As far back as I can remember I’ve been a fan of Mel Gibson. I also truly believe that the LETHAL WEAPON series is one of the greatest action franchises of all time. Of course, part of that could be because it meant so much to me when I was growing up. I remember renting the original action classic with my family when we were on a spring break vacation at a resort in Hot Springs. I was 16 when part 2 became a huge hit in the late summer of 1989, and one of my first real dates was to see the film at the theater. Part 3 didn’t have as lasting an impact, but part 4 introduced me to the action legend Jet Li. Needless to say, if the long-rumored part 5 ever materializes, I’ll be there.
So, when I recently came across the thriller ON THE LINE (2022) on Netflix, I was happy to see Gibson back in a leading man role that appears to give him a chance to have some real fun. Here, he plays Elvis Cooney, a controversial late-night radio host whose show takes a serious turn when a distraught caller threatens to murder his family if he doesn’t play a dangerous game with him. What begins as any other night at the station turns deadly, with Elvis trying to figure out who he’s dealing with and just how far he’s willing to go.
One of the things I’ve always liked about Gibson is his ability to play characters who can be funny, obnoxious, and downright nuts, sometimes all at the same time. He brings plenty of that crazy personality to Elvis, who often comes off as a complete A-hole. But Gibson has a way of making even a real jerk entertaining to watch, and I enjoyed seeing him carry this film. I’ll just say this right now, if you don’t like Gibson, this is probably not the movie for you. He’s the primary reason to watch. I know Gibson has had some very public controversies over the years, and I certainly don’t condone some of his actions. But that doesn’t change the fact that this guy, his performances, and his movies were a staple of those early years when I was falling in love with cinema.
ON THE LINE reminded me a little of THE GAME (1997), the David Fincher thriller starring Michael Douglas and Sean Penn. Both films use the lead character’s birthday to set into motion an elaborate deception. I don’t want to give away this film’s surprises, and I’m certainly not suggesting that it’s nearly as accomplished as THE GAME, but I found it interesting that the two movies brought those same thoughts to my mind.
Is ON THE LINE a great movie? I wouldn’t go that far, and I’m sure there are plenty of folks who may feel cheated by the twisty ending(s). While I understand all of that, I’m the kind of viewer who doesn’t need every movie I watch to be a masterpiece. First and foremost, I’m a fan of actors, and I enjoy having a chance to see Mel Gibson being the true lead in a film that allows him to shine. That goes a long way with me.
So, No Escape is a movie that, if you’re a fan of mid-90s action flicks, you’ve probably stumbled across on late-night cable at some point. Directed by Martin Campbell, a guy who would go on to resurrect James Bond with GoldenEye, this 1994 sci-fi romp is a strange, almost forgotten artifact from a time when every action movie seemed to be set in a grim, corporate-run future. It’s a movie that borrows so heavily from its predecessors that you could make a drinking game out of spotting the references, yet it does it all with such earnest, sweaty commitment that it’s hard to completely hate. It’s a film that, in a perfect world, should have been a genre classic, but its own bloat and inconsistent rhythm drag it down to the level of a solid, slightly-defective guilty pleasure.
The setup is pure B-movie gold. It’s the year 2022, which felt super futuristic back then, and the world has privatized its prison system. Ray Liotta stars as Captain Robbins, a man sentenced to life on the brutal island prison of Absolom after he kills his commanding officer. The premise of a super-max prison on a remote island, a “civilized” versus “savage” faction of inmates, and a hero who just wants to escape is a greatest-hits medley of Escape from New York, Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior, and Papillon. The film’s villain, Marek, played by a gloriously over-the-top Stuart Wilson, leads a tribe of leather-clad maniacs called the Outsiders, while Lance Henriksen’s Father leads the peaceful, agrarian community of Insiders. Our hero is thrust between them, forced to navigate tribal politics while plotting his getaway. It’s as familiar as an old pair of boots, but there’s a comfort in that familiarity, a sense that you know the beats and can just enjoy the ride.
And for a while, the ride is genuinely fun. Campbell, who clearly has an eye for widescreen spectacle, makes the lush Australian location look both beautiful and hostile. The production design is actually one of the film’s strongest assets; the Outsiders’ camp is a junkyard nightmare, while the Insiders’ village is a quaint, shanty-town paradise built from salvaged scrap. It gives the film a distinct, tactile feel that a lot of sterile sci-fi movies lack. Liotta is perfectly cast as the tough, morally ambiguous soldier. He brings a rough, cerebral quality to the role, making Robbins feel like a guy who’s seen too much and is just plain tired. Stuart Wilson, meanwhile, hams it up as the villain Marek, delivering a performance so broad and gleefully evil that he borders on self-parody, but in a way that’s weirdly compelling and provides some much-needed comic relief. The film feels like it’s building to something great, a tense and explosive showdown between these two drastically different tribes.
