7/5/15 (Part Two): A Jackrabbit in a Den of Wolves

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Andrew Robertt, Ben Mendelsohn, Best of 2015, betrayal, bounty hunters, Caren Pistorius, cinema, class systems, dark humor, directorial debut, father-daughter relationships, feature-film debut, film reviews, films, flashbacks, greenhorns, Jay Cavendish, Jed Kurzel, John Maclean, Kodi Smit-McPhee, love story, Michael Fassbender, Movies, optimism vs pessimism, outlaws, Robbie Ryan, Rory McCann, sardonic tone, set in 1860s, Silas Selleck, Slow West, the Beta Band, the myth of the Old West, the taming of the Wild West, the Wild West, UK-New Zealand films, upper vs lower class, voice-over narration, Westerns, writer-director

There’s a point in writer-director John Maclean’s instantly classic feature-debut, Slow West (2015), that just may be one of the subtlest, most cutting bits of insight into the human condition that I’ve seen in some time. As they recover from the aftermath of a particularly chaotic, violent robbery attempt at a general store, 16-year-old Scottish greenhorn Jay Cavendish (Kodi Smit-McPhee) looks past the stack of still-smoking corpses and right into the eyes of the dead robbers’ now-orphaned children. The children are impossibly young and innocent, their wide eyes seemingly unable to process the complete upending of their world, as they stand silently, gripping each others’ hands tight.

Feeling the instant onus of responsibility, Jay tells his travelling companion, hardened, sardonic gunfighter Silas Selleck (Michael Fassbender), that they’ll just need to take the kids with them. It’s the only thing that makes sense, after all: Jay and Silas weren’t responsible for the death of the urchins’ parents but they would be complete monsters if they just left them there, on their own, to die. The kids can just hitch a ride with them as they proceed on their mission across the frontier wasteland, in search of Jay’s beloved Rose (Caren Pistorius). Jay is eager to help, his eyes bright and determined, until Silas take all the wind out of his sails with one off-handed response: “And then what?” Silas, you see, is nothing if not a realist and knows one very important fact above all else: the desire to do good just isn’t enough…without the ability to follow through, it’s all just stuff and nonsense…smoke and bullshit. He accepts the fact that Jay won’t: taking the kids with them would be as sure a death-sentence as leaving them there to rot, good intentions be damned.

It’s precisely this level of insight and intelligence that makes Slow West not only the best Western to come down the pike in years but also one of the very best films of this still-in-progress year. A mature, darkly humorous and gorgeously shot character study that has little use for easy stereotypes or empty action, Maclean’s debut is the perfect antidote for overwrought, multiplex inanity, the very antithesis to the gazillion-dollar superhero films that currently clog cinematic arteries. Featuring a fantastic cast, a brilliant script and images lovely enough to frame, Slow West should be a poignant reminder of a time when cinema didn’t need to rely on shouting and CGI to slug audiences right in the solar plexus.

Plotwise, Slow West is the very definition of streamlined efficiency. The aforementioned Jay Cavendish, the son of a Scottish lord and lady, travels to the untamed chaos of 1860s frontier America in pursuit of his beloved Rose and her father, John (Rory McCann), after a terrible accident finds the father and daughter forced to leave their native land one step ahead of a lynch mob. With only the vaguest idea of where to look for his beloved, Jay sets off across the plains, so wet-behind-the-ears that he practically leaves a puddle wherever he goes.

In no time, Jay finds himself in the crosshairs of a group of miscreants hunting a fleeing Native American, one short step from getting his naive brains blown out all over his citified duds. At the last-minute, however, a mysterious gunman appears and blasts everyone but Jay straight to hell: this is the silent, contemplative Silas, a character who would’ve been played by none other than Clint Eastwood were this about four decades older. Silas knows that Jay is an accident waiting to happen, a plucky little chicken traipsing his way through an entire country full of hungry foxes, and he offers to be his bodyguard, in exchange for a little cold, hard cash. Jay heartily agrees, although he’s completely unaware of the other half of this particular coin: there’s a huge bounty out on Rose and her father (dead or alive) and Silas wants Jay to, unwittingly, lead him right to a much bigger payday.

