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#489 - They Live
John Carpenter, 1988
A homeless construction worker discovers a pair of sunglasses that allow him to see that the world is controlled by grotesque humanoid aliens in disguise.
Watching this on a double-bill with Hell Comes to Frogtown probably didn't do the former any favours, nor did the fact that They Live has been a favourite of mine for close to a decade. More of this has to do that this film involves one of my favourite filmmakers at the helm, building a lean and mean little film based around his considerable dissatisfaction with the reckless consumerism and class warfare prompted by the Reagan administration. He combines this with an extended homage to 1950s B-movies such as Invasion of the Body Snatchers (though not nearly as ambiguous in its metaphor, though it would be interesting to see someone try to interpret this film as being pro-capitalism), with the vibe of such films definitely manifesting in how actual reality is only ever seen in classic black-and-white instead of full-bodied colour. Of course, the film does more than ground itself in the '80s through the casting of Roddy Piper as its hero. While there's always a part of me that will wonder how this film would have gone if Carpenter had cast regular collaborator Kurt Russell (who had up to that point always been there if a Carpenter film needed an unambiguous leading man), it is very difficult to imagine this film being quite as charming as it is without Piper and his character's particular brand of everyman charisma that is believable even when he segues into bubblegum-related one-liners. This much is supplanted by the always-dependable Keith David as one of Piper's co-workers, and the two have great chemistry in virtually every single scene they share. The rest of the cast are merely serviceable - Carpenter regular Peter Jason makes for an affable enough member of the human resistance, while Meg Foster is a serious ice queen who I'm still not sure is giving an appropriate performance or an underwhelming one.
Given its relatively low budget, Carpenter and co. do render their sci-fi allegory reasonably well. The sunglasses that turn the world to black-and-white are a simple yet effective plot device as they reveal many stark subliminal messages underneath seemingly innocuous billboards as well as the bug-eyed and mottled faces of the alien oppressors. It's all shot through with Carpenter's ability for doing more with less as he crafts a slick yet down-to-earth B-movie, even as the film does enter some ridiculous territory when it decides to throw in some action. That being said, the lengthy back-alley fight that happens between Piper and David about two-thirds of the way through the film still remains one of the greatest scenes in Carpenter's career, with the two actors fully going at it and exchanging barbs and blows for about six straight minutes. It certainly compensates for when the film spends its final third act indulging some fairly standard gunfighting action. There's also the fact that the first act takes a while to set things up and get the film going, but that slow-burn nature is helped once again by Piper and David. I also like the score (once again composed by Carpenter and regular musical collaborator Alan Howarth), with the synthesised-sounding mix of country and blues being the perfect fit for a setting that's all about creating the ideal America out of sheer artifice. The fact that it's still so eminently watchable thanks to its bizarre cult charm means I'm going to give it an extremely subjectively and unusually high rating. Now it's time for me to go get some more bubblegum.
John Carpenter, 1988
A homeless construction worker discovers a pair of sunglasses that allow him to see that the world is controlled by grotesque humanoid aliens in disguise.
Watching this on a double-bill with Hell Comes to Frogtown probably didn't do the former any favours, nor did the fact that They Live has been a favourite of mine for close to a decade. More of this has to do that this film involves one of my favourite filmmakers at the helm, building a lean and mean little film based around his considerable dissatisfaction with the reckless consumerism and class warfare prompted by the Reagan administration. He combines this with an extended homage to 1950s B-movies such as Invasion of the Body Snatchers (though not nearly as ambiguous in its metaphor, though it would be interesting to see someone try to interpret this film as being pro-capitalism), with the vibe of such films definitely manifesting in how actual reality is only ever seen in classic black-and-white instead of full-bodied colour. Of course, the film does more than ground itself in the '80s through the casting of Roddy Piper as its hero. While there's always a part of me that will wonder how this film would have gone if Carpenter had cast regular collaborator Kurt Russell (who had up to that point always been there if a Carpenter film needed an unambiguous leading man), it is very difficult to imagine this film being quite as charming as it is without Piper and his character's particular brand of everyman charisma that is believable even when he segues into bubblegum-related one-liners. This much is supplanted by the always-dependable Keith David as one of Piper's co-workers, and the two have great chemistry in virtually every single scene they share. The rest of the cast are merely serviceable - Carpenter regular Peter Jason makes for an affable enough member of the human resistance, while Meg Foster is a serious ice queen who I'm still not sure is giving an appropriate performance or an underwhelming one.
Given its relatively low budget, Carpenter and co. do render their sci-fi allegory reasonably well. The sunglasses that turn the world to black-and-white are a simple yet effective plot device as they reveal many stark subliminal messages underneath seemingly innocuous billboards as well as the bug-eyed and mottled faces of the alien oppressors. It's all shot through with Carpenter's ability for doing more with less as he crafts a slick yet down-to-earth B-movie, even as the film does enter some ridiculous territory when it decides to throw in some action. That being said, the lengthy back-alley fight that happens between Piper and David about two-thirds of the way through the film still remains one of the greatest scenes in Carpenter's career, with the two actors fully going at it and exchanging barbs and blows for about six straight minutes. It certainly compensates for when the film spends its final third act indulging some fairly standard gunfighting action. There's also the fact that the first act takes a while to set things up and get the film going, but that slow-burn nature is helped once again by Piper and David. I also like the score (once again composed by Carpenter and regular musical collaborator Alan Howarth), with the synthesised-sounding mix of country and blues being the perfect fit for a setting that's all about creating the ideal America out of sheer artifice. The fact that it's still so eminently watchable thanks to its bizarre cult charm means I'm going to give it an extremely subjectively and unusually high rating. Now it's time for me to go get some more bubblegum.