Part of the 1981 Project Deliverance, the 1972 John Boorman directed adaptation of James Dickey’s suburban male survivalist tale, became one of those films like Jaws or Halloween that saw an influx of imitations following in its wake. Itself a modern day take on the Richard Connell’s story “The Most Dangerous Game”, the appeal of the basic template is letting a cross section of men (educated, gym rats, chubby) and pit them against locals (mostly from the Southern part of the United States) who abide by more antiquated and simpler instincts and the elements. Out of all these Deliverance followers, one of the best is Walter Hill’s Southern Comfort. The basic framework is there, but thoughtfully tweaked through the culpability of the “protagonists” themselves, and their military training, which provides a subtext of a microcosm of the clusterfuck that was Vietnam.
It’s Louisiana 1973, a National Guard troop featuring a bevy of great characters actors like Keith Carradine, Powers Boothe, Fred Ward and TK Carter, is being lead on a routine trial run (aren’t they always routine?) by their captain (Peter Coyote) in the bayou. Armed with heavy artillery loaded with only blanks (representing impotence…a key subtext of the film) yet completely under prepared, even for a trial run, they encounter a river sans any means of crossing. Seeing some docked canoes, they decide to abscond with them, figuring the importance of their mission (reminder: a trial run) far exceeds any other possible purpose. Mid-way through their trip, the owners of the vessels, bayou dwelling Cajuns, return, and not knowing any details, yell and scream like anyone who catches a thief in action probably would. A National Guard member responds not with explaining words but by firing a loud round of blanks from his machine gun. The Cajuns respond by shooting their guns, the type with actual bullets in them, and murder one of the Guardsmen. Tensions escalate as the troop is obviously lost in an unfamiliar land and begin to unravel psychologically.
Set while the conflict in Vietnam was still raging, the film serves as a microcosm for the myriad of circumstances (i.e. generally being lost in unknown land, unprepared and undermanned) that led to the malaise that was America’s involvement in Vietnam. Primary being a complete and utter inability to communicate, how could one expect the lines of communication to persons in another continent, when even native Louisianans cannot understand one another based upon dwelling location? The film also deals with a very American sense of entitlement as evidence in the film’s instigating moment, the taking of the canoes. The majority of the men don’t let their artillery impotence prevent their machismo impulses, revealed when coming across a Cajun in the bayou (the wonderful character actor Brion James), unable to deduce with certainty his involvement, but guilty by association, the men convince themselves to take him hostage, and one particular maverick amongst them destroys the man’s humble home.
Hill and his co-screenwriters Michael Kane and David Giler do a wonderful job creating realistic and fully realized characters that also serve as symbolic archetypes of masculinity. They are aided in this cause by a game cast of hungry actors who bring a verisimilitude to their performance that increases the already intense atmosphere. Every character is flawed in one way or another, even our alleged “good guys” Charles Hardin (Boothe) the fish-out-of-water member of the team, he’s from Texas, who slowly begins to give into his more paranoid thoughts, and Spencer (Carradine) who maintains a lackadaisical disposition even under the most inappropriate circumstances. As the journey home extends, all the men grapple with such issues as an inability to lead, catatonia, racism, and their most psychotic impulses coming out from beneath the surfaces.
This was the fourth in what is quite an amazing streak of five great films over the course of five years for director Walter Hill (preceded by The Driver, The Warriors, The Long Riders (my review) and followed by 1982’s 48 Hrs.), and his assuredness oozes from the screen. Smartly, he makes the decision to never give the viewer a clear shot of the Cajun persuers, so when the surviving members of the troop come across their potential nemesises, we are in the same position as they are: uncertainty. Hill imbues a strong sense of atmosphere through location shooting and is as skilled at manufacturing suspense as any of his peers. Ry Cooder provides an appropriately spiced score that is both minimal and effective.
This was my second trip to Portland in the last decade (third visit there in my life, counting when my family visited my aunt and uncle when I was five years old), and I have to say, it’s my kind of town. Granted, we were blessed with beautiful weather that fluxuated between the mid-70s and low-80s the entire time, which I realize is a stark contrast to the eight plus months of rainfall the Pacific Northwest city is known for (my last visit was during the month of December, so I definitely have experienced that), but I imagine the city’s walkability and reliable public transportation certainly would provide respite during more inclement days.
While some residents (especially those that write for the weeklys) have some of that “I live in a great city superiority complex” thing going on that drove me a bit batty when I lived in San Francisco, that’s forgivable for a place where record and book stores still thrive, good food and drink (especially DRINKS) are not only appreciated but affordable, a large contingencies of movie theatres serve beer and/or quality meals, and where despite being a bastion of left of Nader liberals (of which I tend to fall on the political spectrum) there’s no sales tax!
I thought I’d share some of the entertainment highlights and purchases of my trip with you.
