292. Runaway Train

Song - Locomotive Breath (Jethro Tull)

Movie: Runaway Train (Andrei Konchalovsky, 1985)

It's perhaps a little greedy to ask for a couple more action set pieces in a movie that culminates with a spectacular chase scene between a sadistic prison warden hanging from a helicopter rope ladder and a runaway train harboring two escaped convicts. The helicopter and the train often appear in the frame together as they pass through and around the remote Alaskan wilderness and its snowy imposing mountains. You really get a great sense of the danger everyone is in, and the seeming impossibility of making it out alive. It makes every single move feel exciting and unpredictable, yet understandable in the larger context, allowing you to yell at the screen whenever you feel someone is making a dumb or unnecesarily dangerous decision. It helps too that the film has established the rivalry between warden Ranken (John P. Ryan) and Manny (Jon Voight) quite effectively. They are evenly matched and equally stubborn, turning their battle of wills into a personal vendetta that has a long time ago ceased to be about upholding the law or escaping for freedom.  All of this works really well, but, alas, I really could have used a couple more action set pieces. 

Runaway Train used to be always on TV and our TV guide always used to give it 5 stars, writing it up as a more mature film than the likes of Speed, Die Hard or Lethal Weapon. So it was OK that it was (in my mind at least) always playing a little too late in the evening - there would eventually come a time when I'd see it. And when the time did come, I remember it felt quite cool to finally be able to sit down and watch it. I also remember that I felt a tinge of disappointment after it ended, thinking that it wasn't as special as I expected it to be. Seeing it now, not much has changed. It's really good, but still not entirely satisfactory. Part of it may be that a train is inherently less exciting (at least in the context of action cinema) than a car, bus or plane. Konchalovsky has a lot of exterior shots of the train passing by with great speed, but seeing a train on the loose isn't much different than seeing a normally functioning train. Sure, it's faster, but it's still just a big unwieldy thing that moves in a straight line along a railway. If it gets derailed, the action will stop, so the options of showing it moving in ways that are out of the ordinary are limited, and you can entirely forget about having it do cool action stunts. And so, here we have a sequence where a train coming in from the opposite direction is moved to a different track right on time, and one where the out of control train passes over an old bridge with a speed that may or may not be too high for the bridge to withstand. Konchalovsky and co get as much suspense and excitement out of these scenes as they can, but that's mostly evoked through dialogue, good editing, and reaction shots. The movements of, in, and around the train itself are not that interesting. especially not in comparison to the deranged, chaotic violence of the prison fight scenes that set up the story and characters.

The film starts with Manny being released from three years of solitary confinement in an Alaskan maximum security prison, mostly so that Rankin will have an opportunity/excuse to hurt him when he tries to escape a third time. When he does, he is joined by Buck (Erick Roberts), who, as most prisoners looks up to him, but is too dumb to realise many things, including that Manny isn't too proud of his own criminal actions. Voight really does give a good performance as a cruel, ruthless man who regrets he doesn't know how to function in the world otherwise, but has no intentions to change his ways. Ranken (presumably) does, but still chooses to be as brutal as he possibly can in any given situation, without much remorse. The film wants to build some philsoophical ideas around this contrast quoting Shakespeare "No beast so fierce but knows some touch of pity. But I know none, and therefore am no beast." I don't think the film is very convincing in exploring these ideas, but Voight, Roberts, and to a lesser extent John Ryan, take them to heart and add a primitive touch to their performances that makes them more interesting.

291. To Have and Have Not

Song - You Are So Beatiful (Joe Cocker)

Movie: To Have and Have Not (Howard Hawks, 1944)

It's hard to imagine now, but in 1960 Alfred Hitchcock had to explicitly ban audiences from entering Psycho midway through. It used to be common for many filmgoers to get in at any point during a screening, stay through the ending and the beginning of the new show, and then leave when they got to the point of entry. This was especially popular during double features or full programmes that contained newsreels, shorts, ads and other entertainment before the main feature. Currently, some small 'alternative' cinemas are trying to restore this practice. I am not the biggest fan, especially when you are not informed in advance. Recently a place like that was showing 80's wrestling clips and an episode of Twilight Zone before finally getting to the main event (The Producers), a movie that had no connection to what came before. The Twilight Zone episode was quite good even, but I couldn't fully enjoy it, as I was just waiting to get on with it. A better experiment might be to screen a triple feature of Casablanca, To Have and Have Not and Key Largo in a continuous loop throughout the day, allowing people to get in and out whenever they feel like it. 

