Gandhi (1982)

 

Fitzcarraldo (1982)

 

Fanny and Alexander (Fanny och Alexander) 1982

 

E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial (1982)

 

Diner (1982)

 

A Question of Silence (De Stilte Rond Christine M) 1982 **

The Night of the Shooting Stars (La Notte Di San Lorenzo) 1982 **1/2

Lyrical, humorous and tragic are the words that best describe directors Paolo and Vittorio Taviani’s The Night of the Shooting Stars (La Notte Di San Lorenzo, 1982). Winner of the 1982 Jury Special Grand Prix at the Cannes Film Festival, this Italian film tells the poignant story of the flight of a San Marino village from their German-mined homes in the waning days of Nazi occupation in 1944. While it is a tad oversentimental at times, the movie benefits from an outstanding musical soundtrack and beautiful cinematography.

The story is narrated by a mother to her sleeping child on the Night of San Lorenzo, which according to Italian folklore is the night when all dreams come true.  She remembers her six-year-old self and her fellow villagers daring escape from retreating Nazis and Fascist collaborators on her own Night of San Lorenzo in 1944. Half of the village chooses to take refuge in the cathedral, where they have been promised by the Nazis and the Bishop that they will be safe.  The rest of the village doesn’t trust the Nazis and decides to set off to find the advancing American army.  Obviously the fleeing group had the right idea, as those who go to the cathedral are treated to a bomb as they receive holy communion.  Knowing that they will be shot if found on the road, the fleeing villagers band together for a tragi-comic exodus unlike any other.  Along the way they meet resistance fighters and encounter blood-thirsty Fascist collaborators—there is a particular father/son Fascist team that is so revoltingly evil that I actually clapped when they were killed.  Conflicting personalities and unresolved village grudges amongst the group adds a bit of comic relief to what would have otherwise been a somber march toward safety. Combined with the lighter moments, the violence and death that takes place is somewhat more palatable. 

When I reflect on what I liked about the movie two things stand out: the cinematography and the music. Shooting in the Tuscan countryside,  famed cinematographer Franco Di Giacomo captures such beautifully breathtaking images you almost forget people are being mercilessly killed.  It’s easy to see why Di Giacomo won the Donatello Award for Best Cinematography at Italy’s version of the Oscars.  The vast expansive shots of the countryside are poetically composed with pristine lighting and framing.  The spectacular shots in the wheat fields create both a pastoral feeling and an overbearing brutal sense of nature when things turn violent. 

The memorable music fits perfectly with every scene.  Nicola Piovani wrote the score and it is played throughout the movie. It is lyrically haunting and memorable.  His use of both Richard Wagner’s Tannhauser and Giuseppe Verdi’s Messa da Requiem is simply brilliant. Verdi is leaned heavily upon in both the pivotal church bombing scene and the iconic wheat field battle.  The film has a few surreal scenes, so when “Dies Irae-Tuba Mirum” starts playing during a scene where our child narrator envisions an old man as a classic Roman warrior hurling spears at his enemy, its pretty awesome to watch.  I love Verdi’s Requiem Mass and when it is properly placed in a film, as it is here, then it has extra emotional pull for me. 

Overall, The Night of the Shooting Stars is an emotionally engaging film that is both beautiful to look at and pleasing to the music lover’s ear.  While I can’t place it on the same level as Cinema Paradiso (1988) or The Children Are Watching Us (1944), it is still one of the better Italian movies I’ve seen.

The Evil Dead (1982) **

(Please be advised that some of the images contained in this post may be disturbing.)

The Gory Dead is more like it. Sam Raimi redefined the horror genre when he wrote and directed The Evil Dead (1982). Working with a paltry budget of $375,000, Raimi and his childhood friend Bruce Campbell (the film and its franchise star) took excessive violence and gore to a whole new level with this small independent film that has developed a cult following.  While it has not aged well, it’s juvenile humor and amateurish special effects scared the hell out of audiences in 1982.  Today, it just comes off as camp horror.

