Heavy Metal (Potterton 1981)

Let me be clear: I love a good, trashy adolescent film every so often. I make no secret my love of Crank and Crank 2: High Voltage, or of any other number of B schlock films. Even the just released trailer for Hobo With a Shotgun looks entertaining as all hell. While often regressive, politically incorrect and idiotic, these films still have a certain appeal and a sense of fun about them. Moreover, in their own odd way, they are able to tap into the undercurrents of society, even if it is doing so for purely exploitative reasons.

Then, there is Heavy Metal (Potterton 1981)

It is hard to describe just how much I hate Heavy Metal, the Canadian made science-fiction/fantasy animated anthology film. It is a film that sets the bar low, and then proceeds to fail to reach even that modest height. Worse, as it fails, it takes things I love, including science fiction, pulp fiction, animation and great Canadian talent down into the gutter with it. It is as if the filmmakers were going out of their way to try and insult the viewer of the film on every conceivable level.

Heavy Metal is based on an American magazine of the same name, which itself was based upon a French magazine, from which the American version of the magazine apparently reprinted translated material. While I have never read an issue of the magazine, its reputation among genre fans is well known, both for featuring the works of noted comic artists and writers as well as for is hyper-sexual and hyper-violent storylines and images. While I cannot say the degree to which the film reflects its source material, there is no question that the filmmakers were certainly in love with the concepts of sex and violence, as these two elements are what the film solely consists of.

So, just what is the story, or stories as it is, of this anthology film? This is the first major problem with Heavy Metal, in that there is nothing in the film that can be called a story, let alone multiple stories. Yes, stuff happens on screen, but none of it is actually contained in anything resembling a narrative. I could use a famous quote from Macbeth to describe the material and the way in which it is presented, but I don’t feel like insulting Shakespeare by sheer association at this point. Technically, the so-called stories are tied together by a device called the Loc-Nar, an orb of great power which terrorises a little girl with its grizzly tales of death and destruction, which include zombies, taxi cab drivers, stoner spaceship pilots and other things that might have been interesting if anyone had actually bothered to write a script.

At this point, allow me to quote a selection from the 2004 edition of the Oxford Concise Dictionary of Literary Terms, written by Chris Baldick, about “plot“: “the pattern of events and situations in a narrative or dramatic work, as selected and arranged both to emphasis relationships - usually cause and effect- between incidents and to elicit a particular kind of interest in the reader or audience…” (195).

Now, lets breakdown one of the segments in the film. We have a set up that various random mutations are happening among the population of Earth, with a respected scientist showing up at the Pentagon to give his opinion on the matter. So far, so “ok.” In the process of doing so, however, he freaks out and begins to sexually assault a stenographer. Apparently, this has something to do with the Loc-Nar, though the how and why are unclear. Oh, and this assault is played for laughs, so, now we drift into the offensive. Then a tube breaks through the roof and sucks up the scientist and the stenographer into a spaceship, where we find out the scientist is a malfunctioning android created by another robot. Why the android was placed on Earth is never explained. Then they take off, with the stenographer still with them. Then the stenographer goes off an sleeps with a robot, while two space pilots get stoned, fly their ship, and ultimately crash land. Then the stenographer agrees to marry the robot, as long as it is a Jewish ceremony.

Now, you might believe that I have just described the basic, raw story with no finesse or actual attempt at describing the plotting that the actual filmmakers provide. You would be wrong, as the film provides no actual sense of relationship between the different parts of the “story” at any time. Even the basic idea of cause an effect isn’t present, let alone more complex forms of relationships between different elements of a given tale. And I would have been satisfied with basic cause and effect; it is not as if I went into this film expecting anything more than a collection of pulp tales. And this form of “storytelling” happens throughout the entire film, including the framing narrative, as the film follows the same pattern over and over again: sex, death, sex, gore, sex, murder, more sex followed by sex, a woman riding a dragon (surprisingly, that isn’t a sex scene), followed by more death. Oh, and the Loc-Nar exploding for some reason.

