The most likely needle mover here is likely Robert Downey Jr., who plays a supporting role as hot-shot secret agent John Royce, who joins U.S. Marshal Sam Gerard (Tommy Lee Jones, reprising his Oscar-winning role from The Fugitive) and the old team on a manhunt centered on a highly-skilled escaped prisoner named Sheridan (Wesley Snipes). Sheridan’s been accused of murdering two of Royce’s fellow secret agents. The ensuing pursuit thriller is a bit of a flop in many ways, but let’s keep the focus on Downey for a moment. In and of itself, the experience of watching RDJ as a 31-year-old, pre-Tony Stark, burgeoning actor in the ‘90s is justification enough for watching this mostly meh movie on a lazy afternoon. All of the things we love him for—the self-assured saunter, the endlessly emotive eyes, the unique ability to somehow come off as both adorable and psychotic all at once—that stuff is all here, in glimmers at the very least. As for the movie itself, its individual components actually aren’t all that bad. The set-pieces are pretty great, like the plane full of convicts plummeting from the sky early in the movie (a derivative variation on the spectacular and non-CGI bus crash in The Fugitive), or Sheridan’s death-defying leap from the roof of a building to a moving train, all to narrowly evade capture. Again, a real stunt worthy of a Spider-Man swing. There are also some well-done foot chases throughout, and unlike a lot of action movies from the era, the violence here feels appropriately visceral and methodically paced. It’s worth noting that U.S. Marshals is one of the last movies Downey made before infamously being arrested numerous times over the course of several years for crimes stemming from his addiction to drugs and alcohol. It’s deeply sobering to watch on full display the raw potential he had and almost threw away. Add to that the context of the incredible work he’s done since going sober in 2003, and it’s hard not to feel gratitude for the great actor that the world came so dangerously close to losing.