The problem is that No Escape simply does not know when to stop. This is a movie with a lean, mean premise that somehow stretches itself out to nearly two hours, and you feel every single minute of the back half. The pacing is wildly inconsistent, lurching between tense survivalist stuff, full-blown action set pieces, and stretches of world-building exposition that just sit there and deflate the momentum the film worked hard to build. There are entire sequences that feel like they exist purely to pad the runtime, and by the time the third act rolls around and Robbins is organizing his prison-break uprising, you’re less excited by the payoff and more just relieved that the movie is finally getting somewhere. A tighter edit, trimming maybe twenty to thirty minutes of the connective tissue, would’ve turned this into a genuinely great B-movie instead of a good one hamstrung by its own indulgence.
That’s really the frustrating thing about No Escape. Everything that makes prison-island and dystopian-exile movies fun is present and accounted for here: a charismatic antihero, a nasty villain, a societal allegory bubbling under the surface, brutal action, and a satisfying underdog uprising. Campbell clearly understood the assignment and delivered those elements competently, sometimes even excitingly. But competent execution of familiar beats can only carry a movie so far when the film refuses to trim the fat, and the sluggish, uneven pacing keeps dragging you out of scenes that should be gripping. It’s the kind of movie that probably could’ve stood shoulder to shoulder with its genre influences if someone in the editing room had been a little more ruthless.
As it stands, No Escape lands squarely in guilty-pleasure territory. It’s not a film you’d necessarily recommend to someone as an essential genre entry, but if you’re already the type who loves this stuff, the dystopian island prisons, the tribal factions, the gruff antihero clawing his way toward freedom, there’s a lot here to enjoy despite the flab. It wears its influences on its sleeve, executes them with more skill than it probably gets credit for, and then undercuts itself by overstaying its welcome. Somewhere in this movie is a tight, mean ninety-minute action flick that could’ve been a minor classic. Instead we got a longer, baggier version that’s still worth a watch on a lazy afternoon, just with the fast-forward button within easy reach for the slower stretches.
“We been kicking other peoples asses for so long, I figured it’s time we got ours kicked.” — Sgt. Elias
Platoon is one of those war movies that still feels raw, mean, and strangely alive decades later. It is not just a Vietnam movie about combat; it is a movie about confusion, fear, moral collapse, and what happens when young people are dropped into a nightmare with no real sense of why they are there.
What makes Platoon hit so hard is that it never feels polished in a comforting way. Oliver Stone keeps the film close to the mud, sweat, and panic of the battlefield, but he also spends plenty of time on the uglier stuff that happens between firefights: the resentment, the paranoia, the bullying, and the way men start forming little kingdoms inside a war zone. That is where the movie gets its power. The bullets matter, but so do the silences and side glances, because those moments show how war breaks people down before it even kills them.
Charlie Sheen’s Chris Taylor is a smart choice for the center of the film because he starts out as a kind of blank witness. He is young, idealistic in a vague way, and clearly not prepared for what he has walked into. That makes him easy to identify with, but it also makes him useful as a lens for everything around him. We learn the rules of this miserable little ecosystem as he does. Through Chris, the audience is pulled into the same sense of helpless observation that seems to define the whole experience of the platoon.
Stone’s screenplay makes that connection even stronger because he wrote it himself, drawing on his own experience as a young man who volunteered to go to Vietnam instead of being drafted. That detail gives Chris Taylor’s story a personal charge, since Chris feels less like a fictional stand-in and more like Stone working through his own memory and guilt. It adds another layer to the film’s emotional weight, because the perspective feels lived-in rather than invented for dramatic effect.
The film’s real muscle comes from the conflict between Sergeant Elias and Sergeant Barnes, played with complete commitment by Willem Dafoe and Tom Berenger. Elias feels like the last thread of conscience in a collapsing world. Barnes, by contrast, is the kind of man war can easily turn into a weapon: hard, cold, frightening, and convinced that brutality is just realism with the sentiment stripped out. Their conflict gives the movie a mythic quality without draining away its grit. It is not subtle in the usual sense, but it does not need to be. Stone wants these figures to feel bigger than life because that is how they register to a terrified kid in the jungle.
