Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior (1981), directed by George Miller

The Trailer
and
The Appropriate Tune: "I Was A Kamikaze Pilot", by Hoodoo Gurus

       I don’t know if I’m just being sentimental or what, but I guess that ‘familiar faces’ label that I stuck on the last Marathon decided to stick around to see the new year as well. First it was the return of James Bond to the blogging arena, something that had been foreshadowed at the very dawn of this blog, and after a short detour to flip the bird to Billy Mitchell, we’re returning to another movie series that had seemingly fallen to the wayside: Mad Max. If I wanted to seem ominous I’d say I was tying up some loose ends, but in reality it was a spur of the moment thing. It was either going to be this or Monkeybone, to give you a sense if the high stakes gambling we were dealing with here. Sorry Brendan Fraser, you’re going to have to take a rain check.

Anyway, about five years ago (which is depressing just thinking about it) I covered the patriarch of the Mad Max series, 1979’s Mad Max, a film that I really, really did not like. For a movie that revolved around muscle cars and motorcycles the plot felt interminably slow, full of characters that I did not care about and the barest modicum of action slotted in at the very end. Then a year later I covered 2015’s Mad Max: Fury Road, a film that I really, really did like. A total dark horse champion at the time that in all honesty should have redefined the way filmmakers approach action sequences in film, while also managing to tell a coherent, entertaining narrative. With such a huge disparity between the two films I was reluctant to bring a new film into the fold, one which would tip the scales and determine whether this series was ultimately good or bad. Was Fury Road the exception to a rule, or was Mad Max just a rocky start? Well it’s right about time that we find out.

The world is fucked. Mankind just couldn’t keep their hands out of the M.A.D. jar and civilization has collapsed, along with most of the ecosystem, although that might just be what Australia looks like. What last pockets of humanity remain either try to band together into communities, or join the vicious bands of marauders that roam the wasteland, but they’re all fighting and dying for one thing: Gasoline. As automobiles have become the backbone of this society, a vital tool of trade and war, petrol has become the lifeblood allowing it to function. To have gas is to have freedom and to own it is power, and in this hell both of those options are worth killing over. Especially when everyone around you is trying to kill you first.

Max is a man racing against the demons of his past, something that’s difficult to do when you’re living in hell. While scavenging for supplies he ends up in the middle of a conflict between the tribe of Gastown, so named because it was jury-rigged from an abandoned oil well, and a gang of leather-strapped S&M bandits led by the Ayatollah of Rock ‘N’ Rolla himself, The Humungus. Humungus wants that sweet sweet guzzolene, and he and his war dogs have been making some incredibly subtle requests for it; Holding day-long battle practice outside their main gate, killing and/or raping every person who tries to leave Gastown in search of trade, using hostages as living hood ornaments, that sort of thing. Sensing an opportunity for personal gain and having previously run afoul of one of Humungus’ men, Max decides to temporarily ally himself with the people of Gastown and pick them up a transport truck so they can hail their ass and their gas out of there. Things go about as well as you’d expect whenever you throw an army of heavily-armed gimps into the mix, and Max quickly finds himself way more involved than he ever wanted.

The Road Warrior approaches being a sequel in much the same way as Fury Road would do in the future, in that it’s not really a ‘sequel’ at all. There’s some clips of of the first film as I mentioned, but aside from the setting and the character of Max Mad Max 2 doesn’t really relate to Mad Max at all. A bit odd in these days of vast overarching narratives spanning dozens of films, but in the case of Mad Max 2 I actually prefer it that way. Not just because I didn’t like the original Mad Max, but because it allows for simple, adaptable storytelling. You didn’t need the entire backstory of Akira Kurosawa’s Yojimbo, or half the film dedicated to how Clint Eastwood’s character in The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly learned to shoot a pistol, because the stories explain themselves. There’s a village plagued by a gang of thieves, a hero comes and vanquishes the thieves, and the villagers are happy. It’s a plot that could take place in the dystopian Australian outback or feudal Japan with no real issues, and I like that because it helps make that hero feel almost timeless. This is not Max, the rogue cop on the edge from the last film. This is The Road Warrior, a being more of myth than of man.

This belief is aided by the fact that George Miller had attained a far greater sense for action by his second ever feature film. The car combat that blew audiences away in Fury Road got its start here, a little less high-octane but just as technically impressive and dangerous looking as ever. It brings to mind images of privateers attacking supply ships or whaling expeditions, the target struggling for life as the pack slowly whittle it down, a slow burn kind of tension that is contrasted nicely by the general speed of the action. Getting to see some sick explosions and cars getting demolished is fun too, a couple folks getting set on fire, but it’s the vehicle battles that are the centerpiece of Mad Max 2.

