Image via Complex Original
Bonnie and Clyde's story got a second (or tenth?) wind when Bonnie and Clyde: Dead and Alive aired simultaneously on Lifetime, A&E, and the History Channel for a two-night film presentation. (The world is a wild place, guys.) The 1967 Bonnie & Clyde starring Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway has long been regarded as an unimpeachable classic, right down to its explosive ending. This television movie miniseries adaptation of the infamous outlaws' tale, however, never sparks. Instead, it fizzles from the opening credits to its anti-climactic deviation from Arthur Penn's original film.
Disclaimer: Bonnie and Clyde were prolific robbers and unrepentant killers of both cops and innocent civilians. No one is saying they should be celebrated. That said, their story is truly remarkable and their crimes extraordinary in both violence and scope, especially considering Bonnie Parker was barely 20 when she met Clyde.
In Penn's film, they meet a spectacular end. It's not so much the case in the 2013 version. Let's compare death scenes.
It's a Trap!
In Arthur Penn's Bonnie & Clyde, Warren Beatty's Clyde and Faye Dunaway's Bonnie are still in high spirits driving through Louisiana to pick up their former partner-in-crime C.W. Moss (Michael J. Pollard). They're blissfully unaware and recklessly optimistic about their future—as they should be. They're young, attractive outlaws who have not only fooled cops across several states, but even killed a few, becoming front-page sensations. They playfully share a pear on the same road they will be blown skywards from less than three minutes later.
See, they've been sold out by C.W.'s father Ivan (Dub Taylor). He gave them up to Texas Ranger Frank Hamer (Denver Pyle) in exchange for a reduced punishment for his son. Unaware of what's coming, Bonnie and Clyde feel untouchable, which is what makes the climax so tough to watch.
Emile Hirsch's Clyde, however, seems to be aware of he and Bonnie's (Holliday Grainger) end, almost as if he had a premonition. He's almost looking forward to it, even. As such, there is no joy here, no reckless optimism, no suspense; the director, Bruce Beresford, basically plugs in a billion watt arrow advertising "Death Ahead." A couple scenes (less than five minutes) ahead of their drive down that fateful road, Clyde, alone, attends the funeral of the two cops they executed a couple days prior and gets all Dawson's Creek and babbles something about Eve and biting the apple of knowledge. It suggests that Clyde knows about Sheriff Hamer (William Hurt) and Henry Methvin's (Garrett Kruithof) father setting them up to be shot to oblivion (Clyde's Minority Report precog powers are well established throughout the two-part series). Clyde sees it as an extremely violent, but poetic way out of the couple's brief, furious run of crime that, in this version, he was reluctant, nay, downright shook to continue for most of. In the words of The Boondocks Riley Escobar: "That's so not gangsta."
Who Are the Legends Here?
Few people can name the man commanding the spectacular gunning down of the outlaws. That man would be Texas Ranger Frank Hamer. He's only part of their history, a relatively minor but vital player in the narrative; he wrote their bloody ending. But the real focus is Bonnie and Clyde. And that's the way Arthur Penn filmed it in 1967. Hamer and his law enforcement are nearly fully hidden in the bushes; when their guns first explode into action, all you can see are the stems of their rifles poking through rough thickets of leaves. Penn doesn't give you a clear look at the firing squad, Hamer included. Instead, he gives the full attention to Bonnie and Clyde; for 90 percent of the scene, you watch the barrage of bullets make the corpses dance. It's an unforgiving depiction.
In Lifetime's very special version of Bonnie and Clyde, director Bruce Beresford offers a different, more politically correct, literal, and lamer take on the death. Beresford gives Hamer equal standing with the outlaws. The officers of the law appear in a heroic light.
