Quentin Tarantino Spotlight
If Tarantino’s films of the 1990s announced the writer-director as a phenom for writing formidably snappy dialogue that enhanced characterization, his films of the 00s, while continuing to demonstrate the aforementioned writing prowess, suggest that he is equally adept at staging and filming wonderful action scenes, be they brawls, gunfights or contests of martial arts skills. Death Proof and Django Unchained have their share of impressive set pieces representing unique visions of what, in the case of the former, a cinematic car chase can be like, and, in the case of the latter, what a cinematic gunfight shoot out can be like. In essence, pretty darn sweet.
In both cases, even though Tarantino and his crack team definitely put their own spin on such action set pieces, the ingenuity that went into both was inspired by movies which made names for themselves in the annals of film history. As is often the case with this most flamboyant and divisive of filmmakers, a lot of what we saw on screen were hipper, snappier, more contemporary versions of scenes from the past. Impressive as those two examples may be of Tarantino stretching his directorial muscles for some adrenaline-pumping scenes, the most complete and, dare it be argued, complex examples came in form of his two Kill Bill chapters. Let us take a closer look at the variety of fight scenes Tarantino serves up and where some of his inspiration might have come from.
Gordon Liu and Uma Thurman
Every protagonist who faces the tallest of obstacles ahead of them in order to achieve their ultimate objective is required to hone their set of skills, otherwise, failure shall stare them squarely in the face. All hopeful martial artists, therefore, must pass a series of gruelling series of training sessions that demand unrelenting physical, psychological and sometimes even emotional investment of the highest order. It begins with the training after all. Without the dutiful practice to perfect physical feats and usage of a wide variety of weaponry, there is no chance at success, especially not against the most terrifyingly proficient foes.
Taking important cues from some legendary Shaw Brothers pictures which themselves have earned top marks in the hearts and minds of kung fu film fans everywhere, Tarantino offers audiences a loving homage in the second volume of the Kill Bill story, when Bill leaves Uma Thurman’s Bride with his former teacher, Pai Mei, played with infectious glee by Shaw legend Gordon Liu. Those two elements right there, the fact that Gordon Liu plays a kung fu master and the appearance of Pai Mei (a character who appeared in a great many Shaw films, among them Fists of the White Lotus), are in of themselves delicious references to the history of such films. Tarantino would be remiss to stop just there. The training itself is the real meat of this sequence and also brings long-time fans back to the films of yesteryear.
Apart from Fists of the White Lotus, the most obvious film this chapter harkens back to is the 36th Chamber of the Shaolin, often referred to as the greatest martial arts film of them all. Starring Gordon Liu (not as a priest, mind you, but rather a young, ambitious martial artist looking for redemption), it features one of the longest and best training sequences in any movie. There is so much going on and each of those elements is lovingly reproduced in Kill Bill vol. 2. There is the physical strain the Bride must go through, which we see when she is forced by Pai Mei to punch through thick wooden planks as well as carry large buckets of water up an endless flight of stairs. To pass the physical test, mental strength is of equal importance, yet another thing that the Bride and Liu’s characters must discover. Mind over matter, as the saying goes, which helps her overcome the fear of pain when repeatedly smashing her hands against wood.
The Bride is also the target of her master’s scorn. Usually said animosity might derive from the teacher’s natural predilection to despise whatever colour or creed his student is, or simply because he sees no potential to bear fruit from. In any event, Pai Mei displays an unshakable disdain for the Bride at first, mocking what he sees as her amateurish capabilities, and mocking her because she’s a whitey who can’t speak proper Cantonese. The bubbling tension influences dinner time as well. After practicing long and hard at ripping through those wooden planks with her fists, the Bride is unable to eat her steamed rice with chopsticks. Upon grabbing some of the delicious food with her bare hands, Pai Mei tosses her bowl to the floor, berating her disrespectful gesture, claiming that is she so desires to eat like a dog, then she best chow down from the floor. In 36th Chamber of Shaolin, the Liu character goes through some similar circumstances, with one elder continuously doubting his potential to the point where they engage in a contest at one point. As for the food-related scenes, due to Liu’s impertinence, he is the last one to arrive for lunch and thus must satisfy himself with the paltry leftovers.
