Fire Down Below: Action Films are Smoldering from Cliched Subgenres

Fire Down Below: Action Films are Smoldering from Cliched Subgenres
by Mitch Walrath
"There isn’t a director alive who doesn’t wish he made The Wild Bunch."
These are the words of Baltimore Sun critic Stephen Hunter in his review of the re-release of Sam Peckinpah’s 1969 film in April 1995. The Wild Bunch established criteria in its scenes, namely slow motion and cross-cutting, by which many action films would be, and still are, judged. A lot has changed in the 26 years since the ground-breaking film was originally released; a lot has changed even in the two years since it was re-released. But the old saying still stands, though: the more things change, the more they stay the same.
If imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, then the movie industry is the most flattering institution around. Indeed, new directors are influenced by old and the line between homage and theft begins to blur. Perhaps this is from a lack of any original ideas or maybe it’s just because studios like to stick to a proven formula.
As young as it is compared to other genres of film, the action genre is not entirely new; it has its roots in the gangster film of the 30's and 40's and the western before that. In the years that the action film has grown into its own category, it has splintered off into many sub-genres, including blaxploitation, martial arts, sci-fi action, etc. The action film was at its peak in the 80's and into the early 90's, spawning big-budget sequels and rip-offs galore. With a heavier emphasis being placed on family films today, the death of the action film seemed imminent at one time. It’s changed radically, but it’s still around -- just in different forms.
Probably the two most popular formulas of action film that dominated the 80's were the buddy cop and the one-man army. Each has different themes and ideologies, yet still rely on much the same cliches and predictable plot points. The one-man army is a kind of banal syndrome that many movies seem to fall into, even if they start out with good intentions. This staple formula propagated mainly from the success of such films as Commando (Mark Lester, 1986) and Rambo: First Blood, Part 2 (George Cosmatos, 1985). Conventions of this sub-genre include individual heroes taking on large numbers of enemies, ignorant and/or weak villains, and few or no partners on the hero’s side. They usually begin with the hero being sent to a distant place to bring down a power-hungry dictator. The hero goes either because he identifies with the cause or for a personal reason, such as revenge. He takes on and defeats innumerable men, accomplishing by himself what many before him could not do. In the process, the hero suffers injuries (albeit minor ones) and gains a new or deeper love or respect for whatever cause he fought for.
The calculatedness of the tightly organized and machine-like villains represents their connection with civilization and technology. The hero, conversely, is usually solitary and represents the community’s values of family and humanity (Brown, 85). It is through this fight between the rich, corruptive villain and the poor, honorable hero that the good guy seeks to regain his identity and position of authority lost in this modern age. Like Oedipus Rex, the good guy questions his identity and at the end of the film, he is posited back in the favor of the workplace, family, etc., becoming hero.
This formula may have taken hold with Shane (George Stevens, 1953), a story about a lone gunslinger fighting for the freedom of farmers under pressure from a greedy land developer. This joined with something like Dirty Harry (Don Siegel, 1971) to produce the lone hero, usually a psychologically unbalanced character who is very close in nature to the villain(s). He’s the Byronic hero -- a lonely, solitary outcast, like Prometheus. This lone hero, although mentally unbalanced, is always envied for his coolness. He’s usually apathetic, remains unfussed over the death of a partner, and stays cool in the face of the enemy or in extreme pain. That’s why characters like Dirty Harry and Rambo never have women -- they’re too macho for them; a woman would tame, maybe even "sissify" the rogue hero. If he’s been set up by some higher power, he walks away at the end of the movie, fed up with the corruption or impotence of the big bureaucracy. He claims that "this is the last time," but inevitably breaks his word and returns in the sequel.
Without a doubt, James Bond was the first to popularize this formula. A tough, intelligent spy masquerading as a rich jet-setter, Bond is both suave and savage. He is virile in bed and on the battlefield. Bond was enormously popular throughout the 60's and 70's, but almost died in the eighties when the country sought more violent, more muscle-bound heroes. These newer good guys, especially Schwarzenegger, adopted Bond’s deadpan sense of humor. (Schwarzenegger later sported the sexual innuendo and suavity in Last Action Hero and True Lies, and fashioned his killzinger, the deadpan delivery of the last tag line, after Bond). Many of these new action films took themselves too seriously and aborted the tongue-in-cheek attitude that comes with Bond. Bond himself had a personality makeover in The Living Daylights (John Glen, 1987) and License to Kill (John Glen, 1989), where he became darker, more serious, a "paralyzed male" (Hunter, 202).
