Movies I Should Loathe, but Instead Love: Red Dawn (1984)

Now that I live in Wyoming, undoubtedly closer to the fictional town of Calumet, Colorado (and Las Vegas, New Mexico, the town filmed as the setting) than I was in my metro Detroit-based youth, my ties to Red Dawn (1984) grow stronger. Alas, upon seeing the recent trailer for the remake of Red Dawn (2012)--which will finally be released this Thanksgiving following years of development and politically correct marketing quagmire--these ties heighten my disgust. It's also a shame to have to distinguish the glorious title with a year now. In short, I don't suspect RD2012 will be entering the hallowed halls of the "OTOH, Remakes" fortress. 

But since I have only had the chance to scoff at the RD2012 trailer, specifically the latter half where it's revealed the North Koreans have invaded America with a super-secret weapon that fits in a briefcase, I will instead divert this into a positive, even joyful review of RD1984. 

WOLVERINES!

That's right. 

It's 1984, and the Cold War goes hot. The Soviet Union is bent on world domination, and they've almost succeeded-- NATO's dissolved, etc., etc. With clever strategy they invade the United States, coming over the Bering Strait and through Alaska, in planes disguised as commercial transports, and even support this with tactical nuclear strikes against major U.S. cities.  It's also revealed that the Soviets invaded China, likely using nuclear weapons to take out over half of its population. 

But in the U.S. all is not Hitler goes to France circa 1940. This is, after all, America. 

Jed Eckert (Patrick Swayze), a sort-of recent high school graduate, rescues his brother Matt (Charlie Sheen, in his second appearance in this series of posts!) and his classmates Robert (C. Thomas Howell), Daryl (Darren Dalton), Danny (Brad Savage), and Aardvark (Doug Toby) from their high school as the Soviets descend onto the playground. They narrowly escape in the confusion, and head out of town to Mr. Morris's (Robert's father's) service station--easily the coolest, most diversely-stocked service station to ever grace the face of the earth.

After packing up everything they'll need to survive into Jed's Chevy pickup (which makes a sad disappearance far too soon afterward, likely due to its broken radiator), the boys head into the mountains to wait it out. By the time they receive information (their radio is also destroyed during their escape), they learn they're deep in occupied territory, and are joined by two other young escapees, Erica (Lea Thompson) and Toni (Jennifer Grey). 

After the small band of kids witnesses various atrocities by the Russian and Cuban (etc.) occupiers, they decide to fight back. Jed and Matt, in particular, are encouraged by their imprisoned father:



(What is it with Harry Dean Stanton making the best cameos? Take this, The Straight Story and even the recent Avengers flick... the guy is practically a PhD thesis. (Hm...))

And so it begins. They are no longer kids, they are...

WOLVERINES!

The acting varies widely. From Harry Dean Stanton to Powers Boothe (the only adult to join the Wolverines), the supporting cast is excellent. Swayze, still up-and-coming in the mid-'80s, is outstanding, as is his Outsiders co-star C. Thomas Howell. Sheen, Jennifer Grey and the rest of the Wolverines, however, are rather lackluster. Some would grow and go on to have distinguished careers, others would not. 

But it's the story the actors are playing that deserves the most criticism, and Red Dawn is objectively silly throughout. The Soviets take America by surprise, but can't handle a few kids?  Of course, the Soviets encountered some very real, and quite unsolvable, problems with guerrilla warfare in Afghanistan in the 1980s, but the Wolverines aren't exactly experienced (and CIA-trained and funded) Mujahideen.  Many of their attacks on the commies are downright comical, summoning First Blood (but not quite Rambo) ratios of force. Even Swayze ain't Stallone. 

But it's not all bad. One of the best aspects of Red Dawn is its isolation: we're never shown what's going on in major cities, or on the many other fronts of World War III. It's quite possible that the soldiers the Wolverines are up against are just as inexperienced, since the best forces are probably allocated elsewhere. And although it's hardly Band of Brothers in its strategic authenticity, the message of RD1984 is sound: when up against the Evil Empire, don't back down. This is a timeless message for any film, especially when juxtaposing real ideologies against one another, and this is all too absent in modern cinema. 

So, does message trump art sometimes? I wouldn't say that, but I would say it makes up where certain other qualities lack.

Oh, come on, seriously, in case of Soviet invasion, you don't want to go out this way? 

WOLVERINES!

