marcusman48

There are numerous reasons why Walter Hill's THE WARRIORS remains a classic film - and arguably not simply a cult classic, but a true classic - despite its very much of-its-time sensibilities. Somewhat ironically, the movie's acting is not among those reasons. With the exception of two bravura efforts by Roger Hill and David Patrick Kelly, one will not find "command performances" here (although James Remar and Deborah Van Valkenburgh do gnaw quite a bit on the scenery). Other than that, the acting is hard-boiled and generic. But then, the lack of flair in the acting department is arguably one of the film's unsung strengths. As the main protagonist, for example, Michael Beck, while not exactly sympathetic, is an easily relatable hero. He's very much like Henry Fonda in 12 ANGRY MEN - except, of course, for the long hair and the bare chest.

Much more remarkable are all the ways in which THE WARRIORS managed to create a thrilling cinematic experience that still holds up today, despite its low budget. The list is a long one: set design (such as it is), dialogue, music, costume design, makeup, thematic elements. But most worthy of mention is Andrew Laszlo's cinematography. I love the camera's aesthetic, which is very "1970s" but, in a number of ways, is more compelling than any filmic style you'll see today. It is rooted in realism, but the "reality" it depicts is clearly a "heightened" variety, as we see the dark New York City streets illuminated as if by nighttime stage lights. And the outlandish goings-on seen throughout much of the film compound the surreal atmosphere. The end result is wonderfully paradoxical: it is an awe-inspiring experience to imagine that the fantastical events depicted could actually be happening, or once did happen.

But the "look" of this film would be insignificant without a strong story and solid thematic content, and THE WARRIORS possesses these in spades. It is remembered, somewhat condescendingly, as a "typical" late '70s film, but I think it is more accurate to think of it as a '60s film made a full decade too late. It is, after all, adapted from Sol Yurick's 1965 novel of the same name (and its tagline, "These are the armies of the night," obviously echoes the title of Norman Mailer's 1968 novel). More to the point, the movie's premise of a gangland insurrection contains quite a few overtones and undertones of political radicalism, and visual reminders of the '60s counterculture are not uncommon. (It is interesting to note that the original novel was inspired in part by Xenophon's 4th century B. C. epic ANABASIS, so the film also offers allusions to Greek myth and legend for those who care to look for them.)

But there is so much more in THE WARRIORS to capture the imagination. The movie's soundtrack - an assortment of disco, hard rock, and early synthpop, plus a few would-be radio hits - is rightly famous, as is its carnivalesque depiction of inner-city life (an influence on the Insane Clown Posse's "Dark Carnival" mythology, perhaps?). The action sequences, too, are first-rate - intense and thrilling. (Given that the cops who are looking for the Warriors are no less silently menacing than the rival gang members out for revenge, the mood of suspense is non-stop.) And few films have captured the frustration and tedium of making one's way through New York City's countless neighborhoods more effectively than this one.

It is unfortunate that THE WARRIORS will probably never be taken completely seriously by film critics and historians, in part because of the campy 2005 video game adaptation released in its "honor" (which I have played, and which is undeniably addictive and a hell of a lot of fun). But all those who are able to peer beyond the lens of the "cult" prejudice will be able to appreciate both Walter Hill's cinematic genius and his penchant for visual pizazz. From the opening image of a lit-up Ferris wheel - both innocent and eerie - to the final shot of a carefree romp along Coney Island's beach, THE WARRIORS is unforgettable.

SHANG-CHI AND THE LEGEND OF THE TEN RINGS is being called "the Asian BLACK PANTHER," and I think this is an inaccurate description for two reasons. First, Asian cultures have been explored in-depth by Hollywood since the 1970s at the latest, and in ways that sub-Saharan African cultures have not. But second, and more to the point, SHANG-CHI is really just a mashup of two Hollywood subgenres that have been around for quite some time: the "ethnic discovery" film and the "stupid American tourist" film.

The "ethnic discovery" film is the more recent type and by far the more interesting, ultimately inspired by Alex Haley's famous TV miniseries "Roots." It documents the saga of a protagonist who learns - or relearns - about his or her heritage and embarks on a quest to fully embrace that heritage. A good example I can think of is THUNDERHEART, in which an FBI agent (Val Kilmer) comes to appreciate his father's Native American ancestry while on a case on a Lakota reservation; a more famous but fantasy-based example is STAR WARS, in which Luke Skywalker learns that he has Jedi blood. On the surface, SHANG-CHI definitely follows this pattern.

Unfortunately, the movie's "ethnic discovery" theme is undercut by the clichés of an even older Hollywood storyline: what one film historian has dubbed the "racial adventure film," but which I simply call the "stupid American tourist film." Common since the 1930s, this film plot follows Western (and almost always white) characters as they visit an "exotic" foreign land - often for purely exploitative purposes - and proceed to reveal their ignorance about the "native" culture. It has always been demeaning to both the "colonizing" and indigenous peoples, since the former are forced to make buffoons of themselves and the latter must bear the humiliation of not being taken seriously.

SHANG-CHI is an "ethnic rediscovery" film in that two Chinese-Americans from San Francisco learn (and, in one case, relearn) about the culture of their ancestors; but it is also a racial adventure film in that they are essentially Westerners who travel to China and find themselves in the midst of a culture clash. While not white - and, in the case of the titular character, an immigrant - Shang-Chi and his girlfriend otherwise fit the role of the "stupid American tourist" with their unmistakably American accents, annoying use of slang, pointless pop-culture references, and wisecracking sarcasm. The twist here is that, like Kilmer in THUNDERHEART, they revert to their "noble savage" origins once they have traveled to an "ethnic" place and "gone native."

Not incidentally, there's one more way in which SHANG-CHI AND THE LEGEND OF THE TEN RINGS differs dramatically from BLACK PANTHER. While both are based on "non-Western" comic book sagas created by white men, BLACK PANTHER turns stereotypes about black Africans completely inside-out, giving us fantastic science fiction instead of hackneyed "jungle" adventure. But SHANG-CHI is just the usual "kung pow" hash about the Orient, presented ironically but also in a way that isn't terribly original.

In fact, if there's another Marvel movie this one closely resembles, it's not BLACK PANTHER but DEADPOOL. Both combine wacky humor and serious (and even "dark") subject matter in a way that's very jarring and ultimately exasperating. But at least DEADPOOL felt fresh.