As the two ride across the Old West, they encounter an almost endless variety of outlaws, wandering musicians, grizzled bounty hunters and foreign immigrants, each individual following their own particular path to salvation or destruction. Chief among these unique characters is Silas’ former gang leader, the extraordinarily lethal Payne (Ben Mendelsohn): Payne and his gang also have their sights set on Rose and her father and certainly won’t mind burying an old colleague, if they have to. As Jay and Silas continue to bond, they get ever closer to the beloved Rose, albeit with some suspiciously gunfighter-shaped shadows following behind. Will Silas be able to overcome his patently cynical nature in order to help his young charge? Will Jay ever reunite with Rose? Will true love really save the day or it just a myth as fanciful and false as Jay’s sunny view of this “brave new world”?

First off, let’s make one thing clear: Slow West is just about as perfect a film (certainly as perfect a full-length debut) as I can recall seeing, the kind of movie that hits you immediately and keeps you rapt right through the closing credits. From the genuinely stunning cinematography (if Robbie Ryan doesn’t get nominated for an Oscar, I’ll punch a hole in a wall) to the often whimsical score to the utterly thrilling action setpieces, Slow West is one exquisitely crafted piece of art. Add in a truly smart script, full of great dialogue and surprising doses of humor (the scene where Jay and Silas come upon the skeletal body of a logger crushed beneath a tree, ax still in hand, is one of the single greatest sight gags ever) and one of the best casts in some time and I’ll be honest: I can’t really find much fault here. At all.

Fassbender and Smit-McPhee are absolutely perfect as the unlikely partners, each playing off the other in ways both expected and truly surprising. The aforementioned Eastwood reference is not stated lightly: as someone who worships at the altar of everything Eastwood (at least through the ’90s), I found plenty of nice parallels between Fassbender’s performance, here, and my squint-eyed childhood hero. His is a low-key performance, as much about what’s not said as what is. While I’m usually not the biggest fan of cinematic voice-overs, Silas’ narration throughout is an integral part of the perfection, leading us to one of the most perfect endings I’ve seen in some time.

For his part, Smit-McPhee finds the perfect balance between Jay’s inherent helplessness and the steely determination that allowed him to make this dangerous trek in the first place. At any point, the character of Jay could have slipped into either obnoxious comic relief (look at the silly Scottish wimp!) or complete irrelevancy (why focus on this yahoo when you’ve got badass Silas over there?). It’s to both Smit-McPhee and Maclean’s tremendous credits, however, that Jay is always sympathetic: we want him to succeed because he seems like a genuinely good, hopeful and positive person. This pie-in-the-sky optimism is absolutely critical to the film’s underlying themes and Slow West wouldn’t be nearly the overwhelming success it is without his able participation. My advice? Get Fassbender and Smit-McPhee into another film, stat!

Like the best films of Jim Jarmusch, however, the supporting cast gives as good as the leads do. Pistorius is perfect in a relatively small role, imbuing her character with such a co-mingled sense of joy and unbearable sorrow that she makes every second of her screen time count. Mendelsohn, who might be the very definition of an actor who really needs no introduction, absolutely shines as the gang leader, turning in one of the coolest, most fun and vile villains to hit the big-screen since the glory days of Peckinpah films. In fact, much of Slow West recalls Peckinpah’s work in style and theme, if not necessarily unmitigated bloodshed. With his odd fur coat, droll manner and reptilian coldness, Payne is an instantly iconic creation: my only complaint, here, is that we don’t get nearly enough of him.

Production-wise, Slow West is at the absolute top of its game, no two ways about it. What really tips the film into classic territory, however, is how smart and insightful it is. This isn’t the stereotypical Western, full of flinty men blowing other flinty men to Kingdom Come. In many ways, Slow West is about the disparity between intent and action, between wanting a better world and actually doing something about it. Time and time again, Silas points out the difference between his and Jay’s personal philosophies: Jay sees the Wild West as a place of endless promise, full of hard-working people doing their best to overcome the elements (and themselves), carving out their own spot in an unforgiving landscape, while Silas sees the frontier as a no-man’s-land full of outlaws, dust, murder and drudgery. To accept Jay’s worldview is to invite absolute destruction, as far as Silas is concerned: let your guard down just once and you’re wormfood. To accept Silas’s worldview, however, is equally destructive: if no one is good, if no one can change and if the capacity for peaceful coexistence is a myth, what, exactly, do we have to live for?