One of the best things about Platoon is how it balances chaos with purpose. A lot of war films either try to turn combat into spectacle or turn it into a lecture. Platoon mostly avoids both traps. The action is ugly, disorienting, and often difficult to follow in exactly the right way. You do not watch these battles and admire the choreography as much as you feel the confusion of everyone inside them. The filmmaking keeps you from getting too comfortable, which is exactly the point. War here is not heroic; it is exhausting, degrading, and terrifying.
That sense of exhaustion matters because the movie understands that war is not made up of only the big moments people remember. It is made up of waiting, heat, boredom, fear, and the slow erosion of judgment. Platoon is at its best when it lingers on that middle ground. The soldiers are not always in immediate danger, but they are always under pressure. That constant tension is what makes the movie feel so oppressive. Even when nothing explodes, it still feels like something bad is about to happen.
Stone also deserves credit for making a Vietnam movie that feels personal without becoming self-congratulatory. You can feel that this comes from experience, but the film never becomes some smug “I was there” statement. Instead, it channels memory into mood, character, and atmosphere. That gives the movie a lived-in authenticity that a lot of war films chase but never quite reach. It feels like a film made by someone trying to tell the truth about a memory that never stopped hurting.
There is also something brutally effective about the way Platoon presents morality as unstable rather than cleanly divided. The movie does not really pretend that everyone is either noble or evil. Instead, it shows how stress, fear, resentment, and power can shove people toward terrible choices. That is a big reason the film still works. It understands that war does not just expose character; it distorts it. Men do things they would never do anywhere else, and the movie keeps asking what is left of a person after that kind of damage.
Still, Platoon is not perfect, and part of its reputation comes from how forcefully it makes its points. Some viewers may find it a little heavy-handed at times, especially in the way it frames innocence, corruption, and betrayal. It is not exactly a subtle film, and it does occasionally aim for emotional impact with both fists. But honestly, that intensity is part of its identity. The movie is not trying to be cool or detached. It wants to wound you a little, and for this material, that approach makes sense.
The performances help keep the film from tipping over into empty grandstanding. Dafoe brings a wounded humanity to Elias that makes him feel like more than just a symbol. Berenger gives Barnes a dangerous stillness that is often more frightening than outright aggression. Sheen, meanwhile, does the important work of holding the center without overpowering the film. He is not the flashiest presence, but he does not need to be. His job is to absorb the madness, and that gives the audience a place to stand inside it.
What lingers most after Platoon is not any single battle scene, but the feeling that the whole movie is about a collapse of trust. Trust in leaders, trust in comrades, trust in the idea that there is some larger meaning to all this suffering. The film strips those things away layer by layer until all that is left is survival and the hope that maybe, somehow, the nightmare will end. That is a bleak place to sit for two hours, but it is also why the film remains so effective. It does not romanticize the experience. It forces you to sit with its mess.
The movie also has a strong visual identity. The jungle is not just background; it feels like an active pressure on every scene. The humidity, the darkness, the mud, and the smoke all help create a world that seems hostile even when nobody is shooting. That physical texture is a huge part of the movie’s success. You can almost feel the environment draining the people inside it. It is less like watching a battle than like watching human beings slowly get swallowed by a swamp of fear and violence.
If there is a reason Platoon still gets talked about so often, it is because it captures a very specific kind of war movie truth: the enemy is not only out there. Sometimes the real damage comes from within the unit, within the chain of command, within the soldier’s own mind. That is a grim idea, but Platoon never feels empty or cynical for saying it. It feels honest. And honesty, in a movie like this, goes a long way.
In the end, Platoon is powerful because it refuses to let war look clean, noble, or emotionally tidy. It is messy, relentless, and often hard to watch, but that is exactly why it matters. It is one of the defining Vietnam films for a reason, and even with its blunt edges, it earns that status through sheer force of feeling, strong performances, and a bleak sense of truth that never really lets up.
The Delta Force is the ultimate guilty pleasure from the ’80s, that rocket-bike-riding, Chuck Norris-kicking fantasy you pop on when you need two hours of unapologetic, brain-off escapism. It’s a hijacking thriller crossed with Cannon Films overkill, blending real Middle East tensions with pure action movie wish fulfillment, and yeah, it’s politically charged and dated as hell, but damn if it doesn’t deliver the kind of dumb-fun thrills that make you grin despite yourself.
