The Towering Inferno

I've never been a huge fan of disaster movies.  Sure, I get a kick out of big things going boom, but these movies are usually pretty dumb (2012, I'm looking at you) and cliche-ridden (that's you, Independence Day).  Thanks to those tendencies, I tend to only watch the newest disaster flicks; if I'm going to watch a special effects extravaganza with no story, I might as well see the cutting edge technology, right?  Well, I recently realized that I have completely omitted seeing any disaster movies from their prime in the 1970s, the "Decade of Disaster."  For the record, that's not an official nickname for the 70s, that's just what I like to call it for so very many reasons.  Anyway, I thought I'd give a classic disaster film a shot, and I opted for the Academy Award-winning one, The Towering Inferno.

The world's tallest building, the Glass Tower, is having its public dedication in scenic San Francisco.  The ribbon will be cut, and a few hundred people will head up to the 138th floor penthouse for a fancy party with tuxedos, slinky dresses, and (probably) cocktail shrimp.  During a routine systems check before the dedication, one of the electrical boxes on the 81st floor starts a small fire.  The sprinklers don't go off and the fire alarm doesn't sound, though.  For the dedication, they turn on every light in the building to show off just how tall and bright it can be; that turns out to be a bad idea with an electrical system that is already having problems, and things get worse from here on in.  Power malfunctions and skimping on building materials lead to the warning systems going off far too late, and pretty soon there is an inferno working its way up to the party on the 138th floor.

Aren't they a little too happy for a disaster flick?

In a movie like this, the spectacle and special effects are bigger stars than the cast.  And that is really saying something, because this cast is star-studded.  Paul Newman and Steve McQueen co-headline as the world's bravest architect and fireman, respectively.  While this isn't either actor's finest moment, they're both very likable and charismatic, so it's easy to ignore that their characters lack depth.  You can argue that McQueen's character is too preachy and bland, but he does make a pretty good hero.  On the flip side of things, William Holden is solid as the accidentally villainous cost- and appearance-conscious owner of the building; Richard Chamberlain was far less impressive as the corner-cutting businessman whose shoddy materials caused the fire --- I won't say that he's MWA-HA-HA evil, but the man should have had a mustache he could twirl.

The rest of the cast has much smaller and less important roles, but many of the actors are instantly recognizable.  Faye Dunaway is Newman's love interest, and the pair are pretty together.  O.J. Simpson is a security guard who saves a cat.  Fred Astaire plays an ineffective con man, earning a "you've been overlooked for your whole career, so here's acknowledgment for a far lesser role" Academy Award nomination.  Jennifer Jones made her last film appearance here, and it is fairly memorable, if only for her final scene.  Robert Wagner has a small role as the idiot who turned on all the lights, because the city of San Francisco is going to ooh and ahh over a building with electric lights like it's a 138-story Christmas tree.  Stupid.  Robert Vaughn, who I always seem to catch in roles where he plays a jerk, was surprisingly likable as a US Senator (the political kind, not the sports kind).  Mike "Bobby Brady" Lookinland has a small part as a Bobby Brady-age kid.  No, he doesn't die.  Oh, and you might recognize Susan Flannery as a soap opera actress.  Or not.

But, like I said earlier, the cast is largely inconsequential next to the spectacle of this fire.  Without CGI to enhance it, I was a little skeptical as to how good this disaster would look, but I needn't have worried.  They did this the old-fashioned way, through misdirection and real fire.  I thought the movie looked great, especially for one made forty years ago.  There is a lot of smoke, a lot of debris, and (of course) a lot of fire.  What I liked about this fire is that it was obviously dangerous from a very early point.  While the fire started at the thirteen-minute mark, it didn't kill anyone for another forty-five minutes; the characters that died were, surprisingly, not just some random scrubs, but a recognizable actor with a subplot in full swing.  So, the fire is apparent early in the film --- which is important in a movie that clocks in at over 160 minutes --- and deadly to characters that you expect to hang around a while.  That's awesome!  Fire is so rarely shown as dangerous in films (it's more of a cool backdrop most of the time) that this approach feels almost novel.  Pair the dangerousness of the fire with the old-school special effects that actually used fire (and lots and lots of smoke), and this is a pretty believable disaster.  And that's the whole point.