Movies
My wife and I caught two films at two separate movie theatres while vacationing. The first was Werner Herzog’s captivating documentary Cave of Forgotten Dreams, one of the only 3-D films of the modern era where the extra dimension was actually necessary, providing texture and scope, at the Living Room Theatres. The theatres seats are comprised solely of barcalounger/couch style material with a table between each seat. We had a later lunch that afternoon so we didn’t order a meal, however, spying on other attendees’ food showed a wide assortment of fine cuisine, in addition to a full bar drink menu and Espresso bar (I had an Americano). We did order some popcorn, which was brought to our seats in an actual ceramic bowl. Ooo la la, indeed. The price was $12 for each ticket, which is a little pricier than normal, but still cheaper than the Arclight on a weekend night.
The next movie we saw was at the Laurelhurst, a theatre I visited the last time I was in Portland. It’s a small, independently operated, neighborhood theatre that used to be one large theatre that was cut into about six screens decades ago. In addition to normal concession items, they also make fresh pizzas and have a tap with a selection of a half dozen beers. The programming is pretty much second run independent fare, and admission for a 4:00 screening was only three dollars! Two of the best films of the year so far were playing when we went (those would be Meek’s Cutoff and 13 Assassins), but my wife and I caught the one repertory screening they had of the Michael Cimino directed, Clint Eastwood/Jeff Bridges starring cult classic, Thunderbolt and Lightfoot. The print was not in the best condition and the projector bulb was wearing out, making everything darker than it should be, but for the price of admission and the chance to consume a beer during a theatrical screening, I won’t complain too much.
Books
The world famous Powell’s Books takes over a block of space, and is a bibliophile’s paradise. In addition to the main store, there are several smaller stores throughout the City, and for those that want to give business to a smaller entity than Amazon, you can order stuff from their website and have it shipped to anywhere. During the two or three hours I shopped there I actually spent so much time in the Crime Fiction and Film related rooms that I barely scratched the surface of the actual Literature room. Oh well, next time.
For those who cannot see all the titles too well, here’s the list of what I purchased:
Norwegian Wood-Haruki Murakami
The Score-Richard Stark (Donald Westlake)…which I already read in two days, finishing on the flight home
Fatale-Jean Patrick Manchette…which I finished yesterday during breaks at jury duty
Lady Killer-Ed McBain…the first McBain/Precinct 87 book I’ve ever purchased, anyone recommend a good starting point for this series?
The Deep Blue Good-By and the Dreadful Lemon Sky-John D. MacDonald…looking forward to entering the world of Travis McGee after hearing so much about the series
Shock Value-John Waters
Melville on Melville…one of those interview series with famous film directors, this one with Army of Shadows/Le Samoraui auteur Jean-Pierre Melville
The Locked Room-Maj Sjowall and Per Wahloo
A Swell Looking Babe-Jim Thompson
Child of God-Cormac McCarthy
Swag-Elmore Leonard…I read Stick earlier this year, and didn’t realize that there was another book chronicling the character Ernest Stickley until reading the back cover
Button, Button and Other Stories-Richard Matheson…now I can finally see if I was right in assuming that the recent Richard Kelly film adaption of the cover story (The Box) starting going off the rails once Matheson’s story concluded and new strains were added
I also picked up those two swanky t-shirts, and my wife found several books of interest for her that are not included in that photo.
Records
Risking the possibility that we would have to check luggage (which we actually did not…I packed lightly), my wife and I purchased the following LPs at Jackpot Records, a local independent record chain. We had our first and only celebrity sighting there, Carrie Brownstein of the band Sleater-Kinney and the Portland centric sketch comedy show Portlandia, was shooting something in front of the store, possibly a segment for a future Portlandia episode?
Here’s what we purchased:
Otis Redding-Tell the Truth
Alice Cooper-Welcome to my Nightmare…for $ 2
Donald Byrd-The Cat Walk
Soft Machine-4
Led Zepplin-II…fun fact: though I am a pretty large music fan, this is the first Led Zeppelin album I’ve owned in any format, and I only paid a buck for it!
The Fugs-It Crawled Into My Hands, Honestly
Miles Davis-Filles De Kilimanjaro
Food
Honestly, considering we ate out pretty much the entire trip (save for a picnic at the Rose Garden), there are too many fine establishments to mention them all in this post. But one I would really recommend to any Portland residents or visitors is a place called Evoe. It is connected to a small Italian grocery store, and there’s only two tables and counter space. The chef, Kevin Gibson, used to work at an upscale restaurant, but feeling disillusioned with the scene opened this smaller place of his own. Everything is made of fresh organic ingredients, and if you sit at the counter, right in front of your eyes. We had a small lunch comprised of a selection of pickled items as an appetizer, a salad with thinly cut slices of artichoke as the base, and a wonderful dish of fresh peas on top of toast with a béarnaise-esque sauce. And all for about twenty dollars!
Part of the 1981 ProjectIs there a more appropriate visual metaphor to open a film starring Charles Bronson and Lee Marvin in 1981 than with a vicious bloody match between two mangy dogs, specifically a pit bull and a white German Shepard? At the age of 59 (Bronson) and 57 (Marvin), and never really handsome in the generic “matinee idol” mold to begin with, had seen their weathered and wrinkled faces proudly suggested the hard living off-screen one would like to associate with their on screen personas. Death Hunt (1981, Peter Hunt) gives the duo a forum to prove they still had leading men chops. It’s a decent yarn that moves (what one once may have referred to as a “programmer”, though I don’t think of that generally in negative terms), but I couldn’t help but see potential for exploring more resonant themes or that an even more potent film could have resulted out of the existing materials.
