Envy in "Amadeus"

It may be simply because this is one of the few movies I grew up with (as in actually had it on tape to watch at any time, and thus watched many a time), but this seems the "gimme" post of this series. Nevertheless, there's no better candidate.

 

Envy in Amadeus (1984)

 

Envy is "painful or resentful awareness of an advantage enjoyed by another joined with a desire to possess the same advantage."  Such is embodied in the fictionalized account of Antonio Salieri (played by F. Murray Abraham), an Italian composer who rose to the ranks of court composer for Emperor Joseph II (the "Musical King") and reached the height of popularity, only to live long into old age and hear his music fade away as the work of one of his contemporaries became timeless.
 

"Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart."

 

Confessing to a priest in a sanatorium after a suicide attempt, Salieri is again a character who does not repent. Telling his tale, we learn that after achieving so much in his life, Salieri quickly begins to dismiss his blessings upon meeting Mozart. Mozart's music is just as powerful then as it is now, and even though Salieri remains highest in the emperor's opinion, Salieri knows better. It does not help that Mozart knows his own greatness, and displays pride that makes him seem all the more undeserving of his gifts.

 

Mozart is also a drunk, licentious and crass.  Salieri is a fairly devout Catholic until he meets Mozart, and it tests and quickly destroys the Italian's faith to see this gifted sinner with an insufferable laugh enjoy such gifts while wallowing in vice. What begins as small efforts to undercut Mozart's success in Vienna by refusing to help him soon turns to overt subterfuge.  By the time Mozart's father--the only steadying (though domineering) influence in his life--passes away, Salieri is capable of a most diabolical scheme, and so hatches one.

 

It is not a bold statement to rank F. Murray Abraham's performance in Amadeus as one of the greatest in cinematic history.  His performance is perfect, and truly delivers envy as one of the most destructive forces in the universe. The history since the film is not without irony, either: a look at Abraham's long filmography reveals little else of particular note, certainly no leading parts that stand out. Winning the Academy Award for Best Actor, it's easy to see that nearly every other actor he was up against that year is far more renowned today. But this doesn't bother Abraham, who's quoted as saying about the so-called Oscar Jinx "The Oscar is the single most important event of my career. I have dined with kings, shared equal billing with my idols, lectured at Harvard and Columbia. If this is a jinx, I'll take two."  Obviously Abraham learned a very important life lesson from his role. (Interestingly, one of Abraham's co-nominees for Best Actor in 1985 was none other than Albert Finney for Under the Volcano.)  Tom Hulce, portraying Mozart, also deserves praise, and it's fitting to say without insult that he was born to play the role (though Animal House is certainly timeless in its own way).

 

The production value of Amadeus is also unparalleled, and although it may be a bit easy to have Mozart's work to utilize when making a movie about Mozart, director Milos Forman delivers a film that's just as powerful. It should come as no surprise that although the story takes a certain amount of liberties with Antonio Salieri (who ended up tutoring Mozart's son after his death), the movie is responsible for a revival of Salieri's music and operas.

 

As referenced earlier, like Under the Volcano it's the extremity of the character's vice that drives home Amadeus. But unlike Geoffrey Firmin's alcoholism, there's nothing to mask, or explain (that is, rationalize) the extremity of Salieri's sin. It is all the more damning to see Salieri's success--however temporal--and have him compare himself to his fellow inmates at the asylum. But success matters not; without faith, we are all vulnerable. Without faith, we can all easily find something we want but cannot have, and sink temporally and eternally.

While not meeting a violent end, and not without certain humor, we can almost see a fire surrounding Salieri as he lives out his own private hell. (Spoiler Warning: this is the final scene in the film):
 

  "I speak for all mediocrities. I am their champion; I am their patron saint."



Wrath in "Under the Volcano"

Roger Ebert considered Ikiru--Kurosawa's masterpiece that graces the upper left corner of this blog--"one of the few movies that might actually be able to inspire someone to lead their life a little differently."  I don't know that such praise can be heaped upon a film that succeeds at this in "scared straight" instead of uplifting fashion, but if there is such a film, that film is Under the Volcano.