The new Bond (especially in Goldeneye) and other heroes started moving away from the totally invincible hero of mythic powers and took traits akin to those of real people: indecision, remorse, even fear. This is a cheap way to give the hero depth; like Rambo, he kills many all by himself with unshakable boldness, but still feels the pain of others after the battle is over.
The heroism of the Bond spy film was brought to its campy extreme with the Flint films, Our Man Flint (Daniel Mann, 1966) and In Like Flint (Gordon Douglas, 1967). Flint isn’t just overly smooth, intelligent, and tough like Bond, but perfect. In a fight, he doesn’t get beaten up or hurt; he has four girlfriends, all of whom he makes love to; when they are kidnapped, he sleeps with the villainess. If the hero never faces any real danger or risks and doesn’t care about his girlfriend(s), how is the audience to care? A hero in an action film is usually someone whose life is at stake. Although it’s played mostly for camp value, how can one root for a hero they aren’t willing to care about?
On a side-note, the antithesis of the action-packed, gimmicky spy film lies in The Spy Who Came In From the Cold (Martin Ritt, 1965). The slow pacing and black and white photography add to the somber attitude of the film. Its main character, not exactly a hero in a James Bond sense, has been sold out by his government. Betrayed by almost everyone he knows, the film depicts the harsh, scary real world of espionage and in doing so, lends itself an attitude that is anti-patriotic and very wary of the British government. The global terrorism of the Bond films was scaled down and the one-man army transformed into terrorist action films with the advent of Die Hard (John McTiernan, 1988). One element of this film praised by critics around the world is its portrayal of a realistic hero. "It was always about the great hero going on the epic journey, the classic Herculean epic...(but McClane) is just an ordinary guy," says Die Hard co-screenwriter Steven de Souza (Gross, 28).
Sure, Bruce Willis’s John McClane may not be a goliath like Stallone or Schwarzenegger, but he still does the job of a whole police force. If it were truly realistic, the lone cop with no shoes and only one handgun would have been mowed down by automatic weapon fire from the first of many highly-trained killers he crept up on. If it’s realism one wants, one need only look at The Taking of Pelham 123 (Joseph Sargent, 1974). Walter Matthau’s transit cop is cynical, unsure, and at times, wrong in his judgments. What’s more, he never even gets out of the office until the end of the film, or even fires his gun, let alone kills anyone.
Furthermore, many claim John McClane is more human than most heroes because he registers real fear. Why should he fear anything when he relies on as many instances of deus ex machina as he does? Besides, this is nothing compared to the absolute horror seen on the face of John Pankow hyperventilating in the back seat of William Petersen’s car during the chase through the aquaduct in To Live and Die in L.A. (William Friedkin, 1985). (Deus ex machina means "God from a machine" and refers to an instance when a hero is saved from a villain by some unforeseen elements that comes out of nowhere.)
These ever-present situations in the one-man army formula present to the viewer the idea that you don’t need anyone to help you. You may be alone in your fight, but you can still win. Be distrustful of others and watch your own back. The Nietzschean efforts of the hero, though, make it cross over into just that: a super hero tale. But, pair the hero with an effective, reliable partner, a superego for the id, and you have the buddy cop action film. "Both (westerner and gangster) have vanished -- or more properly, have been absorbed -- into the cop" (Hunter, 152). Hunter is right; with the close affinity of gangster and cop sub-genres, the heroic cop sometimes absorbs the neurosis and psychosis heretofore possessed only by his counterpart. Deep character development at one time, it has since become shallow cliche.
Sometimes, though, this mean hero combines with the gangster to produce the demon-spawn of action pictures, the anti-hero. The anti-hero is essentially a villain survives and that the audience roots for usually because he’s either the central character or because he’s not as bad as the really bad guys. Few and far between, a recent example of this twisted character is in From Dusk Till Dawn (Robert Rodriguez, 1996). The character of Seth Gecko (George Clooney) is a murderer and even though that’s bad, he’s the hero because he’s not as bad as the vampires that populate the film. Seth’s brother Richie (Quentin Tarantino), however, dies halfway through the film. The audience anticipates his death because Richie is a rapist and we all know that in the book of bad guys, rapists are far more evil in films than murderers.
From Dusk Till Dawn owes its existence primarily to Assault on Precinct 13 (John Carpenter, 1976), in which a prisoner must help a sheriff defend an abandoned police station against marauding gang members. Questioning the thinness of the line between good and bad, it replaces one of the dead cops, a position of authority and justice, with a violent gang leader, a figure of lawlessness. Could he be out simply to save his own life or does he fill the role of law-enforcing hero to defend democracy?