As smart as it is beautiful, Slow West is an absolute treasure, the kind of film that the Coens thought they were making with their True Grit (2010) remake, only to fall short of the mark. As apt to make you chuckle as stare in awe, Maclean has established himself as one of the most exciting new filmmakers operating right now: the fact that the writer-director is only on his first film (after a pair of shorts) is even more extraordinary. The fact that Maclean comes to us not through the film world but the music world is that much more astounding: erstwhile music fans might recognize him as one of the driving forces behind Scottish indie heroes The Beta Band.

To restate the very obvious: I absolutely loved Slow West. From the craft to the message to the absolute perfect synthesis of form and meaning, Maclean’s debut is nothing short of a revelation. At 84 minutes, there isn’t one wasted scene, shot or motion, no sense of pandering, hand-holding or dumbing-down. This is cinema at its very best, the kind of movie that makes you feel glad to be alive. As a lifelong movie fan, I look for films like this all the time but it’s like finding a needle in a field of haystacks. Good thing, then, that Maclean is all needles and no hay: when I’m looking for a quality film in the future, I have a pretty good idea where to look.  If you enjoy quality movies, too, I suggest you do the same thing.

6/3/15: Outside the Lines

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absurdist, animated films, animated shorts, animation, based on a short, Brian Hamblin, cinema, dark humor, depression, Don Hertzfeldt, dramas, dysfunctional family, false memories, fear of death, film festival favorite, film reviews, films, flashbacks, growing old, hand-drawn animation, insanity, It's Such a Beautiful Day, memory loss, mental disorders, mental illness, Movies, multiple award nominee, multiple award winner, Rejected, sad films, surrealism, the meaning of life, voice-over narration, writer-director-producer-cinematographer

In many ways, mental disorders like depression, schizophrenia, OCD and dementia can be more brutal and debilitating than any physical injury a person might get: after all, upon seeing a cast, one can handily deduce a broken bone…how possible is it for one to deduce a broken mind using the same process? Not only do many who suffer from mental illness suffer alone, many of the ill don’t even realize how “sick” they are until their conditions have spiraled wildly out of control: when you’re trapped within the fun-house of your own mind, after all, it’s difficult enough to make sense of the world on a moment-to-moment basis…trying to figure out your place in the larger, cosmic scheme can be nigh impossible, similar to building an entire jigsaw puzzle of identical, blue sky pieces.

Legendary counter-culture animator Don Hertzfeldt’s extraordinary, immensely painful It’s Such a Beautiful Day (2012) examines the issue of mental illness from the inside, putting us into the shoes (and mind) of an ordinary, every-day sort of fellow named Bill. When we first meet Bill, his off-the-wall observations about the banality of life have the rhythm and flow of a genuinely hilarious stand-up comic, the incisiveness of his commentary belied by the off-handed simplicity of Hertzfeldt’s hand-drawn stick figure animation. As the film goes on, however, Bill’s observations gradually become stranger and more surreal, a tonal shift further accentuated by the increasingly bizarre and absurd visual images.

As Bill begins to describe his very colorful family, we gradually get more of the corner pieces in this particular puzzle: the history of mental illness in his family is very explicit…as one character says, “Genetics is pretty messed up.” When put into context of the growing gulf in Bill’s mental faculties, much of what we’ve already seen comes into sharper focus. Just when we’ve gotten used to this sudden shift, this virtual pulling of the rug from beneath our feet, Hertzfeldt makes another hairpin turn and we’re suddenly knee-deep in some of the most beautiful, challenging discussions about the meaning of life and the nature of happiness to factor into any film, much less one animated with simple stick figures. By the time the film ends, not only do we emerge with a greater understanding of the enigma known as Bill but we walk out with a greater understanding of the human animal, as well. Bill is us and, under the right (or wrong) circumstances, any one of us can, and will be, Bill.