2-Close quarters, one-on-one combat.
Now that our heroine has merited her master’s blessings, here comes the hard part: actually vanquishing her foes in a multitude of settings, each demanding that the protagonist dig deep into her kung fu knowledge. First comes the grittier, less gracious sort of encounter, the type which pits opponents in some unreasonably close spots, with less room to maneuver and utilize their weapons as they would like. These battles typically see the mutual enemies both make use of and work around the restrictive environment.
At the very start of the Kill Bill vol. 1, the Bride arrives at the home of Vernita Green (Vivica A. Fox) in a California suburb. It is a lovely little home, perfect for a new family, although far from ideal for two deadly fighters to have a go at it. When Vernita opens the door and discovers nonother than her former partner, long presumed to be dead, things go haywire quicker than O-Ren Ishii can decapitate dissenting Yakuza clan members. What follows is more a brawl than a martial arts fight, with both characters getting tosses onto and in some cases through furniture. The finesse one would normally discover in such battles is lacking in most part due to the unhelpful setting. Of all the fights depicted over the course of the two films, this looks and sounds like the most bone-crunch inducing. Even though this fight is rather bloody, it has a bit of a Jackie Chan element to it, what the enemies thinking on their feet by using regular house objects as weapons and showing off kung fu moves while avoiding (or not) various hurdles around the living room and kitchen. Interestingly enough, their duel comes to a swift and unexpected ending once Vernita surprises the Bride by firing a pistol through a cereal box in the kitchen just as tempers were seemingly cooling down. She misfires, providing our heroine with barely enough time to toss a kitchen knife into her chest. Never bring a gun to a kung fu fight, bitch.
The second significant-close quarters battle occurs in the second volume, between Elle Driver (Daryl Hannah) and the Bride. This one is even more impressive for two notable reasons. First, the setting is even more compact than was the Bride-Vernita contest, seeing as it transpires within Budd’s (Michael Madsen) modest trailer house. With such restrictive space to do battle, the complications are numerous. Nevertheless, that does not prevent Elle from opting to cut down her opponent with a Hattori Hanzo sword. The reality of the situation is that there is not enough space to properly manipulate the blade, and thus as Elle continuously attempts to release the sword from its holster, the end keeps banging on walls. By the end of the fight, Budd’s trailer home is in utter shambles and Elle has lost her only remaining eye, although the latter bit is of the Bride’s doing.
3-Slow and steady swordsmanship
Thankfully, not all battles will force contestants to adapt not only to their opponents but the distractions of the surroundings. Sometimes, the conditions for attacking one’s enemy are ideal: open space with nothing but air between the heroine and her target.
This type of encounter happens at the very end of Kill Bill vol. 1 when the Bride, fresh off of vanquishing the Crazy 88s, finally comes face to face with their leader, O-Ren Ishii (Lucy Liu). Both are skilled in the art of the samurai, and therefore their contest is a slower, more methodically paced affair. Each movement is either a step closer to death or to victory. The slightest step, the slightest gesture with the arms, every detail matters in a fight of this kind. The inspiration here is less Shaw Brothers lore and more the Japanese samurai film. Much like the high noon standoff in American westerns, it typically does not make for the most flamboyant sort of duel. It is more a matter of out waiting and out thinking the other swordsman. When the opportunity for the perfect blow arrives, an expert will take advantage and see their rival fall lifelessly to the ground. Akira Kurosawa was one such director who made wonderful stories of the samurai who either served lords or were masterless, although his samurai movies were more epic in scope and involved some rather high octane battles, at least so far as samurai sword fights are concerned. Harakiri, from director Masaki Kobayashi is perhaps a better example, or even Sword of Doom from Kihachi Okamoto, which even has a standoff between two fighters in a snowy setting similar to the one in Kill Bill vol. 1.