"OTOH, Remakes..." Wages of Fear and Sorcerer

I (excuse me, some guy I know) blogged some years back about Hollywood's horrible remakes. On The Other Hand, remakes are sometimes awesome, as I acknowledged once here in the annals of Cinematic Leisure. As a general rule, originals are good and remakes are bad. Sometimes, however, a remake comes along and redeems an awful original in its entirety. But the rarest of remakes is one of a great film that proves equally great with its own standout qualities.

Today, I acknowledge another original/remake duo that is well worth your time. 

Wages of Fear / Sorcerer

Wages of Fear (1953)

Henri-Geogres Clouzot was hard at working making excellent French films well before French New Wave set in (take that, Godard), and Wages of Fear is perhaps his best.  (I have not seen all of Clouzot's films, but also highly recommend Le Corbeau (The Raven) (1943) and Diabolique (1955).)  The film centers on four men, foreigners who are stuck in a South American village for various reasons.  The only big industry is oil, and deep in the mountainous jungle a well has just ignited. The only way to stop it is to blow it up, and the company decides to send four men in two trucks on a delivery run with the explosives to do it. 

The explosives are pure nitroglycerin.

For those unfamiliar with nitroglycerin, in its pure liquid form it's very powerful and unstable. It can be detonated via contact, like, say, a bad bump in the road. The men will have to drive very slowly and carefully over rough roads, keeping their distance from one another because otherwise if one blows up the other will too.

Long before the cinematography, sharp musical notes and other tricks of the trade that are now a staple of suspense, drama, action and horror films, these emotions are all largely driven by the acting in Wages of Fear. Desperate from the outset, all four characters quickly develop rivalries-- between the two trucks and within.  Their cooperation is almost wholly driven by the basest self-interest, and as the journey proceeds their behavior becomes more and more depraved.

One could call it the French answer to The Treasure of the Sierra Madre (1948), but it's far darker: instead of one Bogart succumbing to fear, despair, and evil, we're treated to four.

Sorcerer (1977)

June 24, 1977 was not the day to release this movie. Or any movie, for that matter.  A sci-fi film called Star Wars went into wide release in the weeks before, and was already a nationwide phenomenon.  In other words, no one was talking about any other movies at the time, and despite it's amazingness Sorcerer did not fare well at the box office and has never quite grown to the cult status it rightfully deserves. 

Sorcerer rounds out director William Friedkin's triple-play (or hat trick, if you will) in the 1970s, preceded by The French Connection (1971) and The Exorcist (1973). The only thing wrong with this movie is its title. That's it. According to IMDB's user-submitted trivia section, Friedkin "has stated that the strange title of 'Sorcerer' refers to the evil wizard of fate."  According to this reviewer, that's like nails on the artsy-fartsy chalkboard. Whew. 

But aside from its unfortunate title, Sorcerer just plays. Its plot matches Wages of Fear almost to a tee, but with some notable exceptions. First, unlike Wages of Fear, we're treated to opening scenes that give backgrounds on all four characters, setting up some devious fellows, all of whom have good reason to be hiding in the last place anyone would look. There's an armed robber, a hitman, a terrorist, and an embezzler. They want the big money they'll get for transporting the explosives, but they also want citizenship to prevent extradition. To keep things modernized, they won't be hauling pure nitroglycerin, but rather dynamite that was not properly stored and is just as dangerous.  They encounter many of the same obstacles along the way, but they're produced with a lot bigger budget.

Remember five paragraphs ago when I was praising Wages of Fear for its pre-special effects intensity? Well, flip that: when special effects intensity is done right, that's the magic of the movies.  At one point in Sorcerer the trucks must drive across a rickety old bridge during an intense storm.  This is easily one of the most amazing scenes I've ever seen. If only for this scene, the film is worth watching:

 Dude.

Once again there is excellent acting, but Friedkin focuses on the obstacles and with some exceptions there's far more honor among thieves between the characters than in Wages of Fear. This works just as well.

I should close by noting that Sorcerer's score is by Tangerine Dream and yet again gives the 'ol synthesizer its due (YouTube is always good for a montage sample-- score!)

So there it is. I don't know which one I like more, but I know they're both excellent. The few, the proud, the exceptions to the remake rule.

Hollywood's Severe Disconnect In This Economy

I like to think that films may be judged solely on their merits, within the four corners of the screen without reference to externalities. Seldom, however, is a film wholly separated from its place in history. History is often an interesting sideshow for films, and current events surrounding a film's release can make or break films that are objectively good (or bad, for that matter). 