As for cons, there’s not really much in the way of interesting characters. Memorable characters sure, I’d say The Humungus and his crew fit that bill, but characters that I grew attached to on an emotional level? Max is badass, yeah, but that’s primarily when he’s driving something. Everyone else feels just kind of there, you know? They throw in the Feral Child to try and soften up Max but I just really didn’t see any chemistry chemistry. The Gyro Captain, played by Bruce Spence, is pretty great though I must admit. At the very least he gives you something to focus on while looking at ol’ Mel the Bigot’s one expression through the first half of the film, and you have to credit for that.

I also wasn’t blown away by the score of the film, composed by Brian May. It’s an effective score, but I never really took notice at any point that I can remember. Which is arguably one of the major points of music in film, that it not take precedence over what’s on the screen, but I expected a bit more from a member of a rock band famous for extremely catchy, often operatic songs which sometimes involved cars. 

       Mad Max 2 is the film that made the series a household name, and it’s the film that first made you wonder why studios ended up sticking George Miller with Babe: Pig in the City rather than just dumping money on him so he could make more leather daddy apocalypse flicks. Too much of a good thing I suppose. While Fury Road is still number one in my heart, if you’re at all interested in understanding all this weirdness then this is the movie to check out. Maybe the only other movie to check out, because it’ll probably be another five years until I check out Beyond Thunderdome. Until then, make sure you stock up on guzzolene and canned dog food. For the future. 

The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters (2007), directed by Seth Gordon

The Trailer

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The Appropriate Tune: "Donkey Kong Rap", by Grant Kirkhope

       These days video games are a pretty big deal. They’ve got their own conventions and trade shows, people make thousands of dollars screaming at them on youtube, and  games like Starcraft and League of Legends are even placed on a level approaching soccer and baseball with managers and corporate sponsors (although they all seem equally tiresome to attempt watching).  Back in the day however, when games came in boxes the size of refrigerators and Super Mario Brothers: The Movie was still a twinkle in Shigeru Miyamoto’s eye, video games were the domain of hobbyists (ie nerds) and especially the concept of competitive gaming, which at the time centered around high scores. The media at the time certainly didn’t give a shit, so if you were able to get them to say you the greatest at Pac-Man or Tapper, then that was what you were. There was no proper oversight committee, no real verification process, it was a wild frontier where some could craft whatever image of themselves that they wanted. Which some did.

And then later some folks made a movie about it.

On its surface The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters is a movie about video games. The arcade classics to be precise, Galaga, Space Invaders, Centipede, and of course Donkey Kong. At its heart though, it’s about two men who play arcade games. On one side is Billy Mitchell, a man who at 17 got 825,000 points in Donkey Kong, then the world record, and transitioned it into the most minor of celebrity status. On the other is Steve Wiebe; Former student, family man, school teacher, and a man who managed to film himself not only breaking Billy’s 22 year old record but scoring over one million points in one game. This naturally draws the attention of the competitive arcade gaming community, and that of King Geek himself Billy Mitchell, who’s none too happy about it. Lies, conspiracies and controversies abound as Steve Wiebe struggles to reach the mountaintop, kept at bay at every turn by the machinations  of Billy Mitchell, for about the lowest possible stakes you can imagine. By the end of this film, you will believe a portly Italian man with a mustache can jump.

Perhaps I’ve watched too much Trailer Park Boys or Parks & Recreation in my time, but watching The King of Kong there’s this intense atmosphere of surreality that exudes from it. I mean you’ll see the constant upselling of arcade games like they’re high art, or watch people behaving like blatantly petty sycophants, hear the by 2019 standards stereotypically cheezy soundtrack (including Eye of the Tiger obviously) or just listen to Billy for about two seconds and it’s easy to forget that these are actual people and not Seth Gordon trying to rip off The Office. Even ol’ Wiebe, our audience surrogate, seems to be the universe’s punching bag in a way not entirely unlike your typical Brit-comedy protagonist. The utter lack of self-awareness brings to mind another popular documentary film of the era, Sacha Baron Cohen’s Borat, although not nearly as crude or  racist. Although the competitive arcade gaming community isn’t exactly the most diverse in the world either, going off of this film.