The story takes place in the backwoods of Tennessee, where 5 college students rent a cabin for Spring Break. As soon as they set eyes on that dilapidated shack they should have turned back for civilization.  Still, if they had done that they wouldn’t have found a Book of the Dead or recordings of chanting voices—oh, and don’t forget the trap door that opens on its own or the basement filled with all sorts of creepy things. No, there is no room for intelligence in a juvenile slasher film like this. The violence begins when Cheryl (Ellen Sandweiss) is lured by demonic voices into the woods and then is raped by—wait for it—trees.  Yes, I said trees (and it was a legitimate rape, believe me).  Anyway, she’s infected somehow by the demonic trees and she starts to turn into a demon herself.  This sets off a chain reaction of death and zombiehood that places the movie’s hero, Ash (Bruce Campbell), in the role of zombie killer. I won’t give the ending away, but it’s ambivalent and opens the door for sequels—which were The Evil Dead II (1987) and Army of Darkness (1992), and, yes, a remake of the original which is due out in 2013.

Compared to the violence movie viewers are confronted with today, what takes place in The Evil Dead seems pretty tame.  Yet, it was banned in many countries and was at one time given a NC-17 rating by the Motion Picture Association of America. I suspect its limited circulation and rating woes with the MPAA helped it develop the cult following it has today.  Yes, there is a lot of blood, but it’s amateur hour at the horror house.  Not once did any of the blood or guts I saw look real—everything was done on the cheap and it shows. The only thing that was in the least disturbing was the tree rape (I can’t believe I just wrote that again!), and that was because I just couldn’t believe my eyes. Some have called this scene misogynistic and Raimi says he regrets writing it—I just call it stupid and depraved. 

To me when you make a movie called The Evil Dead it should be scary, not campy.  I suppose it’s the word evil that I get hung up on—you should deliver on what you advertise. For example, when you go to see a film like The Exorcist (1973) you know there’s bound to be some unsettling horror about to take place because of its title. Still, there are benignly-titled films like Candyman (1992) that are crap your pants scary, so maybe I can’t quibble too much…

Overall, The Evil Dead is a slightly passable 1980s horror movie.  It has its enthusiasts, I’m just not one of them. 

The Thing (1982) **1/2

(This article is from guest contributor Rick29 and first appeared at http://classic-film-tv.blogspot.com/.  The rating in the title is my own.)

When I first saw this movie in 1982, I left convinced that John Carpenter had produced a complete misfire (especially in comparison to the classic 1951 version). But I’ve come to learn over the years that some movies age well, or perhaps they grow better because we’ve aged and our tastes have changed. John Carpenter’s The Thing is definitely one of those films for me. It's now required viewing on the first snowy day of winter and has become my favorite among the director’s work.

The Thing opens in intriguing fashion with a helicopter chasing—and trying to kill—a lone Husky in the desolate Antarctica snow. The dog runs to the U.S. National Science Institute No. 4, a remote research station. In a bizarre series of events, the helicopter crew is killed and the dog is taken in by the research station’s residents. But this is no ordinary dog. It prowls the station’s corridors stealthily as if stalking its prey. It spies silently on the residents. It’s afraid to join the other dogs, which snarl at the newcomer viciously.

Seeking an explanation for the helicopter crew’s unusual behavior, McCready (Kurt Russell) and Doc (Richard Dysart) trace its origin to a Norwegian research facility. They discover frozen corpses and a strange, partially buried “thing” that could be human. Back at the U.S. station, an alien creature reveals itself for the first time by mutating out from inside the Husky (a fairly gory scene). With the creature’s ability to imitate other life forms established, the film’s premise is finally set into motion.

If the alien can be anyone of the research station’s crew, how can it be stopped? The seriousness of the situation worsens when one of the scientists models the alien’s ability to infect humans. He determines that if the “intruder organism” reaches the general population, it could take over the planet in 27,000 hours from first contact.

