Full Metal Jacket (1987, Stanley Kubrick)

Full Metal Jacket is a film of big swings. Director and co-writer Kubrick hits them all. The three most prominent are the structure, the character study, and the whole arc. The structure and arc are different because the film's got two distinct sections. Minutes one to forty-five or so is a "We're in the Marines Now!," anti-propaganda picture slash character examination (not study), and the rest is a "Week in the Life" picture, just for Marines in 1968 Vietnam.

That rest is split into two parts, a survey of the Vietnam War through the very focused eyes of Marine "Stars and Stripes" reporter and then an impossibly taut war action sequence for the third act. Both parts share a narrator: Matthew Modine. And Modine's the protagonist, in a traditional sense. The story follows Modine from boot camp and his experiences there to Vietnam and his experiences there. Modine passively brings the new characters into the film, with Kubrick often—gently—shifting the narrative focus to follow another character for a while here and there. Or maybe Kubrick just makes Modine too good an observer, and personalities take over the focus.

It's precise pacing, plotting, and cutting. For a while, in the first twenty minutes or so, Kubrick even allows the film to be playful. Always serious, but there will be a particular cut during a specific pop song, and it's just to create a positive coincidence. Because the first half of the film is harrowing. Modine and his fellow recruits suffer under their drill instructor, R. Lee Ermey, for their eight weeks in boot camp, without any character development for the recruits outside their training. At the very end, there's a tie-in reveal for Modine, which sets him up for the second half, but it's the last few minutes. Otherwise, behaviors inform Modine's character, not exposition. So we're watching him and seeing the character change without knowing where he's starting. Same for Arliss Howard, who gets some minor reveals in the second half, giving his personal arc a little more tragic vibe. And, then, of course, for Vincent D'Onofrio.

The first half of Full Metal Jacket is about D'Onofrio not doing well during training, Ermey abusing him, and how it affects the other recruits. Except for his inclusion in the opening montage of guys getting their buzz cuts, Jacket will only show D'Onofrio from other characters' perspectives, whether in scene or through editing, until the last ten minutes of part one. We see how other people see D'Onofrio, and Kubrick only ever allows the briefest peek along the way.

Ermey assigns D'Onofrio to Modine because Modine's a smart-mouth, making Modine responsible for D'Onofrio's success. And D'Onofrio does succeed (for a while), and Kubrick shows all the working to those successes in montage. He only shows the most objective scenes, just subjectively selects them, which actually sums up the film overall as far as style. The film moves over the existing narrative, pausing for specific events, ignoring almost all others. Because there's room for more traditional character development, Kubrick just doesn't want it there.

When the film reintroduces Modine in part two, now in Vietnam and reasonably successful as a "Stars and Stripes" reporter, reestablishing the ground situation includes information not revealed in the first half. The film held back the information to let Modine's physical performance inform the later reveal. It's so good. Kubrick and company's character work in the second half is phenomenal and completely different from in part one.

Modine's sympathetic in part one, funny in part one; he's not likable until part two. Because it doesn't matter if he's likable. Even after he's likable.

Part two has Modine and new sidekick Kevyn Major Howard on assignment in the war zone just after the Tet Offensive. There are no history lessons in Full Metal Jacket, with the film skimming over Modine trying to get boss John Terry to cover rumors about it and Terry blowing him off. There's no "ah-ha" moment. There are never insight moments for Modine. Even when he gets interviewed for the news back home. The other characters reveal something. Modine doesn't.

There's also a short, superior Tet Offensive war movie sequence, which ought to be having significant effects on Modine, but Kubrick won't show it. The protagonist and narrator is a mystery as far as details. But they don't matter because even with more exposition and details, Kubrick focuses on the physical performances, not the dialogue exchanges.

Modine and Howard meet up with Howard, now in the infantry, and tag along with his squad. The squad gets an introduction sequence, with Dorian Harewood and Adam Baldwin being the most prominent. Baldwin's a loud-mouth racist, and Harewood's his Black best friend. There's a lot of racism on display in Full Metal Jacket, even as the characters explain they just hate everyone. One of the themes is how some of them figure out why that equation doesn't work, though only for the Asian Vietnamese, not their Black compatriots. It's simultaneously a defect and just more character development.

