31 years after its original release, it's hard to believe that there was once a time when John McTiernan's Predator wasn't revered as one of the best action movies of the modern era. Critics savaged the film, although now even the stuffiest of critics cannot deny its shamelessly muscly, bullet-spraying, blood-spattering charm. Predator is now held in as equally high regard as McTiernan's other action classic Die Hard - released the following year - and featured Arnold Schwarzenegger at the very top of his game. This was long before the Austrian hulk made a swerve into politics and became the self-parody he is today. The premise is almost offensively simple, but the execution makes this one of the most effortlessly enjoyable action movies of the 1980s. McTiernan knows exactly how to tear a jungle apart with gunfire, and set up his disposable supporting characters for a grisly death.
Special Forces major Dutch Schaefer (Schwarzenegger) is "choppahed" into South America, where is he given a mission to rescue an official who has fallen into the hands of some insurgents. Schaefer and his team - played by Bill Duke, Jesse Ventura, Sonny Landham, Richard Chaves and Shane Black - are met by Schaefer's old Army buddy Dillon (Carl Weathers), and the two greet each other in the most 80s way possible by flexing their oiled and oversized muscles in a manly handshake. As the team venture further into the jungle, it becomes clear that Dillon isn't telling the whole story, and the mission becomes even more difficult when they capture a female hostage named Anna (Elpidia Carrillo). Yet this is far from their biggest problem, as on their tail is an alien with the ability to camouflage itself and see with thermal imaging, backed by an arsenal of powerful extra-terrestrial gadgets and a healthy appetite for the hunt. With the group being picked off one by one by this formidable enemy, Schaefer must get to the extraction point before he becomes another skull in the beast's growing collection of trophies.
The plot can be compared to countless B-movies throughout the years, but what worked for Alien also works for Predator. Take a simple premise, add some budget, bind it together with some good old-fashioned decent film-making, and the result is a timeless classic. Yes, the special effects have dated and most of the actors' stars have somewhat dimmed in the decades since, but Predator is even more of a blast now than it was when I stole my brother's VHS twenty-odd years ago. The sequels, spin-offs and comic-books have gone to great length to explain and develop the Predator's mythology, but McTiernan simply lets the monster do its thing. Played by the 7 ft 2 in Kevin Peter Hall, the Predator's formidable armour, weaponry, stealth and sheer repulsiveness has made it a sci-fi/horror icon. Like the Alien franchise, subsequent movies have felt the need to explain the creature's backstory, damaging their otherworldly mystery in the process, but Predator simply throws him into the mix and lets him loose on our world's finest warriors. With star Shane Black's reboot The Predator set to arrive shortly, now is the perfect time to revisit what drew audiences to the series in the first place, in spite of how your attitude may have soured after those terrible Alien cross-overs and the forgettable third entry from 2010.
The Dollanganger children - the elder Cathy (Kristy Swanson) and Chris (Jeb Stuart Adams), and young twins Cory (Ben Ryan Ganger) and Carrie (Lindsay Parker) - live an idyllic life with their photogenic mother (Victoria Tennant) and caring, successful father (Marshall Colt). That is until the day of their father's birthday brings the devastating news that he has been killed in a car accident, leaving the four kids without a father figure and their mother with dwindling savings. When their money runs dry, Mother takes them to their grandparents' mansion in the country, where she hopes to reconnect with her dying father in the hope of being written back into his will. When they arrive, they are met with disdain by Grandmother (Louise Fletcher), who has long felt that her daughter's marriage and family was an abomination. As Mother attempts to crawl back into her parents' good books, the children must be locked away unseen in the attic to be told over time by their only remaining parent to endure the isolation just a little while longer.
V. C. Andrews' novel Flowers in the Attic was incredibly successful when it was released in 1979, selling over 40 million copies worldwide, gathering a huge following of young readers, and spawning no fewer than three sequels. The author wisely insisted on script approval when selling the rights for a film adaptation, turning down a number of screenplays before settling with Jeffrey Bloom's version. The producers had already turned down Wes Craven's violent and disturbing vision, deeming it too disturbing for a mainstream audience, despite the director's recent success with A Night on Elm Street. Bloom's script stayed true the novel's controversial themes of incest, but the final product, also directed by Bloom, did not play well with test audiences, who were freaked out by the sexual activity between the two oldest siblings, and unsatisfied with the climax.
The production was a notoriously troubled one. When the producers got nervous after the test screenings and insisted on re-shooting the ending, Bloom stepped away, and an unknown replacement was brought in to helm the new scenes. The result has one salivating at the thought of a juicier, more harrowing version with Craven behind the camera, as Flowers in the Attic is a tame, frustrating and ultimately boring affair. It is a film completely disinterested in detail, choosing instead to force us into accepting the children's predicament with no real understanding of how they took so long to figure it all out, and why don't simply make a run for it. Cathy and Chris come across as idiotic, irresponsible and weak, despite the best efforts of Swanson and Adams. Fletcher, evoking her intimidating presence from One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, gives it her very best, but she can't save this damp squib from instantly fading from memory.
British playwright Andrea Dunbar combined two of her stage plays to create the movie script for Rita, Sue and Bob Too, a movie which, in my family at least, is somewhat fondly remembered as a naughty and gleefully foul-mouthed comedy about an older, married man who starts a sexually-charged relationship with two schoolgirls who babysit his children. 30 years on, the subject matter could be slightly troubling, and it just may be exactly that for some people seeing it for the first time. Yet with the tagline "Thatcher's Britain with her knickers down!" and the socially aware Alan Clarke at the helm, it's clear that the film is much more than a titillating throwback to the Carry On days, and paints an incredibly grim picture of working-class life in Bradford, and of Britain as a whole.