The one issue here is that Casablanca is the obviously superior film, but setting that aside all three of these movies have so many thematic, narrative and stylistic similarities, scenes and moments from all three would start blending in with each other, creating one big narrative about 'Bogart's' World War 2 experience. emphasising the strength of his screen persona. At whichever point you start watching, it may take you a bit to get into the story, but within less then 5 minutes there won’t be any doubts about the feel and tone. It doesn’t matter that much whether Bogart is trying to mind his own business until forced into action by events beyond his control in a Nazi-occupied French colony in Africa or in the Caribbean. It’s of equally little importance whether he is undertaking a dangerous boat trip in a foggy ocean to evade gangsters or Vichy officials. It's all about how much his attitude guides every single aspect of these films.

Casablanca and To Have and Have Not both also have a piano player who supports Bogart’s romantic prospects with love songs and friendly banter, but it does make a difference whether Ingrid Bergman or Lauren Bacall is Bogart’s co-star. Casablanca may be the better film, but in seeing how much Bogart’s persona overshadows everything, you should also get more appreciation for Bacall. She is more than anyone else in these films able to evoke a style and mood that is her own and not beholden to Bogart (she also feels ahead of her time, paving the way for Michelle Pfeiffer). Her chemistry with him in To Hava and Have Not has, if anything, been undersold. They fell in love during the film's production, and even if you didn't know, you'd think it. There is a joy and attraction in their scenes together that feels completely and knowingly spontaneous. This is the film where Bacall says her famous line "You know how to whistle, don't you Steve. You just put your lips together and blow." The way Bacall puts it, she'd seduce any man, and Bogart's response is the most flappable you'll see him in any of these movies. 

To Have and Have Not ends with Bogart’s character deciding to help the French resistance get from Martinique to Devil’s Island (a notorious penal colony off the coast of French Guiana) to free some of their prisoners. The film ends before we see his new adventure, but it was interesting to find out that in 1944 Bogart also had a role in Escape to Marseille, directed by Casablanca’s Michael Curtiz. Here, he plays Jean Matrac, a French prisoner at DeviL’s Island who is helped to escape by the French resistance. Would it be too much to add a fourth film to our programme?

290. 1492: Conquest of Paradise

Song - Conquest of Paradise (Vangelis)

Movie: 1492: Conquest of Paradise (Ridley Scott, 1992)

The pioneers of exploration committed far graver sins than Ridley Scott, but at least they were pioneers. Some of Christopher Columbus' harshest critics argue he can't be excused as a 'man of his time', pointing to writings from the Spanish Royal Court accusing him of disproportionately cruel and inhmane acts in the 'New World'. Although the veracity of some of these accusations is disputed, what's true is damning enough. However, the Spanish monarchy didn't issue these warnings out of some sincere concern for the rights of indigenous people and its standards for the treatment of its colonised subjects were in no way morally justifiable. Discussing the extent to which they were more humane than Columbus is just splitting hairs about acceptable levels of brutality. Columbus did however meaningfully diverge from his time in his insistence on using science to fight for the truth, in defiance of the conservative dogma's of his society. Should progressives dismiss that so easily?

