Just an 80s Friday

I was listening to 80s New Wave on my way home from work, and I had a few films I haven't watched in quite a while. The right frame of mind and interest goes a long way. It was a nostalgic treat.

The Mean Season (1985)

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I decided I would have a little 80s movie marathon featuring a few flicks I haven’t watched in quite a while. The Mean Season (1985) features Kurt Russell as a hotshot news reporter for the Miami Journal (subbing for The Miami Herald), preparing to leave for Colorado with live-in girlfriend, Muriel Hemingway, eventually finding himself as the story involving a serial killer (soon nicknamed the “Numbers Killer”), played very impressively by Richard Jordan. Richard Masur (making the connection with Russell to The Thing) is Russell’s influential boss at the paper while Andy Garcia and Richard Bradford (Bradford did The Legend of Billie Jean as the sleazebag, Pyatt, after this film) are the detectives assigned Jordan’s serial cases. Cult actor William Smith (Eye of the Tiger, Cronenberg’s Fast Company, Grave of the Vampire, Policewomen, among others) is an eyewitness who knew Jordan from Chicago when he committed a string five duplicated in Miami because he never got recognition for his crimes. The attention to detail in regards to replicating the atmosphere, feel, and authenticity of the newsroom and the summer environs of Miami in ’85 make for a cool experience. Add the incoming storm that starts to start up thunder, wind, and rain, with a memorable scene in the Glades as Russell and the police hope to hunt down and find Jordan before he can kill kidnapped Hemingway and this film has plenty to offer fans of exciting thrillers. It gets lost in cliché, sadly, as Jordan gets angry and frustrated with Russell when he becomes popular for his involvement with the killer, soon capturing Hemingway when he loosens the distributing cap in her VW bug, holding her on the outskirts of Miami while a worried and anxious Kurt hopes he’ll eventually call. The emphasis on getting lost in the publicity of a big news story and the police’s inability to catch a killer without the assistance of a reporter are the film’s main focal points. Bradford and Russell’s tension and dislike of one another is especially pronounced while a fresh-faced Garcia tries to keep the peace. Of course, the rush of the story and its effects and strain on the relationship of Russell and Hemingway is also a major sticking point. I’ve always liked this one, as Russell makes a mad dash to the school where Hemingway works, not allowing a separated bridge to keep him from getting to his destination. The Miami summer is of great importance to the effectiveness of the setting and story. Jordan’s often sweaty and barely-contained volatility and nervy psychosis, his voice when talking to Russell makes the skin crawl. The trick by Jordan to get Russell to meet him as a “source of information”, getting Russell to the camper at a trailer park without telling the police, exposes the reporter as putting his desire for a big story over catching the killer officially. That line is definitely pushed to the edge which leads to Russell having as violent confrontation with Jordan, who left a victim with a missing face as a ruse to fool the authorities at the Glades into believing he shot himself in the face via suicide. Alas, the conclusion is mired in the familiar, predictable but Russell pays a heavy physical and emotional toll for putting the story ahead of his (and ultimately Hemingway’s) safety. 

This was definitely a cable regular in my youth and an occasional VHS rental as well. This is the ideal shelf grab if someone is looking for a Russell thriller that isn't attached to Carpenter before he went into comedy. Serious, intense Russell is good Russell, too. Jordan, in his limited screen time as most of his work is vocal with the camera obscura technique keeping his face unknown until the trick that thwarts Russell and puts him in his place, is Russell's equal.

 

Kansas (1988)