With the death of the emotionally distancing and cynical 70's, however, the 80's needed something hipper, fresher. The psychotic tendencies of the one-man army then inserted itself in the buddy cop film, making the situation not quite as scary if the loose cannon has a sensible sidekick. Once again, this was probably brought about by Inspector Harry Callahan. To get revenge and serve justice at the same time isn’t quite as violent as pure vengeance. This is evident in films such as 48 Hrs. (Walter Hill, 1982) and Lethal Weapon (Richard Donner, 1987). The regularity and normalcy of the partner off-set and balance out the abnormality of the hero. Nolte’s and Gibson’s characters, respectively, are rogue cops. They’re each a little unstable and each unwillingly paired with someone. Gone are the days of the perfect hero, he too has his problems. The dark waters of Dirty Harry aren’t as appealing, though, anymore -- now, the hero can only be a little nuts. Although, give him a partner and you’ve got yourself a nice little comedy troupe where they crack jokes in between shooting bad guys.
Another common thread between the one-man army and the buddy-cop is that of the bad guy. The head villain is usually much older than the hero, making for a pseudo-Oedipal complex whereby the hero must defeat the villain and take over his position of power. Also, the head villain usually has a "commanding officer" beneath him who is in charge of all the "lackey" bad guys or nameless minions. This villain also serves as the main combatant of the hero. Often being very much alike in both skill and age, the bad guy and good guy are a modern-day Cain and Able.
The evolution of the sidekick in buddy cop action films is an interesting as well as strange one. It’s usually a hard-bitten white cop paired with a happy-go-lucky ethnic cop (straight man and comic relief). The ethnicity of the sidekick can be black, Asian, or Hispanic (all three of which have been Dirty Harry’s partners.) The partner can also be a woman in such films as Lethal Weapon 3 or The Enforcer (also a Dirty Harry film), a kid (Cop and a Half, Last Action Hero), a dog (Turner and Hooch, K-9), or even a robot (Code of Silence). "By uniting the exaggeratedly different heroes, the genre vicariously resolves the conflicting values that the characters represent" (Brown, 83). These morality tales seek to solve the world’s problems through the presentation of its rose-colored glasses.
This unwillingness of the hero to be paired with someone who happens to be a minority adds a hint of racial tension, which transgresses into comic banter between the two, providing character development during moments of down-time in the action. The black partner, however, is a holdover from the blaxploitation era or sub-genre. As Hunter points out, "(Eddie Murphy in 48 Hrs.) isn’t quite the macho-tough black-exploitation stud from an earlier era,... who’s all sexual power and coiled, ugly violence. What he’s got...is a furious sense of will" (142). This bridges the gap between, say, Shaft (Gordon Parks, 1971) and Action Jackson (Craig Baxley, 1988). The former is a movie with an all-black cast geared toward both black and white audiences. The latter is the same, with the exception that the only prominent black character is the main one, making it a vehicle for the star so he may rise up in a white-dominated category.
The sub-genre of blaxploitation is ruled mainly by current character actors such as Jim Brown (Slaughter), Fred Williamson (Black Caesar), and Pam Grier (Coffy). While it is Shaft that is usually remembered for being the first black action movie, Sweet Sweetback’s Baadaass Song (Melvin Van Peebles, 1971) actually broke ground in featuring a primarily black cast and a black hero.
These characters, not cops, cross that delicate line between lawman and outlaw. Where Dirty Harry borders on vigilantism, these characters revel in it. The fact that they take the law into their own hands makes them that much more violent and dangerous. The excuse given for this in some films, like Dolemite (D’Urville Martin, 1975) and Superfly (Gordon Parks, 1972), is that the white cops are on the take and want to arrest the blacks.
Black filmmakers made another social statement with the integration of black actors such as Jim Kelly into another minority-dominated sub-genre, the martial arts film. Kelly, a former karate champion, was first prominently featured in Bruce Lee’s Enter the Dragon (Robert Clouse, 1973). While other stars such as Ron O’Neal and Rudy Ray Moore implement only a few kicks and blocking moves in their fights, Kelly is the only black professional martial artist in blaxploitation films. Trying to capture a new audience, he starred in other films like Black Belt Jones (Robert Clouse, 1974) and Tattoo Connection (Lee Tso-Nan, 1978).
