Daily Staff Writer

Last Man Standing doesn’t stand up to scrutiny.

It’s yet another remake of Akira Kurosawa’s Yojimbo, a 1961 Japanese film about a lone samurai who wanders into the middle of a war between factions in a village.

The 1964 Western remake, A Fistful of Dollars, is a true classic. Director Sergio Leone gave it a darkly humorous tone and Clint Eastwood, as the drifting gunfighter with no name, was vaulted to worldwide stardom.

Last Man Standing transplants the story to a Texas border town during Prohibition. Two mob families, the Strozzis and the Doyles, are fighting to control liquor smuggling in the area.

In rolls John Smith (Bruce Willis), on the run and heading to Mexico. He stops in town for a drink and a nap, but winds up in a scuffle within minutes of arriving. He kills a Doyle lieutenant in a gunfight, and is immediately hired as by the Strozzis.

Smith immediately recognizes a chance to make a big score by playing the two gangs against one another. He shifts loyalties between the paranoid, isolated factions, racking up cash for his work as the two sides grind each other down.

Director Walter Hill chose great source material for the film, but his execution is lacking.

Last Man Standing cannot compare to his earlier work, especially Extreme Prejudice, Southern Comfort and Geronimo .

The biggest letdown is Willis’ performance, which sets a new standard in low-effort acting. His portrayal of Smith is supposed to be calm and empty, a picture of a man without morals, looking only to survive.

But he is missing a key element – menace. Toshiro Mifune and Eastwood both had that element, and a look in their eyes that scorched opponents before fights ever started. Willis does his usual, lackadaisical smart-guy routine, and it just doesn’t work.

Also, Willis is overshadowed by a terrific, colorful supporting cast, including Christopher Walken as Doyle’s psychopathic enforcer and Bruce Dern as a powerless sheriff. Walken, as the brutal Hickey, gives the film’s best performance.

Women get no respect in the film, even though a major plot point involves Smith helping Doyle’s mistress escape to Mexico.

This is a manly film about manly men doing manly things; mainly, drinking and shooting each other. The women serve as window dressing.

Willis’ droning narration is another minus. Narration rarely helps a film, an indication that the story and plot need assistance. It’s certainly true here, as the plot wanders without direction and style is favored over substance.

Finally, the gunfights – the film’s reason for being – become boring as the film plays out. Suspense dwindles as Smith repeatedly guns down the opposition with little danger of being hit, even though he is outgunned and outnumbered every time.

The film somewhat makes up for its failures by being technically strong. The cinematography is gorgeous; the barren desert of West Texas never looked so good.

Ry Cooder’s score is powerful and appropriately harsh, loaded with percussion and distorted guitar. And the gunfights may be lame, but they do look good.

Hill obviously has been watching John Woo’s films; an obvious key is Smith’s two gun rig.

Last Man Standing will appeal to Willis fans and action-film addicts. But its nihilistic tone and extreme violence will put off anyone else. And it’s anything but a chick movie. Guys, leave your wives and girlfriends at home – or promise to see Emma in return.

Last Man Standing is rated R for violence, nudity and adult language and content.