Rita (Downton Abbey's Siobhan Finneran) and Sue (Michelle Holmes) are two bubbly and outgoing girls making some extra cash on the side by babysitting for middle-class couple Bob (George Cositgan) and Michelle (Lesley Sharp). While driving the girls home one night, Bob takes a detour to the moors where he proceeds to have sex with both of them, one after the other. The threesome start a potentially damaging relationship, with the girls having to deal with a troubled home-life and the pressures of school gossip, and Bob coming under scrutiny from his wife, who he has cheated on many times before. As Bob and Rita grow closer and Sue finds herself in an abusive relationship with young Pakistani Aslam (Kulvinder Ghir), close bonds are broken and lives are ruined, when all Bob really wants is to get his rocks off.
It is a film that would never get made nowadays, but Clarke's film never attempts to make any stance on the morality of the characters' actions. For a guy who sounds like a complete scumbag on paper, Bob is a surprisingly likeable, if obviously flawed, chap. Rita and Sue are so loud, abrasive and willing to participate in the bizarre three-way that they it's impossible to view them as victims. The picture painted by Dunbar and Clarke of a crumbling Britain in the grip of austerity suggests that the central characters are acting out of boredom and to escape the banality of their suffocating environment. It is a socioeconomic drama cleverly disguised as an old-fashioned sex farce, and succeeds in being socially observant and laugh-out-loud funny. The introduction to Sue's frenetic home-life is a mixture of amusing one-liners and kitchen-sink angst, and this lopsided tone is consistent throughout the rest of the film. With its lack of ethical judgement amidst such a potentially creepy subject matter, Rita, Sue and Bob Too with unsettle some but delight others.
Gabriel Axel's Babette's Feast, adapted from Karen Blixen's short story of the same name (written under the pen name Isak Dinesen) and winner of the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film, is about both the richness of true artistry and the spiritual necessity of sampling what few pleasures life has to offer during our short time on Earth. Like an exquisite, expensive meal, it moves at a slow pace and requires you to savour the delicate starters before the wholly satisfying climax arrives like a rich dessert and fine malt whiskey, resulting in the most romantic film about living a quiet, pious life ever made.
Two elderly sisters, Martine (Birgitte Federspiel) and Filippa (Bodil Kjer), have lived in a windy, remote hamlet in Jutland, Denmark their entire life. Years ago, their father (Pouel Kern) was a highly respected pastor, and with his two young and beautiful daughters (played in flashback by Vibeke Hastrup and Hanne Stensgaard), ran a small conventicle, who still meet up occasionally to converse. The sisters are courted in their youth by two men - cavalry officer Lorens Lowenhielm (Jarl Kulle), who falls in love with Martine, and opera singer Achille Papin (Jean-Philippe Lafont), who happens to hear Filippa's flawless singing voice and longs to make her a star. Both reject their suitors advances out of loyalty to their marriage-spurning father, and remain alone together for the remainder of their lives.
One day, a French refugee named Babette (Stephane Audran) arrives having being sent by the ageing Papin to escape the bloody Paris Commune. The sisters have no money to pay her, but take her in when Babette offers to work for food and shelter. Her swaggering nature makes her hit in the small coastal town, and she stays with Martine and Filippa for years. When she receives a letter from Paris informing her that she has won 10,000 francs in the lottery, she begs the sisters to put aside their rigorous routine and allow her to cook them and their white-haired conventicle a fine French feast. They reluctantly agree but soon become concerned at the exotic ingredients arriving at their doorstep (including a live turtle), but Babette's feast with be spiritually enlightening for everyone involved.
Babette's Feast manages to gaze warmly on a life that may seem harsh and miserable to many, and the early scenes of the sisters turning their backs on a life of true love and fame is difficult to watch. But Martine and Filippa remain without any bitterness; their only concern being the dwindling resources due to a lack of new members to their flock. In their old age, the rest of the group have become quarrelsome, but as each beautiful course is served, the petty issues are mended as they all experience the earthly miracle being set out in front of them. We taste every bite and get light-headed as the wine is supped, and it's a truly sincere experience. It also retains a tenderness and a grace usually lost in movies designed to pull on the heart-strings, and this is embodied by Audran who is outstanding as the eponymous artist.
Upon its release in 1987, Stephen King was quoted as saying, about Hellraiser, "I have seen the future of horror, and his name is Clive Barker." The backing of such an icon of horror is high praise indeed, and the fact that Hellraiser still holds up today, 28 years after its release, is a testament to the quality of Clive Barker's hellish vision, based on his own novella, The Hellbound Heart. In an era full of horror movies fronted by broad, almost comic villains, and audiences preferences leaning towards bland American slashers, Hellraiser took a stance as a serious piece of work - rich in atmosphere, disturbing in tone and visually arresting - the foundations on which horror classics are built.
Contrary to popular belief (and his over-exposure in the - currently - 8 sequels), Pinhead (Doug Bradley) and his entourage of grotesque Cenobites remain in the background for the majority of the first instalment. The plot instead focuses the grisly fate and gradual re-birth of thrill-seeking scumbag Frank (Sean Chapman), who, in seeking the ultimate sexual enlightenment, purchases a mysterious puzzle box from a Chinese man which opens the gates of Hell when solved. Frank manages to do so, and is impaled by hooks and dragged into a world of torture, mutilation and degradation. Some time later, Frank's brother Larry (Andrew Robinson) and his second wife Julia (Clare Higgins) move into the home previously inhabited by Frank. While moving furniture, Larry cuts his hand on a protruding nail, inadvertently bringing Frank back from Hell and igniting his gruesome re-birth.