Towards the end of the film Columbus (Gerard Depardieu) tells his main rival, the fully fictional Sanchez (Armando Assante), Qoeen Isabella's (Sigourney Weaver)'s chief advisor "No matter how long you live, Sanchez, there is something that will never change between us. I did it. You didn't." It's a wonderful line, that resonates even more a bit later when Sanchez admits to one of his allies "if your name or mine is ever remembered it will only because of his." I got a kick out of these moments ahd have always liked the mythology around Columbus, but no, he didn't prove to his contemporaries that the Earth was round - it had been established knoweledge for centuries. What's more, many had a better idea of the difficulties of his journey west than he did. Although nobody thought there would be an entire continent between Europe and Asia, there were significant doubts whether Columbus had correctly calculated the time it would take him. Those doubts were proven correct. Scott's film points this out in such a roundabout way that you never really get a clear sense of Columbus' views on the matter. It's an example of one the film's key issues; it wants to both print the legend and avoid accusations of being completely ahistorical. So it starts with a scene in which Columbus explains to his son that the Earth is round, followed by a moment in his workplace where he angrily pushes a ramshackle globe of his table, giving the impression that the globe is his own unique creation. However, In none of the discussions with the rich and powerful he is seeking to convince to finance his journey does the point about the shape of the Earth come up. In one of those scenes there is even an actual 'royal' globe in frame, but it's not centered, nor fully visible. It just stands there, unremarked upon, denying a good view of what it represents.

I liked the film most when it most fully embraced the Columbus legend. Soctt takes an experiential approach to the first exploration of the Santa Maria, Pinta and Nina. He spends about half an hour on their voyage that took about three months in reality, choosing mood over story. He shows life on the ships at different points of the journey, but most of these scenes (the exception is a brewing mutiny Columbus stops with a powerful speech) don't represent a major milestone for the expedition, or have a strong narrative connection. Scott rather focuses  on small and seemingly less significant moments that evoke how it must feel to be going into the great unknown. That's an interesting approach reflective of the mindset of the explorers - they have no way of knowing when they have reached a crucial point, or what the beginning, middle and end of their journey would look like. Scott's approach continues when they finally reach land and we experience the jungle as a mythical untouched Eden alongside Columbus and his crew.  And then the natives arrive...

Not knowing how to choose between the historical Columbus and the mythological Columbus, Scott manages to direct himself into a strange corner where the film itself comes off as more racist than Columbus. Part of that may be on Depardieu, who always has a whiff of a naive manchild, and fully leans into it in his portrayal of Columbus, turning him into a combination of Jesus and Forrest Gump. His Columbus is a man of pure heart and good intentions who has little understanding of the forces unleashed by his actions. All that matters is that he "did it" and the film seems to believe that this should absolve him of all his mistakes, which includes treating the 'others' as human beings to be reasoned with. All the violence the Spanish inflict here is presented as a consequence of actions by the indigenous peoples, and the direct result of Columbus' trust in their humanity. In the climactic battle scene Scott films the violence from up close, and without any inhibition. The natives all wear identical plants and leaves as camouflage and proteciton and when they attack the whites they are completely unrecognisable and unidentifiable. It's as if the Spansh are attacked, as ltierally as possible, by savage nature. 

289. The Abyss

Song - How Deep Is Your Love (Bee Gees)

Movie: The Abyss (James Cameron, 1989)

An estranged couple re-ignites their love through shared physical labor; gruff unreconstructed-yet-tenderhearted blue collar ordinary guys survive through their sense of camaraderie and their nuts-and-bolts knowledge of oil rig machinery; in man-to-man combat an oil worker fights a Navy Seal to a standstill, his lack of experience offset by the day to-day demands of his job. The Abyss also contains some of the most spectacular special effects and cinematography I've seen, only made possible by technological advancements James Cameron is more than happy to show off. But not even the shiniest new toys can be a substitute for simple, humane pleasures, like cutting the right wire in a moment of great duress, a chase between two marine vehicles bumping against each other, a triumphant proof of life when all hope seems lost, or just smashing an evil dude's head with a blunt object. And then there are also aliens. 

I enjoyed Avatar a lot when it came out, but had no interest in seeing last year's sequel. It's not wrong to call it Pocahontas in Space, but the bigger issue is that it all feels like we are watching a story set in the world's most elaborate screensaver. I think it's incredibly unfortunate that James Cameron has decided to spend the last 20 years obsessing about Pandora, when he is so great at making giant blockbusters that feel tactile and tangibly set in the real world, even when they engage in completely outrageous sci-fi scenarios. Yes, he doesn't make movies to be subtle, he wants you to notice the money on screen and the effort that went into the production, and to be aware and awed by how much pioneering engineering went into the creation of his movies. But all of that hugeness ultimately serves to put you as much as possible and as directly as possible in the shoes of his characters, both physically and emotionally. The idea that the forces overwhelming the screen should also be overwhelming the audience is of course at the heart of Avatar, but to remember how it's done right Cameron should rewatch at least the resuscitation scene in The Abyss (or all of The Terminator, one of the greatest movies).   