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I was continuing my off-beat 80s Friday evening with a film I probably haven’t seen since I was like 10 or 11, about 30 years ago, Kansas (1988), starring Matt Dillon and Andrew McCarthy as the decade was winding down and the youngster era of their careers was coming to an end. Dillon has continued to cut a nicely eclectic bio, not encountering a genre he was afraid of while McCarthy’s career has sort of settled into television series guest starring credits. To me the undoubted star of this film is Dillon, granted the chance to once again carve out an oddball you can’t quite pin down. He does spontaneous, outrageous things on the fly like rob a bank in his home town in Kansas during a parade while holding McCarthy (who he had just met when hitching a ride on the rails) at gunpoint, unable to avoid complicity due to unexpectedly entering the building with Dillon without knowing what he was about to do. Getting away with the cash in a duffle bag, McCarthy hides the loot under a bridge and becomes an unwitting hero when a cop car causes a limo carrying a governor’s daughter to careen into a lake, diving in to save her. Dillon, on the other hand, went in a different direction, first to a cemetery and later to another town, disguising himself in all white, complete with white cowboy hat and boots…kind of an odd choice of décor if he prefers to blend in to a crowd, wanting to escape into the anonymity of America. The FBI believe Dillon, paroled with a sheet listing everything from assault to thievery, is responsible for the bank heist, out looking for him. McCarthy successfully avoids any detection as Dillon was witnessed under a stocking by a young female clerk who peed in the floor out of fear! McCarthy flees into valleys and sunflower fields (beautiful Kansas and Midwestern locations sure capture the heartland at its most idyllic and sunlit arresting), eventually finding a barn with an old relic truck, discovered by farmer’s daughter, Leslie Hope (never more beautiful). Hope gets McCarthy a job and brief shelter for a period of time during harvest season…very nice of her to do so considering she had never met him before! Meanwhile, Dillon avoids police and escapes into traveling carnival work, seducing the boss who allows him a place to hide for a bit. It does seem, though, that the boss makes it a habit to offer a job to young studs who arrive looking for escape, similar to Dillon, so he must move on eventually.

Essentially Dillon wants his money, McCarthy has it, and McCarthy must decide whether or not he wants to cooperate with Dillon. Dillon clearly has fun in the film as the unpredictable Doyle Kennedy, either a smooth criminal who charms motorists when he needs a ride or something from them, while his tendencies towards violence and sociopathic behavior reveal a dark side, too. He burns down Hope’s barn just to prove a point to McCarthy that he means business. He takes clothes from a boozing dad celebrating his son’s college graduation. He backs into a police car, forcing the deputy down a hill where it injuries the cop. He drives right into a firing police blockade as bullets batter him and the vehicle. Dillon has bravado, confidence, courage, and no-nonsense attitude…he seems to have that disconnect in his brain that questions proper decision making, seemingly unafraid or unencumbered by the ramifications or restrictions of laws or societal standards. McCarthy, truth be told, is the handsome, baby-faced, go-with-the-flow ne’er-do-well, unsure of what he wants to do with his life, mentioning to Dillon that his car went kaput while traveling the country to New York City for a friend’s wedding. His kismet with Hope is accidental and happenstance. Hope, reluctant at first, can’t help but succumb to her attraction for McCarthy, eventually fucking him in the barn. She’s dating a lawyer and her farmer father seems clueless to Hope’s affections (and vice versa) for McCarthy. McCarthy was supposed to just work for a bit and then leave. It all gets complicated.

Honestly, the film appealed to me for its picturesque photographic scope, its catalogue of the heartland in all its sunny splendor, where McCarthy’s knack for fixing machines and getting dirt under his fingernails (Dillon, on the other hand, mentions to the bar drinker that he had no interest in following in his father’s footsteps in that regard) gives him the chance to work with other hands on the farm. Alan Toy, as the disabled cameraman reporter, has a memorable turn as the one responsible for taking a photo of McCarthy when rescuing the governor’s daughter, later seeing him at the burning barn. It does seem Dillon and Toy often serve as directional points that move McCarthy from one situation to another. While it all works out quite conveniently for McCarthy and not so much for Dillon, the complications that separate them also bring them back together. The final confrontation doesn’t have the fireworks you might expect. One doesn’t kill the other. Dillon, a product of his own self-destruction, seems to be heading down the road to obliteration while McCarthy spends his time eyeing the compass of his directionless life, wondering where the needle will point.

Eviscerated by  critics upon release, once it left theaters uneventfully, Kansas (1988) was largely forgotten. Neither Dillon nor McCarthy would probably consider it a high point in their careers and all the critics of the time made sure they labeled it a failure. I don’t agree with them, never did. When I was a kid, it left a small impression with me. I remembered it, but, admittedly, it has been thirty years and it wasn’t like I sought it out. In fact, I just happened to notice it on a movie premium channel and recorded it for the right evening, which happened to be tonight. I’m not exactly sure what kind of audience this will altogether be for. McCarthy isn’t the symbol of innocence, either. He’s not exactly the easiest character to identify completely. While he, as opposed to Dillon, isn’t a shitheel, McCarthy’s no saint. He follows Dillon into a family’s home, taking a toothbrush and clothes while inside. He even eats their food with Dillon, later not fighting against Dillon when told to help him collect the funds inside or resist returning it afterwards. Sure he saves a life from drowning, helps a farmer harvest his land, wins the heart and love of the farmer’s daughter, and rescue horses from a burning barn, but he was willing to negotiate a barter to split stolen loot, before eventually relinquishing it all to Dillon. Brent Jennings is a hoot as farmhand, Buckshot, befriending McCarthy…they have good chemistry together. Jennings often pokes fun at McCarthy due to his flirting with Hope. The real star: the Midwestern landscape. I’m glad I had to chance to revisit this. It has been too long.