The plot treads carefully between being mysterious and plain confusing. There are no attempts made to explain just why Larry's blood brings Frank back into the real world and what exactly Frank was hoping to achieve by experiencing Hell, but these small details become insignificant in the wake of such visual splendour and immersing atmosphere. It can also be forgiven for some soap-opera dramatics as Julia's previous infidelity with Frank is exposed, and her manipulation into bringing Frank bodies to feed on while her suspicious step-daughter Kirsty (Ashley Laurence) keep her a watchful eye. Hellraiser employs a slow, careful build-up, so when the true horror springs into life near the end and the Cenobites rear their ugly heads, it is all the more effective for it.
Now a fully-fledged horror icon, Pinhead and his cronies are a strange manifestation of deformed monsters and bondage fetishism. They arrive with skin pinned back in various abominable positions, parts of their face and torso pierced with all manners of tools and devices, and all twisted beyond the point of no return by their experiences searching for the ultimate pleasures of the flesh. Part BDSM nightmare and part body horror, Hellraiser's climax is still one of the most disturbing things ever filmed without being particularly scary. Despite its narrative flaws and wobbly plot explanations, Clive Barker's film stands out as one of the finest of its era, spinning a complex and dark mythology around a low-key plot, with the uncanny ability to creep under your skin and stay there for a significant amount of time afterwards.
Made in 1983 but not released until 1987 under the title of Nightmare at Shadow Woods, Blood Rage is one of many forgotten slashers given a limited cinema run, only to be cut of a lot of its gore and released in various butchered versions on home video. Also like a lot of slashers, Blood Rage is terribly acted, badly written and features a plodding narrative in which we get to witness lots of boobs and blood-spraying. It's also an evil twin movie, beginning with two young identical siblings, Todd and Terry, escaping their car at a drive-in while their mum gets it on with a man in the front seat. Terry inexplicably hacks a young, dry-humping couple to death, wipes the blood on Todd, and blames his shell-shocked brother for the crime.
Todd is locked away in a mental asylum, and years later, the grown up Terry (Mark Soper) is preparing for a Thanksgiving meal with his smothering mother Maddy (Louise Lasser), her new beau Brad (William Fuller) and his girlfriend Karen (Julie Gordon). They learn of Todd's escape and are soon joined by Dr. Berman (Marianne Kanter) and her assistant Jackie (Douglas Weiser) from the institute. Terry, seeing an opportunity to release his suppressed homicidal tendencies and frame Todd even more convincingly, embarks on a killing spree, stalking the estate and the surrounding wooded area with machete in hand, using his clean-cut mommy's-boy image to divert any attention from him.
There's a clear oedipal theme running throughout Blood Rage, similar to but not to the same extent as fellow obscure horror (and video nasty) Night Warning (1982), but this is not explored with any care or intelligence. Decent slasher movies are extremely difficult to come by, and this is no exception. The horror is particularly gory, and alarmingly frequent, especially in the early stages. The make-up and effects (by Oscar winner Ed French) are also quite decent, but in between these moments are the same stretched-out chase scenes and clunky dialogue seen in a thousand films of its ilk. Soper is equally terrible as Todd as he is as Terry, but special mention must go to Lasser (who actually had a half-decent career), whose frankly bizarre performance is so awful that it may cause your ears to bleed. A true Thanksgiving turkey.
Only his third film in 17 years, Scottish director Donald Cammell followed his mind and identity-bending psychadelic masterpiece Performance (1968) and the studio-butchered Demon Seed (1977) with another oddity, the strange and confusing, yet nonetheless effortlessly intriguing White of the Eye. Cammell killed himself shortly after seeing his final film, Wild Side (1995), heavily censored by an appalled producer, at the end of what seemed like a frustrating career. It's a shame he wasn't allowed more opportunities to direct features, as although White of the Eye sometimes steers into TV-movie aesthetic and features an unnecessarily overblown climax, it is something to be savoured and thought about a long time after the credits roll.
After a series of brutal murders of upper-class women, tire tracks left by the killer leads Detective Charlie Mendoza (Art Evans) to sound expert Paul White (Keith David). We learn through flashbacks the meeting of Paul and his now-wife Joan (Cathy Moriarty), and how he stole her away from her boyfriend Mike Desantos (Alan Rosenberg). There's something not quite right about Paul - he has the strange ability to omit a sound that echoes through his head, allowing him to hear at what point in a room that the sound from speakers should come from. Mike knows something too, and when Joan discovers Paul's secret affair, she slowly uncovers who her husband really is.
There's not really much point trying to unravel the mysteries in the movie, as it will leave you with a headache. Below the surface of giallo-esque murders and the sleazy Lynchian atmosphere, there seems to be a mythology happening somewhere. At one point, Paul whispers "I am the One,". Is this really a deeper story than it lets on, or is Paul just simply a narcissistic loon? Whatever it is, the film works better if you just let it play out, as the film has a lot to offer in terms of style. The soundtrack, by Rick Fenn and Pink Floyd's Nick Mason, is a powerful presence, and drums up a dusty, apocalyptic feel reminiscent of Richard Stanley's Dust Devil, which came out 5 years later.
Keith's performance is also impressive, especially in the latter stages when he is let off the leash. But it's about the only good thing about the climax, which tries too hard to be a number of different things and fails in just about every one of them. It becomes almost generic, with car chases and a stalk-and-slash set-piece, completely betraying the slow-build that came before. Whether Cammell was simply trying to appease his producers or indulging in mainstream aspirations, I don't know. Still, this is a bizarre little treat; uncomfortable and distinctive, cementing it's status as a must-see for fans of cult oddities.