Wrath in Under the Volcano (1984)

 

 

Merriam-Webster defines wrath as "strong, vengeful anger or indignation," and when we meet Geoffrey Firmin (Albert Finney) on the Day of the Dead,1938 in Cuernavaca, Mexico, this sin is not immediately apparent. He wanders the festivities in a tuxedo, and sunglasses at night, on his way to a Red Cross banquet. He meets his friend Dr. Vigil for a drink, and soon enough they are at the banquet, helping themselves to the bar. We learn Geoffrey is recently retired (quite possibly removed) from the position of British consul, and despite his apparent alcoholism, he has a wit about him that would be hard to match. Upon introduction to the new German consul, he quickly dispels the recent Munich Agreement between Britain and Germany, a disillusionment that easily explains why he's no longer fit for service, or perhaps vice-versa.

 

Geoffrey speaks of his recent divorce. He only learned of it by letter, as his wife left him a year previously. After being shooed out of the banquet, he ends up in a church with the doctor, who urges him to pray for his wife's return. After rebuking the doctor, "It's like asking the Fairy God Mother for three wishes," the doctor prays for him. To no one in particular, Geoffrey finally admits "I'm dying without you. Come back to me, Yvonne."

 

And the very next morning, Yvonne (Jacqueline Bisset) returns.

 

What would be the turning point towards redemption in a romantic story is instead but a trigger for Geoffrey's wrath. Geoffrey's half brother Hugh (Anthony Andrews) returns the same day from a trip to Mexico City, and it's quickly revealed that he and Yvonne had an affair before she left, and that Geoffrey is well aware of it. Though long past and deeply regretted by both Yvonne and Hugh, Geoffrey's elation at his wife's return is quickly consumed by this old wound.

 

So begins Geoffrey's death. Enjoying a leisurely day, Hugh and Yvonne catch up, with Hugh revealing his regrets at leaving the Spanish Civil War behind, and Geoffrey tells stories from World War I. Where Hugh displays vigor and an eye toward the future, Geoffrey revels in what's past. His cutting remarks toward Hugh and Yvonne about their affair finally take their toll. When confronted, it's a confession without repentance:
 

 

 "Hell, my preference. I choose hell. Hell is my natural habitat." 

 

Under the volcano, indeed.

Wrath, or its lesser form resentment, has been described as injuring oneself and expecting the person one resents to hurt. The cliché is not quite the perfect parable, for often it does hurt others. Watching wrath consume Geoffrey is painful to us, and we barely know him. There is much to the story--Geoffrey's alcoholism, the war that he knows is coming, the miracle of his wife's return tempered by the simultaneous return of her former lover--but it's all window dressing. Geoffrey won't forgive, "not in this world," and it kills him.

Under the Volcano was one of John Huston's last films, and displays the craftsmanship of a master. Malcolm Lowry's book was considered unfilmable (I own the novel, and after two false starts I'm curious whether it's even readable), and Huston delivered. He lived many years in Mexico, and from Treasure of Sierra Madre (1948) to Night of the Iguana (1964) to this, always paid tribute to its beauty without sacrificing anything. In addition to Finney's performance, Bisset and Andrews are outstanding, as is the entire supporting cast.

Forgiveness is a most difficult concept to Christians and non-Christians alike. Unlike a character as far out as Harold in The Long Good Friday, empathy with Geoffrey is easier. Unfortunately, empathy with his position is, too. We all harbor wounds at one time or another, rationalizing wrath with ease. Indeed, many of us believe there are sins unforgivable in this world, and treat wrath as a symbiont rather than a parasite.

Few of us will suffer as Geoffrey, but we only deceive ourselves if we believe our wrath is any less dangerous than his.



Pride in "The Long Good Friday"

The average running time for a feature film is somewhere between 1.5 and 3 hours, with the higher end of that range becoming all too common.  Especially in summer popcorn fare, movies that pull the average up do so by having so much to do, and often very little to say (here's looking at you, Star Trek: Into Darkness). But when I look at many of what I consider great films, complexity is certainly not a requirement. Indeed, with only two hours or so in which to tell a story, a single strong theme can reach the greatest heights of cinema.