At times, you’re confronted with films that pack such a hefty emotional punch that watching them often feels like going ten rounds with an iron-fisted juggernaut: Hertzfeldt’s It’s Such a Beautiful Day is one of those films. Stitched together from three previous shorts, with additional material to help it all cohere, the film is nothing short of stunning: even at just over an hour, in length, there’s nothing about the film that feels small or inconsequential. Indeed, the film becomes so raw and painful, after a point, that the animated style almost feels like a necessity: any more sense of realism, here, and the whole thing would be almost to intense to bear. It’s to Hertzfeldt’s immense credit, then, that It’s Such a Beautiful Day so expertly balances its hilarious moments with its heartrending ones: too much on either side and the film might risk becoming sappy or melodramatic.

One of the more ingenious things that Hertzfeldt does here is to co-mingle his animation with brief flashes of the “real world,” a technique that begins gradually but builds to a truly dizzying climax that completely obliterates our preconceived notions of what, exactly, constitutes an animated film. While this isn’t the first film to freely blend live-action and animation (in a way, its closest relative might be the use of live-action in The Lego Movie (2014), although Hertzfeldt’s shorts easily predate that film by several years), the use of the technique is much more subtle and powerful here. In many ways, Hertzfeldt may have come up with the perfect visual depiction of a fractured mental state, one in which live-action, animation, repetitive voice-overs, unreliable narrators, splashes of color and sudden noises combine to keep us constantly on edge and at arm’s length from our troubled protagonist.

In almost every way, It’s Such a Beautiful Day is a complete tour de force for Hertzfeldt: written, directed, narrated, produced and shot by the animator, his pitch-black sense of humor and inability to sugarcoat difficult subjects covers every frame of the film like an especially rich veneer. Were it not for the involvement of Brian Hamblin (known not only for his editing of the Hertzfeldt shorts that comprise It’s Such a Beautiful Day but for effects editing on huge productions like Spider Man 3 (2007), I Am Legend (2007) and Watchmen (2009), as well), It’s Such a Beautiful Day would be a virtual one-man show. As it is, there’s a singularity of vision, here, that marks the film as a complete, unified whole, the equivalent of carving a detailed wooden totem from a single block of oak.

As someone who’s not only known plenty of folks with mental disorders but lived several decades with his own, it should come as no surprise that It’s Such a Beautiful Day hit me pretty hard: I’ll wager that would be the identical outcome for anyone in a similar situation. While Hertzfeldt’s film is not overwhelmingly dour or emotionally manipulative, there’s a brutal honesty and inherent melancholy to both the subject and film that’s difficult to shake. By turns hilarious (the segment involving a tenacious guy with a leaf-blower could have been lifted wholesale from my own experiences), terrifying (the segment involving Bill’s highly disturbed grandmother and her “cat therapy” is truly the stuff of nightmares) and almost overwhelmingly sad (the segment where Bill begins to lose memories of his loved ones is incredibly difficult to watch), It’s Such a Beautiful Day really puts you through the wringer, albeit in the best way possible.

Ultimately, despite its grim subject matter and overriding feeling of helplessness, Hertzfeldt’s multiple-award-nominated film is not the alpha and the omega of sad cinema: in truth, there’s an underlying air of optimism and hope in the film’s message, much of which comes during the penultimate scenes where Bill is “transitioning” from this reality to the next. At this point, Bill comes to the life-affirming notion that the world is constantly filled with wonder and beauty, most of which we glance over en route to whatever our ultimate “goal” is. We can try to soak it all in at the end, ingesting as much beauty and life as we can in huge, shuddering breaths, like one drowning and trying, desperately, to fill sodden lungs with necessary air. That’s one way to live life, no two ways about it, and many people do just that.

On the other hand, as Hertzfeldt so cannily notes, there’s a lot to be said for trying to get the most out of the ride, soaking up and absorbing as much beauty, tragedy, wonder and horror as you can, well before you start that final, terrifying plunge into the unknown. For the millions of people, worldwide, who deal with mental illness on a daily basis, it can be all but impossible to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Hertzfeldt, through his unforgettable art, reminds us, one and all, that there’s always hope.