"Can one live beyond one's time?" ponders the 93 year old Sarah (Lillian Gish). This summarises one of the key themes in Lindsay Anderson's moving drama The Whales of August, which focuses on the relationship between sisters Sarah and Libby (Bette Davis). Spending the summer in their vacation house in Maine, the two are approaching the end of their lives. Sarah keeps herself busy doing household choirs and looking after her near-blind sister, as she awaits the yearly arrival of the whales who swim close to the shore. While Sarah is positive and open to changes, Libby is bitter, resigned to her looming death, and opposes Sarah's ideas to install a window that would allow the moonlight to shine through the home in the evening.
There is no real plot in The Whales of August, and is instead a moving character piece that allows a quartet of wonderful actors - Vincent Price and Ann Sothern as well as the aforementioned - to flex their muscles again. With about 500 features in total behind them, it's wonderful to see these powerhouses at work. Sothern received the only Oscar nomination, but this is Gish's film (Gish shrugged off her Oscar snub by saying "oh well, at least I don't have to lose to Cher". She was one of the first Hollywood superstars, and displays the same effortless likeability that made her a star with the likes of Intolerance - Love's Struggle Through the Ages (1916) and Broken Blossoms, or The Yellow Man and the Girl (1919). Post-stroke and looking extremely gaunt, Davis sadly fairs less well, and although I consider her to be possibly the greatest actress to ever grace the screen, her performance lacks any real emotion.
Beyond the performances, the film is contemplative and somewhat sad. Faded memories and old photographs are always something that affect me, and watching Sarah and Libby share anecdotes and knowing what these actresses must have lived through and experienced, I found it hard not to get choked up. It's a meditation on change and if there ever comes a time when you should simply let go and accept what's coming. It would be Gish's last film, and Davis' penultimate, and it's a fitting way for the both of them to go out. Going back to the question in the first line, the answer is yes. There is a time all actors will be cast aside by the studio system in favour of youth, deeming them no longer fit for purpose, but The Whales of August reminds us that cinema will never, ever forget.
If I were ever to be truly embarrassed about any of my entries into the Childhood Memories Project, it would be this simply disastrous excuse of a movie. It was shown mid-afternoon in the early days of Channel 5 one day, and my granddad thought to record it for me, along with another bizarre and semi-obscure entry into the 1980's comedy genre, FEDS (1988). I can't remember if I even liked the film, but I remember watching it repeatedly. Maybe I was drawn to the simple-minded and childish comedy, played out over some extremely dodgy 80's electro-pop. Or perhaps it was Kim Cattrall, looking beautiful before she starred as upper-class slut Samantha in Sex in the City (1998-2004), stirring some pre-pubescent feelings inside of me. I like to think the latter is true.
Ancient Egyptian princess Emmy (Cattrall) hides from her mother who wants her to marry against her will. After praying to the Gods for rescue, she in transported through time on a quest for true love. Meanwhile, young mannequin-manufacturer Jonathan Switcher (Andrew McCarthy) is sacked for taking too long on the job, he drifts between jobs while trying to keep his demanding girlfriend Roxie (Carole Davis) happy. One night he spots his greatest mannequin creation - in the image of Emmy - in the window of the failing Prince & Company, ran by Claire Timkin (Estelle Getty) and the slimy Richards (James Spader). After saving Claire from a bizarre accident, he is given a job as a stock boy. One night, Emmy comes to life and enchants Jonathan, inspiring him to create a window display that attracts a large audience.
I don't really know how to write a serious review of Mannequin after just typing that plot synopsis. The bull-shit story and lack of any remote explanation aside, the film is nothing but clichéd, childish humour, and a fairytale romance aimed at mentally numb teenage girls. The truly creepy idea that Jonathan is in love with a plastic mannequin is simply justified by his outlandish co-worker Hollywood (Meshach Taylor) being 'weirder'. He is gay and camp, after all! There is also a gaping plot-hole that begs that question as to why Jonathan doesn't just take the mannequin home with him, therefore ruling out the need to sneak around under the nose of psychopathic security man Felix (G.W. Bailey) and his dog Rambo. It would have also been a reason to avoid 90 minutes (and hours of my childhood!) of sheer drivel.
Before Peter Jackson almost exclusively worked with a CGI backdrop in the land of Middle-Earth, he began his film making career in the realms of low budget comedy-horror. Utilising the 1980's trend for splatter cinema, and no doubt the influence of Sam Raimi's tongue-in-cheek zombie film, The Evil Dead (1982), Jackson's debut feature film was entrenched in a very American tradition, but beholds the humour of his native New Zealand - which incidentally is part of the British commonwealth, meaning much of the uniqueness of British comedy is transposed onto the antipodean nation, the influence of Monty Python being one particular aspect of the film that made it such a surprise success. Bad Taste was clearly a labour of love, with Jackson bringing friends and family in to contribute to the making. The nature of the films production adds something quite special to both the narrative and the humour. The home-made special effects and props (Jackson used his parents oven to bake the handmade armoury used in the film) work both as farce and as actually quite an achievement of authenticity.