The Abyss is multiple blockbusters for the price of one. It follows an underwater oil drilling crew, led by Bud Brigman (Ed Harris), asked to retrieve a sunk American nuclear submarine. They are joined by Bud's ex-wife Lindsey (Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio), the chief engineer of their drlling platform. A hurricane, a trigger happy Navy Seal gone rogue, and underwater aliens move the job even further outside of routine territory, forcing the crew to constantly take action agaunst the forces threathening to overwhelm them and to regroup and reassess the situation after each exciting set piece. At one point, Bud and Lindsey get in a tight spot with only one functioning deep sea suit and the only way out is for her to effectively drown herself and have Bud swim with her body to their main sub where she will be resuscitated by the remaining crew. By then, it's become obvious that the two are falling for each other again, to everyone's delight, and when it's time to get her back to life, the entire crew is intensely preparing the defibrilator and watching in great anguish as several attempts fail. All seems lost until a manically angry Bud starts violently hitting her and insulting her as a "stubborn bitch" who chooses the wrong moments to fight. Cameron films all of this in extreme close up, fervently moving the camera around each person on site, barely allowing a moment to breathe until Mastrantonio does.

Mastrantonio waking up immediately became one of my favorite moments of triumphant relief in action cinema, but Bud's behaviour in the scene is absolutely meant to make you feel uncomfortable. Cameron and Harris leave no doubt that Bud's vicious anger, though expressed in despair, towards Lindsey comes from a real place, and is as authentic as his love for her. At the same time, Bud accepts throughout the movie that Lindsey is obviously intellectually superior to him, while also being able to match his physicality every step of the way. The whole thing is a great example of why the notion that James Cameron is a much worse writer than director is misguided. So many major Hollywood movies, in particular action blockbusters, find it really hard to present the unpolished roughness of male heroes, without either resorting to macho posturing or to cleaned up strawmen to correct the course. It probably helps that Cameron himself stands somewhere in the middle between the two. He is a 'my way or the highway' perfectionist who pushed the cast to such inhumane lengths - multiple people almost drowned while filming The Abyss that Harris (he acts out entire scenes while holding his breath in a water-filled helmet) and Mastrantonio couldn't talk about the film until the 21st Century-, while also being a corny humanist pacifist with a genuine interest in putting his money where his mouth is to explore how science can improve the world. It leads to him wrtinng things like "Coffey looks and he sees Russians. He sees hate and fear. You have to look with better eyes than that", and meaning it from the bottom of his heart to the extent he builds his entire film around this idea. 

288. Claudine

Song  - Think (Aretha Franklin)

Movie: Claudine (John Berry, 1974)

Some may scoff at the scene in which Claudine (Diahann Carroll), a single mother of six, and Roop (James Earl Jones), twice divorced, with kids in Ohio, furiously explain to each other why they are not respectively a welfare queen and irresponsible absent father, but it's one of the film's many great moments. This is not a film that lazily wants to teach you that not all black people fit the negative stereotypes of them, but it's about how the politics shaped by these stereotypes directly affect every aspect of their personal lives. The first time we see a social worker visit Claudine to see if she is not breaking any rules that might cut her social benefits, the slow trek through the apartment is filmed in one long take, highlighting exactly how much Claudine is forced to make even her smallest private decision, up to room decoration, fit the expectations of a political burocracy designed to impose on, and humiliate, poor and black people.  