The third act is Modine and the squad on patrol. It's very third act—almost epilogue—and spectacular action filmmaking. Kubrick does this whole thing with the sunset and tying it back to other night scenes (there are only a few). But just superb direction. And cutting and lighting and sound and so on.

And the music. Wow, the music. Vivian Kubrick (with a pseudonym) does the music. There's not a lot of it, but it's exceptionally well-done. The pop music soundtrack's great too, with Kubrick letting himself have a little fun for the end credits in particular.

Incredible photography from Douglas Milsome, production design from Anton First. Martin Hunter's editing is actually divine. He makes some peerless cuts in Jacket. Kubrick's direction is always great. It's a spectacular well-made motion picture, as well as a superlative one overall.

The best acting is D'Onofrio. There are some really good short performances, and the main cast for part two is all excellent. Ed O'Ross, Kieron Jecchinis, and Bruce Boa all get single standout scenes. They may be in more of the movie, but they get single spotlights. Main players get more—Modine, Baldwin, Harewood, then two Howards (no relation).

In the first half, Ermey's great too. It's hard to describe how Ermey exists in the film. Like everyone else, he's a caricature, but not. Broadly put, he's more a force of nature than anything else, but he's also very much not. Not even when Kubrick could use him like one. D'Onofrio's the best performance, but Ermey's the best-directed performance. Kubrick does something really singular with Ermey.

Full Metal Jacket's great. It's never not unpleasant, but also never not exceptional.

Seven (1995, David Fincher)

Seven is a gorgeous film. It’s often a really stupid film, but it’s a gorgeous film. Even when it’s being stupid, it’s usually gorgeous. Director Fincher has a beautiful precision to his composition; he works great with photographer Darius Khondji, editor Richard Francis-Bruce and composer Howard Shore (about half the time with Shore). Seven is a visually harrowing experience. Shame the narrative breaks down halfway through when Andrew Kevin Walker’s already problematic script shifts leading man duties to Brad Pitt (from Morgan Freeman). It’s not just Pitt’s inability to lead the film, it also gets really dumb once they use the secret FBI database to find their bad guy. Fincher spends a lot of time setting up the authenticity of his hellish American city. When Seven starts flushing that verisimilitude down the proverbial toilet, well… it splatters on everyone, most unfortunately Freeman.

Freeman’s great in the film. He can’t do much in the scenes where he inexplicably plays sidekick to Pitt, who’s really bad at this particular role. While Pitt doesn’t have any chemistry with wife Gwyneth Paltrow, she doesn’t have any chemistry with anyone. Sure, her part is horrifically thin, but she’s still not good. Her scenes bonding with Freeman are painful. It’s good production designer Arthur Max went out of his way to include frequent interesting signage in the backgrounds because otherwise Paltrow’s big monologue wouldn’t be as tolerable. Even Freeman can’t make that scene work.

There’s some decent acting from R. Lee Ermey. It’s strange how well Fincher and editor Francis-Bruce do with some performances and how badly they do with others. Especially since the second half is just a star vehicle for the completely underwhelming Pitt. But there’s also this interrogation sequence (a very, very stupid one as far as cop movie logic goes, but Seven laughs at reasonable cop movie logic time and again) where Pitt’s interrogating Michael Massee and Freeman’s interrogating Leland Orser. Orser’s awful, but clearly going for what Fincher and Walker want. Massee’s great in his few moments, the editing on his side. Sure, Massee’s acting opposite Pitt, but the editing lets him have his scene, it doesn’t give it to Pitt.

Later on in the film, when Pitt’s having his big intellectual showdown with Kevin Spacey (who does wonders with a terribly written part), Fincher and Francis-Bruce let Pitt have the scene. They really should. One feels bad for Spacey, acting opposite such a vacuum. Pitt’s far better in the first half of the film, whining about being Freeman’s subordinate; he lets his hair do a lot of the acting in those scenes. His frosted blond tips give the better performance.