Set in a small, isolated town, a group of misfits, "The Boys," ordered from a shadowy government department, have been sent to investigate an invasion, where aliens have wiped out the inhabitants. What transpires is an alien fast food corporation have discovered that human flesh is the galaxy's newest taste sensation, and are accumulating cardboard boxes of flesh to market and sell to planets. At the centre of the government group is geeky scientist, Derek (Played by Jackson himself - he is also in the role of the alien Robert), who "can only relate to birds". He salivates at the sight of dismemberment and artillery. As the group discover the truth about the alien invasion, their mission is to stop them from leaving the planet. On a narrative level, Bad Taste is as simple as they come. But underneath this simplicity is a wealth of brilliantly formed characters, with their own idiosyncrasies, and a range of beautifully crafted one liners and references.
There are some stand out moments created with gruesome, cheep, but effective effects. The aliens seem to be mostly influenced by the zombie cinema of George A. Romero, with their slow moving mannerisms, and like Romero and Savini, Jackson delights in slicing them up with sharp tools and exploding them with guns. One alien has the top half of his head chopped off, a scene that displays Jackson's talent for editing, as he seamlessly cuts from the actors legs stumbling, to the rubbery half-head spurting copious amounts of blood and gore. Derek provides some of the most grotesque, Grand Guignol elements after he falls from a cliff, leaving a skull flat that exposes his brain matter. After this event, he constantly battles to keep the brain inside his head, strapping it closed with a belt. These scenes merge those ideas the comedy of the absurd, with the horrific splatter of giallo or the ridiculously over-the-top gore films of Herschell Gordon Lewis.
Considering the limitations of the incredibly low budget (according to imdb, the films budget was estimated at 30,000 NZD), the film looks good. Of course the film stock, the acting and the special effects aren't up to some of the more expensive American productions of its type, but with an insanely funny script, and the excessive nature of the violence, it is a film that should be loved. I do remember first seeing this film on video around 1989/1990, no doubt initially attracted by the latex alien on the video cover flipping the bird. It was soon the talk of the playground, as school friends would delight in the gore. But more specifically, I, along with my peers, were fundamentally reacting to the outlandish and on-the-money comedy, which holds up today as much as the first two Monty Python films. Gross-out comedy on this scale, has not been so much fun as this since. It's a shame Jackson hides away in Middle-Earth so much these days, it's about time he was funny again.
A quasi-disturbing trend in '80's American cinema was the wisecrack; innocuous in some genres, it even extended to the horror film, with the child killer (paedophile if you want a 21st century tag) Freddy Krueger - who would flaunt his quips after extravagantly offing a "youngun". Within the action film, it was Schwarzenegger who was the king of the one-liners. The Running Man offered the perfect vehicle for this fashion of dialogue, with its structure of death-for-survival. In the future (2017 to be precise) the worlds economy has crashed leaving many homeless, and the state runs the entertainment industry - in this science fiction world, television ratings are raised by the depiction of violence and humiliation; as long as it is justified with criminality.
Ben Richards (Schwarzenegger) is an ex-cop, wrongfully imprisoned for a helicopter attack on civilians. In the opening scene we see the "real" event, as Richards refuses to shoot innocents, and ignores orders. As we are in familiar sci-fi themes, this dystopic police state, and its control of the media, manipulates the facts to create a criminal. Escaping a maximum security prison (which seems surprisingly easy to break out of), Richards heads for his brothers in the city, whilst Laughlin (Yaphet Kotto) and Weiss (Marvin J. McIntyre) head for revolutionary activity. But the butcher of Bakersfield (the name attributed to Richards by the falsified media story) is too buff, and far too athletic to not be used in television most popular gameshow (its title used for this film), and Killian (Richard Dawson) spots the potential of this "contestant" in a prison break video.
Captured and forced to take part in The Running Man, Richards (along with Laughlin and Weiss and the ubiquitous damsel (Maria Conchita Alonso) who is picked up along the way) has to face a series of stalkers, who hunt them down in a fight to the death. Simply put, it is a kind of underground gladiatorial entertainment, and with the over the top stalkers (including Fireball (Jim Brown) and Buzzsaw (Gus Rethwisch), who all have specific modes of weaponry) they face a game-like structure to get to the next level. In this structure we find the linguistic genius (sic) of Schwarzenegger, as he sardonically "explains" within one comedic line, what happened when he killed another man (for example, after raising buzzsaw's chainsaw to his groin, he is asked what happened to him, and Richards replies "He had to split" - hilarity!
Some of the films themes resonate within our popular culture to this day. Now, I'm in no way stating that this film was prescient, or even that it was ahead of its time. The presentation is certainly of its time, and many of the ideas can be found elsewhere (within literature, Orwell's 1984 is standard for dystopian futures), such as Peter Watkins' Punishment Park (1971). What the film does highlight when viewed in another century is that the general populous has become far more media savvy that ever. We are used to the idea that anything we watch on television (particularly when we consider the mass of reality TV that litters our airwaves) we are watching something edited for the purpose of entertainment. In The Running Man, the audiences are unaware that manipulation is rampant within both current affairs and entertainment broadcasting.
I think I may have just taken a Schwarzenegger film far too seriously. This is an '80's gung-ho action film, that perpetuates the throw-away, comic book violence that prevailed - after all, America was defeated in their last war (Vietnam) and, I'm guessing, had to make war and violence accessible to children! This frightening concept would become more concerning when many adult action ideas were transferred to Saturday morning cartoons (both Robocop and Rambo were translated to cartoon, and they were based on two of the most violent films of the decade). This digression is not too far away from The Running Man, as it does often feel like it is directed at a younger audience, despite the bloody violence, it is very much a cartoonish and immature approach to what could have been a more cerebral comment on mass entertainment.