As Bill calmly echoes, at the very end: “It’s such a beautiful day.” It is. Or, at least, it can be, provided you’re able to open your heart and your eyes to the possibilities. Life will never be easy, or fair, or logical: it can be beautiful, however, and that’s probably all that any of us can reasonably expect.

5/25/15: Zom-Beavers Wander By the Lake

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Al Kaplan, Bill Burr, Brent Briscoe, cabins, cheating boyfriends, cinema, Code Monkeys, Cortney Palm, dark comedies, dark humor, directorial debut, Ed Marx, electronic score, feature-film debut, film reviews, films, girls only weekend, goofy, gory films, horror, horror-comedies, Hutch Dano, isolation, Jake Weary, John Mayer, Jon Kaplan, Jonathan Hall, Jordan Rubin, Lexi Atkins, Movies, multiple writers, Peter Gilroy, Phyllis Katz, practical effects, Rachel Melvin, Rex Linn, Robert R. Shafer, silly films, sorority sisters, toxic waste spill, Troma films, writer-director, Zombeavers, zombie films, zombies

There’s a point in Jordan Rubin’s ridiculously fun Zombeavers (2014) where our hapless heroes need to execute one of those standard “shoring up the defenses” scenes that’s as much a fixture of siege films as the actual siege itself. Working together, the group goes through all the familiar motions: moving dressers against doors, nailing boards across windows, frantically working to keep what’s outside from coming inside their small, isolated cabin. Despite their best efforts, however, it seems to be a losing battle, the gist of which isn’t lost on one of the exasperated survivors: “You do realize that the whole point of a beaver is it chops fucking wood, right?”

It’s an astute observation but, more importantly, it’s a damn good line and pretty much par for the course in a debut feature that’s always more intelligent than it seems, never quite as crass as it means to be and an easy step above similarly goofy horror-comedy fare. Writer-director Rubin comes from a long background as a writer on TV comedies (most notably the crude but effective Crank Yankers and several late night shows, including Craig Kilborn and Carson Daly) and his script (co-written with Al and Jon Kaplan, who also handled the fabulous score, just as they did with the criminally under-rated Code Monkeys) is consistently smart, if constantly silly. The biggest coup? Rubin and company manage to take a fairly dumb concept (zombified beavers) and inject just enough genuine tension and action to keep the whole thing from floating away into the ether. Zombeavers may be the class cut-up but it sure as hell ain’t the class dunce.

Kicking off with a fantastic gag involving a heavily disguised John Mayer and comedian Bill Burr as less than attentive truck drivers, we immediately get the nuts and bolts of the tale: a mysterious barrel falls off the truck, proceeds down a river and winds up at a beaver dam where it’s inspected by a couple of cute beaver puppets. If you grew up in the ’80s, you probably know what mysterious barrels that fall into rivers do and, by Jove, that’s just what happens here: exit the cute, friendly little beavers…enter…the zombeavers!

Our cannon fodder, in this case, consists of a trio of sorority sisters, Mary (Rachel Melvin), Zoe (Cortney Palm) and Jenn (Lexi Atkins), who’ve headed into the woods for a “girls only” weekend. Jenn has just seen a photo of her boyfriend, Sam (Hutch Dano, grandson of Royal), canoodling with a strange girl (or, at least, the back of her head) and Mary and Zoe want to help take her mind off her misery. Or, to be more accurate, Mary does: for her part, Zoe is the kind of amazingly snarky, sarcastic and just plain shitty character who can either make or break a film and she’s a complete blast.