Right from the jump, the film sets up its hook with a failed Delta Force raid in Iran, nodding to the real-life Eagle Claw disaster that still stung in 1986. Fast-forward, and Lee Marvin’s grizzled Colonel Nick Alexander gets yanked out of retirement when Lebanese militants hijack an Athens-to-New York flight, forcing it to Beirut and beyond. Enter Chuck Norris as Major Scott McCoy, the brooding ex-operator haunted by that botched op, who’s all too ready to strap on his gear when innocents are on the line. The setup drags you through passenger terror and terrorist demands, then explodes into rescue mayhem—it’s like the movie knows you’re here for the payback, and it serves it up hot.
As a plot, it’s pure popcorn simplicity: plane gets taken, hostages split by nationality and faith, planes hopscotch across terror hotspots, and Delta swoops in for the save. Drawing from the TWA 847 ordeal, the onboard stuff feels eerily real at first—sweaty close-ups of scared folks like Shelley Winters’ kvetching grandma or Martin Balsam’s anxious exec, turning the cabin into a pressure cooker. George Kennedy’s priest adds heart, and you almost buy the drama until Norris’ dirt bike starts spitting missiles, flipping the script to glorious absurdity. That’s the guilty pleasure pivot: from newsreel grit to arcade-game heroics, and you can’t help but love the whiplash.
Once the action ramps, The Delta Force leans into its B-movie soul with reckless abandon. McCoy’s team hits beaches, raids compounds, and yeah, that motorcycle sequence where Norris zips through baddies like a one-man apocalypse? Iconic cheese that screams “turn off your brain and enjoy.” It’s less about realism and more about catharsis—after watching hostages suffer, the third act’s bullet ballet feels like the justice porn we all secretly crave in these flicks. No deep strategy, just explosions and one-liners, perfectly tuned for that “hell yeah” rush that keeps you glued.
The cast is a riot of guilty-pleasure gold. Marvin, in his last role, growls through command with that unbeatable world-weary vibe, making every order land like gravitas wrapped in grit. Norris? Stone-faced perfection—says little, does everything, his quiet rage bubbling just enough to humanize the roundhouse legend. The passenger ensemble shines in panic mode: Winters chews scenery, Balsam frets convincingly, Kennedy prays with soul. Villain Robert Forster? Over-the-top terrorist glee, accent thick as plot armor, stealing scenes with gleeful menace that’s so cartoonish, it’s addictive.
Sure, the politics are a time-stamped minefield—terrorists as flat-out monsters, Middle East as villain playground, America as lone savior—but that’s part of the era’s guilty thrill. In a post-9/11 world, the stereotypes jar, yet for ’80s nostalgia buffs, it’s that raw, unfiltered patriotism dialed to eleven, the kind you laugh at now but cheered then. The film doesn’t pretend to balance views; it picks a lane—righteous rage—and floors it, making the righteousness feel perversely fun amid the preachiness.
Technically, it’s rough-around-the-edges charm personified. Menahem Golan directs with propulsive energy, keeping the 126 minutes zipping between dread and dazzle. Action’s shot clean—no shaky cam nonsense—with wide lenses capturing chaos in practical, pre-CGI glory that pops on a big screen. The score? Brass-blasting heroism that’s comically epic, sticking like glue and amping every slow-mo strut. Sets fake Beirut convincingly enough, backlots be damned, all fueling that immersive, low-budget magic.
The Delta Force thrives on its split personality: tense hijack bottle episode crashing into commando wet dream. Plane scenes build real unease, echoing headlines, but then rocket bikes and cheering crowds yank it back to fantasy ad. That clash? Pure guilty pleasure fuel—serious enough to hook you, silly enough to forgive its flaws, never letting tension sag.
Bottom line, embrace The Delta Force as peak time-capsule junk: terrorism tamed by ‘stache and firepower, geopolitics as blockbuster bait. Norris and Cannon diehards will fist-pump through every raid; casual viewers get a hoot from the excess. It’s flawed, fervent, and fantastically rewatchable— the kind of flick where you know it’s ridiculous, but two hours later, you’re humming the theme and plotting your next viewing. Guilty pleasure? Abso-freaking-lutely, and wear that shame badge proud.
That can be a dangerous thing to admit, about both the band and Oliver Stone’s 1991 film. Yes, both the band and the film could be a bit pretentious. They both tended to go on for a bit longer than necessary. They were both centered around a guy who wrote the type of poetry that I used to love back in my emo days. It’s all true.