Based on a book by Stephen King (Writing as Richard Bachmann), the film does have some interesting elements to it. In our modern world of multi-channel, on-demand entertainment, a large segment (the majority in fact) of the media we consume, is so insipid, so incredibly dumbed-down, that it would be easy to argue that these forms of visual pleasure are produced as a form of control (you know, keep them in line by feeding them shit that rots the brain). In The Running Man, the largely homeless population gather round the over sized screens that litter the skyline to watch state-controlled gameshows, and they find their entertainment in the death of others. When Richards begins to beat the stalkers, the audience start gunning for the supposed "villain". Therefore, the film seems to be making the point that death is what people want to see, even if it is the wrong type of death.
Despite all of these transgressions, this was one of the favourites as a youngster. It is undeniably entertaining, and has some genuinely nice moments, and offers some interesting visions of a future that was inevitably there in 1987, but in which has been exacerbated over the last 30 years of increasingly dumb entertainment. Within standard television production modes, The Running Man is not inspiring film making (it was directed by Paul Michael Glaser, who was Starsky in Starsky and Hutch, and also directed many episodes of Miami Vice). There is probably no doubt that this will be remade, as the ideas and themes are still very relevant today, but lets hope that if it is remade, they forget about the muscles and gladiator iconography, and focus on the manipulation through entertainment. And please, never, ever put Schwarzenegger in a Lycra jumpsuit!
During the 1980's the world of advertising and general marketing took on an all invasive, sinister tone. After the success of the Star Wars toy line from Kenner, the industry began a series of fantasy toy lines that used the 30 minute Saturday morning cartoon as an advertising tool. This led to famous toy's/cartoons such as Tranformers, Thundercats et al (there are way too many to list in this review). I believe the first of these was the He-Man and the Masters of the Universe, which hawked a band of sword-and-sandal-like fantasy characters, in a world called Eternia.
The cartoon and toy line were incredibly successful, and whilst as an adult, my cynical side sees the enormity of this exploitative marketing, as a child I was totally sucked in. With the unbridled achievement of cynical marketing, it was only a matter of time before the Hollywood machine would take the buff character of He-man and immortalise the cunt on screen.
The 1980's also saw an increase of over sized muscle-men on the big screen. This was of course reflective of Reagan's politics of big-is-good etcetera. So with such a low-rent project, the film needed a pretty low-rent, muscular "actor". I'm guessing that even Schwarzenegger and Stallone were too good for this film, as the actor chosen to play the homo-erotic, buff-dunce He-man was Dolph Lundgren, another of the increasingly large action stars of the decade.
The story involves a set of keys that can open a portal to other worlds/dimensions, and He-man's evil foe, Skeletor (Frank Langela) obviously wants the set. During a battle in Snake mountain, the hero's are forced to go through a portal where they find themselves in contemporary America, and take on the help of a native, Julie (Courtney Cox).
This derivative, insipid film is just awful. The action is more than likely placed in a Earth-bound setting for budgetary reasons. And to be fair, even if this was not the case, it would probably be just as shit. I did see this at the cinema at the time, and probably liked it. But seeing this as an adult just makes me realise that there was an abundance of genuinely awful movies in the decade of greed.
"We've gone on holiday by mistake!". This line, spoken by Richard E. Grant's flamboyant and tragic alcoholic Withnail, sums up this cult British masterpiece. Made on a shoe-string budget (partly funded by George Harrison), Withnail & I has gained momentum in the last decade or so, and is now considered a British classic and certainly one of the greatest comedies made in the last thirty years or so. It tells the story of two hard-drinking, out-of-work thespians living in their filthy London flat awaiting that call from their agent that will inevitably break them. Tired and consumed by the misery of 1969 London, 'I' (often referred to as 'Marwood', played by Paul McGann) persuades Withnail to travel to the remote cottage in the Lake District owned by Withnail's outlandishly homosexual Uncle Monty (Richard Griffiths).
The two city-dwellers struggle with survival, poverty and the aggression of the locals, until Monty arrives in a comical scene where the two think that a threatening poacher has broken in to kill them. Withnail is happy sponging off his Uncle while I remains terrified and uncomfortable at Monty's increasingly aggressive sexual advances. While this hardly sounds like a barrel of laughs, writer/director Bruce Robinson's script (based on his personal experiences) is chocked full of great, quotable lines, as well as genuinely beautiful wordplay. While the film has become the focus of many an annoying student who enjoy playing the 'Withnail Drinking Game', I refuse to let this ruin my absolute love for this truly stunning film.
While the comedy is what it is ultimately remembered for, Withnail & I is also a sober and quite depressing portrayal of the death of 'the greatest decade known to man'. Danny the drug dealer (played brilliantly by Ralph Brown) sums it up when he says "they're selling hippy wigs in Woolworths, man." 'I' is truly disillusioned by his surroundings, and often the film feels like a massive comedown from the colossal high of the 1960's. This is apparent straight away, as the first scene depicts 'I' slumped on a chair, his eyes tired and red after a massive speed binge, painfully toking down a joint while the soundtrack plays a wailing saxophone.
But Withnail & I is remembered for it's comedy for a reason. There are literally too many great lines to quote, but my personal favourites have to be "why has my head gone numb?"/""why'd you drug their onions!?"/"here, hare, here? Here, hare, here!"/"flowers are merely tarts, prostitutes for the bees!"/"fork it!"/"we're going to buy this place, and install a fucking jukebox in here, liven you stiffs up a bit!". I'll stop now, as I can literally quote the entire film. These lines, as great as they are, wouldn't be half as good if they didn't have great actors saying them. Grant always gets the plaudits (and considered he is teetotal, his performance is truly great), but Paul McGann's equally impressive performance is understated and ultimately underrated. And Griffiths injects an air of tragedy into the nostalgia-filled and lonely Monty, who poetically remembers his times at Oxford when his life was once full of excitement and feeling.