On the opposite spectrum of action films is the team effort film. Movies like Ice Station Zebra (John Sturges, 1968), Predator (John McTiernan, 1987), and Executive Decision (Stuart Baird, 1996) all stress the importance of many men, as opposed to one or two, against an enemy. These usually are more realistic than the one-man army or buddy cop in their depictions of human strength and pain since they don’t involve only one or two people overcoming insurmountable odds. The evolution of this sub-genre probably stems from war films. The war film is one genre that’s usually taken seriously; it treats its subject as well as its characters in a serious manner. In many war films, there is very little comic book-style heroism, unlike standard action fare. If a soldier gets shot, he’s in serious pain; he might even die. There are no "flesh wounds" where the character barely registers pain. A character doesn’t save large numbers of people by himself; instead, as said by Robert Carradine in The Big Red One (Sam Fuller, 1980), "just gettin’ out alive is heroism enough."
Elements of the one-man army, however, have transposed themselves into war films. When this happens, the old saying "war is hell" no longer stands. With the new comic book-style heroism, the mission almost becomes a hike through the woods instead of a ten mile march through enemy territory while wearing fifty pounds of gear. Comparing the realistic team effort war film to the escapist one-man army would be to compare Missing In Action (Joseph Zito, 1984) to Uncommon Valor (Ted Kotcheff, 1983), with their standard action counterparts being Die Hard and Executive Decision. This would mean the beginnings of the modern-day action film might be partly rooted in the war film. The soldier has developed into the cop; "to serve and to protect the people" has replaced serving one’s country. The .45 auto has been replaced by the 9mm.
Since action films stem mainly from westerns, with the central theme of both genres being revenge, the character of the modern-day good guy, the cop, comes primarily from the cowboy. The hero’s "nature is explicitly informed by the fundamental cowboy mentality of protecting the American way through violence" (Brown, 85). And just as the guns have changed from war to action, the single-action revolver has evolved into the double-action automatic. Sometimes the two genres mix to produce movies like The Professionals (Richard Brooks, 1966) or Extreme Prejudice (Walter Hill, 1987), a modern-day "remake" of The Wild Bunch. Just as Peckinpah is one of the kings of revisionist westerns, Hill revised the director’s masterwork, in some instances even, shot-for-shot.
One sub-genre that was brought to the height of its popularity in the 80's, and which still continues to this day, is sci-fi action. What is this strange mixed breed that equally embodies elements of both science fiction and action? Probably taking hold (technically and thematically) with The Terminator (James Cameron, 1984), it currently boasts all the shoot-outs, car chases, and fights of an action film. The element of time travel, a future setting, or some maguffin such as the terminator place it firmly within the realm of science fiction. (Maguffin is a name for a non-existent machine that is commonplace in the future.)
Many sci-fi actioners such as RoboCop (Paul Verhoeven, 1987), Total Recall (Verhoeven, 1990), and Aliens (James Cameron, 1986)all employ a fear of something (corporate empires, technology, or Armageddon, respectively) that is the backbone of most, if not all, science fiction films. This fear is the catalyst of the film, bringing all the characters together and setting in motion the events that take place. Unlike many films that are standard action fare, where the hero seeks out trouble, the technology, government, etc. of sci-fi action ropes the hero and pulls him/her into the eye of the storm.
Action films continually show the business of killing and being killed as exciting and glamorous, like the Bond and Flint spy films. Another oft-cartoonized character/sub-genre is the hitman. Many times they are depicted as anti-heroes, fallen angels with a black heart of gold, heroes even. Movies like The Professional (Luc Besson, 1994) and Grosse Pointe Blank (George Armitage, 1997) give the hitman (remember, he’s a hired killer) a sense a honor, humor, guilt, and even ethics. The assassin may not take specific jobs (women or children) or it may be his last job; this typically is his chance at redemption when, for years of making lots of money at a job he supposedly was sucked into, he decides he can’t do it anymore and wants to quit. Sometimes it’s his target that makes him quit.
A refreshing antithesis of this is Fred Zinnemann’s 1973 film The Day of the Jackal. I have never seen, nor probably will ever see, a more accurate, realistic portrait of a hitman on film. Like The Spy Who Came In From the Cold, it is grim and unstylized in the portrayal of its subject, making that world seem not so glamorous after all. Also like The Spy..., it is not an effects-filled, eye-popping action extravaganza, but rather a somber suspense film. A very economical script, it is practically a study in minimalism, for all the action revolves around the Jackal’s efforts and the inspector’s pursuit of him. No subplots of lost loves or parentless children mar its flow; the only characters, to the two is just business. While it is the Jackal’s last job, he has no regrets, no remorse, no ethics; he’s quitting purely because of the risks involved. He also is not portrayed as a hero or a martyr -- he is a true professional in every sense of the word.