It’s a beautifully directed film. Fincher’s excellent at whatever the film needs–Freeman sulking around because he’s a lonely old cop and it’s what lonely old cops do, Pitt doing a chase sequence, even John C. McGinley’s glorified cameo as the SWAT commander has some good procedural sequences–but he doesn’t actually have a real vision for it. He takes a little here, takes a little there. It ends with an inexplicable nod to film noir and Casablanca. It’s dumb. Because Walker’s script, in addition to often being bad, is often dumb. It needed a good rewrite and far better performances in Pitt and Paltrow’s roles.

Oh, and the nameless American city bit? That choice was stupid too.

Fletch Lives (1989, Michael Ritchie)

Fletch Lives is a dreadful motion picture. Typing out its title, I remember–once again–the filmmakers weren’t even creative enough to come up with a good title. There’s no pun in it, no reference to the film’s narrative–no one ever thinks the character has died only to come back in a surprise. Maybe it’s a newspaper headline reference, but I doubt it. Leon Capetanos’s script is exceptionally dumb and there’s no emphasis on the newspaper the character (played by Chevy Chase) works for.

What’s even more infuriating about Lives is the failure of repeat players. If Chase were the only returning member of the first film’s cast and crew, it might make sense. But the same producers and same director return. They just are incompetent this time around. Director Ritchie in particular fails at transplanting Chase to Louisiana from Los Angeles. There’s nothing Ritchie could have done about the costumes being used too much to mask a lack of story, but he could have made the setting work better. Some of it is bad back drops, but not much.

In the lead, Chase has lost his charm. His character’s mean and cheap and somewhat unintelligent. The supporting cast is awful–Hal Holbrook embarrasses himself, love interests Patricia Kalember and Julianne Phillips are atrocious, returning players Richard Libertini and George Wyner stink. The only good supporting performances are Cleavon Little and R. Lee Ermey.

Lives often feels like a bad “Saturday Night Live” sketch of Fletch.

Terrible music too.

Toy Soldiers (1991, Daniel Petrie Jr.)

While Petrie’s a decent director, it’d probably be hard to screw up Toy Soldiers. The movie mostly relies on Sean Astin, who’s more than capable of carrying it, so long as one likes Astin.

So, if you like Astin and think Keith Coogan’s funny… it works. I’m not sure how one’s supposed to respond to Wil Wheaton. Probably like him. Though when Wheaton tries to do an Italian accent, it’s problematic to say the least.

The supporting cast is very solid–Mason Adams, Denholm Elliot, Andrew Divoff.

Robert Folk’s musical score is excellent, which his filmography doesn’t suggest.

It’s difficult to talk about the film as it’s just Die Hard at a prep school. It’s one of the first “Die Hard at” pictures, but Astin has sidekicks so it’s not exact.

The bad guys are South Americans who don’t approve of Hispanic Americans assimilating into white culture, which is interesting. Not sure if Koepp and Petrie came up with that detail themselves or if it’s in the novel. The Mafia and the U.S. Army are the good guys here (the FBI are sort of good guys).

After Astin, the film rests on Lou Gossett. Gossett’s perfect here. This film really showcases his ability–even though he’s a character actor with a persona, he adapts it for any role. It works beautifully here as the tough… but caring dean. Gossett and Elliot only have one scene, but it’s great.

Toy Soldiers is a competent film. It’s just not really any good.

On Deadly Ground (1994, Steven Seagal)

On Deadly Ground is about a presumably Inuit (it’s never clear) special forces guy (also never clear) killing, maiming and beating up oil company goons in a number of creative ways.

Strangely, Seagal makes the audience wait to discover the film’s true nature. The first scene is an exceptionally lame and poorly acted explosion sequence. It gets fun almost immediately following, when Seagal beats up a bunch of redneck oil workers who are assaulting a Native American. Besides a really bad spiritual journey thing in the middle, the movie’s otherwise just Seagal versus the oil company goons (led by a somewhat restrained Michael Caine).