Part of the film’s narrative problems likely stem from the background of the screenwriters. The duo behind this film is Len Blum and Daniel Goldberg, of Stripes and Meatballs fame. Now, I dig Stripes and think the original Meatballs was fun though flawed, but how on Earth did anyone think that these two were the duo to write a sci-fi anthology film? Both Stripes and Meatballs were far from being tightly plotted films, with the scripts just setting up scenarios for Bill Murray and crew to be funny as possible in. While Heavy Metal does make attempts at comedy, most of the stories are played straight. Due to this, the limits of Blum and Goldberg’s skills as writers are revealed, as each segment comes off as little more than half baked sketches, waiting for an improve team to come in an fix them up.

The main blame doesn’t rest with the writers however: they didn’t hire themselves, and it wasn’t their decision to move forward with the script as it was. No, those responsibilities rest with producer Ivan Reitman as well as director Gerald Potterton. Why didn’t one of these two take a moment to read the script an realize what a piece of garbage it was? I don’t mean to insult the writers, but I have a hard time imagining that anyone would have thought producing the film was a good idea if the script is close to what ended up on screen. Potterton doesn’t really direct so much as he allows the film to spiral out of control, and Lord knows just what on Earth Reitman was up to during the making of the film.

Worse, these filmmakers took plenty of talented people down with them; Elmer Bernstein of Ghostbusters fame; comic greats Neal Adams, Howard Chaykin, and Bernie Wrightson, who worked on the film’s design; and the cast, which includes John Candy, Joe Flaherty, Harold Ramis, Eugene Levy and John Vernon. Everyone here deserved better material to work with than they received, and it is a great pity to see such talents wasted on this project. With any luck, I at would hope that they were at least able to make car payments with the cheques from this film.

While the film has little in the way of saving graces, it would be wrong not to give credit where credit is due when it comes to the design of the film. While the finished film is poorly animated, the design work is fascinating and beautiful in its ugliness. Most notable however is the soundtrack, which is perhaps the best remember aspect of the film, as it features music from Journey, Sammy Hagar, and Devo amongst others. The music is a nice distraction from the rest of the film, and thankfully the soundtrack is available to be listened to apart from the film itself. The same however does not seem to be the case for Bernstein’s score, which only sparingly appears but is still quite wonderful when it is allowed to shine through.

I could end this review by calling the film adolescent trash designed for 13 year old boys, but I would like to give 13 year olds a little bit more credit than the filmmakers of Heavy Metal give them. Animation fans may want to check it out for curiosity’s sake, but everyone else would be better off with a Ralph Bashki film. And I not particularly a big Bashki fan.

Neighbors (Avildsen 1981)

I like to believe that in some alternate dimension, another version of the film Neighbors exists, written and directed by David Lynch with the same cast as the version of Neighbors that actually exists. In that mythic universe, we would likely have a film with a stronger understanding of the material its playing with, from the suburban middle class values and iconography that are sent up, to the fact that the film is finding its humour out of situations of sheer horror. This film would have also been the final work of John Belushi, and likely would have given him a high note to go out on with a performance that acknowledged his great talent and showed the range that most people never really took notice of during his life.

Unfortunately, in our reality, Neighbors is a film directed by John G. Avildsen, a competent filmmaker whose cinematic grasp never really extended pass the underdog sports film, which he made twice to great success (Rocky in 1976; The Karate Kid in 1984), and several other times to middling results (including The Karate Kid Part III in 1989; Rocky V in 1990). This real version of Neighbors, despite boasting some excellent performances and a script by Larry Gelbart (best known for running the television series version of M*A*S*H*), is a mess of a film, with a unbalanced tone, awkward direction and one of the most inappropriate scores I have heard for a film.

I don’t mean to pick on Avildsen, but it would be dishonest for me to say that I consider him anything more than a lesser talent. He is a competent director when he has the right script, and in the case of both Rocky and The Karate Kid, he was the right man, at the right place at the right time. However, with Neighbors, Avildsen is completely out of his depth, trying to force the material to be funny rather than trying to play it straight and allow the humour to develop naturally out of the horror.