While they settle in, the girls meet a local hunter, Smyth (Rex Linn), who flips the tired, old “leering redneck” cliché on its head by admonishing the young ladies’ skimpy bathing suits and “weird tattoos” rather than wolf-whistling. They also find the beaver dam from the beginning, although it’s now covered in neon-green “beaver piss,” so they keep their distance. As the “friends” play Truth or Dare, a pounding at the door begins as a fright but culminates in that other, great slasher film cliché: the crashing of the girls’ night out by their loutish boyfriends. Seems that ultra horny Zoe can’t go a weekend without screwing her equally horny boyfriend, Buck (Peter Gilroy), so she secretly invited him, along with Mary’s boyfriend, Tommy (Jake Weary) and good, old, cheatin’ Sam.

With our crew assembled, it’s only a matter of time before the zombeavers rear their vicious little heads and, before they know it, our young lovers are knee-deep in ravenous, dead-eyed little dam-builders. When the group is forced to split-up, it seems that tragedy is looming ever nearer over the horizon. As they must deal with not only the very real outside threat but their own internal struggles, a new wrinkle emerges: this is a zombie film, after all, and we all know why it’s a good idea to keep those fellas at arm’s length. Will our plucky heroes be able to pull together and kick beaver ass or have they just been dammed?

On paper, Zombeavers is a thoroughly ridiculous, silly concept, akin to something like Sharknado (2013) or FDR: American Badass (2012): after all, this is a film about zombified beavers…gravitas might seem slightly out-of-place, here. Thanks to a pretty great script, however (it’s probably one of the most quotable newer films I’ve seen), Zombeavers functions as more of a high-concept parody/homage than a lunk-headed bit of SyFy fluff. While it’s not in the same vaunted company as the stellar Tucker & Dale vs Evil (2010), Zombeavers is pretty equitable to Mike Mendez’s fun Big Ass Spider! (2013) in that it mixes fun, dumb gags with more clever, subtle marginalia. One of my favorite bits in Zombeavers is a throwaway gag that features a teenage fisherman wearing a “#1 Dad” ball cap: it works on a number of levels but, most importantly, it’s the kind of absurd detail that makes the film’s world feel so much more complete than it could have, something akin to the immersive worlds of Troma films.

Rubin and company throw a lot of schtick at the screen (particularly once we get to the last act “twist” that introduces a whole other, outrageous element to the proceedings) but most of it actually sticks, unlike something like the obnoxious, tone-deaf Sharknado. Part of this has to do with all of the aforementioned nifty little details but the whole thing would collapse if there wasn’t an incredibly game cast propping it up. Luckily, Zombeavers is filled with actors who perfectly understand the razor-thin line between “campy” and “stupid” and manage to (mostly) walk it with ease.

While the central trio of Melvin, Palm and Atkins are set-up as rather feather-headed (particularly Melvin’s Mary), they have tremendous chemistry together: their scenes have such a quick, snappy pace to them that they handily recall films like Mean Girls (2004) or, to a lesser extent, Heathers (1988). While Melvin’s exquisite comedic timing and Atkins’ slightly ethereal bearing fit like a glove, the real standout is Palm’s Zoe. Time after time, Palm manages to swipe the film right from under the others, whether it’s the bit where she gleefully doffs her bikini top only to cover herself up when a bear looks at her or any of her perfectly delivered bon mots (her deadpan rejoinder of “Maybe you should try going down on me more often,” to Buck’s “I’ve never seen a real beaver before” is so perfectly delivered that it hurts).

As befits their characters, the guys are pitched as pretty unrepentant, obnoxious horn-dogs but it works, for the most part, although Dano never seems to connect with his character in any meaningful way: his delivery always seems awkward and slightly off. Although Weary’s Tommy doesn’t get as much to do, Gilroy’s Buck is another highlight, just like his equally churlish girlfriend. While Gilroy’s delivery doesn’t always work (there are some definitively odd things that he does, beat-wise), he almost hits an Andy Kaufman-lite vibe when it does. His “my dick is asleep” bit starts out irritating but becomes oddly amusing (and weirdly charming) but moments like his bizarrely energetic sex scene (screaming “You’re way too hot for me!” as he enthusiastically humps away) or any of his great throwaway lines (“Who the fuck is crying on vacation day?!”…”I’ll see you in the bone zone!”) are all but essential to the film’s overall vibe.