In rather recent years, certain twists have cropped up in formulas. One is a move toward a nicer good guy -- a kinder, gentler one, if you will. This pseudo-trend may have gained favor with the audience with Terminator 2: Judgment Day (James Cameron, 1991). Although this was mainly for box-office and star status reasons, other heroes have softened their images in certain movies. Kurt Russell, in Executive Decision, never even shot, let alone killed, a villain. Since he was an analyst, and not a trained killer, this was totally within his character; he left the job up to the professionals. In Mission: Impossible (Brian DePalma, 1996), Tom Cruise points a gun and blows up two villains at the end, but never shoots anyone. Perhaps this is in stride with Schwarzenegger not swearing so much, an effort to soften their image and make the films more accessible. After all, Waterworld (Kevin Reynolds, 1995) proved that the selfish, rogue hero like Mad Max, recipient of the jaded outlook of the private detective, was out of fashion in the 90's. On the other hand, though, this may be part of Hunter’s theory of the "paralyzed male" trend. If guns do, in fact, represent phallic obsessions, then this can be construed as impotence on the part of the hero. More evidence in support of this could be the fact that a surprising number of today’s movie heroes, unlike James Bond, don’t sleep with the heroine.
On the opposite end of the scale has been to toughen up the ordinary joe in some instances. One example of this is when Mel Gibson shoots Gary Sinise at the end of Ransom (Ron Howard, 1996). Then, predictably enough, he drops the gun in abject horror. Maybe the filmmakers realized, too late, that Gibson’s character should never have had a gun in his hand in the first place, but the good guy always has to be a hero. I think a much more proven sign of toughness on the part of the good guy is to let the villain go, like what Gregory Peck did at the end of the original Cape Fear (J. Lee Thompson, 1962).
Another twist in the action formula, that has already actually become formulaic and cliched, is the "surprise" of making one of the good guys turn out to be the elusive head bad guy, a traitor. The typical scenario involves the hero of the film discovering, to his surprise and the audience’s anger, that his mentor has sold him out and has actually been playing him all along. This self-serving twist in recent films like Mission: Impossible, Eraser (Charles Russel, 1996), and numerous others defeats its own purpose. Intended as a surprise to get the audience even more wrapped up in the film, it has already become predictable. This trick may have been born of the death of the Cold War. With no more pure, unabashed evil like Communism around, the bad guy must be the next best thing: a money-loving capitalist.
Over the years, many genres have come and gone. One that died a well-deserved death in the 70's, but is now experiencing a resurgence, is the disaster film. This re-found popularity can be attributed to the great advances in special effects over the last few years. Originally, only the first on each surface was a hit: Earthquake (land), The Poseidon Adventure (sea), Airport (air), and The Towering Inferno (man-made skyscraper). Rip-offs trying to ride their predecessors’ coattails to fame usually died a quick death at the box office. The originals were about the triumph of the whole team, but now, being reborn, they have mutated into the one-man army syndrome with Twister (Jan DeBont, 1996), Independence Day (Roland Emmerich, 1996), Dante’s Peak (Roger Donaldson, 1997), and Volcano (Mick Jackson, 1997). They have even splintered off and combined with the terrorist film to produce Die Hard 2 (Renny Harlin, 1990), Under Siege (Andrew Davis, 1992), and Speed (Jan DeBont, 1994). They are essentially morality tales for filmmakers to use in telling us that Mother Nature is tougher than us and we should be nice to her. But with the lazy, lack-luster effects in box office bombs such as Dante’s Peak and Volcano, two movies about volcano disasters in the same season, maybe disaster films will learn (again) that they too are not invincible. "Nature is rarely a peaceful being roused to vengeance by man’s repeated aggressions. She is violent and easily provoked" (Oliver 24: 57)
Akin to the natural disaster film is the action film in the natural setting or the adventure film. This embodies the story line of man against nature or animal. The other four main story lines are: man against man (what most actioners are); man against machine (sci-fi action); man against God; and man against himself. Most, if not all, action films are built on the foundation of at least one of these five main story lines, unlike comedy and romance, genres geared largely toward women.
Two action films that exemplify the man against nature story line are Jaws (Steven Spielberg, 1975) and Deliverance (John Boorman, 1972). Each has an aggressive antagonistic character among the protagonists. This potentially psychotic character is self-destructive and lets his emotions get in the way of his logic, leading the rest of the men to their doom. The mission that the men are on (killing the shark in Jaws, braving the river in Deliverance) is all that’s important to this unstable character; it represents the whole of their being. Robert Shaw and Burt Reynolds, respectively, are the primitive savages who want to use violence to achieve their goals. But "rural areas are places in which patriarchy runs amok...leading to the victimization of men" (Oliver 24: 57). The contradicting characters (a scientist in Jaws, a pacifist in Deliverance), seek more humane methods as a means to an end, and neutral characters must be brought in to separate the two warring opposites. In the end, a combination of violence and science is used to win, leaving the primitive man’s savagery in the past.