 

I aim to establish this with a new series of posts, beginning here.  I will discuss films that center around one of each of the so-called seven deadly sins - greed, lust, wrath, envy, gluttony, pride, and sloth. Most importantly, these films show just why, even in practical terms if not religious, these sins can indeed destroy.

 

Pride in The Long Good Friday (1980)

 

American viewers (well, over the age of 25) likely recognize Bob Hoskins immediately from Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, though he's certainly had a distinguished career otherwise.  For me, The Long Good Friday is the jewel in the crown.  To get going with, among other things, the theme, enjoy this entrance:

Hoskins plays Harold Shand, a gangster who runs nearly the entire London underworld in a criminal organization referred to as "the Corporation."  Returning from a trip to America (depicted in the scene above), Shand intends to woo the American mafia into investing in the redevelopment of the London waterfront in preparation for the Olympics. The move stands to make billions, and make the Corporation legitimate. Unlike the conflicted, somewhat reluctant Michael Corleone in The Godfather series, the legitimacy is of far less import to Shand than the money and power that come with it. 

Shand has plenty invested in the appearance of legitimacy, though, or at least a certain luxurious flare. His wife Victoria (Helen Mirren) is well bred, and practically his consigliore. His henchmen all dress impeccably,  and drive him around in various luxury automobiles. He has a yacht and a penthouse apartment.  The yacht is where Harold begins his return, showing not just his new American friends the prospective property but high-ranking police officers and other members of London's elite.

And then everything goes wrong.

While waiting for Harold's mother to finish Good Friday services at church, one of Harold's men is blown up in his Rolls Royce.  At about the same time, Harold's man (and close friend) Colin is stabbed to death. Infuriated, but also bewildered at who would be so brazen as to attack him, Harold sets his men to find the culprits, expecting it to end very quickly. With the police in his pocket, he also enlists their help. But it soon becomes apparent that the killers aren't afraid and won't quit until Harold is dead.

I'm certainly not immune to clichés here at Cinematic Leisure, but this is one of the few films I can shamelessly describe as "dripping with atmosphere." The production was certainly not high-budget, but it combines music and mis en scene around its players (an outstanding supporting cast that includes Pierce Brosnan in his first cinematic role) that makes the entire film feel authentic. The violence is not too frequent (certainly not by today's standards), but remains visceral even to modern viewers. We know from the outset that these are bad people we're watching, yet when we see the acts they're capable of we're still shocked. The film does not miss a single beat, and is one of the heights of the gangster genre.
 
Though the plot is complex, and deliberately bewildering at the beginning of the film, thematically The Long Good Friday is quite simple. Harold's crowning characteristic is pride, and it's his undoing. From the moment he's threatened, he exudes confidence in his eventual victory. As it becomes apparent that he's up against the most powerful enemy he's ever crossed, he never waivers. To him, his only weakness is not knowing who his enemy is. When he finally learns this and is told honestly that he cannot win, Harold responds with rage and violence that we'd only attribute to barbarians.

Pride not only undoes Harold in his last days, but led to the situation in the first place. He's long been lord of the London underworld, and does not even know the workings of many corners of his empire. As he works to solve the "little" problem, he believes he can keep the Americans on the hook, even after they nearly fall victim to one of the attacks.

Of course, my arguments cannot be completed without spoilers, and this is a must-see film whether one is interested in the gangster genre or not. Though extremely portrayed, we recognize Harold's hubris in people we know and work with. It's better flipside, confidence, can indeed take us far, but certainly too far. 

The Long Good Friday is currently streaming on Netflix. If you subscribe, it should be at the top of your queue.

 

The Vanished Empire

A few months ago, while composing a blog post to memorialize a Cinematic Leisure misadventure the likes of which I promise will never happen again, I made a quick reference to The Vanished Empire (2008). I had recently (around Christmas) watched the film on Netflix streaming, and would include it with my list of great films worth streaming. (Note: I have not recently verified that list, so many selections may not be currently available.)

