Atlantic City (1980)

 

Airplane! (1980)

 

The Empire Strikes Back (1980) ***

By far The Empire Strikes Back (1980) is my favorite film in the Star Wars collection. In the good old days, when you could drop off your 8-year-old kid and her friend at the movies without worrying whether they’d be there or tied up in the basement of some pervert when you came to pick them up, I went to see a Saturday matinee of this Sci-Fi thriller in May of 1980. Being children with good eyesight and strong , flexible necks, we sat in the very first row of the theatre. It is almost indescribable how I felt when I saw those gigantic white AT-AT Walkers on the planet Hoth. For more than two hours I was mesmerized by this galaxy so far, far away.

Since I do not prescribe to the idiocy of the renumbering of these films after the prequels emerged, this is the second of the Star Wars films. Coming off the destruction of its beloved Death Star, the Galactic Empire is looking to set the galaxy right again and snuff out the Rebel Alliance. The Rebels are hiding on Hoth, which looks a lot like Norway in winter.  As the Empire strikes back the Rebels flee to an unnamed rendezvous point. Not everyone makes it there—namely our principal characters: Luke Skywalker (Mark Hamill), Han Solo (Harrison Ford), Princess Leia (Carrie Fisher), Chewbacca (Peter Mayhew), and the droids (Anthony Daniels). While his friends are dodging asteroids and the Star Destroyer, Luke takes a trip to Dagobah to learn the Jedi way from Yoda (Frank Oz). Before he can complete his Jedi training Luke has a vision of Han and Leia in trouble and goes to rescue them. It is in Cloud City that Luke and Darth Vader (David Prowse/James Earl Jones) have their famous light saber duel—you know the one where Vader cuts off Luke’s hand and tells him he’s his father? Oh, that Vader, he really did give into the Dark Side, didn’t he?  Anyway, the last few moments of the film are a preparation for the sequel to come: Return of the Jedi (1983). Granted, as an 8-year-old I was a bit miffed that I was going to have to wait to see if Han Solo would be forever left in suspended animation, but as an adult I appreciate the idea of a well-devised cliffhanger.

What I most like about The Empire Strikes Back is Yoda—the all-time greatest Star Wars character ever. Small in stature, with a skin shade of lima bean green, Yoda is not as ruggedly handsome as Han Solo, but he is so charismatic—and wise.  I’ve always been a fan of Confucius, and that’s who Yoda resembles. Think about it, when Yoda says to Luke, “Try not. Do... or do not. There is no try,” you have to think of Confucius. I loved Yoda so much as a kid my parents bought me a rubber-molded Yoda puppet for Christmas, which I kept until an unfortunate hot light incident melted my prized possession.  I’ve read that Hamill was not fond of spending months shooting the swamp scenes with animals and props. Personally, I think he was upset that he was being upstaged by the most interesting Jedi in the world.

And, then there’s Vader—the second most interesting. Yes, I know I’m not supposed to root for the Dark Side, but Vader is a complete badass. He walks with purpose (what powerful strides indeed) and suffers no fools. Who wouldn’t want to be able to crush the windpipes of people who fail us just by slightly raising our hand? Plus, he knows how to wear black and works a cape like a supermodel—and don’t forget his awesome theme song composed by John Williams.

Overall, The Empire Strikes Back is a thrilling Sci-Fi movie.  I’m not a full-on geek, so I can’t describe in detail all of the ships, vehicles, and weapons that make the film a visual treat.  Suffice to say, George Lucas and company did a superior job of using the technology that they had (pre-CGI) to create entirely new worlds and creatures. The true test of how good this movie is the fact that I get the same feeling today that I did 30+ years ago when I sat in the front row and watched it. 

 

Ordinary People with Extraordinary Issues (1980) ***

 

Ordinary People (1980) was nominated for six Academy Awards; it won four. To this day, some people are still upset over the fact that Ordinary People won the Best Picture Oscar over Raging Bull (1980).  These same individuals will also debate you to death about how ridiculous it was that the film’s first-time director, Robert Redford, beat out Martin Scorsese as Best Director.  While I find Raging Bull mildly better than Ordinary People, I can’t bring myself to say that Scorsese’s film was robbed, either.  Each had its strengths; it just so happens that voters that year went for an understated drama over a powerful one.  Of course, there is one true issue to be had with the 1980 Academy Awards—how could Timothy Hutton be nominated (and win) Best Supporting Actor for a film in which he was without a doubt the primary lead?  That, to me at least, is the biggest head scratcher. 