4-Outdoing the ‘special weapon’
Once the Bride has announced her presence to O-Ren and the crazy 88s at the Blue Lotus restaurant, all bets are off. The time for lurking behind motorcycle masks and hiding in bathroom stalls is over. However, before even getting a chance to kill O-Ren, the Bride is forced to reckon with her special crew, the Crazy 88s, and her personal guard, Gogo Yubari (Chiaki Kuriyama), a sick, demented teenager who dresses up in private school girl attire and wields one of the deadliest weapons scene in the film: a razor equipped metal ball attached at the end of a chain. Having trained herself with this weapon of choice, Gogo can whip the sphere wherever and however hard she pleases. With far more covering distance than a samurai blade (and just as deadly!), Gogo may be the most unexpectedly difficult foe the Bride does battle with.
There are so many points of comparison to be made with Gogo’s pseudo ‘ball and chain.’ The Shaw Brothers classics of old were replete with enemies and heroes who made names for themselves across the land with the help of some custom made weapons which caught opponents off guard before someone eventually learned how to work around them. The hooked sword in The One-Armed Swordsman, the metal paws from The Avenging Eagle, the titular golden blade from Vengeance is a Golden Blade, and yes, even though Goomba Stomp editor Ricky D and I disagree on the cool factor of the weapon, even the famous flying guillotine. In each case, the heroes are on the disadvantage until they either claim the special weapon for themselves or discover the weapon’s weakness. The Bride-Gogo fight in Kill Bill vol. 1 is among the most tension-filled in the entire two-part story because Gogo and her specialized weapon feel like the most legitimate threats the heroine has to face. After she takes a few nasty shots of the metal ball to the chest, a viewer can be forgiven for asking themselves if the protagonist will even live through the encounter.
5-One against a legion
Of all the examples reviewed above, most would be quick to claim that the most spectacular instance of kung fu ass whooping is when the protagonist, either alone or with a small band of allies, are greatly outnumbered by their enemies and whose only hope for survival is by fending all of them off. While the tension level might take a drop in scenes such as this (typically the heroes emerge not only victorious but unscathed for the most part) they do in fact make for the most fun action scenes.
Immediately following the death of Gogo, O-Ren calls upon her Yakuza team, the Crazy 88s. Equipped with a Hattori Hanzo sword, the Bride sees herself circled by a small army of men wearing thin black masks across their eyes and foreheads, all pointing their own swords straight at her. Led by Johnny Mo (Gordon Liu, doing double duty in these films), the onslaught begins. The acrobatics involved in this stunning sequence are most impressive, with a fair share of the credit going to stunt-woman Zoe Bell who steps in for Uma Thurman for the more risky shots. Tarantino also called upon the help of Yuen Wo-Ping for fight choreography and this Blue Lotus battle is arguably the most glorious example of his contributions to the two films. Enemies are offed in any number of ways. Some go down in vintage samurai fashion by remaining immobile on their two feet for a moment, as if stunned, before dropping dead, while others, unfortunately, have their limbs hacked off. Decapitations, eyeballs ripped out of sockets, even one poor sap who is split into two from the head down!
The fight in the diner from Come Drink With Me and the climactic stairwell battle in Have Sword Will Travel are but two of the many classic Shaw films from which the Blue Lotus might have found inspiration from.
With that, I hope fans of these two films will want to explore some of the earlier movies referenced in this article and then re-watch Kill Bill with a different perspective. Tarantino took inspiration from the very best martial arts movies to then make his own high-octane version of them. Some would call it plagiarism. Others would call it learning from the masters.
‘Weathering With You’ Isn’t Quite the Storm It Wanted to Be
Makoto Shinkai’s Weathering With You delivers a gorgeous film that doesn’t quite resonate as much as it wanted to.