Check, please!

Does that mean that this is a marvel of modern filmmaking?  Not exactly.  I thought John Guillermin did a decent job directing the dramatic parts of the story; there are far too many characters for any of them to be compelling, but he keeps things interesting.  In an interesting move, Irwin Allen is given credit for directing the many action scenes in the film, and I thought these scenes were largely enjoyable...I'm not sure why he gets a directing credit, though.  Maybe they didn't have action choreographers in 1974.  Despite the pretty solid directing, the story is a little shallow and underdeveloped.  That's not shocking for a movie with such a large cast and a plot device that seems to kill cast members at random, but that doesn't mean that it isn't a problem.  With such shallow characters, some moments that are meant to add levity or warmth to the story fall short.  Why, for instance, is Jennifer Jones apparently happy to learn that Fred Astaire is a con man?  Accepting, or even mischievously knowing, I can buy...but she's pretty ecstatic.  And there's a pre-coitus moment between Faye Dunaway and Paul Newman where she tells him that he's "all protein."  Eww.  I understand that these are just snippets used to add the illusion of depth to these characters, but they're pretty odd moments for two of the deepest subplots in the film.

On a quick side note, am I the only person who finds it hard to believe that Maureen McGovern's song, "We May Never Love Like This Again" A) is the theme to a disaster movie B) was performed by her, in a scene, and yet we never see her character's ultimate fate and/or C) won an Academy Award?  Man, the seventies were a strange time.

On the other hand, I like when big things go boom.  While this isn't a flawless movie, it is pretty entertaining, despite a long run-time.  For the most part, I think the movie is surprisingly plausible (except for that stupid helicopter explosion), which is a nice change of pace for a disaster flick.  Newman was good, McQueen was above average, and the largely recognizable cast made for some unexpected fodder for the flames.  I would have liked it better if Newman and McQueen weren't such know-it-alls, but it is kind of nice to have a disaster with obviously culpable parties.

Harper

When I watch movies from the 1940s and 50s, I usually don't notice much that seems anachronistic.  Sure, the technology is outdated, but their language and dress are pretty classic.  If I went out to dinner, dressed and acted like Humphrey Bogart or Carey Grant, I wouldn't get confused looks from strangers.  Films from the 60s, though, sometimes show their age more, thanks to their hep slang and groovy fashions.  Harper is an interesting watch, partly because it is clearly a product of the mid-60s, but also because it is just as obviously inspired by classic film noir.

Lew Harper (Paul Newman) is a private eye that's seen better days; he's been living out of his office, reusing coffee filters, and his car looks beat to hell.  Sure, it's a Porsche, but that doesn't mean it's looking good.  Harper is hired Elaine Sampson (Lauren Bacall) to find her husband, a very wealthy man with a history of being flaky.  Elaine isn't worried about her Mr. Sampson shacking up with another woman --- she is an invalid and turns a blind eye to that --- but she doesn't want her gullible husband getting suckered into giving some hussy a bunch of money.  The last time Sampson disappeared and got generous, he literally gave away a mountain to a crooked church.  Why not call the police?  Well, they'd rather handle things quietly, if possible.  Harper makes the rounds, questioning his ditzy and flirtatious daughter, Miranda (Pamela Tiffin) and his pilot/cabana boy, Allan Taggert (Robert Wagner), but they don't really give him much help.  That's not too surprising; Sampson wasn't out with a woman, he was kidnapped.  There's something fishy about the kidnapping, though.  Somehow Harper has to put the pieces together to explain how an overweight former starlet (Shelley Winters), a drug-addicted jazz singer (Julie Harris), and the crackpot church all have something to do with Sampson's disappearance.