The backwoods savages in Deliverance are part of the surrounding nature and are exaggerated for shock effect. Even though they are at the opposite end of society, they are just as much a representation of civilization, and its evils, as the high society head villains in cop movies.
The style of many action films has changed a lot, even in the past ten to twenty years. The harsh, gritty look with dirty, sweaty characters, like in nearly every Peckinpah film, has been replaced with the slick, clean, glossy look that’s always just a little too perfect for the real world. Maybe the look of the 70's and early 80's didn’t translate well into the late 80's and today because the stars don’t want to get their paychecks dirty or because the audience doesn’t want to see them dirty. Someone once described George Miller’s The Road Warrior (1981) as "the dirtiest, sweatiest movie I’ve ever seen." Many action films nowadays just don’t have that kind of integrity and authenticity to them, but more of a "Star Wars feel," where everything seems nice, neat and prepackaged.
Slow motion was first incorporated into action films with the arrival of Bonnie and Clyde (Arthur Penn, 1967). Graphic violence in slow motion death scenes forever turned the genre inside out, maturing it, and some say destroying it, overnight. Two years later, The Wild Bunch went a step further and depicted violence that was surreal, almost cartoonish in nature. Audiences new to it then laughed it off the screen when Peckinpah tried to say that it was actually against violence and depicted the pain and horror of getting killed. Slow motion in such great quantities today is commonplace and expected in action movies. Although all slow motion is by nature stylized, much of it today involves shots that serve no purpose but to look nice. They are highly choreographed and sometimes don’t flow well with the rest of the film. One such recent example is in The Rock (Michael Bay, 1996) when Nicholas Cage is about to steal a motorbike and stands in the street, contemplating. The shot is incredibly out of place and doesn’t add any excitement because there’s no action in it. The bottom line: it looks cool.
Another trend hatched in the 80's and worsening today is the growing use of split-second editing. Born of MTV, this style of editing can be so quick sometimes that it can actually be confusing to some viewers. Maybe this is the result of an ever-shortening attention span of today’s viewers, but an example of this again lies in The Rock. The editing during the car chase (no shot in the whole movie could have been longer than five seconds) was so fast paced that I was confused as to what exactly was happening. This condition may worsen to the point where movies may feel more like strobe lights than moving images.
MTV has spawned the video look also with the colorful, foggy lighting. This appears to have started in the 80's with directors such as Cameron and Ridley Scott, and continues with their "prodigies" Tony Scott, Joel Schumacher, and Michael Bay. The most often used colors appear to be red, blue, and green, with certain directors adopting certain looks maybe as a sort of "quasi-auteurism." During high action scenes like fight sequences, this heavily stylized lighting can make the film look like a comic book or a dance number in a music video.
Perhaps the strongest trend in American action movies today, begun in the early 90's, is the growing influence of the Hong Kong action style. Martial arts films of the 70's and early 80's, with Bruce Lee and Chuck Norris, used to put the accent on skills and perfection of the human body. Now, however, their biggest feature is weaponry and marksmanship. Exploitation stars today such as Steven Seagal and Jeff Speakman mix martial arts with gunplay. But with so much time devoted to the power of guns in these films, the way the individual holds them will automatically be important as well.
One such stylized way of shooting that’s become popular is to shoot a gun on its side, holding it flat and parallel to the ground. This causes the casings to fly up out of the ejection port instead of sideways. Tactically, this offers no help at all; in fact it hinders one’s accuracy by taking away the advantage of the sights. Perhaps first seen in Forced Vengeance (James Fargo, 1982) with Chuck Norris, it became prevalent in many Hong Kong action films, especially those of John Woo.
Woo is part of the "new wave" of Hong Kong directors and he captures on film "tightly choreographed action sequences" (Hammond & Wilkins, 35). With him becoming a cult figure over here, many directors have copied his style and the image crops up in nearly every action or crime film today, including the descendant of the blaxploitation film, the gangsta’ or ‘hood film.