But, with The Doors as a band, I find that I can’t stop listening to them once I start. Even if I might roll my eyes at some of the lyrics or if I might privately question whether any blues song really needs an organ solo, I can’t help but love the band. They had a sound that was uniquely their own, a psychedelic carnival that brought to mind images of people dancing joyfully while the world burned around them. And say what you will about Jim Morrison as a poet or even a thinker, he had a good voice. He had the perfect voice for The Doors and their rather portentous style. From the clips that I’ve seen of him performing, Morrison definitely had a stage presence. Morrison died young. He was only 27 and, in the popular imagination, he will always look like he’s 27. Unlike his contemporaries who managed to survive the 60s, Morrison will always eternally be long-haired and full of life.
As for The Doors as a movie, it’s definitely an Oliver Stone film. It’s big. It’s colorful. It’s deliberately messy. Moments of genuinely clever filmmaking and breath-taking visuals are mixed with scenes that are so heavy-handed that you’ll be inspired to roll your eyes as dramatically as you’ve ever rolled them. Stone loved the music and that love comes through in every performance scene. Stone also loves using Native Americans as symbols and that can feel a bit cringey at times. Why would Jim Morrison, whose was of Scottish and Irish ancestry, even have a Native American spirit guide? At its best The Doors captures the chaos of a world that it’s the middle of being rebuilt. The 60s were a turbulent time and The Doors is a turbulent movie. I’ve read many reviews that criticized The Doors for the scene in which Morrison gets involved in a black magic ceremony with a journalist played by Kathleen Quinlan. I have no idea whether or not that scene happened in real life but the movie is so full of energy and wild imagery that the scene feels like it belongs, regardless of whether it’s true or not. Stone turns Jim Morrison into the warrior-artist-priest that Morrison apparently believed himself to be and the fact that the film actually succeeds has far more to do with Oliver Stone’s enthusiastic, no-holds-barred direction and Val Kilmer’s charismatic lead performance than it does with Jim Morrison himself.
The Doors spent several years in development and there were several actors who, at one time or another, wanted to play Morrison. Everyone from Tom Cruise to John Travolta to Richard Gere to Bono was considered for the role. (Bono as Jim Morrison, what fresh Hell would that have been?) Ultimately, Oliver Stone went with Val Kilmer for the role and Kilmer gives a larger-than-life performance as Morrison, capturing the charisma of a rock star but also the troubled and self-destructive soul of someone convinced that he was destined to die young. Kilmer has so much charisma that you’re willing to put up with all the talk about opening the doors of perception and achieving a higher consciousness. Kilmer was also smart enough to find the little moments to let the viewer know that Morrison, for all of his flamboyance, was ultimately a human being. When Kilmer-as-Morrison winks while singing one particularly portentous lyric, it’s a moment of self-awareness that the film very much needs.
(When the news of Kilmer’s death was announced last night, many people online immediately started talking about Tombstone, Top Gun, and Top Secret. For his part, Kilmer often said he was proudest of his performance as Jim Morrison.)
In the end, The Doors is less about the reality of the 60s and Jim Morrison and more about the way that we like to imagine the 60s and Jim Morrison as being. It’s a nonstop carnival, full of familiar faces like Kyle MacLachlan, Michael Madsen, Crispin Glover (as Andy Warhol), Frank Whaley, Kevin Dillon, and a seriously miscast Meg Ryan. It’s a big and sprawling film, one that is sometimes a bit too big for its own good but which is held together by both Stone’s shameless visuals and Val Kilmer’s charisma. If you didn’t like the band before you watched this movie, you probably still won’t like them. But, much like the band itself, The Doors is hard to ignore.
There’s this cruise ship. It’s a luxury liner and it’s sailing across the ocean on New Year’s Eve. There’s a lot of passengers on the liner. Most of them are wealthy and the majority of them are played by familiar actors. Everyone is in the ballroom, celebrating the upcoming new year. They do the countdown. They cheer when they hit zero. Kisses are exchanges. Dances are danced. A blonde woman sings a song. Suddenly, a tidal wave smashes into the Poseidon, turning it over. Explosions rock the ship as it ends up floating upside down. The majority of the crew and the passengers are killed immediately. The survivors face a decision. Do they stay in the ballroom or do they attempt to climb upwards to safety?
Yep, Poseidon is a remake of The Poseidon Adventure. It tells basically the same story but with slightly better special effects and slightly less histrionic actors. The original Poseidon Adventure had Gene Hackman and Ernest Borgnine yelling at each other for over two hours while Shelley Winters swam until she died. “WHERE’S YOUR GOD NOW, PREACHER!?” Borgnine shouted while Hackman yelled, “ROGO!” over and over again. (Rogo was Borgnine’s character. Hackman shouted the name with a wonderful amount of loathing.) It was a very loud and every entertaining movie. The cast of Poseidon is a bit more low-key but Poseidon is also more interested in special effects than any sort of human (melo)drama.