Examples include Donnie Darko, which came out in late 2001 but never saw wide theatrical release in the U.S. due to its story involving a plane crash and 9/11 still an open wound on Americans.  Just a few years before that, The Boondock Saints suffered the same fate, as a story with two men dressed in black coats toting guns and wrath was not seen as commercially viable after two kids in black coats murdered over a dozen students at Columbine High School in Littleton, Colorado. Both films went on to achieve cult status, commercial success on home video, and eventually mainstream acceptance (though I personally have no love for The Boondock Saints anymore).

But these examples--and the most interesting stories of such cinematic history--arose from unforeseen circumstances.  In short, bad timing.  Recently, however, some films are revealing a severe disconnect between Hollywood and the rest of America. It is the result of a failure to recognized and acknowledge the times we live in.

One of last year's flops, one that flopped so bad I would not have heard of it but for its appearance on Netflix in recent months, was Take Me Home Tonight. The comedy, set in 1988, features Topher Grace playing a recent MIT graduate who cannot figure out what to do with his life, so he passes his days working the counter at Suncoast Video. A night of craziness and 80s cliches follows, completely void of the charm of the quintessential 80s-throwback comedy The Wedding Singer. It culminates with a cliche moral. (It has its moments, but they are few and far between.)

A comedy released this month, American Reunion, appears to be barely inching toward profitability after a month in theaters. This is, of course, the fourth installment in the American Pie series. Each of the original players returns for this, and each of the main characters is suffering from the going-on-30-middle-class-blues. They have jobs (with one exception), relationships, responsibilities, and boy does it stink compared to the carefree days of high school.

In fairness, Take Me Home Tonight was produced in 2007 and sat on the shelves for years before it was finally released. But the timing of its release was still imprudent. It's difficult to expect much of anything out of the American Pie series: it was born a gross-out comedy with a modicum of heart and remains there, now competing with series like The Hangover that make the original American Pie installments seem tame. 

Nevertheless, the disconnect behind these films kills them: history is not their friend.  It stems from the fact that the problems of the characters in both of these movies are problems a huge number of Americans can't currently relate to: ennui and middle class angst are the problems many Americans long to face, or long to face again. 

For young college grads--perhaps not quite from MIT but from many other highly regarded schools--working at a Suncoast Video (or the remaining FYE stores) is not a symptom of killing time or not living up to potential: it's all that's available. Even most slightly older Americans approaching their 10- (or 13-) year high school reunion are not basking in the mundane drudgery of the workplace: if they are employed, they're very thankful to have a job, benefits, and perhaps the chance to advance. Even then, the future's not looking so bright. American Reunion's characters are no longer in the 1990s, or even pre-2008, so how did their problems stay there?

One might counter that escapism is what it's all about. Indeed, since we might miss the carefree days of the late 1980s and its excellent economy (with exceptions), that's all Take Me Home Tonight is going for. Likewise, one could see the ennui addressed in American Reunion as a place we'd all like to be, and not bitterly at that. But ultimately I don't think that works: while we can easily suspend disbelief for fictional alternate realities like The Hunger Games (still going strong at the box office, with one friend of mine having seen it almost a half dozen times), being reminded again and again that yesterday's problems of the American middle class are looking strangely aristocratic is not going to win over audiences. It really hasn't: they're not even showing up to watch.


Hollywood fell on hard times even before this economy. When the best audiences can hope for in the mainstream is a decent remake or a semi-faithful adaptation of a tried-and-true comic book, it should come as no surprise that comedies can't seem to find anything new to work with. So, perhaps it falls to the independents to deliver something fresh and funny: given the earnestness of our economic calamity, it's actually ripe for a good laugh.

The Hunger Games: Who needs substance, anyway?

One cannot escape hearing about The Hunger Games any more than one could escape The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo ten minutes ago, the Harry Potter franchise before that and The Da Vinci Code before that. The Hunger Games broke box office records this weekend and the book it's based on remains #1 across the board on Amazon at the time of this writing. It's certainly making a lot of people a whole lot of money, and more power to them.

But what's all the hype about? Beats me, frankly.