I could literally talk about this film for hours, I love it that much. Every time I see it I notice another visual gag, another verbal joke, or another line of beauty that I failed to grasp the previous times. And never has a film moved me so much every time I view it, when, at the climax, Withnail quotes Hamlet while slumped over a railing, wine bottle in hand, rain hammering onto his umbrella. Truly exquisite, exciting, personal film-making, and one that will forever remain one of my personal favourites.
In theory, and from it's ridiculous title, Robocop is an incredibly silly film. The crime ridden streets of Detroit in the not-too-distant future, get a futuristic superhero, a knight in shining armour, from an omnipotent corporation OPC, to protect them from the criminals. However, what we actually get is a very emotional human story, along with some incredibly sharp satire.
Murphy (Peter Weller), a police officer, is killed whilst on a mission with his new partner, Lewis (Nancy Allen). OCP (after a failed attempt at a robot-police programme) commissioned the Robocop program, and Murphy becomes the candidate. His memory is supposed to have been erased by the corporation however, he is reminded by Lewis of his identity. He pieces together the criminals that gunned him down after an incident with Emil (Paul McCrane), and uncovers the criminal machinations of corrupt, corporate business.
As all good science fiction should, Robocop is partially allegorical of the times it was made in. In business, greed, power and wealth dominated (as highlighted in more explicit terms in another film of the same year, Oliver Stones Wall Street, where "greed is good"). Here, violence and deceit are the tactics used to make it in the cut-throat business world. Miguel Ferrer's young, ambitious Bob Morton, and the older rival, Ronny Cox's Dick Jones, battle with each other to get their individual police-robot project's into production. Corruption was also an all pervading element of '80's business (something that was not new of course, we can go back in American history and find many corrupt governments and institutions, Tammany in New York is one example), and we see here the corporate elite working with the criminal underworld.
The excesses of the 1980's greed is permeated within the excesses on screen. Violence is strong, yet comical at times. but it is always over the top. In an early scene, Dick Jones presents his product robot police officer, ED-209, a hulking, malevolent monster. In demonstration, ED-209 malfunctions and shoots an executive hundreds of times, to the point of joke. When Murphy is gunned down, we see his hand explode. Of course this reveals a corporate paranoia underneath some of the movies of the 80's. Each decades science fiction needs paranoia: In the 1950's and 60's it was communism and the nuclear bomb: in the 1970's and 80's it was political and corporate.
The film is injected with some spot-on satirical humour. Adverts are seen throughout, further exacerbating the excesses of American culture at the time. We see commercials selling over-sized, gas guzzling automobiles (6000 SUX), replacement hearts (this clearly to alleviate the excesses on the body caused in the 80's), and a board game of the Battleship-kind (Nuke-Em). These along with the narrative create an almost perfect package. Directed by European Paul Verhoeven who epitomises the concept that the best way for America to hold a mirror up to itself, is to get outsiders to produce something that reflects the madness that was 1980's, Reagan-era, excess and greed. Not only does it offer a commentary, the humanistic, philosophical nature of the soul, is a strong (if often used) theme.
Quite horrifically however, the film manifested into something terrible. I'm not talking about the sequels. The film was to be marketed for children, in the form of a cartoon series, and the inevitable action figures et al. So, like Gremlins (1984), this more "adult" fantasy, marketeers still had the moral sense (sic) to market violence to children - how lovely!
In West Berlin, still surrounded by the Berlin Wall, angels Damiel (Bruno Ganz) and Cassiel (Otto Sander) spend their time observing human life and comforting those in need of it. They compare their observations, and marvel at the joys, quirks and special moments that are experienced by humans. When Damiel overlooks lonely trapeze artist Marion (Solveig Dommartin), he falls in love, and the desire to leave his observational duties behind overwhelms him, and he ponders the idea of 'taking the plunge' and becoming re-born himself. He and Cassiel have also taken a special interest in visiting actor Peter Falk (playing himself) who is in town to shoot a World War II movie.
The opening half an hour of this film is simply one of the most beautiful openings to a film I've ever seen. It is incoherent, and drifts seemingly randomly from person to person, as we hear their inner thoughts and experiences. Damiel and Cassiel drift around a busy library that is full of fellow angels comforting those studying and seeking answers. Even those in distress seem to please Damiel, as it is one of the things that makes us human. His life so far has been full of mere observation, and he longs for pain, worry, or fear, or something that will finally allow him to actually feel something. As much as this film is about humanity, it is equally about war.
As Damiel and Cassiel walks the streets of the still war-scarred Berlin, they discuss how they witnessed the First Days. They saw the first river reach it's shore, and the very first animals appear. They talk about they both laughed when the first human appeared, being born in their image, and opening it's mouth to say its first word. Was it 'oh' or 'ah', they try to recall. But then they stopped laughing when the humans discovered war. The Berlin in Wings of Desire is still full of rubble and half-destroyed buildings, and the inhabitants are still very much effected by the war. Cassiel takes a special interest in an old man named Homer, who is looking for Potsdamer Platz. Laid to waste during war and still lying desolate, the man only finds a chair in a field and graffiti-stained walls. He wishes for an 'epic of peace'.
