Smokin’ Aces is a mess, but it’s a good mess.
The film is stylishly shot—reminiscent of Tony Scott and Guy Ritchie—filled with solid character actors in quirky roles and it’s chalk full of twists, surprises and impactful action sequences.
On the other hand, the plot is basically ‘It’s a mad, mad, mad, mad, world’ with hitmen, drugs, and sex instead of a whacky race. 9/10ths of Smokin’ Aces is little more than an alibi for the film’s primary clusterfuck. It’s violent, vulgar and overcomplicated, but it’s also a lot of fun.
The film’s premise is that one Buddy ‘Aces’ Israel (played to the hilt by Jermey Piven), a Las Vegas magician turned wannabe mobster, has not only opted to become state’s evidence, but managed to double cross Johnny Law and flee from his protectors as well. Lounging in the penthouse of a Lake Tahoe casino, Israel is praying for a longshot and indulging in a hedonistic bender.
A thing to keep in mind is that Buddy is the film’s Maguffin. And everyone wants Buddy.
The Mob’s placed a bounty on his head, attracting assassins ranging from a mysterious man of a thousand faces, to crazed ultra-violent white supremacists, to a pair of ice cold soul sisters and they’re all out to get Buddy before their peers do.
And then there are the forces of law and order. The FBI provides the film’s nominal protagonists in a pair of agents (played by Ryan Reynolds and Ray Liotta) who are out to collect Buddy before a bullet takes him. There’s also a group of low-life bounty hunters (featuring Ben Affleck) out to grab Buddy for jumping bail thrown in for good measure.
There’s also a cameo by Jason Bateman for good measure.
Although the FBI agents are kinda, sorta, the heroes of the piece, the film gives almost as much attention to the various and sundry oddballs who’ve been attracted to this big pay day. These characters and their competition to all achieve the same basic goal is the meat of the film. And once all the pieces are put in place, the film throws them into a blender and the audience gets to see the splatter filled aftermath.
It ain’t a deep film, and the ending seemed a little forced (kind of a desperate attempt to justify the caranage, I suppose), but it’s a lot of fun.
Confessions Finale: The Scottish Game
So after droning on about Jr. High and an OSR pet peeve (and I generally like a lot of the OSR blogs out there), we’re nearly up to date.
Fast-forward at least ten years.
Ten years with a biggish gaming gap and a mish-mash of non-D&D campaigns. Some damn fine campaigns, if I do say so myself.
New city. New life. New gaming group.
We played a Mongoose Traveller Tramp Freighter campaign for about seven months and a Noble Houses Burning Wheel game for another six.
And then I got it in my head to play D&D. Break the curse. Go to the sources I like.
Well truthfully, I thought that if I ever ran old-school D&D again, I’d do it as the anti-World of Warcraft.
See, in the World of Warcraft, every bloody being in the game is an adventurer. You can’t get milk without killing 25 womprats or whatnot. Every Gnome Hunter can also be the Town Tailor.
In other words, in WoW, at least as I see it, being an adventurer isn’t exceptional, its conformist. The punks are the ones who never leave their farmstead.
I wanted to run the opposite.
A game where no one says ‘adventurer’ without spitting afterward to get the taste out of their mouths.
Where people say ‘a wizard did it’ in the same tone reserved for lawyers and politicians now.
A game where the towns folk try to lock up their daughters, overcharge the PCs for everything and, as soon as every last bit of their dungeon delved dollars have been spent, arrange for a mysterious hooded man to tell them of adventure two towns over in Shelbyville.
And to start with, it was fun.
I drew up a hex map and a dungeon using oodles of random tables.
My players rolled up a motley crew and we played.
The first few sessions were a blast; until I realized that they were still in that first dungeon I’d drawn up and that it was going to be a long time before they were done with it. With that epiphany, I started to get bored and dream of ‘The Next Game.’ Always the kiss of death.
And then the scheduling problems started. St. Patrick and Easter derailed the game; as did illness, allergies, and a great deal of personal drama. Until finally, last week, I proclaimed the game dead and had the few players who had made it begin to make Rogue Trader PCs.
D&D is my Macbeth.
No good can come of running it. The game is just cursed to crash.
D&D is Dead! Long Live Rogue Trader!
Although…since it does require so little DM prep, it might be the kind of thing I could run on weekends in addition to my current game someday… If I’m willing to risk a divorce, that is.