We get gratuitous shots before, during, and after of Frank Hamer and his officer's faces while they're busy drilling a million holes into B&C's car (more on that later). And then the scene swerves into unintentional comedy when we get a close up of Ted Hinton (Austin Hebert) a former postal worker-turned-deputy and spurned admirer of Bonnie (she refused to kiss him earlier in the mini-series, and now, um he gets his revenge?) empties so many shotgun shells, he's forced to drop it then pull out two pistols, John Woo-style, which he then proceeds to greedily empty into the car.
The satisfaction on Hinton's face and length of time the camera lingers on the fire exploding from the law's guns gets so cartoonish, you suspect that Beresford believes that the outlaws "got what was coming to them."
Et Tu, Farmer Methvin?
In the original film, C.W. Moss's (his name is Henry Methvin in the the 2013 mini-series) farmer father turns informant for Texas Ranger Frank Hamer. Relaying to Hamer and his men that it's likely that the couple would be driving through town to meet up with his son, the elder Moss steps out onto the road, flashes his best gee-golly smile and waves Bonnie and Clyde down.
Here, there's no pretense in farmer Moss' selling the outlaws down the river. Either he serves the couple up with all the trimmings or his son Henry will be missing all of Bing Crosby's Christmas radio specials for the next twenty years. Diving under his tractor, Hamer and his crew take the cue to fire away.
But on the History of the Lifetime Channel version, father Methvin has nothing to do. Why? A scene earlier he calls Hamer by phone and alerts him that the couple is driving through his town in a couple days, making his presence at the execution dubious. Plus, in this version, mopey Clyde has decided this whole outlaw stuff is phony, and so accepts his fate with the reluctance of a martyr. So Mr. Methvin parks his butt on his tractor, gives a head nod to Hamer, and watches the grim lightshow. He has no lines, not even an expression. All he has in answer to witnessing such a gratuitous spectacle of violence, is to only shake his head. Hey, you know what, Mr. Methvin, don't get up. You've done enough.
To Live and Die in LA (Louisiana)
This is what it really looks like to die hard. In the most girsly part of the death scene in the 1967 film, Hamer and friends let off an endless barrage of gunfire. Bonnie gets riddled sitting in the driver's seat. Clyde's body rolls down a hill before coming to rest, lifeless, face down in the dirt. Bonnie's body dangles out the driver's seat.
Rappers have been celebrating the "Live Fast, Die Young" mantra for years, back to the days when Tupac referenced the killer couple for his 1996 track "Me and My Girlfriend." This image is the true "Live Fast, Die Young" postcard.
In he 2013 version, Clyde has basically made internal peace with himself and drives Bonnie to their suicide. He holds her hand then slows down to a complete stop, seemingly knowing that Hamer is lying in wait, itching to unload a mountain of ammunition into the couple. Haunted by his sins, Clyde decides that they must sacrifice themselves. They can't go on this way. Or something. How romantic (to a fault), and boring.
A Boring One for the Good Guys
In the '67 film, Hamer and his officers are filmed walking up to the car to make sure that Bonnie and Clyde are dead. A bullet hole in the stained windshield features prominently in the shot. We occupy the perspective of the couple looking out from the car.
Bonnie and Clyde: Dead and Alive (which is just a terrible title) is as much about the fiery lives of the couple as it as about the cowboy-hat-pulled-over-the-eyes super-cop and potential Marvel superhero, Texas Ranger Frank Hamer. What is so damn special about Hamer?
"Rumor had it Hamer could see fired bullets, hear sounds before they were made. The press had even given a name to his .45 Colt: Old Lucky. Which had nothing to do with the chances of the outlaw who met up with Hamer."
Those are actual lines courtesy of an Emile Hirsch voice-over, after which Hirsch says "I made a pact with myself: one job." Well, that doesn't like the start of the most infamous crime streak ever. Sounds more like the plot for a WalMart bargain basket action DVD.
There you have it, Bonnie and Clyde's death scene ends like a very long, not so intricate police procedural with Hamer (who didn't really try very hard—Clyde basically walked into his grasp) as the focus of the attention. Time to take a nap.