For instance, Josh Lucas plays a Navy veteran-turned-professional gambler. He gives a good performance as the de facto leader of the survivors but he never gets to yell as much as Gene Hackman did in the original. Richard Dreyfuss plays an architect and you would think that Dreyfuss, of all people, would chew up the scenery in this disaster film with relish but Dreyfuss is oddly subdued. Jacinda Barrett is the mother who tries to protect her son (played by Jimmy Bennett). Fergie is the singer who embraces the ship’s captain (Andre Braugher) as the ballroom floods. Emmy Rossum is the rebellious teenager. Mike Vogel is her boyfriend. And Kurt Russell plays the former mayor of New York City. He also happens to be a former fireman.
It’s a good cast. Kurt Russell is especially good in his role, believable as both a fireman (a role that he’s played in a few films) and as a politician. It’s a talented group of actors but no one really goes overboard in the way that Gene Hackman, Ernest Borgnine, Shelley Winters, Stella Stevens, Roddy McDowall, and even Leslie Nielsen did in the first one. The premise of the film is so silly that it really does require the cast and the director to fully embrace the melodrama. As opposed to the original, this film only gives the melodrama a quick hug and instead concentrates on explosions, water, and flames. The special effects overshadow the humans and that’s unfortunate because there’s a lot of interesting people in this movie. A good performance can last a lifetime. There’s a reason why we still talk about Kurt Russell in films like Escape From New York and The Thing. Good special effects, on the other hand, still look incredibly dated after three years.
I’m not really sure that it was necessary to remake The Poseidon Adventure in the first place. I’m just glad they left Beyond The Poseidon Adventurealone.
One of my favorite scenes from TV’s King of the Hill occurs in an episode in which Hank and Peggy are celebrating their wedding anniversary. They’ve sent Bobby and Luanne away for the weekend. They have the house to themselves but, after their anniversary party, Peggy is feeling depressed. She tells Hank that, for the first time ever, she feels old and she regrets all the dreams that she had that have yet to come true, like inventing and selling her own barbecue sauce.
Trying to cheer her up, Hank says, “C’mon, Peg. We got the house to ourselves for weekend …. and I rented an R-rated movie!”
Peggy looks up, briefly hopeful that Hank did something romantic. “What movie?” she asks.
Hank hesitates, glances down at the floor, and says, “Uhmm …. Platoon.”
It’s funny because it’s true. Just about every man that I know loves Platoon. First released in 1986 and reportedly based on Oliver Stone’s own experiences as an infantryman in Vietnam, Platoon is often cited as being one of the greatest war films ever made. Oddly enough, the film has an anti-war and anti-military message but, in my experience, those who love it talk more about the battle scenes than any message that Stone may have been trying to impart about the futility of war. Pauline Kael once wrote that Oliver Stone had left-wing politics but a right-wing sensibility and I think you can definitely see that in Platoon. Despite all of the characters talking about how pointless the war is and how much they resent being forced to risk their lives for no apparent purpose, the film’s energy comes from the scenes of Chris Taylor (Charlie Sheen) stalking through the jungle and, towards the end, losing his mind and giving himself completely over to the adrenaline that comes from being trapped in the middle of a battle. Throughout the film, we hear Taylor’s rather pedantic thoughts on the military and his fellow soldiers but it’s hard not to notice that his actions and his dialogue are usually far less eloquent. Taylor may be a rich intellectual (and wow, is Charlie Sheen ever unconvincing when it comes to portraying that part of Taylor’s personality) but when he’s in the jungle, he’s just fighting for survival.
The film’s plot centers around the conflict between two sergeants, the peace-loving Elias (Willem DaFoe) and the war-loving Barnes (Tom Berenger). Taylor has to decide which one of the two to follow. The pot-smoking Elias loves his men and goes out of his way to protect them. The beer-drinking Barnes has a much harsher view of the world but, at the same time, he’s the type of scarred warrior who seems immortal. One gets the feeling that he’ll never be defeated. The rest of the platoon is full of familiar faces, with everyone from John C. McGinley to Francesco Quinn to Tony Todd to Forest Whitaker to Johnny Depp to a baby-faced Kevin Dillon showing up. (Dillon is especially frightening as a psycho who has, for some reason, been nicknamed Bunny.) The majority of the platoon is dead by the end of the film. Even with the leadership of Elias and Barnes, the soldiers are stuck in a winless situation. As Taylor points out, the Americans aren’t just fighting the enemy. They’re also fighting each other.
