Film Review: FAREWELL TO THE KING (1989, John Milius)

Stars: 3.7 of 5.
Running Time: 117 minutes.
Tag-line: "In the midst of war, one man vanished into the jungle, and emerged as king."
Notable Cast or Crew: Nick Nolte, Frank McRae (RED DAWN, 48 HRS.), James Fox (PERFORMANCE, PATRIOT GAMES), Nigel Havers (EMPIRE OF THE SUN, A PASSAGE TO INDIA), Gerry Lopez (CONAN THE BARBARIAN), Aki Aleong (KUFFS, THE HOUSE OF SAND AND FOG), Marilyn Tokuda (ALL OF ME, XANADU). Based on the novel by Pierre Schoendoerffer (THE ANDERSON PLATOON). Music by Basil Poledouris (ROBOCOP, CONAN THE BARBARIAN).
Best one-liner: "No one moves very far out of line. When you're young you think you're blazing a trail. When you grow older, you realize you're beating a path."

Men carried by the waves. Breakers dwarf their vessel, toss them to and fro like a child's toy. One could say that the winds of war have delivered them to this point, but their final destination depends on the whimsies of that fickle, briny deity known as The Sea.

The sole survivor of a Pacific shipwreck and subsequent massacre by the Japanese, Nick Nolte's 'Learoyd' wanders the dark and hostile rainforest. He is a man, disintegrated. On the outside, raging in the ocean and surrounding lands, is manmade chaos- The Second World War. On the inside is anxiety and despair, further aroused by natural chaos- the untamed jungle. He renounces his connection to his so-called civilization and throws away his pistol. Soon thereafter, he is captured by the indigenous people, 'reified,' and reborn.

On the verge of execution, Nolte's intricate tattoos prove serendipitous, and not long afterward, he is crowned their king. He builds a life for himself, and for his people. It is a genuine way of life, something Hemingway might refer to as "afición."

The jungle no longer teaches Herzogian lessons of darkness, but rather poses Hemingway-esque opportunities for redemption and transcendence- a way to recapture an authentic existence. Before long, the British and the Japanese rudely trespass upon Nolte's idyll, and each actively desires something from him: The British- cooperation and corruption; The Japanese- death.

"I quit your world," says Nolte- but the High Command, the politicians, and the bean-counters haven't quit Nolte, and so long as he draws breath and can hold a weapon, he's useful to the war effort. There's wheeling and dealing; Nolte wants guarantees, and he doesn't want his people bulldozed and redacted from the impending final reports and postscripts of the Second World War. James Fox is Colonel Ferguson, a man flummoxed by and dismissive of Nolte's 'peculiar' requests.

Nigel Havers is Captain Fairbourne, a man who begins to see Nolte's point-of-view, though he never truly graps the idea of an authentic existence- it's already been tainted by the war before he arrives (or, more accurately, just as he arrives).

John Bennett Perry plays Douglas MacArthur, another of Milius' "great men of history" who waft through his films, often portrayed as idealized, patriotic spirits, more abstractions than men. "History is written by unusual men, some who become kings, and some who make no more mark than a stone thrown into the ocean"- MacArthur, as channeled by Milius, is initially sympathetic to Nolte's cause.

But he still doesn't understand. The very way that these men exist brands them as incapable of understanding, because it is inauthentic.

War's about as discerning as the swells of the ocean, and, naturally, Nolte is sucked into the breathless void of bayonet-chopping, machete-stabbing, shotgun-blasting combat.

It is here, and not in the initial world-quitting, that Nolte embraces the hideous animal within. That pure black chaos from the deep which is as alien to the transformed Nolte as the "prim and proper" bureaucracy of destruction. To watch him do it is remarkable and terrifying.




In a way, FAREWELL TO THE KING might be John Milius' most John Hustonian flick, combining the culture shocks and "adventure" of THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING with the 'aw shucks' benevolence with which Walter Huston's character becomes a full-time medicine man in THE TREASURE OF THE SIERRA MADRE. Milius was a longtime admirer of Huston, and even had the opportunity to write for him (THE LIFE AND TIMES OF JUDGE ROY BEAN) and direct him (THE WIND AND THE LION).

Despite all of this, I cannot label FAREWELL TO THE KING as a masterpiece. Milius is an excellent writer and director, but he cannot wring the realness from his situations that someone like Huston (or Herzog) can. Another problem is the score by Basil Poledouris. I very much appreciate his work in films like CONAN THE BARBARIAN and ROBOCOP, but here, when the narrative stakes are a little higher, it comes across as oddball Oscar bait. Sometimes the music made me feel like I was watching DANCES WITH WOLVES when I should have felt like I was watching AGUIRRE, THE WRATH OF GOD. This was also a problem for me in RED DAWN. Something like Arnold swinging a battle-axe in CONAN THE BARBARIAN is not a sacred image, it's a pedestrian one. And it's one which benefits from sweeping music. I'm not reachin' for the hanky when I see Arnold swinging the axe to Basil's majestic strains, but I'm grinning and sippin' my Schlitz and having a heckuva time. In FAREWELL TO THE KING, I see Nolte replaced by the primeval beast which resides in the pit of mankind's deepest fears. This is a powerful image. This image speaks for itself. When sumptuous strings interrupt this image, they are as profane as the British army which so brutally barges in on Nolte's Shangri-La.