And back to that vibe: one of the most notable things about Zombeavers is that, despite the assumed crudity of the concept and execution, the film is anything but a collection of stupid “beaver” jokes and frat boy humor. If anything, Rubin’s script constantly pushes against those stereotypes, walking a fine line between embracing the clichés and setting them on fire. This isn’t to say that Zombeavers is wholesome family fare (penis-chomping, eye-gouging and Zoe’s boobs abound): it is to say, however, that Rubin and crew are smart and savvy enough to know that raunchy humor doesn’t have to be braindead…there’s nothing in this film that comes close to approximating the inanity of the aforementioned SyFy tripe, no matter how hard they try.

As should be plainly obvious, I was quite taken with Zombeavers: as a directorial debut, it’s even more impressive. While not everything worked, the elements that really worked tended to soar: the last fifteen minutes of the film are so damned perfect that I, literally, cheered. Since the film ends with a direct, clever set-up for a sequel (there are other things in the woods besides beavers, after all), I’m hoping that Rubin can capitalize on what worked here and come roaring out of the gate on the next one. After all: any guy that can see the inherent, soul-shattering evil of those flat-tailed, buck-toothed bastards…well, he’s pretty alright in my book.

2/25/15 (Part One): The Tin Man With the Big Ol’ Heart

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'80s action films, '80s films, 1980s films, 4th Directive, action films, blockbusters, cinema, Clarence Boddicker, co-writers, cops, cybernetics, cyborgs, Dan O'Herlihy, dark humor, Delta City, Detroit, Dick Jones, dystopian future, ED-209, Edward Neumeier, evil corporations, fake commericals, film franchise, film reviews, films, Jesse Goins, Kurtwood Smith, Leeza Gibbons, man vs machine, Michael Miner, Miguel Ferrer, Movies, multiple writers, Nancy Allen, near future, OCP, past memories, Paul McCrane, Paul Verhoeven, Peter Weller, police, Ray Wise, Robert DoQui, RoboCop, Ronny Cox, sci-fi, science-fiction, set in Detroit, street gangs

It’s always a hoot to look back on bygone visions for “the future,” now that we’re firmly ensconced in it. The Jetsons promised us flying cars, Silent Running (1972) posited orbiting outer space greenhouses and 1984…well, we all know how rosy that was supposed to be, don’t we? While most notions of the future do a fair amount of credibility stretching (where are all those instant food machines and self-dressing booths that were supposed to make life so easy?), few have managed to be quite as fanciful as Paul Verhoeven’s RoboCop (1987): after all, this is a film that envisions Detroit as a bankrupt, crime-ridden wasteland, foresees mega-corporations taking over law enforcement (to the mass detriment of the lower classes) and theorizes that cybernetic implants will one day be advanced enough to allow the severely disabled and/or injured to resume some semblance of autonomous movement…in other words, what a bunch of malarkey, eh?

In all seriousness, despite its often campy tone, the original RoboCop is actually a pretty lean, mean, relentless little bruiser, similar in tone to Cameron’s original Terminator (1984) or Miller’s inaugural Mad Max (1979). Like these franchises (or pretty much any action franchises, to be honest), the original film is a much more modest, grounded affair than any of the resulting sequels. Thanks to an ever-prevalent streak of pitch-black humor and some great performances from the likes of Peter Weller, Kurtwood Smith (That ’70s Show’s Red Forman), Nancy Allen, Ray Wise and Ronny Cox, RoboCop is a fun, exhilarating and clever peek into a future where business and bureaucracy are king and humanity’s future rests on a pair of very sturdy steel shoulders.

It’s the mean streets of Detroit, in the near future, and the city’s police department is run by the omnipresent OmniCorp (OCP, to the punters), the kind of all-reaching octopus conglomerate that has its tentacles in everything from gene research to government insurrection to military weaponry. OCP CEO Dick Jones (Ronny Cox) has a pet project that threatens to revolutionize law enforcement and allow for the clean-up of the city’s crime problem ahead of a sparkly new development deal dubbed Delta City: the all-robotic, crime-fighting ED-209. Only problem is, the thing doesn’t work, as we see when it blasts a hapless volunteer to kingdom come during a test run in the board room.