 

Vanished Empire deserves some Cinematic Leisure because months later, it's still following me. Haunting me may be a better word. It is easily one of my current top five recommendations for foreign films, and up against a category so broad that it includes Fellini and Kurosawa--we can honestly end the list right there to make the point--that's about as favorable a rating as I can bestow.

 

Set mostly in 1970s Moscow, Aleksandr Lyapin plays Sergei, a young man with his eyes set on trendy western clothes, western music, women, and having a good time. Sergei can afford the clothes, music, and good times because his grandfather, a famous archeologist who lives with Sergei's family, has an extensive rare book collection that Sergei shamelessly sells piece-by-piece to a store in town. Along with his best friends Stepan (Egor Baranovskiy) and others, Sergei attends the University and rather than study he spends his time pursuing the goal money can't buy: love. Or something like it.

 

Vanished Empire immediately struck me with a shocking feeling of empathy, much like Dazed and Confused, the quintessential American film about white 1970s suburban middle class youth. With those qualifiers--white middle class suburbia--teenage ignorance transcends any decade you put it in.  American Graffiti drives the point home for the '60s (albeit with far more romance), and the sole season of Freaks and Geeks does so for the '80s.  The '90s? Well, along with the early 2000s that's my point of reference.

 

But to watch such a story in Soviet Russia? To be sure, this takes place in the same era when the Soviets were expelling Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn. More importantly, they did so because Solzhenitsyn's books--specifically One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich, The Gulag Archipelago, and The First Circle--exposed and threatened a dictatorship that sent its "criminals" to die some of the worst prisons imaginable. Though Sergei and his friends are well-connected and far more equal than the average citizen of the Soviet Union, the film nonetheless shows the shadow of that vanished empire: Sergei spends his time waiting in a very long line when beer is made available, must find his black market western music from dealers in the park (leading to hilarious results in one instance), and, when after a somewhat clandestine rock concert some marijuana is passed around, the fear portrayed by one of Sergei's friends is palpable.  Such a crime might not be overlooked even for the privileged.

 

Once the shock wears away, Sergei's story is a familiar. He's young and he's reckless, selling off his heritage, fooling around when things don't immediately fall into place with his girlfriend, and ignoring--even defying--his studies. It is only when Sergei reaps what he sows that he starts to get the point. He is ultimately redeemed, but not without losing his own little empire.

 

It is ultimately the aforementioned culture shock that I believe justifies my haunted feeling. This is not to say that Vanished Empire makes me sympathetic to the Soviet regime, but it certainly shatters many notions about at least some Soviet citizens. Like German reunification--portrayed in Goodbye, Lenin!--not everything went smoothly when the Soviet Union collapsed, especially, I assume, for those who had it comparatively good. It is understandable, leaving aside the gulags and other "policies" that teenagers of the time had nothing to do with, that 1970s Moscow may be as romantically remembered by some Russians as George Lucas remembered American Graffiti. A romance that is, I daresay, justified.

 

What to make of that is perhaps worth a book, certainly far more than a blog post. But the immediate point is, and we could use a little trademark snark for this post, if Vanished Empire can get a little more traffic on Netflix and the "popular-on-Netflix"-labeled The Dictator a little less, we'll all be better off. 

Somewhat autobiographically rationalizing my appreciation of "The Fast and the Furious" series

If anyone had told me back in the summer of 2001 that The Fast and the Furious would spawn not one, but five sequels--indeed, what promises to be more than that after this weekend's box office take and [spoiler]--I'd have bet against it.  Granted, I was making $8.00 an hour stocking shelves that summer, so perhaps the amount wagered would not have been high, but rest assured it would have been an impressive sum considering that income.

The Fast and the Furious wasn't bad, but it was at moments quite awful.  The first drag race in the film sums up just about everything in this regard:

 

By that summer I had officially checked out of math, and never took that subject again in the eight years of schooling that followed.  Nevertheless, I see in this clip that young Paul Walker reaches 140 miles per hour at the 1:28 mark of this video, with the race finishing at the 2:17 mark. After hitting "the NOS" (yes, the nosssss), or nitrous oxide, Walker zooms up past the 150 mark, but I figure the calamity that follows has to drag him down a little bit (and, really, we're just ballparking here). Anyway, assuming 140 MPH for 49 seconds, I calculate that this stretch alone works out to 1.9055 miles.

