SPEED RACER

SPEED RACER: Andy & Lana Wachowski, USA, 2008

Live-action adaptation of Japanese TV anime series "Mahha GoGoGo" (1967).

The anti-corporate corruption message is both a little dense for such a virtual whimsy and is inevitably simplistic and hollow. This is, however, totally in keeping with its Japanese cartoon origins and it is no more or less hollow and simplistic than Romero’s odd anti-YouTube tirade "Diary of the Dead".

Of course, the anti-corporation plot is all to boost the virtues of genuine talent and incorruptibility of the common man and little heroes. The Wachowskis provide the film with no real personable charm, but a full-on cartoonish and family-friendly sensibility pardons all manner of traits that would otherwise be insufferable: a comedy monkey; every scene subject to special effects within every pixel (as it were); broad characterisations where everyone suddenly becomes, if not martial arts experts, then definitely unlikely master brawlers, etc. Again, all this is in keeping with the source material and family-fun adventure. And the dialogue and myth-making, although slight, are better than anything in the Matrix sequels, and the aesthetic is as consummate and otherworldly as anything in "Sin City" or "Watchmen". Why shouldn’t a family/kid’s film look this amazing? No need for darkness all the time, although there is some downbeat substance to the vision of companies squashing individuals with duplicity and thuggery.

The main point: these are the brightest yellows, pinks, reds… the most vibrant colours you are ever likely to see on film. You may feel your retina being ever-so-slightly burnt away by the vitality and florescence of the spectrum radiating from the screen. It may put you off candy for a while. But it is totally immersive and often gorgeous and dazzling during fly-by vistas. Occasionally, there are moments of inspiration - for example, the opening visit to Speed’s childhood where his question paper runs into blahblahblah and he amuses himself by daydreaming himself into a race, one rendered in hand-drawn animation. Elsewhere, there is plenty of cross-cutting in chronology to keep the pacing spikey, sometimes so speedy that you almost lose your footing on the narrative and (again, typical of anime) verging on the incomprehensible. Also, the Wachowskis do know how to shoot an action scene, and the races are often and thrilling enough to stop things from dragging. Speed’s brilliance is never in doubt, so there is little suspense, but the whole enterprise is set upon those tried and tested memes that have carried from the Japanese to the American dream: fulfilling your own brilliance and overcoming all odds and villainy. Both successfully.

Pretty much mauled by critics upon release, time will surely salvage "Speed Racer" as a guilty visual pleasure and an above-average family film. The converse of, say, "The Dark Knight", but that’s not automatically a bad thing. You might have to wear shades to watch it, but if you are in the mood for light entertainment and visual wonder, it is worth indulging.

The Warriors

THE WARRIORS

Walter Hill, 1979, USA

The first thing that you find when starting in on Walter’s Hill’s ‘ultimate’ version of "The Warriors" is that it is far from the incendiary, brutally realistic depiction of gang violence that its original riot-causing reputation might lead you to believe. The (online) sources tell a tale of extra security paid for by the film company to supervise theatre screenings, of outbreaks of gang violence at the cinema. Genuine gangs liked it, but apparently couldn’t stand sitting next to rivals to watch it. But this is hardly gritty, terrifying realism; it is probably not even as provocative as "A Clockwork Orange". What it is is far closer to "Sin City", "Creepshow" and "The Hulk" (Ang Lee) than "Romper Stomper", or "Gomorrah". The film freezes and becomes artwork; the artwork pulls back to reveal comic-book panels of scenes; there are wipes and titles that say "Meanwhile" that carry the narrative along. It is conceived as a comic-book come to life, and it is set in the near future. Sol Yurick’s source novel is apparently truly interested in exploring the desperate environment that creates gangs, but Hill moved onto something more fantastic when the studio would not consent to an all black and Hispanic cast. It is this, he believes, that induced him to make "The Warriors" futuristic which, like "A Clockwork Orange", makes more sense of all the crazy dressing up. The superficial details are not sci-fi, so it feels more like a variant New York reality.

It has considerable cult cool, generated by a hip soundtrack that is both sinister synths (much like John Carpenter, courtesy of Barry De Vorzon) and funky soul cuts. It is hip from the variety and outrageousness of the gang costumes and tribal identities, courtesy of great work by costume designers Mary Ann Winston and Bobbie Mannix. It is hip from the smooth, unfussy direction and broody atmosphere, from the constant threat of trial-by-violence. Much of "The Warriors" longevity comes, like all good cult films, from its successful creation of an alternate reality with details that speak far beyond the immediate action. All those gangs, costumes and their history can be imagined and expanded upon by the audience. This is just the tip of the iceberg. For example, you can try out Rockstar Games’ 2005 tie-in beat-em-up role-player for "The Warriors", which is full of expanded character backstories - and a far more brutal, amoral and provocative experience than the original film. The gangland is the seemingly barren and endlessly nocturnal city, overwritten with graffiti and alleviated only by blocks of coloured neon reflections stretching down shiny asphalt. It is both flamboyant and noir-ish. Even when the sun comes up, it’s still possible to imagine as a place where shadows house silent gangs ready to take you down. Somewhere else in the city, where the police are presumably less brutal and loathsome, you might envision John Carpenter’s "Assault on Precinct 13" taking place.

