The Dogs of War (1980)

The Dogs of War (John Irvin, 1980)
Walken plays: Jamie Shannon - Mercenary, opportunistic husband, unconvincing ornithologist

Synopsis: Revisiting Walken's earlier career, you really get a sense of how much later directors verged on plagiarising trying to capitalize on his early spark - 1991's McBain, namely, is nothing more than a functional remake of The Dogs of War, only more action-y and not as well thought-out. The Dogs of War is a rock-solid early take on the international mercenary-led political coup narrative before it became bastardized by a generation of pulpier Rambo knock-offs. Based on the novel by Frederick Forsyth, veteran of '70s spy-thrillers like The Day of the Jackal, there's more than a whiff of John le Carré here, as Walken's Jamie Shannon undertakes two operations into the (fictional)African republic of Zangaro, corrupt and dictator-led: one surveillance, and one military siege, all eventually revealed to be governed by British mining interests.



Director Irvin certainly isn't afraid to take his time here, devoting long stretches of film to the intricacies of Shannon's incursion, from his being held up at the airport by corrupt border guards, to his fastidious memorizing the Latin names of local birds to substantiate his cover as ornithologist. The film's action interrupts its magnetic, steady pacing in frantic bursts: the opening sequence, detailing a previous incursion, breathlessly thrusts the viewer into the chaotic fray. Midway through, Shannon is captured and brutally beaten by the Zangaro military, while his return with his strike team is a long time coming, but a spectacular maelstrom of pyrotechnics once it comes. Is it all worth it? We, like Shannon, are too bludgeoned by the senselessness of combat and political string-pulling by the end to be sure.


The Dogs of War is also crucial in illustrating how best to play Walken as a leading man: let him play the strong, silent type, and let his eerily riveting facial expressions provide the exposition. Slinking through the film with ruthless composure like an eerily doll-like Terminator, Walken's Shannon is perfectly bottled up - hard-edged professionalism as survival mechanism. It's probably the closest he's ever come to a conventional leading man performance - there's no goofiness here, just the occasional sarcastic one-liner or glint of pure madness in his eyes exposing at his torment and secret compassion for the lives of his strike team underneath - but he's ruthlessly believable, particularly when his ideals threaten to surpass his flinty composure, and he lashes out volcanically. There's a multifold catharsis that comes from Shannon finally getting to let loose with a grenade launcher in the final incursion on Zangaro, but his dead-eyed departure from the war zone suggests there is still no peace to be had. It's a remarkably subtle performance, and enough to make you miss the days when Walken was an actor foremost, and Christopher Walken the cult icon second.



Wacky Walken dialogue: It's more 'Cool Walken' than 'Wacky Walken', but we'll take it: after his beating and unceremonious release from his surveillance incursion in Zangaro, Shannon's physician lists off an accidentally alliterative list of the ailments he's contracted. Shannon snidely retorts, "Anything that starts with 'd' I didn't get?" Zing!

Does he dance: Nope. But he does get to blow up a military compound with a grenade launcher, which is arguably even more awesome in its own way.



Overall Walken-o-meter: 6/10 cowbells. This is Walken at his most restrained and fervently focused, and he's the perfect 'calm-like-a-bomb' centre for the rest of the film's chaos to revolve around. It's one of his best performances - certainly one of his most subtle - but there's no drinking game to be played with his Walken tics here. The film is worth checking out in its own right, but it's even more worthwhile as a study of Walken the performer, and his 'What If...' propensity to excel as straightforward leading man.