Bones (2005-2017) came to an end in early 2017 after twelve years and 245 episodes: an impressive run by any measure. The high concept crime show was never hailed as the best or most original show on TV—it was one of the better of the myriad of procedurals built around the unique talents of a brilliant mind whose area of expertise invariably becomes the key to unlocking the mystery at hand—but it struck that perfect alchemy of fun characters, snappy dialogue, murder mystery complications, gooey forensics and, most important, screen chemistry bonded to perfection that most television never approaches.
Emily Deschanel is world-class anthropologist Dr. Temperance Brennan, resident genius at The Jeffersonian, the show’s stand-in for The Smithsonian. David Boreanaz is FBI Special Agent Sealy Booth, who is teamed with Brennan in the first episode in a partnership that almost crashes and burns halfway through their first case. By the end of the episode they evolve to grudging respect. Booth calls Brennan “Bones” first as a cheeky slight, then as an affectionate nickname, and finally a term of endearment. They were the classic odd couple buddy partnership, the practical detective with a savvy understanding of people and the scientific genius devoted to empirical evidence colliding and collaborating through each investigation.
Walter Hill made the jump from literate screenwriter of tough-minded crime films to director of elegantly-made bare-knuckle thrillers and action dramas with Hard Times (1975), a depression-era tale of underground fights with Charles Bronson and James Coburn as business partners in who aren’t quite friends but become the first of Hill’s guarded buddy teams.
His second directorial effort, The Driver (1978), couldn’t be more different — a contemporary drama of cops and crooks in the modern city locked in a struggle that has become (for no explicable reason) personal, all loners with temporary alliances at best — yet we’re in the same Hill universe of tough, terse professionals who define themselves by their abilities and express themselves in action. Hill has always had a penchant for dropping pulp fiction ideals of gangster code and loyalty under fire in a gritty existence, shaped and stylized into a rarified, at times insular world where the rest of the population is either backdrop to their story or simply absent from the frame. The Driver is more stylized than most, right down to characters who have no names. According to the credits, they are identified simply by title, or by profession, if you will.
Ryan O’Neal is The Driver, a professional getaway jockey who hires himself out to independent crews on a job-by-job basis. Isabelle Adjani is The Player, an elegant croupier at a gambling club with business on the side. Bruce Dern is The Detective, a drawling cop eavesdropping on police calls until he hears The Driver’s signature driving on a robbery call. Garrulous and cocky in contrast to the terse Driver and Player, he’s also driven by ego rather than professional pride: “I’m gonna catch the cowboy that’s never been caught.” That’s the extent of his motivation as provided by the film. It’s enough in this sleek, stripped-down culture of dares and challenges played out in a world of life and death stakes.