It’s 1931 in the Yukon but you wouldn’t be entirely remised to think it’s actually 1831, seeing how the snowy village is still completely unpaved, and transport is purely via horse drawn buggy. Trapper Albert Johnson (Bronson) is returning home to his log cabin in the middle of the desolate woods when he comes upon Hazel (character actor favorite Ed Lauter) fighting his dog against another asshole’s dog in a death match. Seeing the pathetic state of the dog, Johnson kicks some ass, and buys the dog off of Lauter for $200. Considering he was about to shoot it himself, that’s a pretty good deal I’d say, but Lauter is an asshole (natch, the motherfucker’s engaging his dogs in fights), and since he’s publicly humiliated in front of his cronies (amongst them William Sanderson and Len Lesser (Uncle Leo!), he takes it up with the local Mounties, claiming that his dog, who let me reiterate he was about to cold-bloodily kill, is worth at least a thousand dollars. Edgar Millen (Lee Marvin) is the grizzled veteran Mountie, and has no interest in petty claims, so despite the suggestion of rookie Alvin Adams (Andrew Stevens) that they investigate matters, he’s of the “shit will work itself out” mentality. Well, shit just goes from bad to worse, as Lauter and his cronies ambush Johnson at his cabin, and kill the now healing dog, but Johnson, as one would expect from a Bronson character, is a heavily armed militia type and takes out one of the crew.
So of course now Marvin has to get involved. Trying to be the mediator he attempts to convince Johnson to come with him and let legal avenues sort out the mess before anyone gets hurt, he even personally insures that Johnson will be back in his cabin writing his anti-ham radio technology manifestos in three days. As he’s about to decide, one of Lauter’s gang take a shot at the open man, and Johnson ain’t going for that, so a full on Waco type stand-off ensues. The manhunt compounds after Johnson survives the dynamiting of his cabin and extends to the wilderness as Johnson heads to the Alaskan border where I am sure his down home whimsical habits like curing his own homemade jerky would make him a local hero, and the number of pursuers multiple as a bounty has been offered for his head, meaning anyone with a firearm (and remember this is the Yukon in 1931, so everybody’s packing) wants the reward money.
Director Peter Hunt got his start in editing, including many of the early James Bond films, before making his directorial debut helming the sole George Lazenby starring Bond sequel, On Her Majesty’s Secret Service (which may have an at times ineffective actor in the lead, but is a very solid Bond entry). Editing is definitely his strong suit, as Death Hunt hums along at a great pace. The snowy on location shooting lends itself an appropriate desolate environmental atmosphere that is foreboding and aides in the suspense. However, one major flaw in Hunt’s visual scheme is his reliance on shooting action scenes primarily in medium shots. Since it’s a chase film with a heavy emphasis on stand-offs, this ruins their effectiveness as the hunter and huntee are never really composed in the same shot. While it may be more practical from a filmmaking stand point (actors don’t all have to be there at the same time), it makes the action, the driving force of the film, ultimately mundane. Towards the back end of the film, there’s a moment where an airplane chases after Bronson flies low and we see both man and machine in the same frame, and it’s a revelation after the more muted style employed previously.
An overriding theme in the screenplay by Michael Grais and Mark Victor is older men addressing and resisting impending changes. Bronson and Marvin’s character are firmly entrenched in their ways (Bronson—isolated living; Marvin—the policy of letting matters work each other) that leads to explosive conflicts when presented with fluctuating times and attitudes. As previously mentioned, for a film set in 1931 the town and technology is more representative of Westerns set in the prior century, which makes the sight of a ham radio or airplane glaringly stand out. While I am always one to appreciate scripts that don’t explain everything point blank or lazily rely on expositional dialogue in attempts to create a more developed character, allowing the viewer to figure things out for themselves or (gasp) use their imaginations, I do think the lack of any evidence of the men that Bronson and Marvin here proves a misstep. We get a brief glimpse that Bronson’s father has passed away, and Marvin is still sleeping with the one that got away (Angie Dickinson in a nothing role), and through their brief interactions we gather they at least know each other, but anything more tagential is never inferred. Since Marvin is eventually faced with a major decision that seems to hinge on an emotional connection (as well as the old school shared characteristic), this lack of a connective strand weakens the impact (though in fairness this decision is alluded to subtly with the fate of the two dogs at the film's opening). While most films will come up lacking when compared to the work of Sam Peckinpah, I think Death Hunt would've be served to explore the dichotomy-of-men themes he mined frequently between his two protagonists that often found themselves on the opposite side of a cause. One other minor complaint, we all like to see Bronson kicking ass and blowing deserved punks away, but I wish by this point that perspective could be skewed a bit to question his morality, however, in the scene that kicks off the conflict, he’s essentially let off from any moral quandaries as one of Lauter’s crew kicks things off by taking a free shot at him.