Nearly four stars, but not the quite the tour de force it could have been.

-Sean Gill

Film Review: FLESH + BLOOD (1985, Paul Verhoeven)

Stars: 5 of 5. Running Time: 128 minutes. Notable Cast or Crew: Rutger Hauer (BLADE RUNNER, THE HITCHER), Jennifer Jason Leigh (FAST TIMES AT RIDGEMONT HIGH, MARGOT AT THE WEDDING), Susan Tyrrell (FAT CITY, CRY-BABY), Brion James (BLADE RUNNER, SOUTHERN COMFORT), Ronald Lacey (Toht in RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK), Tom Burlinson (THE MAN FROM SNOWY RIVER), Bruno Kirby (Young Clemenza in THE GODFATHER PART II), Jack Thompson (BREAKER MORANT, SHORT CIRCUIT). Cinematography by Jan de Bont (who went on to direct TWISTER and SPEED 2: CRUISE CONTROL). Tag-line: "A timeless adventure, a passion for wealth and power. Only the strongest will survive." Best one-liner: "From now on, we'll eat like this. And whoever can't, best stay the stupid asshole he always was!"  

 I'll begin with two quotes by Paul Verhoeven which seem apropos to this film: "People love seeing violence and horrible things. The human being is bad and he can't stand more than five minutes of happiness. Put him in a dark theater and ask him to look at two hours of happiness and he'd walk out or fall asleep." and "Remember that Christianity is a religion grounded in one of the most violent acts of murder, the crucifixion. Otherwise, religion wouldn't have had any kind of impact." A lot of people like to pin down Paul Verhoeven as 'the guy who did SHOWGIRLS,' and while he cannot erase the fact that he is indeed guilty of being the guy who did SHOWGIRLS, he's one of the most audacious filmmakers to emerge from post-WWII Europe. FLESH + BLOOD is Machiavellian power games, stillborn children, nun snipers, yellowed teeth, and dogs lapping up pools of diseased gore. This movie is absolutely brutal. 

 

Every single character looks out for number one, and here, 'looking out for number one' means ripping an earring (and a chunk of flesh) from a woman as she's being raped or using 'God's word' when it's to your liking (Verhoeven has called organized religion a symptom of societal schizophrenia). Any time there's a moment for levity or genuine romance, it's immediately undercut by something like the rotting genitals or random carrion. 

 

Take a gander at this lovely idyll, for instance. 

 

It’s not exactly a historically accurate depiction of medieval warfare and the Black Death, and it doesn't quite take place in the 14th Century... sixty years ago it took place on the battlefields of Europe. Verhoeven was just a kid then, but he was there. As we speak, it's being waged by talking heads on TV, by hypocrites behind closed doors, and by vicious opportunists from here to the far corners of the world. Where an exploitation flick would insert a rape scene so the viewer might feel 'morally superior,' Verhoeven stages sexual assault as a grotesque vortex of ever-shifting power dynamics between man, woman, and the collective.

   

The performances are outstanding: Susan Tyrrell was born to do the Dark Ages––she enters the scene as a bawdy, pregnant, perpetually wasted camp follower whose life is a series of the highest, barbaric highs and the lowest, 'WHY ME?' lows:

  

Brion James is pure animal, ruthless but bewildered:  

But mostly terrifying as all get-out. 

 

   

Brion James makes the evolutionary leap to using forks and knives. 

 

Ronald Lacey is the sinister Cardinal- malicious, but sincere (not that it matters when he's got his sword in your guts):

  

Jack Thompson is the beleaguered hunter, embodying an almost Peckinpah-style morality (think Robert Ryan in THE WILD BUNCH):

   

Clearly the Medieval equivalent of "I'm gettin' too old for this shit!" 

 

and Tom Burlinson is the man of science, but his singlemindedness gives way to a sanctimonious depravity.

  

Rutger Hauer simmers and scowls- a calculating, towheaded, serpentine fiend, rapist, and murderer who might be the closest thing we've got to a traditional 'hero.'  

Though sainthood is more than a stretch. 

   

And ain't this a surreal fucken sight: a BLADE RUNNER reunion! (Not to mention that Brion James is giving Rutger Hauer a goddamned wheelbarrow ride!) 

 

Jennifer Jason Leigh- in possibly her finest performance- is a privileged, maid-beating blueblood who attends the condottiere's ‘school of hard knocks’ and emerges as perhaps the most complex and guileful of the bunch.

  

Nihilistic ‘entertainment’ at its best: five stars, and my highest recommendation.

Film Review: THE HUNT FOR RED OCTOBER (1990, John McTiernan)

Stars: 4.5 of 5.
Running Time: 134 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Sean Connery, Alec Baldwin, Sam Neill, James Earl Jones, Stellan Skarsgard, Tim Curry, Scott Glenn, Jeffrey Jones, Peter Jason (John Carpenter fave), Andrew Divoff (Patchy on LOST).
Tag-line: "Invisible. Silent. Stolen."
Best one-liner: "Y'know, I seen me a mermaid once. I even seen me a shark eat an octopus. But I ain't never seen no phantom Russian submarine."