Although completely dispelling by any stretch of imagination that this is the traditional quarter mile drag race, when Vin Diesel chastises Walker for his loss and comments "It don't matter whether you win by an inch or a mile," at least in this context it makes sense.

The other regrettable feature in this segment is Ja Rule, yelling out "Ménage!" in what was and remains a reference to not merely French, but to a period of hip hop and rap music that we've all happily forgotten about.

But otherwise, The Fast and the Furious had heart.

Can I explain that? No. It is most likely that my appreciation for the latter three films has elevated the first installment for "starting it all." But you don't know where you're going until you know where you've been, and whatnot.

Although the quality of rap and R&B musicians making their transition to acting would improve with just one sequel, it was there that the franchise nearly ran its course. I did not see 2 Fast 2 Furious when it hit theaters in 2003, but by summer of 2004 it played on one of the Starz channels at any given moment of the day.  Since I was living in Fort Wayne, making little money at an internship and not quite 21 years old (thus unable to go to the bars with my older friends), I saw a lot of 2 Fast. I daresay 2, too much.

2 Fast stepped up by ditching the straight "quarter mile" (or whatever) races, but otherwise offered a mediocre plot with far too many imported cars. Given the number of times I saw the movie (well, never in one sitting), it's surprising how little I can recall. Most importantly, though, is that the pairing of Paul Walker with Tyrese just couldn't cut it. I agree with Metacritic: this is the lowest point in the series.

In 2006, the series saw somewhat of a reboot in The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift, a sort of Halloween-esque third installment because of the absence of nearly every character from the previous films. Now making $15 an hour and saving for law school, I did not see this in theaters, and actually only saw the film in its entirety within the last few years. Though still focusing largely on Japanese imports, it had the virtue of taking place in... yes, Japan.  Lucas Black hardly shines here, but holds his own compared to, say, Paul Walker.  What saves the films is Black's pairing with Bow Wow (yes, I said it) and Sung Kang, forming a team of interesting characters that actually surpasses the first film. Mixed with a good dose of comic relief and some refreshingly invigorating race sequences (power sliding like Junior Johnson!), I was surprised that I didn't hear better reviews at the time. And what movie doesn't get bonus points for sending some work the way of Brad from Home Improvement? Anyway, by the end of the film, with the cameo by Vin Diesel audiences were left with that feeling: maybe...


And so came 2009, with Fast & Furious [Four].  No, I didn't see this one in the theater, either. But by midsummer, the spring release carried over into the hotel pay-per-view circuit, and following my first day of the Illinois Bar Exam in Chicago I ate a large meal and retired to my room to digest and watch something mindless.  It was already impressive that eight years after the debut of the series a fourth installment would drop with a near full-scene for a teaser trailer, and though far from perfect this set the Fast & Furious series on a lasting course to par excellence summer popcorn fare.

It's with Fast & Furious [Four] that writers and producers changed focus. The first three films sought to tell stories around hot cars and racing, while since the fourth film the series has sought to place hot cars and racing around a great story. And it's worked very well. In this way, Fast & Furious demands comparisons to Bullitt, Ronin, and other films that define the car-movie genre. Of course Vin Diesel and company do not hold a candle to Steve McQueen or Robert DeNiro, but this approach is nevertheless a large step up from a genre that for too long stood as little more than an excuse for teenage boys to park their "tuners" outside the movie theater and pose.

Along with this change in focus came a far better balance of cars. The token Charger or Mustang are buttressed with a far better sampling of American muscle. Just seeing the scene featured in the first trailer--where a Buick Grand National was given center billing--was, for me, jaw-dropping. (The Grand National now has its own documentary.) Also, if only by virtue of there being so much background story, suddenly the characters (including Sung Kang from Tokyo Drift) had depth. This is not to say there's significant character development, but like the James Bond films we warm up to the characters if only because they've been around for so long. However, the major flaw to the fourth film is glaring, and that's the significant use of CGI instead of live action.  At least on the small screen in the hotel room, it was painfully, inexcusably low-rent.  Thankfully, at the time plenty of critics pointed this out.