But as well as portraying the dark side of humanity, it also celebrates the best of it. When Damiel comes across Peter Falk at a coffee stand, Falk feels his presence. He talks about how when he is cold, he rubs his hands together to warm up, and how good it feels. Damiel watches him in awe, and longs for the taste of coffee and a cigarette. When Damiel finally takes the plunge, the film turns from beautiful sepia monochrome into fully-realised colour. It's the same effect done in A Matter of Life and Death (1946). It's a simple yet beautiful statement about how we can miss the things that are right in front of us, if we fail to just open our eyes.
It's a sentimental film that if anybody else's hands may have come across as patronising or whimsical. But Wenders directs with such as beauty and a poetry that it never feels preachy. He focuses on the basic human emotions and dissects them in such a complex way that is rarely seen in cinema - he also did a similar thing with his powerful Paris, Texas (1984). An absolutely wonderful film that is truly one of the most moving and beautiful I've ever seen, and a true and a honest depiction of the human spirit.
Awww....the 1980's. A time that seems so quaint. A time when problems could be quite easily solved with muscle and sport. Just the fact of winning could bring you the girl of your dreams, the many material wealth that you could hope for. Or, in the case of Over the Top, it could win the affections of the son you abandoned ten years ago.
Stallone brings his laconic acting style to this late-80's Rocky (1976)-style tale of a working class dad who left his wife and son in undisclosed circumstances ten years previously. His ex-wife was the daughter of a very rich man (played by Robert Loggia), weirdly never to see his son again. She is, at the start of the movie, dying of heart failure. Their son, Mike (David Medenall), has been educated in a military school. Christina's (Susan Blakely) last wish is that Mike's father drive him to the hospital to see her so that they may get to know each other. So the working class trucker (Stallone) arrives at the military school to know his father. A quite founded concept considering he has not seen him for years and the fact that his grandfather (Robert Loggia) has fed him false stories about his dads misconduct.
So begins the obvious, cliche ridden tale of father-meets-son, son-hates-father, but all ends well!!
But, I have to say, this is the first time that I have watched this movie since it was released on video, either in 1987 or 1988, and I cannot say that I did not enjoy it. There is an endearing quality in the growing relationship between father and son. Maybe this is the drink talking, but I enjoyed its utterly silly machinations. The main crux of the film is pivoted on the competition that Licoln Hawk (Stallone's character) is planning to compete in in Las Vegas - a world arm wrestling competition. A very working class style of machismo, that would win the heart of any son (sic).
After the death of Christina (Mikes mother/Lincolns ex-wife), the grandfather is determined to get custody of Mike. Something which is highly likely considering the fact that he is rich, and Lincoln is utterly poor. Despite earning the trust of Mike, Lincoln is abandoned by him, and is left alone to compete in the competition. He pawns his truck (the only form of income he has) before entering, and bets all the money on himself to win, he hopes to win the $10,000.00 prize, along with the uber-smart truck on offer.
There are many inconsistencies in the film, but they fall to the side. It's a completely absurd concept, yet I found myself totally absorbed in the growing relationship between father and son. Now this is certainly not something I would have come across as I watched as an 11 year old child. Maybe age has rendered me pathetic! This was the main focus as I watched the film. I mean, we can't genuinely for one second believe the performance of Stallone; he just plays the same role he always did. The use of bad, almost incomprehensible speech, with the dour eyes and wonky mouth. But his performance is a little touching! (I just vomited in my mouth!).
Ok, so we all know the end result, even if we have not seen the film. All is well (just like in real life - ha ha). Well, anyway. Lincoln makes it to the Las Vegas competition, where there is hot competition. He is a newcomer to the event, so odds are against him.
I have to give special comment to the arm wrestling contender John Grizzly. There are snippets of interviews with some contestants who give comment. Gotta love Grizzly's one: "When I get to the table, I don't care who they are, they're my mortal enemy. I hate them". So direct. The final 'battle' (if you like), or if it were musically challenged, the montage, is the most fun part (well, of course). It's fucking stupid; but it's silly fun. As Lincoln steps up to meet the final challenge, a huge mammoth of a man. It is dubbed a competition of David and Goliath; a clear parallel to the American/Russian paradox in Rocky IV (1985), just without the political content.
Well, it's pretty obvious that the final arm wrestling match is barely about the winning of money and trucks; it is in fact the chance for Stallone to not only win the money, but the get to buy his son back from his rich granddad. Oh, how money buys you happiness! It is a kind of perfect 1980's strategy. Money buys you love - fuck the Beatles concept said the '80's. Yes it can!! Just see John Hughes' Weird Science (1985) for proof of this analogy! Haha. It is a massive shame on my general moral and ethical opinion that I actually enjoyed watching this film. I didn't even want to punch the child-actors face considerably. Now that is a novelty in any film where the kid is prominent!
Special Forces major Dutch Schaefer (Schwarzenegger) is "choppahed" into South America, where is he given a mission to rescue an official who has fallen into the hands of some insurgents. Schaefer and his team - played by Bill Duke, Jesse Ventura, Sonny Landham, Richard Chaves and Shane Black - are met by Schaefer's old Army buddy Dillon (Carl Weathers), and the two greet each other in the most 80s way possible by flexing their oiled and oversized muscles in a manly handshake. As the team venture further into the jungle, it becomes clear that Dillon isn't telling the whole story, and the mission becomes even more difficult when they capture a female hostage named Anna (Elpidia Carrillo). Yet this is far from their biggest problem, as on their tail is an alien with the ability to camouflage itself and see with thermal imaging, backed by an arsenal of powerful extra-terrestrial gadgets and a healthy appetite for the hunt. With the group being picked off one by one by this formidable enemy, Schaefer must get to the extraction point before he becomes another skull in the beast's growing collection of trophies.