Climate change and global warming have been topics of concern and discussion for years now, with melting ice caps and rising ocean temperatures being some of many signs. Director Makoto Shinkai — acclaimed the world over for his 2016 work Your Name — aims to show just how at the mercy humans are to the weather with his newest animated film, Weathering With You. Although he presents a visually stunning depiction of Mother Nature in all her various moods, Weathering With You ultimately lacks the storming power it seeks to bear upon its audience.
Tokyo has been having a particularly rainy year, seeing precipitation almost every day and nary a sight of the sun or clear blue skies. It’s during this unusual time that high school boy Hodaka arrives in the metropolis seeking escape from the suffocating life he had on his island. The young teenager naturally has trouble finding his bearings on his own in the oftentimes unforgiving hustle and bustle of the city. It’s in these early scenes that Weathering With You has some of its strongest moments, depicting the uglier side of Japanese society not often seen in anime, while also highlighting Hodaka’s strength of character to make it on his own.
As Hodaka gradually carves out his own place in the city, he eventually has an encounter with a young girl named Hina. Matching her sunny and cheerful disposition, Hina has the ability to make it stop raining and have the sunshine in very localized spots by praying to the sky. In a place where the rain never ceases, it’s easy to see why Hodaka latches onto Hina to use for the greater good (while also making a little pocket change along the way).
“The hand-drawn rain is downright mesmerizing in all its forms — fierce and calm — while the sunshine that follows seems to hang in the air caught by the leftover humidity.”
Gloomy skies and damp grounds can take their toll on one’s mood and psyche, which someone who lives in such a climate can surely relate to. Even the briefest moments of sunshine revitalize us and give a glimpse of the “light at the end of the tunnel.” Hodaka and Hina’s “100% Sunshine Girl” services to those in need of that light boldly underscore that fact, and make for a strong argument for how the weather affects us all beyond its objective physicality, along with providing some much-appreciated levity to the story.
That power of weather is beautifully illustrated by CoMix Wave Films’ stupendous animation efforts. The hand-drawn rain is downright mesmerizing in all its forms — fierce and calm — while the sunshine that follows seems to hang in the air, caught by the leftover humidity. Tokyo itself isn’t to be outdone either, with its streets running the gamut between peaceful neighborhoods to grimy and dark back alleys with dilapidated buildings. The animation is punctuated by the return of Japanese band RADWIMPS, who create numerous memorable tracks to complement the wild swings in mood that weather can elicit.
That makes it all the more unfortunate, however, that the greater narrative is so weak.
The progression of Weathering With You is made painfully obvious right from the outset of the story — so much so that it’s hard to wonder if it’s actually the set-up for a bait-and-switch. As a result, much of the first half of the film is simply waiting for the other shoe to drop, making it difficult to really settle in and become intimate with its characters.
This would be less of an issue if the cast had smaller interactions that were a delight to watch, but they fall short in that regard as well. All of the characters have a charm to them for sure — with Hina’s younger elementary school brother, Nagi, putting modern playboys to shame being a particular standout — but the story never quite makes a compelling case as to why they are as close as they are, especially Hina and Hodaka. They’re fun enough to watch be together, but don’t quite make that emotional attachment with the viewer that the story wants to create.
That lack of an emotional connection is distinctly felt in Weathering With You’s second act, when unnecessary confrontations and bizarre plot directions converge to create an artificial sense of stakes amidst a central conflict that would have been fine on its own. What’s meant to strengthen the impression of the characters’ bonds instead cheapens it, undermining the already faulty progress the first half did make. The result is a narrative that’s hard to care about, although its ending does leave the viewer with some potentially interesting questions to ponder.
Weathering With You is far from a bad movie, however. It has a clear direction and vision with a message to say about our climate crisis. The characters are endearing enough, and there are a handful of heartfelt scenes because of that. It also cannot be understated just how drop-dead gorgeous the animation is. The story, however, is simply too straightforward for its own good, resulting in an experience that is at times enjoyable, and at others plain boring.