In summer 2011 I finally went back to the theater for Fast Five. If you only see one Fast & Furious film, this is the one to see. Finally, everything clicked.  Excellent chemistry between a not-quite-A-list cast.  I'm unsure if fame has any real effect, but Fast Five goes miles beyond the camaraderie portrayed in ensembles like The Expendables, which amount to a lot of has-beens cashing in on past fame and hot-dogging. The Fast and Furious cast know they have a good thing going, are enjoying the ride and bringing us along.

Fast Five features new Dodge Chargers, the classic Dodge Charger, a Ford GT and even an appearance by a DeTomaso Pantera. It's simply a joy to watch from start to finish. As with Fast & Furious 6 and the previous installments, there's plenty of stupid movie fare, but it's all forgivable because it's a movie. One must be very cautious with this disclaimer. So far in the summer of 2013, both Iron Man 3 and Star Trek: Into Darkness have failed in this regard, sacrificing great characters to a rigorous schedule of endless activity that bores rather than invigorates. Fast Five and 6 are unafraid to mix up the tempo, and actually put some effort into setting up the action sequences. This should not be a novel approach, but alas, Hollywood.

While the acting and stories may not reach The French Connection, Five's climatic chase scene does. Again, with the reservation that it's a summer blockbuster with no pretensions of greatness, that's saying something.

After last weekend, we have six. I've now seen half the Furious films in the theater and intend to so patronize every one that will be made henceforth. Indeed, there's plenty of things to criticize, even mock: I could offer up a fake trailer proclaiming "From the producers who brought you the 3-mile quarter... the 20-mile runway..." But like Fast Five, this was fun. No shocking departures from past efforts, no suspicions that the suits came in with awful ideas to supplant the director, and some awesome cars.

I mean, seriously, now I'm getting schooled. I had no idea what a Jensen Interceptor was. Now, well, I know I want one. And the Plymouth Superbird (pictured)? Be still my heart.

As I just mentioned, it's miles beyond this year's Iron Man or Star Trek. Furthermore, it does not bring the baggage that accompanied the surprisingly enjoyable GI Joe: Retaliation. On a related note, I did not catch The Hangover Part III this weekend, simply because The Hangover Part II was so awful. So far, for the summer blockbusters I can only offer four of five stars to Fast & Furious 6 and the flawed-but-beautiful Oblivion.

In short, after all this, without irony I say: this is the most reliable action series we've got, and I'm happy to call myself a fan.

Live Tweeting "The Octagon"

Obviously, updates to this blog are few and far between.  I would like to think quality beats quantity, but that's no excuse.  So I offer an apology for that and, quite possibly, for what I'm about to present as well. 

As you know I'm not too upset about Netflixification; although its streaming content often presents viewers with the choice of picking the best among largely mediocre offerings, at least there are diamonds in the rough and no commercials. (Of particularly worthy note right now is a Russian film from 2008, Vanished Empire, an outstanding movie about reckless youth in '70s Soviet Moscow.)  And even with a lot of junk, there's still that "Bad but Awesome" tag I put on these blogs, and with Netflix adding a slew of Chuck Norris's early work, it demanded attention here at Cinematic Leisure.

Ladies and Gentlemen, The Octagon.

Rather than review this film, and present thoughts digested, I offer a helping of new media meets this less-new media.  Joined by friend artiste Anthony McConnell, and with the help of several gin and tonics, I live-tweeted my viewing experience.  Below are the results.  Since Twitter offers its micro-blog tweets in descending order, or newest-to-oldest tweets, I took the liberty of photoshopping these tweets into ascending order, or oldest-to-newest.  This way, you can follow the path of Chuck Norris--well, sort of--as he seeks revenge on the neenjah. 

And there you have it. Given this revisit, perhaps the traditional movie review still has merit after all. 

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!