It's not often that I sit down to watch an action film and walk away feeling like I've attended a master's class in acting. As a political thriller, THE HUNT FOR RED OCTOBER is beyond top-notch. Director John McTiernan, fresh off the success of PREDATOR and DIE HARD, uses the widescreen frame as a canvas to paint his exquisite visuals; images flow into each other with supreme eloquence- any novice film editor would do well to watch this film.

But let me get back to the acting. Alec Baldwin, James Earl Jones, and Scott Glenn are all outstanding, but this film isn't really about the Americans, it's about the Russians.

And the Russians are so good, that it doesn't even matter that none of them are: Sean Connery (Scotland), Sam Neill (Ireland), Tim Curry (England), and Stellan Skarsgard (Sweden). Connery, Scottish accent and all, is a powerhouse. This is his movie and he carries it upon his shoulders. His and Neill's defection to the Americans is the main thrust of the film, and Connery's ironclad resolve and Neill's desire to see Montana give this film some actual emotional weight.

(And Neill's childlike excitement at coming to a land where you don't have to deal with checkpoints and papers gave me absolute chills, considering developments in the past ten years.) But I think the greatest achievement an actor can make is to bring extraordinary pathos to a role which has no business with being poignant. This honor belongs to Tim Curry, the Russian loyalist doctor.

He plays his role with such sincerity, that you almost DON'T want Connery to defect, just because Curry would be disappointed. When Connery ostensibly stays behind to "fight the Americans," Curry gets misty-eyed and commends his bravery. It was most likely even a throwaway line in the script, and Curry makes it so profound that I was almost tearing up. This is what happens when Hollywood's greatest craftsmen collaborate on a film and cast it with outstanding, genius, international actors.

-Sean Gill

Film Review: RED DAWN (1984, John Milius)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: 114 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Directed by John Milius (writer of APOCALYPSE NOW, EXTREME PREJUDICE, parts of DIRTY HARRY; director of BIG WEDNESDAY, DILLINGER, CONAN THE BARBARIAN). Starring Patrick Swayze, Charlie Sheen, Lea Thompson, Jennifer Grey, C. Thomas Howell, Harry Dean Stanton, Powers Boothe, Ben Johnson (DILLINGER), Darren Dalton (THE OUTSIDERS), Brad Savage (SALEM'S LOT), Vladek Sheybal (Mr. Boogalow in THE APPLE). Cinematography by Ric Waite (THE LONG RIDERS, COBRA). I must note that about half the cast had just 'graduated' from working with Francis Ford Coppola (on the OUTSIDERS), and, likely as a result, are completely 'on' and connected to the material. Harry Dean Stanton manages to emit more pathos in a few minutes of screen time than most can aspire to in an entire career. Powers Boothe's brief appearance is similarly weighty.
Tag-line: "A full scale military invasion by foreign troops begins. Total surprise. Almost total success . . . ."
Best exchange: "What about Europe?" –"I guess they figured twice in one century was enough. They're sitting this one out."

Outside a rural classroom window, paratroopers gracefully drift down from between the clouds. A schoolteacher, hypnotized by the sight, staggers outside- and the cracks of rifles rudely interrupt the reverie.

RED DAWN has entrancing imagery, worthy of Ford or Malick: children huddled on rocky crags, eating canned beans and evading capture; a world of rape, occupation, fathers in cages. You can choose to see this film through many lenses- a student's survivalist daydream, a cautionary tale for a country gone soft, THE BREAKFAST CLUB meets SALVADOR, or a parallel dimension where the Cold War plays out like Philip K. Dick's THE MAN IN THE HIGH CASTLE.

It's a film that focuses on teenage awkwardness- not at sex, but at war. Like WARGAMES, released the previous year, it features marketable young actors forced to accept our world's destructive horrors. But while WARGAMES' terror was confined to one side of a computer monitor, RED DAWN buries your face in the dust and forces you to watch your neighbors as they're shot in the street like dogs.

It puts you in the shoes of an insurgency and in the beleaguered minds of the occupying force. Jingoists can claim that the film gives legitimacy to Reagan, the Military Industrial Complex, Red-Baiting, or what-have-you, but instead, it only demonstrates the impotence of a System that promises safety but has never experienced true loss.

If a situation such as the one in RED DAWN were to arise, the saviors would not be those who wear flag pins and shit-eating grins, nor the blue blood a-holes who, in the film, roll over like so many Rocky Mountain Pétains. It will be the downtrodden, those who have lost the most, those who have witnessed injustice and nurtured their righteous anger like a precious resource.

Che was a medical student, Georges Bidault (of the Free French) was a history teacher, Lech Walesa worked in a shipyard, Nelson Mandela was a clerk at a law firm, and here, the Wolverines were just some high school students in Anywhere, U.S.A...

Five stars.

-Sean Gill