I didn’t hate Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, let me be clear about that. And I enjoyed much of the dialog, most of the acting and the idea of the story itself. But. It was not a great film. Its flaws are many and crippling. I am a big fan of Frances McDormand, Woody Harrelson and Sam Rockwell, and I enjoyed watching them all onscreen this time around, but were these really Oscar-level performances? Can great acting overcome a mediocre script? I’m dubious. Bearing in mind that awards often don’t age well (Dances With Wolves vs. Goodfellas, anyone? Shakespeare In Freaking Love vs. Saving Private Ryan?), I just don’t understand the gushing love for Three Billboards. Here are some of my complaints, in no particular order, and yes, there will be ***SPOILERS AHEAD***
- What’s with an entire police department full of station rats? No one likes a station rat; not supervisors, not other cops, yet everyone seemed cool with the whole shift dicking around the station all day . . . except when Officer Dixon (Rockwell) ventures out to the hinterlands one night to find the famed billboards being posted.
- Oh, but wait, there’s no night shift for Dixon to have been working! Remember? He goes to the station to pick up the gooshy letter after it has been closed for the day. Sure, there are departments that work daywork only, but, well, see above.
- Speaking of which, why are they doing the billboard work in the pitch black?
- Speaking of the billboard workers, isn’t it great that the two black people in all of Ebbing met because of the billboards and progressed quickly to dating? Awwwww . . .
- Minor point, but why did the Chief’s wife have to have an odd, unexplained accent? South African? (Checks IMDB. Nope, Australian.)
- Does the team from Winter’s Bone get some acknowledgment for creating John Hawkes’ (Mildred’s ex(?)-husband Charlie) character? Because he was basically Uncle Teardrop without the meth.
- The state sends a replacement chief after Willoughby’s death. Wuh? What is this, high school, and we send a substitute teacher, er chief of police?
- And when said presto chief arrives to find Dixon in mid-civil rights violation-cum-malicious wounding, he sends him home? What happened, stranger chief, did you leave your handcuffs and arrest powers in substitute chiefs bullpen?
- And the rapey stranger who isn’t guilty, yet still feels the need to go threaten Mildred (and happens to know her name (thanks, Dr. Evil)), what about him? Why is he in Deer Crotch, MO when he lives in Bald Hump, Idaho? Oh yeah, the [begin deep reverb] Spooky Government Spook Operator Top Secret Dude Guy backstory. Oy.
- Pretty cool how Chief Willoughby’s message of love turns Dixon around so wholly and quickly, you know, until it’s time for a revenge cross country road trip. Double oy.
Why am I so critical? Because this could have been a really great film. It had all the makings of one, but lacked a critical outside eye during production, someone to point out the flaws before they were committed permanently to celluloid (digits, whatever). I wish I could attribute this, but I can’t remember who said it: Three Billboards . . . is like a Coen brothers film, if someone left the catering staff in charge of making the film. Boom.
The music was good. (See, positive note.)
Dances With Wolves has an 8 on IMDB, which is the threshold of excellence. Then, while Goodfellas is excellent and the whole point of Pesci’s character is he’s a loose cannon, the overacting strains belief. Saving Private Ryan though? Truth.
DWW, like Full Metal Jacket and Stripes, is a fine, fine film. It’s just that there’s some godawful thing attached to that fine film; some call it the second half, I call it a damned shame.