Platoon is certainly not my favorite of the film nominated in 1986. I would have gone with A Room With A View. (Blue Velvet, which is as influential a film as Platoon, was not even nominated.) That said, I can’t deny the power of Platoon‘s combat scenes. Though Stone’s script is didactic and Taylor’s narration is awkwardly deployed throughout the film, Stone’s direction definitely captures the fear and dread of being in a strange place with no idea of whether or not you’re going to survive. Stone is critical of the military (at one point, an officer calls an air strike on his own men) but seems to love the soldiers, even the ones who have pushed over to the dark side.
Platoon was not the first Best Picture nominee to be made about the Vietnam War. The Deer Hunter, Coming Home, and Apocalypse Now were all released first. But both The Deer Hunter and Apocalypse Now are surreal epics that seem to take place in a dream world. Coming Home, which has a script that somehow manages to be even more didactic than Platoon‘s, focuses on the war back home. Platoon is far more gritty and personal film. Watching Platoon, you can smell the gunpowder and the napalm and feel the humidity of the jungle. I can understand why it won, even if I prefer to watch Helena Bonham Carter and Julian Sands fall in love.
In Reagan, Dennis Quaid stars at the 40th President of the United States.
Framed as a story being told by a former KGB agent (Jon Voight) who is attempting to make a younger politician understand why Russia lost the Cold War, Reagan starts with Reagan’s childhood, includes his time as an actor and as the anti-communist head of the SAG, and then gets into his political career. Along the way, several familiar faces pop up. Robert Davi plays a thuggish Russian leader. Mena Suvari plays Reagan’s first wife while Penelope Ann Miller plays his second. Xander Berekely plays George Schultz (who was just previously played by Sam Waterston in The Dropout miniseries.) C. Thomas Howell, Kevin Dillon, Dan Lauria, and Lesley-Anne Down all have small but important roles. And the usual suspects when it comes to conservative filmmaking — Nick Searcy, Kevin Sorbo, and Pat Boone — are there to compliment Voight and Davi. I was a little surprised to see that Dean Cain was not present.
As usually happens to films that feature sympathetic Republicans, Reagan was slammed by critic but better-appreciated by the audience for which the film was made. I wasn’t particularly surprised. Movie critics tend to be liberal and Reagan is very much not that. For a professional film critic, a film like Reagan must be met with snark and derision because otherwise, one would risk cancellation. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that there aren’t things to criticize about Reagan the film. I’m just saying that one should always keep in mind that critics have their own individual biases. One reason why the Rotten Tomatoes score is such an unfortunate development is because it ignores the fact that most films have things that work and things that don’t work and that quality is often in the eye of the beholder. Instead, it just tells us that a film is either a 90% or a 10%.
As for Reagan, it’s definitely a bit on the heavy-handed side but, then again, I think the same can be said for just about every political film that’s come out over the last few decades. For those who claim Reagan is somehow more heavy-handed than most, I invite them to sit through Rob Reiner’s LBJ. Indeed, the only director who has really shown a willingness to admit that a President can be both good and bad was Oliver Stone and when was the last time anyone watched Nixon? Reagan is at its weakness when it tries to recreate Reagan’s time as an actor. Dennis Quaid gives a good and charming performance throughout the film but he’s also 70 years old and, in the scenes where he plays the youngish Ronald Reagan, all of the soft-lighting and Vaseline on the lens ends up making him look like a wax figure. Once Reagan gets older, Quaid is allowed to act his age and both he and the film become much more convincing. I enjoyed the film once Reagan became President, though you should understand that I have biases of my own. I’m a fan of low taxes and individual freedom, which is why I’m also not a fan of communism or, for that matter, any extreme ideology that attempts to tell people how to live or think. “Tear down this wall!” Regan says while standing in front of the Berlin Wall and it’s a rousing moment, both in reality and on film.
In the end, Reagan is a film that will be best appreciated by people who already like Ronald Reagan. Yes, the film is heavy-handed and the framing device is a bit awkward. But Dennis Quaid’s heartfelt (and, towards the end, heartbreaking) performance carries the film. The film is not at all subtle but you know what? I’ve seen a countless number of mediocre films that have portrayed Reagan negatively, often with as little nuance and just as heavy-handed an approach as Reagan uses in its positive portrayal of the man. I sat through The Butler, for God’s sake. There’s nothing wrong with having a film that looks at the man from the other side. Those who like Ronald Reagan will feel vindicated. Those who don’t will say, “What was up with that Pat Boone scene?”