Based on the 1976 novel of the same name by Judith Guest, the film tells the story of an upper-class Midwestern family’s gradual destruction following the death of a child.  Hutton plays Conrad Jarrett, a teenager dealing with survivor’s guilt.  Conrad is plagued with flashbacks of the horrible night in which he and his brother Buck (Scott Doebler), were involved in a sailing accident in which Buck drowned.  Having just been released from a mental hospital after attempting to slit his wrists, Conrad struggles to deal with his depression and his mother’s (Mary Tyler Moore) indifference.  The very shaky glue that attempts to bind mother and son is Conrad’s father, Calvin (Donald Sutherland).  The Oscar winning screenplay focuses on what happens when polite appearances are shattered by callous truths.  Of course, no one in the family is willing to admit what those harsh truths are, and so it takes a good psychiatrist (Oscar-nominated Judd Hirsh) to bring the Jarrett men to the conclusion that not everything is neat and easy.

Mary Tyler Moore was a complete revelation as Beth Jarrett. Primarily known as a comedic actress, who emitted warmth and enthusiasm in her famous sitcom roles, Moore plays a cold, unfeeling woman in this film.  Beth is always perfect—her hair, clothes, and house are always immaculate.  Yet, she has a dirty little secret: she despises weakness, especially if it involves emotions.  Her interactions with a son who is obviously begging for her love and compassion are almost too brutal to watch.  Mind you, she is not evil or malicious—she just refuses to connect with him.  The most painful scene in the entire film is when after having an emotional breakthrough of his own Conrad hugs her and she stiffly sits with a frozen look on her face. Moore was nominated for a Best Actress Oscar and she deserved it.  She makes you want to scream at the screen, “Wrap your arms around him you cold-hearted bitch!” Her scenes with Sutherland are just as powerful, especially the final one in which he tells her the truth about who she really is. 

Hutton, for his part, gives an understated performance that is propped up by fine supporting turns by Sutherland and Hirsch. Like Moore, Hirsch was known primarily as a sitcom actor, and so his Dr. Berger’s crass language and matter-of-fact demeanor was a surprise to many.  Still a teenager himself, Hutton had to run the emotional gamut in this role: remorse, guilt, despair, love, fear, and happiness.  As I said earlier, he was the star of Ordinary People and to label him as a supporting actor was completely ridiculous.  And, Sutherland, does an admirable job of playing a man struggling to keep what’s left of his family together. 

Other than the gripping story and the fine acting, what most people remember about the film is its music, specifically the constant presence of Pachelbel’s Canon.  Baroque in style and so composed in such a way as to produce dramatic emotions, the Canon was an interesting choice of thematic music for Ordinary People. For those unfamiliar with it, the Canon employs three voices (or players) that engage in the same music (this is a canon in music) but then there is also a fourth voice (the bass) that plays an independent part.  Right about now you’re asking yourself what is the point of this music lesson, right?  Well, I believe the choice of the Canon has symbolic meaning in that Conrad, Beth, and Calvin play the canon voices, while Buck (or perhaps Dr. Berger) plays the bass voice. Still, whether there was symbolism behind its choice or not, the Canon is expertly used throughout the film. 

Overall, Ordinary People is a gut-wrenching family drama that examines the meaning of both guilt and disconnectedness.  For anyone who may have had a less than warm relationship with a parent or struggled with survivor’s guilt, it might provide some insight into the human condition.  While it may not be as emotionally packed as Raging Bull, it quietly makes a statement about the meaning of loss. 

The Shining (1980) **1/2

(This article is from guest contributor Sarkoffagus and first appeared at http://classic-film-tv.blogspot.com/.  The rating in the title is my own.)

Jack Torrance (Jack Nicholson) takes a job as caretaker of the Overlook Hotel for the winter. A struggling alcoholic who has been sober for five months, he plans to work on his latest “writing project,” while his wife, Wendy (Shelley Duvall), and son, Danny (Danny Lloyd), stay with him in the enormous hotel. Before the employees leave, a cook, Hallorann (Scatman Crothers), recognizes in Danny a shared extrasensory ability. Hallorann’s grandmother referred to ESP as “shining,” which the young boy handles by creating Tony, who lives in Danny’s mouth, talking to him and sometimes showing him pieces of future events. Danny can sense that the cook is afraid of Room 237, and Hallorann warns Danny to stay out of the room.

Jack had been informed by the hotel manager of the preceding caretaker, Charles Grady, who murdered his family with an axe before killing himself. Days pass, and Jack sleeps late, repeatedly tosses a ball against the wall, and nods off at the typewriter. As Jack’s behavior becomes progressively more antagonistic towards his wife and son, Danny has visions of mysterious sisters, bloody corridors, and the word “redrum” scrawled on a door. Soon, Jack is seeing people at the hotel, like the bartender, Lloyd, who serves him drinks, and it seems only a matter of time before the agitated writer picks up an axe.

Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining was not generally well received upon its 1980 release in theaters, but like several of Kubrick’s films, The Shining has, over time, garnered more fans and favorable reviews. Kubrick was well known for his rigorous shoots during production, a perfectionist for every shot of his films. His movie prior to The Shining, Barry Lyndon (1975), took an astounding 300 days to complete filming, whereas production for The Shining reportedly lasted over a year. Perhaps because of his lengthy shoots, Kubrick was never genuinely considered an “actor’s director,” as the actors sometimes were simply objects within a highly detailed construct (e.g., the privates standing at attention in 1987’s Full Metal Jacket or Alex and his droogs sitting at the milk bar in 1971’s A Clockwork Orange).

In The Shining, there are seemingly endless shots of far-reaching hallways and characters framed in vast, nearly empty rooms. Something as simple as Wendy bringing Jack his breakfast becomes an arduous task of rolling a service cart for a prolonged distance. Many horror films enclose characters within confined spaces (such as George A. Romero’s 1968 ghoul opus, Night of the Living Dead), but The Shining takes an alternate approach. There is plenty of room to move in the colossal hotel, but, like with so many of the hotel’s elements, it’s pure deceit. The isolated hotel is covered in a severe snow storm, so Danny and his mother can run, and they can even hide, but there truly is no escape.

There have been numerous readings of The Shining, with some critical writings or essays viewing the film as an allegory. While a literal translation of the film’s plot is not likely feasible, it is possible to focus more on its base components. Jack Torrance is either conversing with and being manipulated by ghosts or his mind is disintegrating (not unlike Jack Clayton’s 1961 The Innocents or its source text, Henry James’ The Turn of the Screw). Theories can support either belief, but Kubrick’s infamous concluding shot, closing in on a simple photograph, adds a new element to any potential interpretation.

The Shining was based on the Stephen King novel of the same name, which was adapted by Kubrick and author Diane Johnson. King has been vocal over his dissatisfaction with Kubrick’s film version. The author was most critical of the casting of Nicholson, believing that audiences would immediately see Nicholson as the mentally unstable character, as opposed to watching a man slowly fall apart. In 1997, King adapted his novel and produced a three-part miniseries directed by Mick Garris and starring Steven Weber and Rebecca De Mornay. The television version was filmed in part at the Stanley Hotel in Estes Park, Colorado, the hotel which inspired King’s original novel. Kubrick filmed some of the exteriors for the 1980 film at the Timberline Lodge in Oregon in lieu of the Stanley Hotel, another source of contention for King. (The interiors were filmed at Elstree Studios in England.)

The film’s Steadicam operator, Garrett Brown, invented the Steadicam, which he initially called the “Brown stabilizer.” He first utilized the Steadicam in Bound for Glory (1976) and won great acclaim for Rocky the same year, following Sylvester Stallone up the steps of the Philadelphia Art Museum. His design originally covered the area from the operator’s waist to head, but he was able to employ shots in The Shining at knee height (accomplished by utilizing a wheelchair), as the camera travels behind Danny on a Big Wheel in the Overlook’s hallways. The tracking shots in Kubrick’s film are extraordinary. They are fluid and follow Danny so closely that it gives the impression of being pulled against one’s will, intensifying the dread of the boy turning a corner, as one can never tell what will be standing there.

Soon after its initial theatrical release, Kubrick pulled the film and cut the ending. The final shot was the same, but there was a preceding scene that did little to explain the events of the movie. If anything, it unnecessarily piled on further intricacies to a labyrinth of ideas. There are apparently production shots, but the filmed scene reportedly no longer exists.

Wendy Carlos and Rachel Elkind composed a score for the film (Carlos had also written the Moog synthesizer music for Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange). However, very little of their music was used, as Kubrick opted for already existing classical music to cover most of the film’s soundtrack. In 2005, Carlos released the original material written for The Shining, with Rediscovering Lost Scores, Vol. 1 and 2 (also featuring selections from A Clockwork Orange and 1982’s Tron).

Though they are often referred to as “twins,” the ghostly Grady sisters in The Shining are simply dressed alike, as the film explains that the two girls are different ages. The well known line -- “Here’s Johnny!” -- was an ad-lib by Nicholson. Clearly a play on Ed McMahon’s introduction of Johnny Carson on The Tonight Show, Stanley Kubrick, who had been living in England for a number of years, reportedly did not comprehend the reference. Carson would later incorporate the scene in an introduction to one of the show’s anniversary specials.

The Shining is one of my favorite horror films. I’m a Kubrick fan, and although he didn’t concentrate on the horror genre, the famed director was able to create scenes of sheer intensity and disturbing imagery that sears itself into the viewers’ minds. It’s a movie that, if nothing else, makes me glad that I cannot afford to stay at a gigantic posh hotel.