Claudine's feelings aren't safe from political incursion either. She and Roop are not necessarily made to be togethet, but they do greatly enjoy their company, and one of the film's joys is just seeing Jones and Carroll freely interact, flirt and reflect on how their love might affect their future. The camera stays close to their bodies and faces during long scenes in which they are allowed to interrogate their thoughts and feelings for as long as they can. It's as if the film wants to give them the time, the system doesn't have the patience for. Social security is dependent on one's relational status, and when a man gets into a house the social worker will want to know exactly why and who, blocking Claudine and Roop from dictating the pace of their relationship on their own terms. And even if they do make a decision about a common future they are left to navigate all the paradoxical complexities of their hellish burocracy. John Berry and his screenwriters Tina and Lester Pine deserve a lot of credit for untangling all the absurdities of the administrative rules and obligations hampering their heroes. Narratively, this makes the film and its characters' motivations and frustrations easier to follow, and politically it shows that the complex structure is a feature, not a bug. The social welfare system could look differently; making lives complicated for its beneficiaries is a political choice.   

But what to do? Well, the film doesn't have any real answers for that. There is a joke (it's funny because it's true!) that a lot of contemporary leftist art criticism boils down to "The character didn't turn to the screen and proclaim himself the exact type of communist/socialist I am." John Berry's issue here is similar, desperately trying to fit the film's ideals within a specific subset of radicalism that leads to muddled politics and (especially towards the end) ill-fitting character decisions and dialogue. On the one hand it actively tries to embody a perspective that's alienating to mianstream white audiences - Claudine only decides to go out with Roop when he stands up to a rich white homeowner, while her children complain that the Tarzan movies feature the wrong hero. They also hang out with a guy who changed his birth name to Abdullah, presented here as a thing doesn't require any further explanation. On the other hand, the film is actively skeptical of Charles' (Claudine's oldest son) efforts to join a civil rights group (named after W.E:B Du Bois) that seeks to protest injustices and doesn't fear confrontations with the police. The fates of Charles and Charline (Claudine''s oldest daughter; her final scene with her mom contains some awfully unnatural writing) both play above all as a screenwriter's desperate attempt to make a larger dramatic/political point. Sometimes reality will make that point for you. Diahann Carroll is here very beautiful and very good (even getting an Oscar nomination), but perhaps convincingly playing a sympathetitc black welfare recipient is no smart career move. After Claudne, she wasn't cast in a feature film until 1990.

287. The End of the Affair

Song - Sara (Fleetwood Mac)

Movie: The End of the Affair (Neil Jordan, 1999)

After playing the world's dimmest, sexualy confused, soldier in The Crying Game, Stephen Rea is now back in a Neil Jordan plot twister, playing a sexually absent husband too obtuse to realise that his wife Sarah (Julianne Moore) is meeting her needs with his friend Maurice (Ralph Fiennes). In a conversation about his suspicions of Sarah's whereabouts, Jordan frames him as a pathetic wimp who seems to almost shrink in stature when the centre of attention is on him. And when he returns home one day just when Maurice is putting the final touch on Sarah, she tells her lover not to worry about her moaning: her husband wouldn't recognise the sound. Playing such types seems to come naturally to Rea; even in roles that don't specifically call for it, there is a hint that the world's complexities will eventually overwhelm him. As a result, both Fergus in The Crying Game and Henry here, feel like real, specfic people ratther than metaphors for some pathology. I also found it quite amusing that Fergus is an IRA recruit, while Henry is a minister in the British government - feebleness has no ideology. The End of the Affair shows it has no demeanour either. 

Maurice, a succesful writer whose books have been adapted for the screen, enjoys overshadowing his friend with his worldly sophistication as much as he enjoys parading his high culture bonafides over the working class detective he hires to find out if Sarah is having an affair he himself doesn't know about. But his refinement and education mostly serve to intellectualise his inability to put two and two together until the answer is staring him right in the face. When your motto is "to be is to be perceived' it's hard to accept that love exists when it's not right there in the room with you, much less God. It's no great insight that this attitude is detrimental to the relationhsip with the love of your life, but the film's most provocative point, if you follow its reasoning to its logical conclusion, is that jealousy and atheism result from the same weakness. Sarah and God both have to go to great lengths to respectively show their love and their existence to Henry, who simply doesn't have the force of faith to accept as true that which he can't immediately see, feel or recognise. 