Of course, the primary reason one might want to watch A Fistful of Quarters is the reason why you wouldn’t bother: Billy Mitchell. Everything about this guy seems to have been constructed in a lab to be as unlikable as humanly possible. From his hang-dog cromagnon features, his tacky ties, to his tone deaf narcissism as he strokes his ego or puts down others, it goes beyond the common ‘love to hate him’ dynamic that we’re all familiar with and steps into ‘actually fuck this guy’. That it was eventually revealed years after the release of this film that Mitchell cheated should come as no surprise, because throughout the entirety of The King of Kong he is painted as a man of supreme cowardice, who has built up an army of unquestioning bootlickers in order to protect his fragile ego. That this film didn’t end with Steven Wiebe saying ‘fuck Donkey Kong’ and deciding to stomp Mitchell’s giant bearded face into the pavement after all the shit he was put through is its greatest tragedy.

If you’ve seen Borat or Waiting for Guffman and you’ve been hungry for some more of that kind of insular weirdness, of if you’ve got this sick wish to see if Billy Mitchell really is as shitty as I’m building him up to be, then The King of Kong might scratch that itch for you. With arcades being more or less nonexistent in the U.S. these days and the turn of the 21st century technology on display you could even see it as something of a nostalgia trip movie for these modern times. However it’s also on the far side of anything really dramatic, and even for a 90 minute film it feels like the filmmakers are forced to pad things out to keep you from noticing that barely anything is going on. In some ways I suppose that increases that surreal atmosphere I mentioned earlier, yet as with the other documentaries I’ve reviewed in the past I feel as if I’m at a loss for anything more to say. Avoid the barrels if you can, avoid the movie if you want.

On Her Majesty's Secret Service (1969), directed by Peter Hunt

The Trailer
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The Appropriate Tune: "Cross Country Skiing", by Heidecker and Wood

       I might have mentioned it before, but I’m not exactly the biggest James Bond fan in the world. Even before I found the idea of glorifying state-sponsored murder rather distasteful, there was always something about the franchise that I found very manufactured. That Bond always had to have the fancy cars and suits, that women had to throw themselves at him at every opportunity, it all seemed rather dull to me. Laughable even, although growing up in Austin Powers might have helped that along a bit.  That James Bond was the pinnacle of manliness, the ideal male power fantasy, ultimately seemed embarrassing to me because it apparently meant that men peaked at 14 years old. Might as have the next Bond film be about 007 arguing about pewdiepie in a youtube video comment section and finally complete the cycle. Theme song by Beyonce.

Way back near the dawn of this blog I actually covered another Bond film, 1987’s The Living Daylights, starring Timothy Dalton. A rather unfortunate fate, those Dalton-Bond era films; An attempt at a darker, more serious take on the character in reaction to the goofier Roger Moore era films that was abandoned after two films for the slightly less goofy Pierce Brosnan era, and sort of forgotten afterwards. Arguably not the fate they deserve, although I recall Daylights as being rather dry, but at the end of that review I mentioned that one day I would be covering a movie that some people might wish they could forget. The black sheep of the franchise, aside from all those other shitty ones of course. I’m talking, of course, about On Her Majesty’s Secret Service.

While out on his regular international jaunt, secret agent James Bond ends up saving the life of a strange, beautiful woman who is trying to drown herself at sea. The woman as it turns out is the Contessa Theresa Di Vincenzo, the strong-willed daughter of Draco Di Vincenzo, local industry magnate/crime boss. Draco’s idea of helping his daughter’s sense of well-being is paying some dude she just met to have sex with her, and having sex with women he barely knows is Bond’s whole thing. More importantly though, 007 is looking for information on the location of one Ernst Stavro Blofeld, international criminal mastermind and known lover of white cats. Blofeld has been in hiding for a while now, but the rumblings through the underworld seem to place him getting some shenanigans in Switzerland. Shenanigans which, if successful, could spell the end for millions of lives and the global economy. Which probably isn’t good, so it’s up to James Bond to save the day in his very special way.

So let’s start with the elephant in the room: James Bond himself. After Sean Connery decided to depart the series, the powers-that-be decided to bring in former model George Lazenby to fill the role. Not a bad idea necessarily -- While he didn’t have Connery’s rugged charisma, Lazenby literally had the skills to pay the bills in the looks department, and his youthful energy (Lazenby was only 29 when this movie came out) meant that he had the physicality for the role. The money they could potentially save by slotting in a young fresh replacement for Connery in their franchise and low balling him on the contract likely also had a hand in the decision.   