The plot is supposed to be closer to John Campbell’s short story "Who Goes There?" than 1951’s The Thing (see Aki's nifty review from earlier this month). But, truth to be told, this is a mystery masquerading as science fiction. A murderer is among a group of people at a remote location—isn’t that the plot of Agatha Christie’s Ten Little Indians? The twist here is that the killer can reveal itself and then hide again by assuming another identity. The film’s best scene is when McCready devises a test for revealing the alien’s identity. This tense setup also recalls the classic mystery climax where the detective calls together all the suspects and unveils the murderer.

Subsequent viewings of The Thing allow one to appreciate its smaller pleasures: Ennio Morricone’s suspenseful electronic score (which has a definite Carpenter sound to it); an open ending that actually works (usually I loathe them); and Kurt Russell’s solid performance (less cartoonish than in Carpenter’s Escape from New York and Big Trouble in Little China).

Still, it’s the remote locale and the “who is it” premise that makes The Thing so entertaining for me. Other films have featured aliens who could take human form (most notably, the original Invasion of the Body Snatchers and cult classic The Hidden)—but this one remains my favorite.

Blade Runner (1982) **

(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.)

In 2019, the Off-world colonies are utilizing androids known as replicants as slave labor. When several of the Nexus-6 models escape, four of the replicants are believed to have made it to Earth, where their presence would be a violation of the law. Deckard (Harrison Ford), a former blade runner, part of a unit commissioned to detect and kill replicants (an act which has been termed “retirement”), is enlisted to track down and retire the renegade androids. In the course of his investigation, Deckard learns that replicants, for fear that they might develop emotional responses and make them harder to identify, were given a four-year lifespan. As Deckard draws closer, the apparent leader of the replicants, Batty (Rutger Hauer), seeks a way in which to prolong his existence.

Ridley Scott’s Blade Runner (1982) is a sci-fi film with a clear focus on humanity and questioning what makes a being human, a characteristic it shares with its source text, Philip K. Dick’s Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? A number of movies of the science fiction genre deal with what the genre title suggests: an advancement in technology and an extraordinary future. Scott brings the human element into the film, implying that the world of the future is not a product of technology and is instead defined by the people who reside within it. Blade Runner doesn’t simply show its audience what it hasn’t yet seen; it shows us what hasn’t been seen and what has already been abandoned. The future is not technology at its prime. It’s technology in various stages, some of it fresh and new, and some of it in decay.

The movie opens with a beautiful view of a city, with huge, overpowering buildings and vehicles in flight. Scott then takes the viewers into a dark, ordinary office room, where the only thing apparently unconventional is the Voight-Kampff device, a machine used for detection of replicants. As a man (Brion James) undergoes an assessment, the blade runner administering the test, Holden (Morgan Paull), seems to be indifferent to not only his test subject but the machine itself. Considering that the device is almost hidden in shadow in a room of low lighting (the Voight-Kampff is usually regulated with little light), technology is certainly not highlighted. Most of the futuristic machinery is presented in this manner, exemplified by Deckard yawning during a 10-second elevator ride to the 97th floor of his apartment. The world is populated by people who have become accustomed to all of this. The science is not new to them, almost as if Scott were attempting to drop the “fiction” from science fiction.

In the same vein, the world itself has outlived its vitality. Underneath the buildings and bright lights is the subterranean society, the people of the city hiding from the rain, where the sun rarely shines. But inside those buildings are vast, empty spaces, and those flashing lights are little more than advertisements, typically endorsing the Off-world colonies. There is a scene in the film where a replicant, Pris (Daryl Hannah), asks Sebastian (William Sanderson) about his illness, and then questions if it is the reason he is still on Earth, which he confirms. This more than insinuates that Earth is comparable to the seemingly deserted machines and buildings, that life on the colonies established on other planets is preferable. The film can be regarded as a critique of consumerism, that the idea of substance holds more weight than any actual substance.