Enter Bob Morton (Miguel Ferrer), a pretender to the throne with his own plan: the RoboCop project, wherein real police officers are infused with state-of-the-art cybernetics in order to create superior “cyborg” cops. They need a subject, of course, which comes around in the form of Murphy (Peter Weller), an eager-beaver, rising star who gets transferred into hell on earth and is promptly shot to shit by the villainous Clarence Boddicker (Kurtwood Smith, chewing delicious scenery by the mile) and his murderous street gang. Legally “dead,” Murphy is turned into the titular hero, a galvanized steel “peace officer” whose just as likely to leave the suspects in pieces.

As RoboCop cuts a swath through Detroit’s criminal population, he begins to regain some of his basic humanity, thanks to the attention of his former partner, Officer Lewis (Nancy Allen), and some recurring memory snippets that give tantalizing hints of his former life and family. Torn between being a soulless machine and a living, breathing human being, RoboCop fights with retaining the essential humanity that made him “Murphy.” As he gets closer to the criminal mastermind who originally ended his life, however, Murphy will learn that the web of corruption spins all the way to the hallowed halls of OCP’s upper echelon. Will RoboCop have what it takes to put an end to the evil or will the very nature of his existence prevent him from dispensing the justice that Detroit so desperately needs?

One of the biggest pleasures of Verhoeven’s RoboCop is the assured way in which the Dutch director builds his dystopic world, using a combination of pitch black humor, pulse-pounding action setpieces and some truly cool special effects, including some nicely realized stop-motion animation. The satiric commercials that break up the action are frequently funny (the one for the Nukem board game is simply sublime) but they also help to give peeks into the larger world, the skewed, slightly scary one that exists outside the framework of the film, proper. The series actually develops this further in the second installment but it’s a great aspect and really adds to the overall feel.

Any pulpy action flick lives or dies by two elements: its action sequences and its cast. In both of these aspects, RoboCop comes across as a pretty stellar example of the genre. While Weller’s performance here is iconic, it’s just one solid performance among many. Nancy Allen is great as his spunky partner, while Cox and Smith are pitch-perfect as the arch-villain and his sleazy second-in-command. Boddicker’s gang is one of the great groups of cinematic baddies, spotlighted by an incredibly spirited turn by veteran Ray Wise as Leon (the scene set in the “punk” club is absolutely delightful).

While it might be easy to associate Verhoeven with his most outrageous “low” (that would, of course, be Showgirls (1995)), his resume also includes Total Recall (1990) and Starship Troopers (1997): the director clearly knows his way around sci-fi action and the whole shebang kicked off with RoboCop. The film is full of great action moments, shootouts and car chases, reminding of the aforementioned Mad Max and Terminator in the ways in which the setpieces always seem grounded in some kind of physical reality, regardless of how fanciful the action gets. It’s the kind of physicality that gets lost in modern CGI-based action films and gives RoboCop a bruised, scuffed feeling that fits like a well-worn shoe.

Similar to the Mad Max and Terminator franchises, the RoboCop franchise would go on to bigger, louder and more outlandish heights in future installments. While the other films in the series all have their charms (the third one, much less so, admittedly), my heart will always belong with Verhoeven’s brash, snarky and full-blooded original. When the satire, action and political commentary all hit their mark, there are few ’80s blockbusters that are in the same league as RoboCop (no matter how many times I watch the finale, I always stand and cheer at the “You’re fired” line). Jones and Boddicker are classic villains, RoboCop is the quintessential knight in shining armor and Anne Lewis is just the kind of partner that you want watching your back, when the chips are down.

In an era where business and technology continue their vociferous joint march to the sea, it’s kind of nice to see a film where the little guy wins, even if we know that OCP is going to keep trying to get their pound of flesh long after the cameras cut. More importantly, RoboCop still holds up today as a great action film: compared to other ’80s fare, it’s much less dated and more streamlined. While it’s undeniably pulpy, it’s also pretty hard to hard to deny the film’s allure: you might have the right to remain silent but I’m willing to bet you’ll be doing a fair amount of cheering, too.