Maximum Overdrive (1986)

Director: Stephen King

Cast: Emilio Estevez, Pat Hingle, Laura Harrington, Christopher Murney

Have I Seen it Before: Yes, but there’s an odd story there. At press time, we’re getting ready to do an episode of Beyond the Cabin in the Woods on the movie, and I vaguely tried to put the kibosh on such a thing, not because the film positively reeks from beginning to end, but because I have the strongest, clearest memory of not only watching the movie, but discussing it on the podcast. The forensic evidence is clear. We have no episode on the movie, but the memory persists.

Did I Like It: Of course not, who would? Not King, not Estevez, even the inevitable re-evaluation period that all bad movies are seemingly owed now is half-hearted, at best.

The film is excessively talky, and badly written (you had one job, Steve). It’s not enough that it opens with a title card that reads very boring, but the film ends with another one (you would think that the text of the thing would rise above, but no; Steve had one job).

The performances are all over the place, the special effects are practically non-existent, and the editing is such that I’m reasonably sure that the late, great Pat Hingle was just about to be shot to death by a sentient machine gun (really), the shot cuts away, and then we’re not only treated to a stunt double when the film cuts back, but the stunt double has splashes of red paint on him. It wasn’t like they were concerned about injuring the future Commissioner Gordon with squibs.

All of this—maybe intentional?—camp might be forgiven or enjoyed for what its worth, if it weren’t for the fact that the film groans from tis own sense of boredom with itself. King himself fights an ATM in the early goings, AC/DC keeps the tempo up, and one thinks some measure of fun is ahead. Not so, all that we’re left with by the end is a semi-truck nudging (really) Emilio Estevez into cooperating with their demands. One wonders if that is what coming down off a cocaine high is really like.

Repo Man (1984)

Director: Alex Cox

Cast: Harry Dean Stanton, Emilio Estevez, Tracey Walter, Olivia Barash

Have I Seen it Before: Never. It always existed just beyond my radar. Always felt just a little bit grungier than my tastes would normally drift toward. But, once again Circle Cinema could get me to show up for just about anything if it was being projected in 35mm.

Did I Like It: It was simultaneously a shame that I had missed it all this time, and more than a little great that I managed to first catch it in the best available format.

Rare that a movie made after the 1960s would actually serve to inspire John Carpenter and not the other way around, but They Live (1988) might have been a simple alien invasion story without this film’s influences.

And honestly? Do I really want to use this space for a confession? I think this film trucks in a lot of the same iconography and feelings, and does so far more effectively.

Estevez is a more able leading man of the movies than Roddy Piper*. The film views the world of the 80s with the same jaded eye, but manages to offer its both protagonist and the world at large something of a chance at a happy ending. In short, Carpenter’s pitch-black nihilism fills the later film, where whimsy of a sort wins the day here. Then again, there is a fundamental misanthropy here which makes it clear that the people of Earth are the real problems, whereas the aliens might not mean us any intentional harm.

*I wouldn’t take that terribly personally if I were Piper. No wrestler—for all of the skills it takes to engage in that kind of a performance—has ever offered a screen presence equal to even the most nominal of movie actors. Dwayne Johnson might want to take that assessment personally.

St. Elmo’s Fire (1985)

Director: Joel Schumacher

Cast: Rob Lowe, Demi Moore, Emilio Estevez, Ally Sheedy

Have I Seen It Before: Sure.

Did I Like It: Question before we go any further. How did fully half of <The Breakfast Club (1985)> go from detention to that disaffected first year after college in less than six months? Isn’t that the biggest special effect asking us to leap from our logic in 1985?

If I’m asking those kinds of questions about the movie, I couldn’t have along for the ride, free of any self-consciousness. The reputation of the film is one of general revulsion, countered only by the fact that it appealed and continues to appeal to a certain subset of the population who were that terrible in 1985. As an infant at the time, I was probably terrible, but at least I had an excuse.

I think you would be hard pressed to find a review that isn’t fixated on just how terrible all of the characters. And that’s because they are. Well, everyone except Wendy (Mare Winningham), about whom I spend the entire runtime wondering why she was hanging out with these people. It celebrates their worst impulse not only for far longer than any sane film would have, but as a central, load-bearing element of the entire film’s rationale for existing in the first place.

Several of them ought to be arrested*. Most of them probably ought to not have jobs. I can’t imagine any of them adding value to the universe by marrying and having kids.

You might think I’ve become an old fuddy duddy (or as the movie would have you believe: interested in a quiet place for brunch). You might think I have some unresolved issues with the films of Joel Schumacher. <The Flash (2023)> kinda proved that much, so I’ll cede that point, if nothing else.

Here’s where the problem lies in the film. Much of it rings unnervingly true, making the film all the more frustrating. Have I worked in a job in social services where—if the film had bothered to stay a moment longer in the scene—it would have become the single most preposterous series of events ever captured on film? Maybe… Did I spend any sustained moment of my twenties with a particular opinion about Billy Joel’s The Stranger**? I mean, sure. Didn’t we all? Was I the President of my college’s Young Democrats, only to slowly realize that if I were to have any kind of future in politics, I was really going to have to switch sides? Listen: at least I decided to get out of the game all together. Did I ever (read: usually) try to weird my affection for and knowledge of the films of Woody Allen as my opening line with women?

Damn it, Schumacher. I didn’t come to the movies to get called out like that.

*They are all male, in case you were wondering, and I’m mostly thinking about Kirbo (Estevez), before who you think I’m thinking of, although he should spend some time in a cell, too. Incidentally, I also don’t think there is any way Kirbo ended up successfully finishing a year of law school, to say nothing of becoming a lawyer. Don’t ask me how I know.

**I still don’t quite know what Alec (Judd Nelson) was on about in that scene. If you can explain it to me, please reach out to me on any still-functioning social media platform.

The Breakfast Club (1985)

Director: John Hughes

Cast: Emilio Estevez, Paul Gleason, Anthony Michael Hall, Judd Nelson

Have I Seen it Before: Oh, sure. I think anyone who’s had cable at any point in their lives has probably pieced together the film a few minutes at a time.

Did I Like It: I think my reaction in the past to this movie is pretty easy to sum up. It’s a minimalist wonder, and I don’t like Molly Ringwald all that much. I never really liked Molly Ringwald, and I could never quite get through Pretty in Pink (1986) because of it.

But that feels like a reaction that’s not entirely equal to the current moment. In the past, the film’s refusal to answer the question of whether or not the characters would feel the same about each other on Monday as they did during their stint in detention was an optimistic choice, as we were allowed to believe that this Saturday had truly changed their adolescent lives. Not only were things back the way they were within the next week, by the end of April, 1984, I imagine they barely remembered anything that happened in March. I guess that is the cynicism that comes with time. It may not be the film’s fault.

Yes, this film proves to be largely less pointedly problematic as, say, Sixteen Candles (1984) seems to delight in being, but with a leering, abusive protagonist like John Bender (Nelson) at its core (and he is the hero of the piece, don’t kid yourself), the movie does seem to ever so slightly wilt as the years continue. That toxicity Bender delights in (and I’d venture to say might be Hughes’ true proxy in the piece) is pontificated on (among a larger reckoning with Hughesenalia) by Molly Ringwald in a recent piece for The New Yorker. I’d recommend you five the piece a read. It certainly moved me from being a dyed-in-the-wool supporter of the film to someone who wants to keep its true nature in perspective.

Maybe I need to finally get over my bullshit and watch Pretty in Pink all the way through.