And that’s only when being judged in a vacuum on the movie’s own merits. When compared to Shinkai’s recent masterpiece that is Your Name, it’s hard to see Weathering With You as anything but a disappointing follow-up. That’s perhaps the film’s greatest weakness, but fortunately, it’s one that Shinkai’s next work won’t have, and we can still look forward to it because of that fact.
Let’s Remember Why ‘Tremors’ is a Beloved Cult Hit
The monster movie that breaks new ground.
Tremors, 30 Years Later
Thirty years ago, this week, one of the best films of 1990 was released.
Tremors didn’t make a big splash in theaters. The film ended up grossing $16,667,084 at the domestic box office, which while making a profit due to its $11 million budget, was still below projected numbers. To be fair, this was a film about carnivorous subterranean worms— and it didn’t help that it was dumped in the cold of winter during what is arguably the slowest time of the year for the box office. Thankfully, however, Tremors found a second life on VHS where it became one of home video’s biggest success stories. More importantly, Tremors become a beloved cult hit.
Much has been said about the cast of Tremors which I’ll get to shortly, but what stood out the most watching it again, is the screenplay from S.S. Wilson and Brent Maddock, who both previously penned Short Circuit and Batteries Not Included. Sure, Tremors is a B movie, but it also boasts a tightly-knit script in which every scene; every action; every story beat; and every line of dialogue sets up a chain of events that gives every character a motive and reason to react the way they do. And despite one poorly executed sequence (I’m referring to the pole-vaulting montage), Tremors is a lean, mean movie without an ounce of fat to be found anywhere else.
The plot isn’t complex per se, but there’s something oddly comforting in the simplicity of it all. Tremors takes place in the Nevada desert near a small town called Perfection with a population of only 14 residents who are left to defend themselves against the deadly subterranean creatures. It’s the perfect setting for a monster film since the town itself is isolated. And with only one road leading to civilization, the openness of the desert landscape enhances the desolation of it all. And since the town of Perfection is so far removed from the rest of society, it soon becomes clear that nobody will ever come and save them. Instead, the townsfolk must work together; overcome the odds, and destroy the creatures. And when that fails, they must attempt to scale the rocky mountaintop where the worms are unable to travel underground. It’s getting there that becomes the problem.
Val and Earl
At the heart, and at the center of the eccentric cast of characters is Kevin Bacon and Fred Ward playing Valentine McKee and Earl Bass, a pair of modern-day cowboys working as handymen who become would-be heroes when they stumble upon the shock-sensitive killer worms. Over the years, the two actors have become less renowned for their comedic roles, but Tremors if anything, showcases their talent and range. And while Kevin Bacon with his sexy smile and pretty boy looks is by far the biggest star; it’s their irresistible chemistry that brings their characters to life. They make such a great comedic team and if you replaced Ward with any other actor at the time, there’s no guarantee that Tremors would have been this much fun to watch.
In fact, the two actors work so well together that Fred Ward provides a much better foil for Kevin Bacon than Finn Carter’s Rhonda, a.k.a. the underwritten love interest who is assigned to travel to the town and monitor the seismology readings in the desert. Not long after Rhonda arrives, the people in the town start disappearing – or worse, they end up dead, leaving very little time to establish any chemistry between her and Val— thus making the big kiss, in the end, feel a little out-of-place. But don’t blame the screenplay writers— the original ending of Tremors featured Val and Earl riding off into the sunset, with no hint at any potential romance between Val and Rhonda. Unfortunately, test audiences were not pleased and somehow the producers convinced the filmmakers to quickly reshoot the final scene— just another one of many examples of why studios should not rely on any focus group to provide feedback. In the end, the love interest feels somewhat lost in the shuffle.
