The very last Rockford Files outing is, unfortunately, not even a Rockford Files. It's yet another of the those social dramas that were so popular in the 90s warning people about the dangers posed by different things: unprotected sex, drugs, guns etc. This time it's the press. More specifically, televised news media, the reach that they have, their heartlessness in pursuit of ratings, and the way that they can destroy good peoples' lives.
The problem is twofold. One, we've all seen many of these types of films before. The 90s ones tend to be especially preachy and predictable, so once you've seen a few, you've seen them all. Two, this is supposed to be a Rockford Files film. You know, James Rockford, the private detective. Even if he's now retired (I'm not sure) and Garner is too old and injured to do strenuous physical activity, they could have found a way to still get him to do some sort of investigating to help out his friend. Even just going round, speaking to a lot of different people and piecing together evidence would have sufficed.
Instead, he spends a few minutes talking to a rape victim's mother (who suddenly drops one of those ridiculously obvious clues more suited to Murder, She Wrote), a few minutes talking to a groundskeeper, a few minutes on a police supercomputer, and a few minutes following then easily apprehending a rapist.
The rest of the film is devoted to the uncaring, unchecked power of the media and the hopelessness of Ernie's predicament once he's within their sights. Depressing and utterly predictable. Like I said, if you've seen similar films to this, you know how it's all going to end long before the credits roll. After all, it's the only way for the writers to drive their message home, which is seemingly all they're concerned about.
But even this ending is undone by heavy-handedness. Ernie's been standing on that rooftop long enough for the TV cameras to arrive and for Dennis to get Rita and Jim and take them to the site. Yet there's no one else up there; no police or negotiators trying to talk him down. Because we dumb viewers need a visual representation of the loneliness he's feeling inside.
A very small area is cordoned off to the public but, for some reason, news crews, Jim, Rita and lots of other people are allowed within the cordon - so that when Ernie jumps, he lands about 10ft in front of them. Because we just wouldn't feel the emotional impact if he landed, say, 30ft away. It's all too ridiculous.
Even more depressing than Ernie's inevitable plunge is the nosedive in writing quality represented by the films. One of the very best and most iconic detective shows ever made has been revived not to ride gloriously into the sunset, but instead crawl to an ignominious end.
The problem is twofold. One, we've all seen many of these types of films before. The 90s ones tend to be especially preachy and predictable, so once you've seen a few, you've seen them all. Two, this is supposed to be a Rockford Files film. You know, James Rockford, the private detective. Even if he's now retired (I'm not sure) and Garner is too old and injured to do strenuous physical activity, they could have found a way to still get him to do some sort of investigating to help out his friend. Even just going round, speaking to a lot of different people and piecing together evidence would have sufficed.
Instead, he spends a few minutes talking to a rape victim's mother (who suddenly drops one of those ridiculously obvious clues more suited to Murder, She Wrote), a few minutes talking to a groundskeeper, a few minutes on a police supercomputer, and a few minutes following then easily apprehending a rapist.
The rest of the film is devoted to the uncaring, unchecked power of the media and the hopelessness of Ernie's predicament once he's within their sights. Depressing and utterly predictable. Like I said, if you've seen similar films to this, you know how it's all going to end long before the credits roll. After all, it's the only way for the writers to drive their message home, which is seemingly all they're concerned about.
But even this ending is undone by heavy-handedness. Ernie's been standing on that rooftop long enough for the TV cameras to arrive and for Dennis to get Rita and Jim and take them to the site. Yet there's no one else up there; no police or negotiators trying to talk him down. Because we dumb viewers need a visual representation of the loneliness he's feeling inside.
A very small area is cordoned off to the public but, for some reason, news crews, Jim, Rita and lots of other people are allowed within the cordon - so that when Ernie jumps, he lands about 10ft in front of them. Because we just wouldn't feel the emotional impact if he landed, say, 30ft away. It's all too ridiculous.
Even more depressing than Ernie's inevitable plunge is the nosedive in writing quality represented by the films. One of the very best and most iconic detective shows ever made has been revived not to ride gloriously into the sunset, but instead crawl to an ignominious end.