Take one milquetoast traveling salesman. Place him in a diner that’s empty, except for a kindly, beautiful waitress. In another movie, you have the ingredients for the meet-cute of a romcom. In The Last Stop in Yuma County, however, you have a starter kit for a powder keg.
The wonderful and underrated Jim Cummings (The Beta Test) is that salesman; the equally wonderful and underrated Jocelin Donahue (Doctor Sleep), the waitress. Car trouble has him stranded for the near future in the middle of nowhere, Arizona, so he bides his time in a booth at the restaurant next door, even if its A/C is as inoperable as his ride. Coffee and conversation follow. So do crimes, eventually, as more people pass through the door.
To spill the details would deny you the pleasure of experiencing each of the plot’s many about-faces and sudden turns; several surprised me, and one hits as such a rude awakening, it’s the cinematic equivalent of a tasing. Once tension arrives, which is early, it never leaves.
Shocking, sad and funny, the film is nearly a one-roomer, save for a few scenes outdoors and at the local sheriff’s office, which is not too far and also not near enough. Taking into account the arid climate, saloon-style setting and mix of characters of varying savoriness, Yuma County plays like a contemporary Western. I mean, it’s right there in the title, starting with — but hardly limited to — a direct reference to Delmer Daves’ 3:10 to Yuma, a genuine cowboys-and-outlaws classic.
Doing its part to support that theory is the pervasive heat; the oscillating whirs of each electric fan seem immediately defeated, and the audience feels that heavy oppression. (Or, as a lifelong Oklahoman, maybe it’s just me.)
I’ve seen others compare The Last Stop in Yuma County to the Coen brothers, specifically Fargo. That’s perhaps too reductive, although if the TV series‘ next season needed a new creative force, writer, director and editor Francis Galluppi would be a steal.
With Yuma County so assured, it’s difficult to fathom that the list of Galluppi’s previous features is blank, yet it’s easy to see why he’s been snapped up to deliver a new Evil Dead spinoff. The guy knows how to craft, build and sustain suspense. The proof is all here in a tight, taut 90-minute examination of avarice, heartlessness, helplessness and the restorative properties of rhubarb pie. Of all the movies to hit theaters in the first half of 2024, this one remains my favorite. —Rod Lott