Jean-Luc Godard famously said all you need to make a movie is a gun and a girl. The combination offers endless possibilities in storytelling. Murder. Revenge. Greed. The girl can be a catalyst for action, as can the gun. Having read my fair share of Chandler, Hammett and Spillane, and contemporaries like George Pelecanos and Lee Child, the latter of which spills over more into thriller territory than straight-up hard boiled, I can unequivocally say that Too Late features one of the most convincing and true-to-spirit private dicks, cinema or otherwise.
I have much adoration for the art of the long take and doing more with less, especially when it comes to editing. A filmmaker like Michael Bay would be an inconsolable child if he didn’t have the freedom to have an edit take place every ten frames. Then again, Bay wouldn’t touch a simple detective yarn unless he could have elaborate shootouts or explosions happening at some point.