The Gummer Family
It doesn’t take long before it becomes apparent that there’s something unnatural roaming the desert and feeding on human flesh. Once Rhonda checks her readings and determines that the threat is coming from underground, Tremors begins to slowly open up and introduce us to the supporting cast which includes Reba McEntire and Michael Gross as the Gummer family, a pair of overzealous, gun-crazy survivalists. McEntire and Gross are so good here, they essentially steal the spotlight from the rest of the cast. In one of their most memorable scenes, the two are forced to take shelter in their basement and defend themselves against one of the giant man-eating worms— and just when it looks like they are going to run out of ammunition, the camera pans left to reveal the bunker holds enough guns and firepower to accommodate a small army. It’s just one of many examples of how Tremors takes a simple concept and maximizes it for full effect.
As much as Tremors is remembered today for the performances of Bacon and Ward, it’s the work of the entire cast that brings the movie to life. It really is great casting considering the small budget, and everyone pulls their weight, serving up the quick-witted dialogue in a way that makes it all feel more natural– and yes that even includes Robert Jayne as the annoying teenage brat, Melvin Plug. I especially like the performance by Victor Wong, a character actor who had roles in films like 3 Ninjas and Big Trouble in Little China. Here he plays the ill-fated Walter Chang who is killed in a scene that features some of the film’s best special effects.
Director Ron Underwood
Tremors was the first movie Ron Underwood directed and by far his best. Now known as a go-to director for many successful TV shows, Underwood keeps things moving briskly and finds new clever ways to draw out tension with impressive camera work, especially the shots that show the point of view of the creatures as they stalk their victims. Along with Cinematographer Alexander Gruszynski, Underwood frames his exterior shots in a way that constantly reminds viewers how small the town is and how isolated it is. It’s also worth noting how difficult it is to shoot a horror movie outside in the middle of the desert where you can never truly escape the sunlight, and yet director Ron Underwood uses the setting to his advantage and frames his actors in such a manner that the landscape emits a general feeling of emptiness, which both mirrors the town’s small population and the people themselves who are desperate for a change.
Tremors evokes the populist spirit of ‘50s and ’60s B-movies without ever resorting to parody, nor does it ever feel familiar. Instead, Underwood reinvigorates its genre tropes with a finely balanced combination of horror and humor— and despite its tongue-in-cheek script, Underwood never allows it to venture into full-on camp. There is tension and suspense in every one of the action scenes and like many classics that came before it, Tremors focuses less on its oversized monsters and more on their victims and how these people react to attacks by these giant creatures. Even in the bright daylight, Tremors manages to create enough suspense to keep viewers at the edge of their seats.
Apart from taking inspiration from classic monster movies, Tremors owes a lot to Steven Spielberg’s Jaws— so much so, that the original title for Tremors was actually Land Sharks. Much like how the shark in Jaws travels underwater while stalking its prey, in Tremors, the 30-foot-long carnivorous worms known as Graboids, travel underground. And like Jaws (arguably the quintessential B movie), the creatures in Tremors are rarely seen. Instead, the largely invisible creatures can burrow fast enough to devour the entire town if given the opportunity— making them deadly and genuinely menacing.
Another clever inclusion by the screenplay writers was the idea to have these Graboids respond to seismic vibrations. While blind and unable to track their prey’s scent, they do have acute hearing, which means any slight movement or sound can cost you your life. In arguably the best scene of the entire film, Kevin Bacon’s Val is left to stand completely still and silent while the worm-like creatures who circle his feet reveal their razor-sharp fangs as they desperately search for their next victim.
It’s a credit to the creature design that I never once questioned the reality of the Graboids. Along with a team of over 50 visual effects wizards, the filmmakers were able to bring their creations to life with a mix of old school prosthetics, animatronics, and computer-generated imagery. Tremors may be at times funny, but this isn’t the sort of film that has viewers pointing at the screen and laughing at obviously cheesy effects. Make no mistake about it: the monster effects by Tom Woodruff and Alec Gillis (who previously worked on Alien and The Terminator) is truly impressive, especially given the limited budget they had to work with.
