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Christine is a movie about a car that hardly asks you to think further than a souped-up car analogy when talking about it. It just sits there gleaming a fab cherry-red under the show lights, leaving even those not so car inclined to remark—”Oooh, shiny”. A quick look under the hood may reveal its engine to be nothing but a possum nest, but that’s okay. It doesn’t actually have to go anywhere special. You know its destination so well, you may as well just walk to it yourself.
John Carpenter is all too aware of this. Seeming to know that his audience is likely to be a few interstate turnoffs ahead of the plotting of Stephen King’s demon car fable, he will only bother to point out a few things of note as we quickly roll past. He assumes we can recognize them, even from a distance. Look, a Nerd! He’s buying a car! But it’s an evil car! Watch as their fates becomes intertwined, and he gets the girl and all of his enemies get chased through the street. Carpenter seems to know there is little need to get too much into Arnie Cunningham’s transition from lunch bag dork into evil Danny Zuko greaser. It is made clear the moment his eyes locked on Christines smashed headlights he was done for. As soon as Arnie pops his jacket collar and curls his lip, the audience knows he is gone for good.
While the film treats many of its plot points as little more than landmarks to show its audience we are still on the road to the expected conclusion, these fleeting glimpses we get of Arnie’s world are still vivid enough to work their spell. When bullying is required, all manner of local toughs have a shop class to shake their unkempt locks and practice their switchblading in. When we need to get a sense that home is no salvation, a chain-smoking mother is there to kick Arnie out for daring to have a teenage attitude. And when Arnie’s behavior becomes legally questionable, Harry Dean Stanton offers himself up to shamble around for a few scenes and pretend he’s investigating something. He’s got a rumpled suit and a cigarette, and this is all we will need to know that he means business. Appearances are, after all, everything in Christine.
It really will hardly matter that none of these subplots are ever dealt with much beyond the most surface details. And do they really need to be?. While much of the film may ring emotionally hollow, we always have a gleaming red Plymouth Fury sitting in the center of the film, engine purring and indestructible. Who needs to see the home lives of bullies, or the fall out of domestic battles or whether or not the detectives actually have anything on Arnie beyond goofy speculation of where he buys his car paint? These serious matters are not the kind of youthful currency this film is peddling. Christine only ever promises that Arnie will be seen. And we, as an audience complete this pact by watching him. Who cares if nothing here surprises us. Christine makes a great case for indefinite idling. For looking good while going nowhere.
Christine is a movie about a car that hardly asks you to think further than a souped-up car analogy when talking about it. It just sits there gleaming a fab cherry-red under the show lights, leaving even those not so car inclined to remark—”Oooh, shiny”. A quick look under the hood may reveal its engine to be nothing but a possum nest, but that’s okay. It doesn’t actually have to go anywhere special. You know its destination so well, you may as well just walk to it yourself.
John Carpenter is all too aware of this. Seeming to know that his audience is likely to be a few interstate turnoffs ahead of the plotting of Stephen King’s demon car fable, he will only bother to point out a few things of note as we quickly roll past. He assumes we can recognize them, even from a distance. Look, a Nerd! He’s buying a car! But it’s an evil car! Watch as their fates becomes intertwined, and he gets the girl and all of his enemies get chased through the street. Carpenter seems to know there is little need to get too much into Arnie Cunningham’s transition from lunch bag dork into evil Danny Zuko greaser. It is made clear the moment his eyes locked on Christines smashed headlights he was done for. As soon as Arnie pops his jacket collar and curls his lip, the audience knows he is gone for good.
While the film treats many of its plot points as little more than landmarks to show its audience we are still on the road to the expected conclusion, these fleeting glimpses we get of Arnie’s world are still vivid enough to work their spell. When bullying is required, all manner of local toughs have a shop class to shake their unkempt locks and practice their switchblading in. When we need to get a sense that home is no salvation, a chain-smoking mother is there to kick Arnie out for daring to have a teenage attitude. And when Arnie’s behavior becomes legally questionable, Harry Dean Stanton offers himself up to shamble around for a few scenes and pretend he’s investigating something. He’s got a rumpled suit and a cigarette, and this is all we will need to know that he means business. Appearances are, after all, everything in Christine.
It really will hardly matter that none of these subplots are ever dealt with much beyond the most surface details. And do they really need to be?. While much of the film may ring emotionally hollow, we always have a gleaming red Plymouth Fury sitting in the center of the film, engine purring and indestructible. Who needs to see the home lives of bullies, or the fall out of domestic battles or whether or not the detectives actually have anything on Arnie beyond goofy speculation of where he buys his car paint? These serious matters are not the kind of youthful currency this film is peddling. Christine only ever promises that Arnie will be seen. And we, as an audience complete this pact by watching him. Who cares if nothing here surprises us. Christine makes a great case for indefinite idling. For looking good while going nowhere.