In fact, that is the key thing which Avildsen misses with the film, that the film is first and foremost a horror story which happens to be funny. The film's narrative concerns Earl (John Belushi), a middle aged man who lives a dull life that is seemingly being systematically destroyed by the newly arrived neighbours (Dan Aykroyd and Cathy Moriarty) over the course of one night. The film is something of an early precursor to the late 1990s classic Fight Club (Fincher 1999), as Earl finds himself caught in a seemingly endless nightmare of trying to maintain his dignity, sanity and values in the face of the chaos his new neighbours bring, while still oddly being attracted to their anarchic behaviour and lifestyle. In order for the comedy to work, the repulsion and attraction that Earl feels towards his neighbours and their behaviour must be established. Unfortunately, in trying to emphasis the comedic aspects of the film, Avildsen ultimately sabotages his attempts to make the film funny.

Consider the score from frequent Avildsen collaborator Bill Conti, who manages to craft a selection of music that is memorable while being completely inappropriate for the film. Rather than working with the film as a whole, the Conti’s music overpowers the film, attempt to force the audience to find a scene funny or surreal with its mock Father Knows Best meets Twilight Zone sound. The music attracts attention to itself and never manages to feel like it belongs the film, instead coming across as some bad internet attempt at a joke dub that goes on throughout the entire film.

Luckily for Avildsen, not everything is a disaster, as Belushi actually manages to hold the film together almost single-handedly, giving a perfectly restrained performance that is far better than most film surrounding it. Belushi manages to make his Earl into a sympathetic figure, whose life is built on repressed feelings of disappointment and anger. Even more impressive however is Aykroyd, who manages to overcome the failure in direction to transform his character of Vic into a truly bizarre and sinister creature. Aykroyd’s work here is something of a watershed for him as an actor, pushing him farther than the amazing sketch comedian and straight man he had played thus far, and setting up the more dramatic performances he would later give. Unlike Belushi’s Earl, Aykroyd’s Vic is a character lacking in background and a cohesive sense of purpose, and Aykroyd’s patented mater-of-fact attitude which he brings to the role manages to give Vic a disturbing sense of purpose that another, lesser actor might have missed.

I am not sure however that I can recommend Neighbors based on the performances alone. At the end of the day, the film is little more than missed potential, and as a dark comedy is outdone by Joe Dante’s classic slice of suburban hell The ‘burbs (1989). Sadly, the best reason I can recommend it is to see Belushi giving his last ever role his all, effort that was ultimately in the service of a film that wasn’t worth it.

Arthur (Gordon 1981)

Coming into Steve Gordon’s one and only directorial effort Arthur (1981), I knew only a few details about the film: first, that Arthur was the story of a wealthy alcoholic looking for love; second, that the title role pretty much defined star Dudley Moore for the rest of his career; and third, that the featured an infuriatingly catchy theme song from Christopher Cross. What I wasn’t expecting was a film that, while often funny, featured such a strong undercurrent of sadness, which Arthur very much does.

And God bless it for featuring such sadness, because Arthur ultimately gains an immense power that it otherwise would lack. Arthur is the story of Arthur Bach, an incredibly wealthy New York alcoholic who spends his time wandering the city with his butler Hobson (John Gielgud, who won an Oscar for his work here), looking for some form of companionship. With his childlike, alcohol fuelled antics embarrassing the family, Arthur is threatened with being cut off from the family fortune unless he agrees to marry Susan, the daughter of another elite family. Of course, it is at this time Arthur meets Linda (Liza Minnelli), a working class woman who captures Arthur’s heart.