Then he decides to talk.

Now you could pin the blame on inexperience (this was Lazenby’s debut film), or the fact that we was segregated from the rest of the cast during filming, leading to some onscreen and offscreen tension between him and the cast, but the fact is the moment he opens his mouth all that charisma fades away. The man has an astounding lack of range, it’s as if they had someone run through the entire film and physically mix his audio to be as passive as possible. Good enough, but still not great, when Lazenby needs to put on the Bond charm, but when he needs to have some emotional range (which this script explicitly calls for) it’s like you’re transported back to a high school drama class. When  you’ve got not only the series regulars but actors like Diana Rigg and Telly Savalas, Lazenby seems almost a second wheel in his own damn movie. He’s James Bond sure, he does all the James Bond things, but through every action sequence and every one liner you get the sense that there should be an asterisk every time his name pops up in the script. I’d almost feel bad for him if he wasn’t a millionaire actor/former model.

       Speaking of Mr. Kojak, I have to say that Blofeld might be my favorite character in the film. Clearly evil, clearly the villain, performed in a very calm, understated way. You can see why they decided to base their design of Lex Luthor on Savalas when they were working on Superman: The Animated Series. You could totally believe that this dude is bad enough and smart enough to pose a threat to the Man of Steel. That we never got Telly Savalas as Luthor in the Superman films is actually a bit of a shame, now that I've finally seen him as Blofeld.

I’m also not a huge fan of how the story is structured. The film is over two hours long in total, the first hour being dedicated to the Bond/Tracy relationship, and the second to Blofeld’s virus plot, eventually crossing by the end. It works, in the same way that a rock works as a hammer, but at the same time the two plots feel very disconnected from each other. That Tracy just so happens to be Draco’s daughter, who just so happens to be the one person who can point out the whereabouts of Blofeld seems a bit convenient even for a dumb action movie, as is Tracy’s deus ex machina return to the plot near the end, which seems to only exist in order to remind us that she still exists. Even though the last hour of the movie you just watched didn’t even acknowledge her existence until that moment and had Bond do his normal banging random women routine, and that we’re basing a ‘one true love’ relationship on about two weeks and a montage. It feels like you need more development on the romance but it’s the Blofeld section that the audience came to see, so you’ve got the odd situation of a two and a half hour movie feeling cramped and rushed at the same time.

On Her Majesty’s Secret Service does find time to squeeze in some old fashioned racism and misogyny though. Whether it’s having the only Black woman in the film eating a dinner consisting solely of bananas, or Tracy’s father basically stating that she needs to get over the death of her mother by being fucked into submissiveness (and of course both he and Bond get a chance to sucker punch her), it’s just enough to remind you that the 007 franchise has always been pretty lame. That Tracy gets one scene where barely manages to fend off a single guard doesn’t really change much. And yeah, it being ‘a different time’ doesn’t either.

If there’s one thing I’ll give the movie though, it’s in its setting. Portugal looks okay, but once the film transitions to Switzerland it gets downright lovely. The filmmakers knew it too, because we get a whole bunch of snow-related stuff. Aerial shots of the Alps, open vistas, the  skiing scenes (which feel about three hours long) and for some reason a fight scene that takes place in a bobsled. No one ever seems all that cold, despite things like being buried under snow for minutes at a time, but I guess it wouldn’t be the ultimate male power fantasy if 007’s dick fell off from frostbite. I’m not even remotely interested in skiing and it made me want to visit the Swiss Alps, which was probably the point. Even if Bond fans weren’t happy with this movie, I’m sure the Swiss Tourism Bureau was.

Lastly, the music. Not much to say on that front, except that for some reason it seems like they added a synthesizer or some kind of electric organ to the Bond theme. It ended up making it sound tinny and rather unpleasant to the ears, but it only really comes up during the beginning and the ending so it’s forgivable. Not sure why you would even want to mess around with one of the most recognizable pieces of music in Western cinema, to be honest, seems like an unnecessary risk. Just give the audience the horns and shit and you’re golden.

On Her Majesty’s Service has an easy enough story and decent action, but given what they were aiming for, the new face of the franchise, an attempt at pathos, it falls short of expectations. Certainly watchable, it’s not the worst movie I’ve ever seen by a long shot, but at the same time I’m no more a Bond fan after watching it as when I started. Give it a shot if you’re feeling so inclined, but it’s not really a priority viewing. 

James Bond Will Return 

In

Never Say Never Again