Wire Room tells the story of Justin Rosa (Kevin Dillon).
Once upon a time, Justin was a member of the Secret Service. But, for reasons that are never really made clear, Justin was eventually demoted and found himself working for Homeland Security. After 18 years, Justin has finally achieved his dream. He’s been assigned to a wire room, a high-tech command center where HSI agents conduct surveillance on high-profile criminals. On his first day, Justin shows up late. He gets yelled at by his superior, Shane Mueller (Bruce Willis). Justin explains that he couldn’t find anywhere to park. Shane is not impressed. Of course, Shane takes a taxi to and from work because Shane is a total alcoholic who likes to spend his free time at the local strip club.
After meeting Shane and Nour Holborow (Shelby Cobb), Justin is left in the wire room alone. His sole job is to keep an eye on a British arms dealer, Eddie Flynn (Oliver Trevena, who chews the scenery with relish). Shane is obsessed with taking down not only Eddie but also all of the corrupt cops that are on Eddie’s payroll. Eddie has no idea that his entire mansion is wired and that Homeland Security is watching him while he wanders around the house in his leopard-print robe. Eddie also doesn’t know that a bunch of assassins are coming to his house to try to kill him.
Realizing that Eddie is about to be killed, Justin tries to call Shane but Shane is too busy getting drunk to answer his phone. When Nour calls about an unrelated manner, Justin asks her for advice. She tells him to call Shane. He already tried that! Realizing that Homeland Security is full of drunks and incompetents, Justin decides to call Eddie himself. Soon, Justin and Eddie enter into an uneasy partnership. Justin tries to keep Eddie alive while Eddie tries to figure out how Justin knows what’s happening at his house. To me, it would seem like it shouldn’t be difficult for Eddie to figure out that Homeland Security has wired his house but no one in this movie is particularly smart.
Wire Room was one of the last movies that Bruce Willis made before announcing his retirement from acting. Willis doesn’t get much screen time and his dialogue consists mostly of profane insults. That said, it is nice to see Willis playing a good guy again and there’s even a few hints of the old Willis charisma to be found in his performance. If nothing else, he seems to enjoy the scenes in which Shane gives Justin a hard time. As for Justin, he really is a truly stupid character who makes so many obvious mistakes that it’s hard not to worry about the fact that he’s been entrusted with keeping the homeland safe. Fortunately, Kevin Dillon is an actor who can make stupidity likable. (There’s a reason why Johnny Drama was the only character on Entourage that anyone really cared about.)
Like the majority of Willis’s recent films, Wire Room is a low-budget action film. The special effects aren’t particularly special and the action scenes are fairly rudimentary. A huge problem with the film is that the viewer is never quite sure how close or how far anyone is from the titular location. For instance, we’re continually told that people are heading towards the wire room but it seems like it takes them forever to actually show up. At one point, we see a group of bad guys heading up to the wire room but, somehow, Justin and Shane still have time to scrounge up some weapons and have a fairly detailed conversation before any of them actually arrive. For all of the shooting and the yelling, Wire Room also never convinces us that there’s much at stake as far as the story is concerned. Shane, for instance, doesn’t seem to be particularly upset when Justin tells him about what is happening at Eddie’s house, despite the fact that Eddie’s death would destroy Shane’s investigation into police corruption. If Shane, the man in charge of the investigation, doesn’t care about what happens then why should we?
That said, there is some perhaps unintentional enjoyment to be found in Wire Room. Kevin Dillon plays Justin as being so dense and so slow-witted that the film almost becomes a parody of the recent spate of movies and television shows that have been released about hyper competent government agents. There are laughs to be found and Bruce Willis gets to be the good guy again. Wire Room is not a particularly memorable movie but it is a decent time waster.
Tonight’s excursion into televised horror is the 7th episode of the 5th season of HBO’s Tales From The Crypt!
House of Horrors has everything that you could possibly want from a Tales From The Crypt episode! A dumbass idiot frat boy (played by Kevin Dillon) forces three pledges to enter a supposedly haunted house. Mayhem ensues. This episode is full of atmosphere, dark humor, plot twists, and unexpected turns and it features two wonderfully over-the-top performances, one from Dillon and one from Meredith Salenger as a Southern-accented sorority president who may have a secret of her own.
This episode originally aired on October 27th, 1993 and is currently celebrating its 30th birthday.