Another style of shooting popularized by Woo in A Better Tomorrow (1986), the "defining urban thriller of 80’s Hong Kong cinema" (Hammond & Wilkins, 37), is shooting with a gun in each hand or "spicy-handed." Probably pioneered by Martin Scorcese at the end of Taxi Driver (1976), there has not been an overflow of it until a few years ago. This also offers no tactical advantage, since one can’t look through the sights of two guns at the same time. Characters often shoot spicy-handed either stationary or while running away from something. Shooting like this is often done in slow motion, giving the camera a chance to linger on the character’s proficiency with weapons. They also fall or jump over objects, displaying an all-around athletic ability; with this, some fights in action films seem to have become more like games than battles. This, along with big explosions, constitutes "high action" nowadays. Unfortunately, along with the above trends, it also helps make the case that movies are increasingly stressing, and becoming, form over content.
One thematic technique Woo capitalizes on in many films is making the main hero and villain, at some point in the film, quickly and unexpectedly point their guns at each other’s head. This suggests a strong kinship in nature and morality between law and outlaw. This strength of character and devotion between "brothers" in films like The Killer (1989) and Hard Boiled (1992) stems from Woo’s love of The Wild Bunch, which depicted men in a changing country. Like Peckinpah’s film in the U.S., many Hong Kong actioners mirror their own troubled political times and show the fear of those that worry about China’s takeover.
With a gun in each hand, the spicy-handed image somewhat deviates from the oft-held "phallic theory" that guns represent penis envy among men in action films. If critics charge that a large gun, like a shotgun, leveled directly at the camera in extreme close-up represents homosexual obsession, then those same people might be swayed to agree that two guns could symbolize twice the virility.
Directors other than Woo, such as Ringo Lam and Tsui Hark, have made the "Hong Kong connection" from Asia to America, bringing with them the flair for highly stylized action in modern gangster pictures. These action-packed Yakuza films might lack any exceptional dialog, but they more than make up for it with their high visual impact.
Woo has stated that his second favorite film is Singin’ in the Rain (Gene Kelly and Stanley Donen, 1952). Whereas Sergio Leone reinvented the western with his slow, operatic films, Woo and others have drastically overhauled the actioner, creating "blood ballets." This term refers to the jumping and shooting, but also to the way in which characters twist and flop, contorting their bodies when they get shot many times. This applies only to the lowly henchmen, for the head villain usually goes down with only one bullet: to the head. And the hero, always obeying the rule of "very effectiveness," never gets killed.
The rule of very effectiveness is when villains, luckily, are very bad shots and can never hit the hero; the hero, on the other hand, is an expert marksman (when it allows). Another strong example of this is in Star Wars where the storm troopers can’t hit anything, yet Luke and Han aim straight and true every time.
Jackie Chan represents the other side of Hong Kong action. He rarely uses guns and his violence is not very graphic. He uses his body to defeat his opponents, rather than guns, thus putting the emphasis of the action on talent instead of gunplay. He’s also part of the kinder, gentler action hero, combining fighting with sight gags. The physical acting translates easily into physical comedy. As opposed to someone like Steven Seagal, who’s all raw violence and energy, Chan doesn’t pulverize his enemy. Combining techniques of Bruce Lee and the Three Stooges, he usually stops in the middle of an action sequence to do something funny. Chan plays the kind of character who’s not always winning, who will get hurt (many times from his own stupidity). He might land on his feet from a forty foot jump, then trip over his own shoelaces. By making his characters imperfect, this off-sets his super-human fighting skills and places him somewhat in the real world, away from the typical action hero. Although, the plots of Chan’s films almost always get bogged down by eye-popping fight scenes, once again stressing form over content, style over substance.
Chan’s films are also related to the musical by way of the use of one’s body. Bothe martial artist and dancer are "performers and are shown in full body. The more we see of them, the more skillful we believe them to be" (Kaminsky, 74). As well, martial arts films display fight scenes and musicals dance numbers, and "the narrative of (each) film, while important, is a formalized manner of getting to and leading into the numbers" (Kaminsky, 73).
Something that might be seen as minor in action films, but is actually very important, is the look of the action hero. The costume design affects the personality and attitude of the hero and vice versa. From Indiana Jones’s trademark Fedora and leather jacket to the terminator’s biker outfit, clothes make up a large part of the personality of the character. For example, it was a conscious decision in Terminator 2 to dress the evil T-1000 in a police uniform and the heroic terminator in the rebellious biker gear. This suggests a blurring of the lines between good and evil in today’s society. The jackboots and black gloves worn by the second terminator provides a trace of the original, implying that the terminator, even though a hero this time, is still a very dangerous and deadly thing. In action films, the clothes do make the man.
