pace and sticking to the thrust of the main story that he wanted to tell.

“Appaloosa” doesn’t break any new ground. It’s not a revisionist Western, but it’s a solid throwback to the kinds of movies that championed the values that defined America during its expansion. In essence, when Virgil and Everett act with authoritarian power, they remain on a higher side of moral authority.

It also feels very much like a pet project of Harris, who hearkens back to a less-complicated period in history when men (at least the ones they made movies about) actually said what they meant and meant what they said. I suppose that there is some sort of comfort to be taken in a movie that champions uncomplicated, if unelected, officials like this coming out at a time when we have little to no faith in ours.

Tags: appaloosa movie review, appaloosa review, ed, harris, mortensen, Renée Zellweger, viggo

The first thing I will promise from this review is that there will be no bad football puns—no “Clooney fumbles at the goal line,” no “quarterback runs wrong play from pigskin playbook,” no “director scores a touchdown but misses the extra point.” I just won’t do it, you hear? I won’t stoop to that level, you hear? And just because I’ve already printed those words doesn’t mean I’ve already…nevermind!

If I had to pick one person from Hollywood to helm and star in a loving tribute to the old school screwball comedies of the 1930s, it would be George Clooney. He’s already shown he can act exaggerated repartee to perfection in the Coens’ slapstick and slapdash Depression-era Homer interpretation “O Brother Where Art Thou?” Able to spit out a wordy froth of Olde English and Southern drawl in machine-gun fashion, Clooney earned himself a Golden Globe and helped make that film a cult classic.

“Leatherheads” doesn’t contain all the traits of a screwball comedy (such as class issues, topsy-turvy gender roles, and mistaken identity), but there are enough romantic triangles, tight spots, and fast-talking to know what director Clooney was going for. No matter how accurate the set design and costumes are or how many times the characters in “Leatherheads” use phrases like “cook your goose,” the movie never builds to that ridiculous fever pitch that it should.

At least as a sports film, it is anachronistic enough to not grow tired. There’s no underdog team fighting to reach the big game in a slow motion climax—just a story about a man who doesn’t want to grow up. Loosely based on the story of NFL running back John McNally, “Leatherheads” finds pro football struggling to survive while its college counterparts play to sold-out crowds.

An aging team captain named Dodge Connolly (Clooney) recruits a war hero and university star named Carter Rutherford (John Krasinski) to play for his Duluth Bulldogs and things start to turn around for the whole league. Meanwhile, big-city reporter Lexie Littleton (Renée Zellweger) is assigned to uncover the truth about Rutherford’s war record, and ends up the object of both men’s desire.

The story wants to be madcap and freewheeling, but it doesn’t quite take flight. The overgrown child who must save his team when faced with the prospect of getting a real job is a good set-up, but too many madcap situations are resolved too easily. The movie just rolls along with its carefree, lighthearted attitude, but without the zip that it truly needs.

One problem is that the wordplay—which is delivered by all involved as charmingly as you could ask for—is just not that clever. This is too bad, since the screenplay by Duncan Brantley and Rick Reilly has been bouncing around Hollywood for over 15 years. It is almost as if the director wanted to try his hand at the genre, so he grabbed the only movie out there that fit.

Another problem is that a lot of the gags fall flat, and some end with an awkward fade-out into the next scene. When Dodge and Lexie are being chased by police, they happen upon a suicide jumper. Trapped on a ledge, the pair decide that the net below that’s meant for him is their only way out. Since they are dressed as cops themselves (long story) and the desperate man’s family and more police oblivious to the chase are below, the scene is rife with comic possibilities. Unfortunately, it’s over all too soon, and one cop mumbles something about the jumpers being police as the scene fizzles out.

It may be more appropriate to compare the feel of “Leatherheads” to “The Sting,” a minor trifle starring Paul Newman and Robert Redford that won Best Picture in 1974. Like “The Sting,” it is too long and it never builds up to any heated frenzy, it just kind of exists, out of its time, to remind us that these kinds of films sprung up naturally from the Vaudeville aesthetic and the effects of the Great Depression.

“Leatherheads,” if anything, is an admirable attempt at recreating this specific brand of agile, breezy comedy. At least “The Sting” had an effective con artist plot to hang itself on, while Clooney’s effort seems like just that—an effort.

Tags: football, George Clooney, John Krasinski, Leatherheads, movie review, NFL, Renée Zellweger, screwball comedy