You can't go wrong giving Julianne Moore, Ralph Fiennes and Stephen Rea sharp, well-written dialogue veering into religious, romantic and ethical dilemma's. Jordan also handles the plot twist well; patiently building up to a tragic reveal by showing Sarah's point of view of an event he previously depicted from a different perspectve.  An additional nice touch is that we find out about Sarah's experience through the eyes of Maurice reading her diary. Unfortunately, this twist happens halfway through and ensures that there is really only one way for the movie to end, especially since Jordan had been ostentatiously highlighting Moore's cough long before that. This predictability would have been more palatable if the film had introduced a bit more doubt to either the question of God's existence or Maurice' fate. It's notable that he entire movie is filmed in the conventional style of a British World War 2 romantic drama, carefully ensuring it doesn't in any way deviate from this norm. The only exception is the incident that ultimately separates Maurice from Sarah, which creates a bit of a sense of the uncanny with its wobbly special effects. I don't know how intentional that was, but it did raise some hopes and expectations that the film would go in a more exietentally ambigous direction.

286. Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid

Song - Knockin' On Heaven's Door (Bob Dylan)

Movie: Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid (Sam Peckinpah, 1973)

Pat Garrett (James Coburn) 'learned to code' and what did that get him? Sure, when the old ways are dying, and your expertise as an outlaw has diminshing currency, it's tempting to reskill. And make no mistake, getting yourself elected as sheriff has its benefits - a steady income, no jail time, a decent horse. All of that's great, but do you really want to abandon your calling, your trade you've spent your whole life perfecting, to please some men in suits who look down on your craft? These people, they want to create laws, enclosed communities and capitalism and they think that killing men in the service of those ideals is the same as killing men in the service of freedom. They see no dignity in marksmanship, and have developed a written code that makes binary decisions about good and evil for us. We are given the illusion of choice, but the only decision we can really make is when to pull the trigger. Just a matter of time before machines replace us. Pat knows, look at him, he's riding and gunnin' around New Mexico as he always did, but his heart just isn't in it. You can be good at capturing criminals, but if you don't find any meaning or pleasure in it, what's the point?

Peckinpah directs as if he'll never again be allowed to make, or even see, a classic western, luxuriating in all the signposts we've come to associate with the genre, but above all in the freedom to roam and travel across the widespread landscapes. In one of the many lyrical moments, Pat Garrett is sitting by a river bank when a makeshift boat slowly passes by, its passengers shooting at objects they throw in the water. It's by our standards an entirely idiotic and dangerous activity that serves no purpose, but is saluted by Pat, who signs his approval by taking his own shot  It's of course on the mark, leading to Pat and his counterpart on the boat pointing guns at each other. The two men will likely never see each other again, going their own way in the wilderness, capturing exactly why the film repeatedly laments the rise of bordered settlements and towns where people have to act in ways that are compatible with the norms imposed by authorities. Pat Garrett has accepted that this transformation can't be stopped and has decided to adapt to it. As a result, he spends most of the film in misery, unlike Billy the Kid (Kris Kristofferson) who has decided to be an outlaw until the bitter end. He knows this might mean an early death, but he'd rather be happy, and Kristofferson's roguish smile never disappears. 

The movie is ostensibly about Pat Garrett's pursuit of Billy the Kid, but neither Pat nor Billy is too obsessed with the outcome of said pursuit.The sherriff only does the job out of obligation, while for Billy the action is the juice. He knows that his adventures will come to an end sooner rather than later anyway, and part of him would rather be killed by his old friend than by someone else. Peckinpah is above all interested in exploring these contrasting attitudes to the changing world, and all the various colorful characters we meet along the way. This approach does mean that the film sometimes becomes a bit too leisurely, but every time it risks dragging. it steers into a funny, tense and/or eccentric moment. It helps too that it is filled with great character actors (that doesn't include Bob Dylan. His soundtrack is wonderfully melancholic, but as an actor he seems completely out of place, unable to adapt to the film's tone, style or period) who need only very little time to create highly specific and distinct personalities, which allows Peckinpah to build the film's most iconic moment around Slim Pickens' who is barely 5 minutes on screen before knockin' on heaven's door. That scene is also one of the few instances where the film swaps its standard western imagery for a dreamier, painterly look underscoring how futile it is to sacrifice such beauty for the pursuit of Billy.