The one and only aspect of Tremors that I’ve never liked was the music heard at the start and at the end of the film. To my surprise, I later learned that composer Ernest Troaost’s musical score for the film went mostly unused since the studio didn’t like it and, later they hired composer Robert Folk to write a new score. Only a few of Troost’s country-themed songs made it into the final cut and sure enough, they are the songs I dislike. That said, Folk’s compositions perfectly match the visuals and heighten the suspense during the film’s most action-packed scenes.
Tremors wasn’t in any way groundbreaking since it borrowed liberally from many other monster movies, yet somehow the film became such a hit, that it spawned four direct-to-video sequels (Tremors 2: Aftershocks, Tremors 3: Back to Perfection, Tremors 5: Bloodlines and Tremors: A Cold Day in Hell)— a direct-to-video prequel (Tremors 4: The Legend Begins), and even a television series. More so, the success of Tremors resulted in many copycats but none of them (save for James Gunn’s Slither) have been able to perfectly match the potent mixture of sharp dialogue, deadpan humour, and horror.
It’s easy to see why Tremors ultimately became a success and why it remains a fun and engaging experience, decades later. The plot is fully realized constantly keeping things exciting. It has plenty of spectacular set-pieces, thrilling action scenes, and plenty of quotable throwaway dialogue. Along with the charismatic cast, superb direction, great script and terrifyingly real effects, Tremors stands the test of time. Many have tried to match Tremors but most have ultimately come up short. Movies like this come around once every few years.
- Ricky D
The Career of Tony Scott and His Influence on the Film Industry
In the late 1970s and 1980s, composer Giorgio Moroder was often accused of trying to replace the orchestral movie soundtrack with high-energy, synthesizer-heavy disco-pop laid on with a trowel in movies like Thank God It’s Friday (1978), Flashdance (1983), Scarface (1983), and Top Gun (1986). I remember a magazine story on Moroder which quoted one of his many critics as saying, “The day the music died, Giorgio Moroder was brought in for questioning.”
I think some people had the same opinion about movies and Tony Scott. Full disclosure: I’m one of them. But it would be greatly unfair to Scott, who died in 2012, not to admit that, for good or for ill, his 1980s feature work had an enormous impact on commercial filmmaking.
The younger brother of Ridley Scott by seven years, he was gifted – like his brother – with an outrageously good eye; a taste for the visual strong enough to earn him his master’s degree from London’s Royal College of Art (which he’d attended on scholarship no less). But painting didn’t pay well, so he joined with his brother in Ridley Scott Associates where, from the 1970s into the 1980s, he applied that eye to moving pictures, directing thousands of commercials, some of them still-talked-about all-time classics in the U.K.
His first feature was the visually sumptuous, dramatically wispy attempt at erotic vampirica, The Hunger (1983), and it was such a lambasted flop it’s a surprise Scott’s feature career didn’t end right there. But three years later, producer Jerry Bruckheimer tapped him to direct Top Gun and movies would never be the same.
It was a perfect marriage of sensibilities (along with Michael Bay, Scott would remain one of Bruckheimer’s go-to directors). Bruckheimer, whose youthful interest in photography had led him to his own career in commercials before turning to movies, had the same affinity for striking imagery as Scott.
The timing of the union was just right, too. MTV was only five years old, and the non-stop near-abstract visuals of music video were not only still hypnotically novel, but on their way to becoming the defining visual sensibility for a new movie-going generation. With Giorgio Moroder (another ideal wedding of sensibilities) supplying a Pop’s Top Ten-nish soundtrack, Scott put together montages that were, essentially, music videos woven into the narrative of the film (some critics carped that the whole movie was little more than an extended music video).