Hill almost starts with what ought to be the grand finale, with all the gangs gathering in one place for a gigantic meeting of rivals. This pays great dividends: once The Warriors have been framed for the murder of Cyrus - (Roger Hill) a warlord who is trying to bring all the gangs together to run the city like some big funky "Can you dig it?!" kingpin (the common enemy: police & authority) - we can look forward with curiosity as to which oddball gang they will run into next. There is a similar trick, or possible influence, in Richard’s Price’s novel "The Wanderers" (1974), where on page two there is a list of gangs, all of which have defining characteristics (Wongs, Pharaohs, Del-Bombers, etc.) and all promising some nasty encounters. It is a novel that William Burroughs called "A deeply moving account of confused and spiritually underprivileged youth"*; and although "The Warriors" is not that film nor "Rebel Without A Cause", it doesn’t forget to shade its colourful characters with a little desperation and deprivation. The most celebrated touch is when the encounter between the beat-up Warriors and tagalong gang girl Mercy (Deborah Van Valkenburgh) and a group of bright white preppies becomes a silent bid for dignity.

In enemy territory and with the whole city out for their blood, The Warriors try to make their way back to the beaches of Coney Island. This owes everything to the Greek tale of Anabasis, just as so many of the character names allude to all things classical and mythical. The structure is stripped down but carefully paced: after the opening show-piece, it’s the best part of an hour before the first real gang-on-gang punch-out occurs. Aside from confrontational Ajax (James Remar) and bare-chest outfits, The Warriors aren’t macho poseurs or pit-fighting lunkheads: rather, there is plenty of barely repressed anxiety and vulnerability on display, quietly played out between them, which evokes their need of gang identity for survival in a harsh urban wasteland. And then, come the end, Swan (Michael Beck) looks out across his home with unconcealed disdain. Walter Hill even sidesteps a showdown with The Rogues, even though they have raced to Coney Island especially to take down The Warriors. Rather, he allows the drama to round itself off without unnecessary grandstanding. It is a fine demonstration of how satisfying closure can be dramatically achieved without recourse to the standard punch-up felt needed to resolve so many action films.

Sleek, sparse and atmospheric, "The Warriors" has been adopted by the hip-hop community and outwards, and has generated its own long-term cult. An action film that manages to circumnavigate much of the obvious genre pitfalls, but at the same time still offers skinheads, post-Russ Meyer Siren-like lesbian crews, martial arts clans and baseball bat baddies. Moody, smart enough and thoroughly enjoyable.

* This William Burroughs quote taken from the back cover of: Richard Price, "The Wanderers" (Bloomsbury Classic Reads; 2004 edition).

THE WRESTLER

Darren Aronofsky - 2009, USA - France

A fine, winning film, Darren Aronofsky's "The Wrestler" treats it’s generic narrative with respect, as if playing it old school, conventional but not patronising, and allows performance and execution to elevate the material (like, say, "Million Dollar Baby" but unlike "Slumdog Millionaire"). And yes, Rourke’s performance as Randy the Ram the one-time wrestling sensation is compelling, bold and truthful, living and breathing. There is some irony that the performance seems be considered an instant classic and one for the ages, as it's a tale of a burnt-out star, trying for a comeback. Truth is, Rourke may well have already stolen the show in "Sin City", and this is just moreso. The film is lo-fi, mature, sentimental, stripped down and moving. The choice of Bruce Springsteen for the theme song is totally appropriate, for the film plays like him at his acoustic best.

The narrative and Robert D. Siegal's script are equal parts slapped down obvious and underplayed detail. The allusions to Christ martyrdom come with verbalised signposts, and Randy’s love interest is a stripper (Merisa Tomei), so we thoroughly get the whole body as abused commodity and meat market angles. But Randy-Rourke’s daily routine, juggling the need for cash with an increasing battle with age and loneliness, is comprehensive and totally convincing. The incidental details and moments raise what is otherwise standard: when Randy starts to displace some of his wrestling showmanship into killing time working on a deli counter, it’s funny and thoroughly real; when Randy wakes up after a wild night on the town in some one-night-stand's bedroom covered in firemen posters, it's the kind of story you laugh about with friends years later. The backstage wrestling camaraderie carries an unglamorous sense of authenticity as screenplay and direction refuses to condescend to the amateur wrestling circuit or play it up as a freakshow. Aronofsky’s methodology is simple: the long takes that follow Randy around are a treat; alternately he gets in close and quick for the fights, which seem full of pain and humiliation, regardless of how staged they are.

That the story hinges on a heart attack and one last bout, and that there is an estranged daughter to try and reconnect with surprises nobody - the latter being the weakest subplot where Evan Rachel Wood delivers some TV acting that only looks artificial compared to what's around her. Nevertheless, even her dance with dad in a dancehall arguably works because (a) the fact that Randy can lead hints at another side of him rather than triteness, such is our investment in the character, and (b) the dancehall is deserted and decrepit, continuing the film’s milieu of crumbling surroundings, of deserted signing sessions, of soulless workplaces, of people and places long past their prime and sell-by date. The adults are still living life and finding thrills through the songs of their youth, but also find themselves still making old mistakes. Masochism seems to be everywhere and particularly linked to machismo. No potential romance will resolve all here, because experience and life has left them jaded and no longer able to take new chances. Even so, the unforced moments of humour go some way to balancing out the despair and brutality. It is this ambience that makes "The Wrestler" feel like an adult’s film, full of past glories, wry amusement, fading fame and opportunities. Maybe she gets out, but in the end Randy decides or discovers that all he has left is a choice of how to walk offstage. But more than this, the bleakness is never allowed to dominate, for this is a film of generous humanity that likes people and wants to offer them one last moment of glory.