Humans attempt to survive in this forlorn, barren world, but who are the humans? More to the point, it seems, what is the definition of humanity? Replicants were designed to be identical to humans, save for emotional response. But the short lifespan safeguard was ineffective, as the escaped replicants truly want one thing: to live. Survival and fear of death are base components of humanity. And while the deadpan Deckard shows little emotion, the replicants, in addition to fear, express anger, apparent confusion, and, it seems, happiness. However, an audience can identify more with Deckard, a world weary man just trying to complete his job. Blade runners have been trained to detect a replicant by lack of empathy, but in the film, the replicants’ emotional resonance is what ultimately reminds viewers what they are: artificial. Batty’s smiles are maniacal, Pris’ trepidation when meeting Sebastian gives the impression of having been learned, and Zhora (Joanna Cassidy) has a perpetual expression of anticipation, as if she were continually seeking the proper way to react.

Many of the actors in the film have an appropriate stoic quality, particularly James, Sean Young, and the outstanding Edward James Olmos as Gaff, who assists Deckard in the investigation. Some of the actors portray characters known to be replicants, but others are not necessarily androids, and it is difficult not to wonder about their humanity or lack thereof. In fact, Scott directly addresses the idea of Deckard himself possibly being a replicant (a concept taken from the novel), in a small but significant sequence that was excised from the original theatrical version. Ford underplays Deckard but to great effect, and having garnered success with the first two Star Wars films (1977 and 1980), as well Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981), he proved that he was a versatile and capable actor.

Sci-fi novelist Dick was supposedly upset with early drafts of the screenplay. However, he was pleased after seeing a rewrite and viewing an advanced cut of Douglas Trumbull’s special effects (David Dryer completed the project as “special effects supervisor”). The author died a few months before the film’s release, and Blade Runner was dedicated to him. The title of the film was taken from Alan E. Nourse’s 1974 novel The Bladerunner, as well as a screen treatment by fellow novelist William S. Burroughs. In Nourse’s book, “bladerunner” refers to someone running medical supplies (e.g., scalpels) on the black market. As the treatment was not chosen for further development, Burroughs adapted it into a novella, Blade Runner (a movie), in 1979. The rights to both titles were purchased for Scott’s film.

It’s interesting to view the technology envisioned in 1982 with technology of today. While some of it seems dated (hefty monitors vs. today’s flat screens, etc.), other aspects are equivalent to modern standards. In one scene, Deckard examines a photograph by enhancing the image to better see the picture. The device that he uses not only employs voice recognition, but Deckard also gets a printout of the enlarged image. Later, Deckard makes a call to Rachael (Young) on a Vid-Phōn, a videophone version of a public phone booth.

The 10th year anniversary of Blade Runner was celebrated with a “Director’s Cut.” The cut that was shown to test audiences in 1982 was screened in 1990 and 1991 and purportedly inspired this version, which reinstated the aforementioned cut sequence, removed Deckard’s voice-over, and changed the studio-altered ending (which opted for a more upbeat conclusion). While the voice-over worked in establishing a film noir tone for Blade Runner, it was intrinsically superfluous and detracted from the solid cinematography and beautiful score, courtesy of Vangelis (who had just won an Academy Award for 1981’s Chariots of Fire). The studio ending likewise was out of place, shifting the overall feel of the movie. While the “Director’s Cut” was completed without Scott’s involvement, the director authorized the “Final Cut,” which was released in 2007.

Blade Runner is a film of humans and non-humans alike examining what it means to be human. The blade runners expose the replicants by revealing an absence of emotion. The motto of the Tyrell Corporation (the corporation responsible for replicants) is “More Human Than Human.” Do the replicants, then, try too hard to be human? With implanted memories and a desire for longer life, the replicants do a fairly good impression of humans. “Quite an experience to live in fear, isn’t it?” Batty asks of Deckard near the film’s end, and perhaps this is the fear of which Batty speaks: that humanity is a learned trait, and that something other than humans is doing a better job of it.