Striking visuals, a pulsing, toe-tapping score, and a super-patriotic story that made a hero of a young, cocky, mouthy, go-my-own-way fighter jock made for a flick which hit a big, fat sweet spot with MTV’s first generation of ticket-buyers: Top Gun scored a whopping $176.7 million domestic. I did the math: at today’s ticket prices, that would translate to almost $390 million. Love it or hate it, you have to respect that kind of box office muscle.
Top Gun set the template for Scott: high-octane visuals, rapid-fire editing (often at the hands of Chris Lebenzon), an MTV-friendly soundtrack, and a story simple enough to absorb without having to pay too much attention.
It also set the template for so many of the box office winners of the next few decades, movies that moved fast, piled on the action, featured characters who were often little more than catchphrases with biceps, offered music video fodder (at least back when MTV still played music videos), and where plausibility – even under Hollywood’s extremely elastic definition of the concept – was irrelevant. Think Lethal Weapon, Speed (1994), Twister (1996), and anything by Michael Bay.
Though his brother Ridley often took the same rap of favoring looks over substance, their styles, though both highly visual, were strikingly different.
Ridley’s films — good and bad – play out like classical music: stately, elegant, unrushed, somber.
Tony’s movies are rock ‘n’ roll: fast, loud, exhausting, sometimes painfully bright.
It’s hard to imagine Tony doing something as subdued as Ridley’s Napoleonic-era The Duelists (1977), or even pulling off the brooding sci-fi Gothicism of Alien (1979). By the same token, Ridley would have seemed a poor fit for Top Gun or all the running back and forth in Crimson Tide (1995).
Despite being regularly slammed for his storytelling, Scott did care about plot and character. Explaining the failure of Days of Thunder (1990) – Top Gun cloned to the NASCAR circuit – Scott diagnosed the problem as having started production without a finished script. “(You) always have to get a story,” he said, “and you’ve got to get character first…”
But it wasn’t a sentiment that quite squared with his execution. In an Entertainment Weekly story about a trending flimsiness in big-screen storytelling, The Fan (1996) screenwriter Phoef Sutton told the story of shooting the movie’s climactic baseball game in a torrential downpour. Sutton and others tried to argue Scott out of it pointing out that baseball games are called on account of such weather. The rain stayed. Said Sutton: “…I don’t think Tony cared about the plausibility of it.”
In his later years, he seemed to be trying to reach for the kind of substance his early films were often accused of lacking, but he remained better at taking a good picture than giving it meaning. Enemy of the State (1998) was entertaining enough, but it was like Coppola’s The Conversation (1974) with the poetry removed and replaced with explosions and chases; Spy Game (2001) was an anemic John LeCarre wannabe; The Taking of Pelham 123 replaced the local color which had made the original so memorable with a needlessly busy yet flavorless plot.
Like his brother, Tony also produced, and in those projects, one could sense an ambition to do something of substance. There were such laudable efforts as the HBO movie RKO 281 (1999) about Orson Welles’ fight to make Citizen Kane; The Gathering Storm (2002), another HBO feature, this about Churchill’s attempts to prep England for WW II; Gettysburg (2001), a cable documentary about one of the most pivotal battles of the Civil War; and the lovely, elegiac (if sadly little-seen) Western, The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford.
Though Scott would continue to turn out some respectable earners in his later years (Déjà vu , The Taking of Pelham 123, Unstoppable ), after the 1980s, he’d never hit Top Gun heights again, and, in fact, after Beverly Hills Cop II (1987) only ever crossed the $100 million domestic mark one more time with Enemy of the State (1998). Perhaps the problem was that Scott’s eye-tickling rat-a-tat-tat style had, by the 1990s, become so widely copied that his often dramatically weak films had little else to offer; the trendsetter had become just another member of the pack.
But give him this. Few filmmakers make a lasting impact. Most directors and most films come and go, cinematic mayflies fluttering around the box office for a few weeks before disappearing. The same can’t be said of Tony Scott. Love ‘im or hate ‘im, it’ll be a long time before anyone forgets him.
– Bill Mesce
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