Halyna Hutchins served as the cinematographer of “Rust,” which depicts a Western themed story of an outlaw attempting to rescue his 12-year-old grandson from a death sentence for murder. Hutchins passed away in October 2021 after Alec Baldwin, the film's star and co-producer, fired a prop gun that was incorrectly assumed to be devoid of live ammunition. Baldwin's shot not only struck Hutchins, but he also managed to injure the director and writer of the film, Joel Souza. Production picked up again two years later after the widow of Hutchins, Matthew, mgot a producer credit, which he accepted without contention.

Baldwin, along with other principal actors, faced both civil and criminal litigations due to the prop weapon incident on set, but none were ever found guilty of anything. In contrast, the first assistant director who handed Baldwin the weapon accepted a plea deal for the unsafe handling of a firearm, while the armorer was sentenced to 18 months for involuntary manslaughter. The case against Baldwin was dismissed with claims from the court that prosecutors and police “intentionally and systematically suppressed corroborating evidence that was crucial to Baldwin's defense.

Most articles on movies don’t kick off this way. "Rust" is different - it too has claimed another lost production. Hutchins' wide-format struggles with silhouettes, lens flares, cigarette smoke, and landscapes where men and horses are mere blots. Her work is capital a Western, though it pulls photographs from myriad cultural sources, some of which are marker paints ranging from Fordian to muddied small-town America to postcard Peckinpah and Walter Hill. Even the much referenced last frame from languorous The Searchers is in here (twice in “Rust,” one time with a woman in the fore).

For “Rust,” the greatest and noteworthy feature is its furious attempt at Westerng, scattered like remains over a saddlebag. Even if “Rust” turned out to be a stony-cold piece of art, having a life squandered in the process renders it pointless. No one should die for art, unless by choice.

"Rust" begins with a road movie premise, Patrick Scott McDermott's Lucas Hollister is a 12-year boy who became an adult when his mother died. He singlehandedly takes care of his family and the farm while his older brother lounges around. Lucas is sentenced to death after accidentally shooting a neighboring farmer’s son who bullied his younger brother. His maternal grandfather, the infamous outlaw Harlan Rust (Baldwin), saves him and plans to smuggle him into Mexico.

This film has other storylines, including that of the sheriff, Wood Helm (Josh Hopkins). He experienced an existential crisis before Rust burglarized the jail to free his grandson. Woody’s Rust’s grandson had two of Wood’s deputies shot by Rust. He had already lost faith in God owing to his son's terminal illness.

"I figured out a long time ago there ain't no God. Guess I would have appreciated if I was wrong,” Wood tells his best friend's, the town's saloon owner (the always fantastic Abraham Benrubi, formerly of television’s E.R., who now effortlessly slides into the silver haired character actor role). It’s hard not to think about just how much more engaging “Rust” would have been had Hopkins played the title character, considering how convincingly charismatic he is in a subtly ‘of the era’ style.

The other narrative satellite is regarding ridden bounty hunters who are most ruthless in trying to access the $1000 bounty placed on Rust and Lucas’ heads. If you have seen or even just seen a picture from the classic movie “Rust”, you will be surprised to learn that one of cinema’s most evil characters of all time, self proclaimed preacher Harry Powell, is basically fusion character of Rust. Travis Fimmel (Vikings, Raised By Wolves) played the role with far more depth that “Rust” really did to deserve, and his name is Preacher. He wears black, quotes the Bible, and performs his torture obnoxiously publicly. Unlike the rest of his kind, he does not sport ‘LOVE’ and ‘HATE’ tattooed on his knuckles, hopefully awaiting the bounty to claim his ink.

When it comes to Baldwin as an actor, it is odd that “Rust” would be the last film he almost got himself killed in because of his career. Even as he and Souza worked on the story together, Baldwin does not fit the role of a hardened old gunfighter. They do provide a line that Rust is supposed to have grown up in Chicago, therefore, someone does not need to scratch their head wondering why he does not sound like a natural born country man. However, Baldwin still lacks the face and voice, crucially, the vibe needed for this type of film. Such a role requires someone who, when a kid poses the question, “Who are you?” the answer is, “This ain’t no game, boy. I say we ride, we ride, I say we eat, we eat, I say we sleep, we sleep, that’s who I am,” and roll their eyes into the back of their head.

Failing to deliver on other aspects alongside these blunders. Clothes, shoes, and hats showcased on the characters appear new and/or freshly ironed.

Not only does this film contain polished theatrical-like scenes, but it also has lines that sound as if they are taken directly from a novel, which turn into a complete acting exercise. ‘Rust’ has characters that oscillate between indie stereotypical hard bodied people and an aggressive shipper, where every lead gets an Oscar-style tear-jerking monologue. That single revolver shot, which sends people flying like the filmmaker has a Terminator battery strapped to him, dramatically alters the character’s trajectory.

Short films often come with a good sense of completion: this one has a few. Frances Fisher appears as Lucas’s ominous and untrustworthy aunt who comes accoutred with her own storyline. Xander Berkeley also gets customization as an eccentric, confident, and horrendously hilarious bully designed for the Eastwood West.

Regrettably, the three narratives presented here alongside their protagonists, with the one exception being Rust and Lucas, have not been crafted with sufficient attention to detail deserving of their holistic incorporation, and even that one seems to suffer from having too many near-death escapes. This film has a runtime of two hours and eighteen minutes, and somehow manages to feel far longer than that. McDermott is superb as the character of Lucas, who is a kind-hearted soul, too poor for his own good. You feel the burdens he carries. You believe he’s smart and cynical enough to talk like a lowly, end-of-the-road rat who has accepted that life is suffering. It's hard to pinpoint the issues of this film along with considering its positives when there’s constant real life calamity looming. In this case, how massive a tragedy that is suffers at quantifiable chances gives credence and renders this assessment futile.
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