That's Kyra Sedgwick as Dillon's forlorn fling, truly believing he'll take her off to Hawaii, instead going up in a car as it overturns in midair and coming to rest on the ground upside down.

Blue Thunder (1983)

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Late Friday night into early Saturday morning, I revisited an old fave from my teenage years, Blue Thunder, starring Roy Scheider from 1983. The sinister plot involving state and department of justice officials (along with police) tied to the assassination of a councilwoman is more of a reason to have McDowell’s cocky asshole, Colonel Cochrane, and police helicopter pilot (both associated with each other in flybys in Nam), Frank Murphy (Scheider) at odds, and ultimately in aerial combat later. Any excuse to get a tech-heavy, weaponized, sophisticated chopper in the air to fly around LA and avoid heat sinking missiles from F-16s and eventually Cochrane inside a Hughes 500 with major firepower. Scheider has that defined sarcasm and kiss-my-ass nature about him that many (including myself) consider endearing as his boss, poor Warren Oates (may he always be remembered), tries to keep him from always being grounded. Scheider and Daniel Stern (a JAFO, “Just Another Fucking Observer”) are partnered up, and they eventually are granted access to one of two prototypes, their chopper called Blue Thunder. Cochrane’s demonstration in Mojave throughout a course set up with cardboard cutouts of terrorists and civilians kills plenty of both as his gunfire and missiles seem to need a bit of refining (or perhaps Cochrane’s use of the guns could use a bit more practice) amuse the hell out of Murphy. The Blue Thunder has plenty of savvy advances such as its ability to spy and listen, even reading through walls and structures, even featuring a recording device that can document verbal conversations on tape. The device captures members of the covert criminal enterprise (Cochrane attends) talking about the murdered councilwoman (made to look like a rape and assault at her gated home, Murphy and Stern’s Lymangood scan the incident and question the validity of this) and bumping off Murphy. This sets in motion their mission to retrieve the tape recording and how Murphy (as standard in these kinds of action thrillers, the partner doesn’t make it out alive) must go it primarily alone (except for his lover, Candy Clark, stealing her scenes, who retrieves the tape and goes on quite a drive throughout the city, dodging cop cars and often swerving into traffic or down the wrong street in order to securely present it to a television news station exec) through the use of Blue Thunder. Well, if you want to see Blue Thunder and various choppers and planes, equipped with artillery that lay to rest plenty of abandoned structures, a BBQ café that sends up dead chicken to rain down on police and those in the vicinity of the building, and even a high rise, then this film gives you your money’s worth. Stern once again dutifully gives us a geeky, goofy sidekick to accompany Scheider’s eyerolling, cracking-wise pilot…and he can’t avoid Anthony James’ car no matter how fast he runs. Candy Clark’s driving is in the spirit of Evel Knievel if he were trying to swat a horsefly buzzing at his face…she remains harried and dedicated to settling Scheider into some type of romantic relationship, if he could just somehow stay out of trouble with his superiors. I always enjoyed how wearied Oates looks, realizing that corralling Scheider is a task beyond even his abilities. While expecting Clark to get the tape to the station and Scheider remaining in the air despite all the obstacles that would seem to quell such aspirations, the viewer must in some way dispel serious scrutiny or else not enjoy this at all. Besides the cool Blue Thunder, jazzed up and sleek, Scheider also has a sweet ride: Trans Am, slick black and really flexes its muscle when he skids away and motors it out of the parking garage of the police helicopter headquarters. Lots of aerial pizzazz and explosions, vehicular and structural KABOOM! Ideal popcorn entertainment for me personally. And Scheider as the lead guaranteed my fandom even back when I was kid. If there is content that will make some viewers wince it would be voyeurism by Lymangood, eyeing a naked actress in the bends of yoga and another woman’s cleavage…certainly a film of its time and not particularly today.

Watching a lot of Airwolf last year, it was a pleasure to get back to the film that could have served as inspiration.