While the plot is standard material, Arthur is set apart from similar films which try and carryout a fairytale storyline in a modern setting by embracing the harsher realities of the material, rather than attempting to ignore or mute them. Arthur’s themes include class conflict, escapism, poverty, and absentee parents, and while the central characters may be caught up in their dreams and fantasies, the film never succumbs to the temptation to provide easy, fantasy answers or false resolutions to the questions it proposes. Arthur is a deconstruction of storybook fairytales, particularly those of the Disney mould, as it showcases the contradictions and ambiguities inherent in finding ones’ fairytale “other half.”

Director Gordon accomplishes this by choosing to stand back and observe his characters, allowing them to exist with their flaws on full display rather than idealizing them. Given the immense flaws of his characters, Gordon’s approach runs the risk of allowing them to become fairly grating or horrific, but Gordon lucks out with his cast which manages to bring out the humanity in these people, even at their worst. This is particularly the case with Dudley Moore in the title role, as Arthur’s alcoholic, self-pitying man-child behaviour could have defined the character as a loathsome monster. Instead, Moore brings an innocence to the role that allows Arthur to be as charming and noble as his namesake, while never loosing sight of Arthur’s failings, such as his self-absorption and complete impotency when it comes to taking control of his life.

The fact that Arthur is likeable whilst still clearly being a incapable of looking after himself becomes the crux of the film’s deconstruction of fairytale narratives, as the audience is forced to both confront its desire for a fairytale ending while trying to understand why they want it. We want Arthur and Linda to get together, but what would such a relationship be when one is clearly unable to function in everyday life? If Linda marries Arthur, is she merely gaining a wealthy existence in exchange for being Arthur’s new caretaker? If so, and if we are rooting for this marriage to happen, are we in turn endorsing this conception of marriage? Lastly, if we are indeed supporting vision of Arthur and Linda's relationship, is the audience any better than that of Arthur’s father and grandmother who seek to marry him off to Susan? Are we not worse, given that Linda, like Hobson, will most likely allow Arthur to indulge in his current behaviour rather than force him to mature and sober up?

These questions underpin one crucial scene in which Hobson visits Linda, acting as a sort of fairy godmother figure by prompting her to go to Arthur’s engagement party in a dress he has provided. As written and directed by Gordon, the scene becomes something of a sales pitch from the ill Hobson towards Linda, trying to convince her that his position of Arthur’s “caretaker” is fulfilling. Gielgud plays the scene with an undercurrent of sadness from Hobson, an awareness that he is using his sophistication and intelligence to manipulate this woman into something she desires, but may not fully understand. It is a remarkable scene, and is mirrored later in the film when Linda shows similar awareness of the unlikelihood of Arthur being able to function as a provider when it appears he has been cut off from the family money, despite his grand planning and dreams. It is at this point Linda has become the new Hobson, complying with Arthur’s delusions for his “sake,” and Minnelli performs the scene magnificently.

Thus, the sadness that I described earlier is the sadness that comes from being aware of our willingness to go along with Arthur’s fantasy, but like Linda and Hobson, being aware of the truth of the situation. It would be so much easier if Arthur was unlovable, as he believes himself to be at one point in the film. However, we like Arthur, and as such when we see he and Linda drive off to their happy ending, it is with the bittersweet feeling rather than an uplifting emotion, no matter how great that Christopher Cross song is.

It is unsurprising then that audiences and critics were less than taken with the unnecessary sequel Arthur 2: On the Rocks (1988) seven years later, despite the well meaning intentions of that film’s director Bud Yorkin and screenwriter Andy Breckman, creator of the television series Monk (Steve Gordon died shortly after the release of Arthur, though I have been unable to find a cause of death). That film takes the undercurrent of sad reality and forces it right into the audience’s face, and as such the complexity of the original is lost. As with many films in this era of Hollywood filmmaking, Arthur is being remade with Russell Brand set to star. While I wish the crew and cast of that film luck, I question whether they will nail the charm or complexity of the original. It’s not impossible, and the presence of Helen Mirren gives me hope. However, in a more politically correct era, I can’t help but feel that this new take on the material will turn it into the very fairytale that the original film sought to question. We shall see next year.