SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL

By RICHARD SCHICKEL

The budget--not all of which, frankly, is visible on the screen, reached a reported $90 million. The two stars did not get along during the shoot, and one of them has publicly dissed the movie prior to its release. Sounds like they're dressing up The Devil's Own for a fall, doesn't it?

Maybe yes, maybe no. But before either the studio or the audience takes a write-off on this one, we should recall that those two stars, Harrison Ford and Brad Pitt, are known for their ability to open a picture. More important, we should take into account the fact that this is really quite a good movie--a character-driven (as opposed to whammy-driven) suspense drama--dark, fatalistic and, within its melodramatically stretched terms, emotionally plausible.

Pitt's Frankie McGuire is an assassin for an unnamed group of Northern Irish terrorists sent to America to evade the British secret service, whose noose is beginning to tighten around him. He carries a vast sum of money and instructions to purchase a shipment of Stinger missiles capable of rebalancing the power in Belfast. Given an assumed name and occupation, he enters the country, and the home of Ford's Tom O'Meara, as an ordinary immigrant needing a sponsor. Since Tom is a New York City cop of unquestionable honesty, Frankie's cover is perfect.

As it turns out, a little too perfect. For Tom, though a devoted husband and a father to two daughters, likes having another man around the house--someone with whom he can share a pint of beer, a game of pool, a few confidences. For obvious reasons, Frankie has to be a little guarded in the last department. On the other hand, he became a terrorist because as a young boy he witnessed his father being gunned down by Unionist terrorists, and gruff-tough-sentimental-principled Tom fills an obvious need for him.

The script (by David Aaron Cohen, Vincent Patrick and Kevin Jarre) is good about not making too much of this relationship, subtly foreshadowing the betrayal that must end it but allowing these figures room to draw normal human breath. It diverts us by showing each man dealing with a dangerous professional problem. In Tom's case it is a hot-headed, trigger-happy yet likable partner (well played by Ruben Blades) who tests his loyalty and affection. In Frankie's, it is an arms dealer (Treat Williams, slithering from smooth menace to surprisingly vicious sadism) who tests his nerve--and to a degree his commitment to his cause. Frankie can't help contrasting the dank underworld he is obliged to work in with the cozy warmth of the O'Mearas' house.

It may be that Pitt and the script cheat a little with his character, not investing him with quite the fanatical glitter a political gunman ought to exhibit. But you have to balance that against the reality of Ford's work--no one half-suppresses, half-reveals strong feelings better than he does--and director Alan J. Pakula's analogous strengths. Pakula (Klute, Presumed Innocent) develops his story patiently, without letting its tensions unravel. At a moment when everyone is saying the studios have lost the knack for making solid, broadly appealing entertainments, The Devil's Own suggests the skill may be only mislaid. Of course, it helps when you hire grownups to do the job.

--By Richard Schickel