I love movies like Harper.  You have a too cool for school lead character that loves to swagger, even when that confidence gets him nearly killed.  Like all classic noir, this story has a lead actor with a heart of stone, who is clever, tough, and willing to do whatever it takes to learn the truth.  Of course, that means that his actions aren't always legal, and he might not take legal actions to solve the big problems, either.  Basically, if you like tough guys that are charming as hell and solve mysteries, Harper is a good choice.

It never hurts to have Paul Newman playing the charming bastard in the lead role.  Newman was one of the greats, and I like him best as the guy that would fun to hang out with, but not necessarily someone you would let your sister date, if you know what I mean.  The supporting cast in this movie is pretty awesome, even if they all have relatively small parts, compared to Newman.  For starters, having Lauren Bacall in a noir is always a good choice; her appearance here is a clear allusion to The Big Sleep, where her father in that film played a rich invalid that pays a detective to find a missing man.  Bacall still was magnetic, even when reduced to sitting down in all her scenes.  Robert Wagner and Pamela Tiffin weren't particularly impressive, but they played flaky characters well enough.  Shelley Winters was sad as the past-her-prime star and Julie Harris did a good job as the tough jazz singer.  I was particularly happy with the small parts played by character actors Strother Martin and Robert Webber.  The best surprise for me, though, was the chemistry between Newman and Haper's ex-wife, played by Janet Leigh.  I'm not terribly familiar with Leigh, aside from her small part in Psycho, so it was nice to see her in a substantial role.  She played one of the best tired-of-her-man's-bullshit parts I have ever seen on film, and she managed to be tough, cranky, and sensitive all in one go.  And their dialogue...!  Here's a taste:

Leigh: What do you want from me?
Newman: Anything I can get.
Leigh: At least you're honest.
VIOLENT SMOOCHING

Man, that's good stuff!

You can credit the fun dialogue to William Goldman, who has a talent for memorable lines. You want more?  "The bottom is loaded with nice people. Only cream and bastards rise to the top."   Just typing that put a smile on my face. And this film has one of the better ambiguous endings I've seen. Goldman's screenplay is brought to life by director Jack Smight, who does his best to keep the tone and the pace of Harper in keeping with Bogart-esque noirs of yesteryear. I'm not a huge Smight fan, but he handles the dialogue and the action sequences well and keeps the story from being too confusing, which is very important in thrillers like this.

But this is definitely a film that has aged less gracefully than other Newman classics.  Really, any movie that shows characters dancing to rock music is going to look silly in retrospect, but this one has more dancing than any self-respecting noir should have.  I will admit that Pamela Tiffin dancing to surf music while standing on a diving board was pretty funny, but I don't think it was supposed to be that funny.  Most of the lines coming out of Robert Wagner's mouth are dated by his slang, which adds unintentional humor to a movie that isn't trying to make jokes.

Aside from the funny dancing and slang, there's not a whole lot wrong with Harper.  It is definitely an homage to noirs, so it doesn't feel terribly original, but that's not always a big deal.  The one area where this film could have been improved was in the overall feel of the movie.  The characters in this story are pretty sleazy, but the film is dazzling with its handsome cast and bright colors.  Newman manages to look a little scuzzy, but he's the only one who puts any effort into looking the way his character acted: dirty.  Still, the dialogue is often great, there are several memorable scenes, and it's always fun to watch Paul Newman outsmart people.

Slap Shot

It would be an exaggeration for me to claim that I am a big hockey fan.  And by an "exaggeration," I of course mean an "outright lie."  I don't watch hockey.  I don't know the rules or even most of the professional teams.  The last time I can remember watching hockey was when I last saw The Mighty Ducks --- no, wait, make that Van Damme's Sudden Death.  Obviously, it takes roundhouse kicks to the face and/or the least successful Sheen to convince me to watch a hockey movie.  "But Brian, Slap Shot is really funny!"  Who cares?  It's not like I need any help ridiculing Canada.  Do you know how they named their country?  Well, they started with a C, eh? and an N, eh? and a D, eh?  Oh, xenophobia...you so consistently crack me up.