Apparently, critics at the time dismissed the film as a vanity project, but I’m having a hard time thinking of another movie icon at the height of his or her career who’s made something along the lines of this film. There’s even a line comparing Alaska to a third world oil producing country… presumably since the governments are so easy to buy.

As a director, Seagal’s bad. His composition is on par with any other crappy action movie director and he’s awful with actors–though he apparently recognized Billy Bob Thornton’s abilities and showcased him–but he’s not so bad there’s any point in vilifying him.

Joan Chen is weak as the sidekick (her character is along so Seagal can tell her all the “MacGyver” stuff he’s doing) and John C. McGinley is awful.

It’s too long, but it’s vicariously fulfilling so it passes reasonably fast.

0/4 ⓏⒺⓇⓄ

CREDITS

Directed by Steven Seagal; written by Ed Horowitz and Robin U. Russin; director of photography, Ric Waite; edited by Don Brochu and Robert A. Ferretti; music by Basil Poledouris; production designer, William Ladd Skinner; produced by A. Kitman Ho, Julius R. Nasso and Seagal; released by Warner Bros.

Starring Steven Seagal (Forrest Taft), Michael Caine (Michael Jennings), Joan Chen (Masu), John C. McGinley (MacGruder), R. Lee Ermey (Stone), Billy Bob Thornton (Homer Carlton), Richard Hamilton (Hugh Palmer), Mike Starr (Big Mike) and Sven-Ole Thorsen (Otto).


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OTHER 1994 RELEASES

Switchback (1997, Jeb Stuart)

I’m having a hard time understanding certain aspects of Switchback. Primarily, Dennis Quaid’s terrible performance. I’m wondering if Jeb Stuart instructed him to imitate a log or if it was just Quaid’s read on the character. To be fair (to Stuart, not to Quaid), the character is a pretend protagonist. Stuart’s more interested in his Texas county sheriff election or the men working the railroad than he is in his main characters. Switchback has four main characters–Quaid, Danny Glover, Jared Leto and R. Lee Ermey. In many ways, even though it’s part of the 1990s serial killer boom (ruined by Dino De Laurentiis turning Hannibal Lector into a superhero–I’m using ‘ruined’ lightly), it’s a 1970s road movie.

I mean, Stuart is so interested in Ermey’s election and Glover’s railroad stories, Quaid’s renegade FBI agent and Leto’s medical school dropout are essentially ignored. Both characters get speeches to other characters (big shock, Glover and Ermey) and I suppose one could read a juxtapose between the two duets (Quaid and Ermey, Leto and Glover). I hesitate to even suggest Stuart was going for it–past his somewhat neat plotting, his ambitions seem to run very low–except there is a lot of careful attention played to the changes in the killer’s behavior, his motives and his general cognitive reasoning. It’s real interesting stuff because Stuart plays it so casual.

Glover’s great, Ermey’s good, Ted Levine’s great–Leto’s better than I expected but probably because Quaid is worse than I could have imagined.

A big feature of the film, which was originally called Going West in America, is the lack of women. In fact, the film could be called… Men Without Women. The women in the film are either victims, secretaries or unheard voices on telephones (who are absolutely supportive of their rogue FBI agent husbands). Stuart’s just fascinated by these men who work only with men, who rely only on other men… and he seems somewhat aware of it, as there’s a scene with a waitress wondering why Leto’s so weird around her.

There might be something in Leto’s missing back-story about it.

But Switchback isn’t terrible–the election stuff is somewhat engaging and Glover carries his scenes wonderfully. He’s having a lot of fun. Stuart is not a bad director–he seems a wee bit uncomfortable with a Panavision frame however–and his composition and setting go a long way toward that 1970s feel….

Even if the whole thing feels like a movie Sydney Pollack and Robert Redford would have made.

And the end, surprisingly, is rather effective, even though it leaves lots unresolved and there’s an unbelievable character there–and a rather significant one missing (is that obscure enough–I mean, it is a serial killer movie).