Sometimes movies are just supposed to be fun and don't need a message to be enjoyable. I get it. Seriously. But The Hunger Games masquerades as a film that does, in fact, have a message. If not deliberately written that way, that's certainly the opinion of popular culture. And it does indeed have one, it's just dangerously shallow, or at best incomplete. (I cannot opine on quality of the film's adaptation of The Hunger Games novel since I have not and do not intend to read it, but this saves me the risk of superimposing messages that might be in the book into the film. The film is an adaptation of--not a supplement to--the book, so it must stand on its own merits.)

You probably know the plot, and it really is that simple. In a bad future, the world (or country, whatever) is divided into 12 districts. Each district must offer up a yearly sacrifice of one adolescent male and one adolescent female to duke it out against each other and the kids from other districts in a winner-take-all battle royale (oops) to the death. This is broadcast to the populace. It's called the Hunger Games, and despite that not making a whole lot of sense I do have to admit it sounds pretty cool.

The purpose of these Hunger Games is, to put it mildly, ridiculous: the districts rebelled around 74 years prior, and the games are an eternal punishment and reminder to the districts of the futility of standing up to the Man. As dictator-for-life (?) President Snow (played to a tee by Donald Sutherland) informs "game master" Seneca Crane (Wes Bentley), the games are meant instill fear, with only the smallest batch of hope, because too much hope will override the people's fear of government. (Deep.)

Although this has somehow worked for 74 years, this time one Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence), from the poor backwater District 12, has brought not only A-game bow and arrow skills to the games, but virtue and appeal that somehow wakes up the rage of the populace by bringing sudden awareness to the fact that they are sacrificing their children to the government.

This political backlash is only a sideshow: the focus of The Hunger Games is on the actual Hunger Games and the toils of teenagers being forced to survive by killing one another off. The acting is excellent, as are the makeup and special effects, and the action is exciting. But the heroism of Katniss Everdeen (a name that remains very hard to say with a straight face) is not how well she plays the game without succumbing to beastly human nature, but how she sticks it to the Man and turns the Hunger Games on its head. This just happens, without us knowing exactly how she's accomplishing this (read: why no one figured out the problem of the Hunger Games before) or what change she intends to bring.

To be sure, tyranny is tyranny; sic semper tyrannis and all that. Tyrannical governments like those in The Hunger Games are evil and should be overthrown. But it begs the question: what do we replace them with? What ideals and virtues would young Katniss (and whoever else might support her) seek to instill in the new regime besides, well, other better stuff?

This is not only a necessary question, it's one of the most important questions to mankind: how shall we be governed? To make a film that illustrates how bad things can get with government is fine, and it's a noble thing to promote the destruction of such regimes, but it seems an oh-so-unimportant afterthought to ensure the protagonist will not set up a government that is just as bad, or worse.

Again, I'm not against fun films (bah humbug), and The Hunger Games did not need to add to its 2 1/2 hour running time with a discourse on natural rights (though Woody Harrelson would have been one to deliver it), but I'm concerned that its empty Fight-the-Power grandstanding reinforces for American teens (and far too many adults) that they are to be guided merely by their own consciences with no need for study, dialogue or reflection. Basically, when you're right, you're right, and you're right!

Sci-fi has done far better. There is no better example than Norman Jewison's Rollerball (1975). (Not to be confused with the horrible, horrible remake.)

While the Hunger Games are meant merely to instill fear, the game of rollerball was designed as propaganda to reinforce the very structure of a tyrannical state. As the insidious Mr. Bartholomew, John Houseman describes this regime succinctly:

So now we have the majors and their executives. Transport, Food, Communication, Housing, Luxury, Energy. A few of us making decisions on a global basis for the common good. The [rollerball] team is a unit. It plays with certain rhythms. So does an executive team, Jonathan. Now everyone has all the comforts, you know that. No poverty, no sickness. No needs and many luxuries, which you enjoy just as if you were in the executive class. Corporate society takes care of everything. And all it asks of anyone, all it has ever asked of anyone ever, is not to interfere with management decisions.

Another dastardly conversation illustrates just why Jonathan E (James Caan), an expert rollerball veteran, threatens the regime by staying in the game instead of retiring:

No player is greater than the game itself. It's a significant game in a number of ways.The velocities of the ball, the awful physics of the track. And in the middle of it all, men playing by an odd set of rules. It's not a game a man is supposed to grow strong in, Jonathan.

The absolute authority of the collective over the individual (although, not so ironically, governed by but a few individuals)? Now that's some serious business.

And, so, the triumph of Jonathan E far far surpasses that of Katniss:


And, yes, today's soundtracks don't hold a candle to Bach.