Actually, it turns out that my imaginary protesting voice is right; this might be the hockey movie, but it is also a movie that hockey ignoramuses can easily enjoy.  Slap Shot tells the tale of the a minor league hockey team, the Charlestown Chiefs.  Led by player/manager Reggie Dunlop (Paul Newman), the team is a frequent loser.  Their only bright spot is Ned Braden (Michael Ontkean), a graceful player, although he is criticized for not being aggressive enough.  When the local mill closes down, attendance takes a dive; the team eventually learns that the franchise is going to be disbanded after the season.  Dejected, the Chiefs start to play even worse than before.  Reggie has spent his whole life playing hockey, and managing a terrible team won't get him another managerial job, so he has to think fast.  Why not, he reasons, start a rumor that the team will be sold, not disbanded, after the season to a city in Florida?  Reggie doesn't know who the Chiefs' owner is (and he's tried to find out), so who is going to prove him wrong?  The idea of moving to Florida appeals to the team's players, and their attitudes rapidly improve.  They're still not very good, though.

Enter the Hanson brothers.  The team's general manager (Strother Martin) makes a trade one day and ends up with three young kids with long, blonde hair and an annoying hit single and the ladies (and pedophiles) couldn't get enough --- whoops.  Wrong Hansons.  These Hansons were three young simpletons with coke bottle glasses, loud voices and short attention spans.  Reggie refuses to play them because they are idiots.  Fair enough, I suppose, but this is back when only goalies wore helmets, so this isn't exactly a sport for geniuses.  Eventually, a game gets so bad that Reggie puts the three in to see what they can do.  As it turns out, they can beat the snot out of everyone on the ice.  It doesn't matter if you're by the puck or if you're the referee, you're going down when these guys take the ice.  The three played only a few minutes before being ejected, but the crowd went wild.  Reggie takes note and starts egging his other players on to act more like the Hansons.  The Chiefs start to win and their fans start to take notice.  At what point, though, does playing rough stop being hockey and start being a brawl with nets?

The direction of George Roy Hill is entirely responsible for why this movie works.  The cast is full of professional hockey players, not actors.  Aside from Newman, there are few recognizable actors, just a few occasional television bit players, M. Emmet Walsh, and Brad Sullivan.  And yet, the movie doesn't suffer from a lack of polished acting.  The players basically just play and mispronounce things, eh?  It helps that there are only two characters in the movie, Reggie Dunlop and Ned Braden, and their relationship is a microcosm of the film's primary conflict.  And then there are the Hanson brothers.  If you haven't seen this movie, but have heard hockey fans talking about it, you have heard about the Hansons.  Telling you that they knocked this one guy really hard when he wasn't looking doesn't do them justice.  They're dirty players and the things they do are so obviously wrong, you can't help but laugh.  Their dialogue and delivery are in line with their tough play, just as easy to laugh at and just as difficult to describe.  Let's just say that they're funny.

While the Hanson brothers are what make this movie memorable, Paul Newman's performance is what gives it a semblance of substance.  This isn't the Newman I'm used to seeing in movies, either; he is sneaky, manipulative, and an unrepentant womanizer.  In other words, he's a jerk.  He's still likable (he is Paul Newman, after all), but that edge gives the movie a cynical dark side that most sports movies avoid.

It's too bad that other sports movies haven't followed Slap Shot's style over the years.  Most sports movies are formulaic and a little cheesy.  I like having the main characters be a little bad.  It adds some spice to the story and throws their inevitable victory at the end into question.  This is a film that stands out among sports movies for playing dirty and being rewarded for it --- oh, and those Hansons are pretty awesome, eh?