An ode to The Fugitive, which was for some reason my middle school comfort movie
The classic 1993 film starring Harrison Ford and Tommy Lee Jones turned 30 this week
Cut to the Feeling is a monthly column by Anne T. Donahue about the art and pop culture that sparks joy, grief, nostalgia, and everything in between.
One stormy Saturday when I was 11, my parents bestowed upon me a gift: they would take me to Jumbo Video to rent a movie. Any movie. A movie of my choosing that would bring me comfort after a day spent on tornado watch; a movie I could lose myself in; a movie they wouldn't mind overhearing since we only had one television.
Obviously, I chose The Fugitive.
I don't remember the first time I saw The Fugitive, likely because nothing before that moment matters. Around the end of sixth grade, I was deep into an obsession with Star Wars and had begun harbouring an understandable crush on Harrison Ford — a crush so intense that I'd checked out a biography about him at the library and used it as a precious resource. Desperate to better acquaint myself with the man who shot Greedo first, I made my way through his PG/PG-13 features before stumbling upon a film about big pharma, a murder, and a wrongfully accused man.
It was there that I found comfort.
Now, I understand that The Fugitive is not supposed to function as an emotional support movie, especially for a pre-teen who still played with Barbies. Adapted from the 1960s TV series, the premise alone should make this clear: after coming home from work one night, Dr. Richard Kimble (Harrison Ford) discovers a one-armed man in his home, whom he fights off before discovering his brutalized wife. Arrested and convicted of her murder, Kimble gets a break when the prison bus he's on flips over and is hit by a train, allowing him to escape and work to prove his innocence. But hot on his tail is Deputy U.S. Marshal Samuel Gerard (Tommy Lee Jones), who's convinced of Kimble's guilt — until he begins piecing together big pharma's plot to stop the Good Doctor from exposing the life-threatening side effects of their new heart drug, Provasic™.
By the film's close, the real villain is brought to justice, viewers are granted a fight scene between two middle-aged men on a hotel roof, and Deputy Gerard and Dr. Richard Kimble become best friends. It's a feel-good movie, not for its plot, but because unlike in real life, everything is wrapped up in a neat little package.
Watch a 1993 review of The Fugitive from the CBC Archives:
Even as a kid, I understood that reality wasn't as clean as The Fugitive's narrative, nor as sharp as its dialogue ("I didn't kill my wife!" "I don't care!"). But for those precious two hours, I escaped into a world where mysteries could be solved swiftly and villains would be exposed for the traitors they were. I revelled in the complexity of Richard's journey and the gumption with which Deputy Gerard chased down his man, ignoring that in reality, Dr. Kimble would never have survived his many brushes with death and most law enforcement officers wouldn't take the time to acknowledge the innocence of a wrongfully convicted person.
Instead, I focused on the quips, the "a-ha!" moments, and the fact that Harrison Ford could really carry off a tweed blazer, thrilled that while my own life felt out of control (so many tornado warnings!), I could end my night with the relief that Provasic would not be approved and Dr. Kimble would not go back to jail.
Far better writers than me (see: Lindy West's rightful argument that it's the only good movie) have acknowledged the brilliance of The Fugitive, and have rightfully established it as the world's one true good movie. The plot is complex without being cerebral. Harrison Ford is convincing as a determined, brilliant, grieving man. And Deputy Gerard is exactly the sort of person you could imagine sinking precious federal resources into uncovering the truth (all while wearing a striking overcoat). The story is serious but doesn't take itself seriously (how else do you explain the banter between the U.S. Marshals?), while the premise (big pharma will kill us all) is realistic enough to seem plausible.
There's a reason Tommy Lee Jones won an Oscar for his work and why, 30 years since its release, I could write a manifesto about Jane Lynch and Julianne Moore's bit parts. The Fugitive is a compelling, gripping examination of what life would be like if people were inherently competent, good, and followed through on things. And if that fantasy isn't comforting, I don't know what is.
My adult brain still seeks comfort in the idea that in front of the backdrop of urban Illinois in 1993, justice was served, and two former nemeses came to an understanding in the back of a police car and became best friends. The movie ends with Deputy Gerard removing Dr. Kimble's handcuffs and placing an ice pack on his wrists. Richard looks at Gerard, and with his Harrison Ford face, smirks and says, "I thought you didn't care." Gerard smiles back, forever cementing Tommy Lee Jones as a man I would trust with my actual life: "I don't," he says, laughing, as the car drives off.
11-year-old me hoped the two would drive themselves to a restaurant where they could bond over breakfast and their shared admiration for well-fitting outerwear. 38-year-old me obviously knows better: in the real world, the two would have headed straight to the station, where the slow wheels of justice would begin their lengthy grind. Big pharma would maintain its influence on the medical field, and Tommy Lee Jones would be sent off to catch Wesley Snipes in U.S. Marshals, a disappointing sequel.
Yet their bond still represents something important: The Fugitive offers the comfort of a world in which loose ends are tied, wrongful convictions are overturned, and if you find yourself on the lam, any and all clothes you steal will fit you perfectly, provided you look exactly like Harrison Ford.
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