A character like John McClane, or nearly any action hero Bruce Willis plays, who is down on his luck (left so by Reaganomics), divorced, fired, etc., is often disheveled and sloppily dressed. This is a result of the character’s apathetic outlook. If he cares about nothing but getting the bad guy, why should he care about his appearance? Also, it’s interesting to point out the number of times main characters are introduced nowadays bolting awake from an alcohol-induced sleep, smoking a cigarette, and regretting the loss of a loved one. Because of all this, the individual is usually coarse and disrespectful of others. He swears a lot and treats women badly. The love interest, though, is easy and falls for the hero, suggesting women will accept, and even pursue, even the most sexist man, like James Bond. For this estrangement from women, the hero is out of touch with family and seeks to regain a patriarchal position within it.
On the other hand, though, there is the hero who has nearly everything in his life in order, except love. This hero is often divorced and quarrelsome with his boss, causing him to be admired by his coworkers. He is a loveless rogue, like Dirty Harry, because a woman would tame this primitive Marlboro man, "sissifying" him and making him less violent. The lack of a woman could work against the machismo and imply impotence, since he can’t communicate easily with the opposite sex. "If any sex exists at all between hero and heroine, it is rapid and loveless" (Kaminsky, 111). This leaves him with no companions in his life but his partner, saying that the easiest relationships to maintain are those between the same sex and that marriage is a near impossibility.
This could, however, cause the viewer to see the hero as a closeted homosexual, something usually detested and joked about by the hero. The rare films concerning a subject like this, such as Partners (James Burrows, 1982) open the viewer’s eyes to a world of possibilities. One may think that the typical hero isn’t so manly after all. Few films sport such hidden undertones, though, and one critic called the stars of Bulletproof (Ernest Dickerson, 1996) "the most closeted characters in a film yet produced by a major studio."
Furthermore, some of the most homoerotic moments may come from the Asian action films like Hard Boiled and The Killer. They blend "homoeroticism with violence...in a way that is coded as liberating and positive, albeit in a qualified way" (Sandell 13: 2). This intense male bonding is only modern chivalry, plutonic love, duty, not sexual love. Although these films might be a "fantasy of a relationship between equals (men) rather than between unequals (men and women)," this does not mean women do not have a part in them at all (Sandell 13: 3). Women are often main characters, fighting right along side Jackie Chan and Chow Yun-Fat, punch for punch, bullet for bullet.
The appeal of action might come largely from what they supply: escape from the real world. The action film is so distantly removed from reality that it provides escape into the male-dominated fantasy world where we can all be heroes just like the characters on the screen instead of simply sitting in the chair and watching them. Since the action genre is dominated by men, maybe that’s why they appeal much more to us than to women. We long to be that tough, handsome protector who valiantly saves the world and, more importantly, the beautiful woman. Perhaps this is the same appeal of pulp romance novels to women, wishing to be whisked away from everyday life like the woman is whisked away from danger in the novel.
When women see action films, it is usually because they regard the male star as a sex object, just like the men in the romance novels who play second fiddle to the women. This, however, is much the same reason why men like action films: we see the woman as a toy for the hero, like James Bond and his catch of the day. Often serving as nothing more than the cardboard love interest in action films, women are seen as this in real life by many men. When it comes to action movies, women much prefer the female characters to have some solidity to them, to be tough and replace their male counterparts. They desire someone like the character of Chief Warrant Officer Ripley, played by Sigourney Weaver, in the Alien trilogy (all of which were directed by men). Incidentally, Ridley Scott and James Cameron, directors of the first two, are usually praised for having strong female characters in their films.
"While it’s easy to imagine the great adventure movies being lifted off the screen and retold as books and stories, the same cannot be said of the rush-zap-and-detonate extravaganzas dominating the market nowadays" (Jameson, 208). Action films have changed drastically in the past few years; fifteen years ago, they might still have been labeled "adventure." The action genre is splintering apart and giving birth to new subgenres every year, producing a secret junkyard (Jameson, xvii). It was hard to tell hero and villain apart after World War II, and now it’s hard to tell genres apart and new from old. Just as the action replaced the western, action is being replaced, also -- by none other than itself.
Works Cited
Jameson, Richard T. They Went Thataway San Francisco: Mercury House, 1994.
Hunter, Stephen. Violent Screen New York: Dell, 1995.
Hammond, Stephen & Mike Wilkins. Sex and Zen & a Bullet in the Head New York: Fireside, 1996.
Kaminsky, Stuart M. American Film Genres Chicago: Nelson-Hall, 1985.
Gross, Edward. "The Harder They Fall: Caught in the Die Hard Syndrome." Cinescape Apr. 1995: 27-30.
Brown, Jeffrey. "Bullets, Buddies, and Bad Guys." Journal of Popular Film and
Television summer 1993: 79-87. Sandell, Jillian. "A Better Tomorrow? American Masochism and Hong Kong Action