Michael Lehmann's Heathers (1989)

Heathers is the first movie that Film Club has shown twice in eight years. Is it the best movie we’ve shown such that it bears repeating? Not necessarily – we think that honor would go to Cidade de Deus (City of God) – but Heathers fits neatly into this year’s theme, The Movies Go to High School, as it did eight years ago, when the theme was Adolescence on Film. And it is an excellent film.

You wouldn’t know it from the box office receipts. Heathers bombed when it opened in 1988, only earning roughly a million dollars (that’s about two million today). Compare that to Mean Girls which earned almost 130 million worldwide in 2004. So what accounts for the continued interest and screenings of Heathers? We would argue that it is a product of its satirical approach to its subject – conformity and cliquishness in the American high school.

If you’re not familiar with the nature of satire, it goes like this. Satire is a literary form that mocks, ridicules, or shames the behaviors – foolish, greedy, misguidedly earnest, or otherwise – of people who have power over us and carries that criticism to the society that allows it as well. English teachers often point to Jonathan Swift’s essay “A Modest Proposal,” in which the writer suggested, in the 18th century, that the Irish might solve their economic and domestic difficulties if they simply sold their kids to rich people as food. No, he wasn’t serious; he was mocking people’s insensitivity to the impoverished and the ineffective Irish policies that exacerbated the situation.

Heathers takes on a less national political issue and instead focuses on the politics of social groupings within the high school community. In this way, it is very much like Mean Girls, except that because it was made 16 years earlier, we have to say that  Mean Girls  is a lot like Heathers. Whereas Mean Girls exhibits a relatively tame satire, though, Heathers pulls no punches. The Heathers, a triumvirate of social queen bees, is the equivalent of Girls’ Plastics, but not all of them will survive the movie. Mean Girls jokes about killing off the Plastics; Heathers actually does it. And a couple jocks, to boot. And while  Mean Girls attacks cliquishness per se, Heathers goes after social tyranny, homophobia, and the superficiality of judging people by how they look. So people get murdered, schools get blown up, students promote a national suicide day, and everyone says the F-word a lot. From this we come to understand just how undesirable these behaviors are. Satire, see?

Of course, this makes some viewers uncomfortable. In general, mainstream readers, viewers, and art-goers can be fairly literal minded. Satire, by its nature, is outrageous. If you took Heathers literally, you might conclude that it promotes the murder of adolescent jerks. But we at Film Club believe that you are a discerning and sophisticated movie-goer. We believe you can tell the difference between satire and realism. Just in case, we have a little test for you.

Our cartoon tonight is Chuck Jones’s iconic “Rabbit Seasoning,” in which Daffy Duck tries to distract hunter Elmer Fudd from the fact that it is duck hunting season by convincing him it is rabbit season. Bugs deftly and wittily turns the tables on him at every turn, usually resulting in Daffy getting his bill shot off. If you see this cartoon on TV, it is almost certainly edited; all the seconds of violence (a boom and a cloud of smoke around Daffy’s head, then his bill relocated in a place different from where it should be) gone, and with them the punch-line of most of the jokes. It is UNwatchable. But censors have determined that kids watching the cartoon might misunderstand the violence, that they might determine that it’s “okay” to shoot people. Studies support both sides of the issue – children are affected by constant exposure to violence on TV and in video games; children easily distinguish between “cartoon violence” and the real thing. So there’s your test: which are you?

We feel that both “Rabbit Seasoning” and Heathers ask the audience to think (and both use humor to do so). We’d rather have that than the alternative. So enjoy Heathers, but please don’t kill anyone.

R. Findlay
Film Club Adviser

Mark Waters' Mean Girls (2004)

The best villains in film do not believe that they are evil. A movie’s “good” and “bad” sides that create conflict are often relative, a complexity that makes both the characters and the movie more enjoyable. Imagine taking on the role of a villain. You can’t think: “My character knows what he (or she) is doing is bad but does it anyway.” That’s not real. The villainous characters must truly think that their side or course of action is the right way.

In Joss Whedon’s film, Dr. Horrible’s Sing-a-long Blog (2008), for example, the main character (played by Neil Patrick Harris) has a goal; he wants to make it into the Evil League of Evil, and he must commit murder for his application to be successful. But watching him, understanding his motives and his goals and his life, the viewer ends up rooting for him. Really. You root for the villain, instead of the hero, because even when he’s doing bad, he believes it’s for the best. And because in understanding that, you have sympathy for him.

In other films, the ones that take a more two-dimensional approach to heroism, villains still exist, but they are not presented in the in-depth way that Dr. Horrible does. We here at Film Club like complex villains. And we think this accounts for some of the most truly evil, but also most amazing, characters of all time: Heath Ledger’s Joker from The Dark Knight; Anthony Perkins’ Norman Bates from Psycho; Edith Hamilton’s Wicked Witch of the West from The Wizard of Oz; and finally, Rachel McAdams’ Regina George from Mean Girls.

But the beauty of Mean Girls is not just in the way that it avoids the cliché “good girl” vs. “mean girl, or the way that the obvious villain, Regina, is portrayed. It’s the way that the true villain is brought out of hiding. Cady, the main character played by Lindsay Lohan, is a perfectly clean slate, a character who the way evil might develop in all of us. Throughout the film,  Cady may start out pure and honest, but as the film progresses she loses her moral balance and an imperfect sense of the line between right and wrong.

At the beginning of the film, Cady doesn’t even know there is a line. As time goes on, she sees where it is, but afterwards, as mean girl events spiral out of control, her view is distorted. Why does this happen? Because the film’s true villain, Regina, distorts Cady’s perception of the world. That’s how evil she is. And Cady’s naiveté and innocence work against her. Yet at no time does Regina throw back her head and laugh evilly – moo-hoo-ha-ha-ha-haaaa! – because she’s not a caricaturish villain; she’s just a girl in high school who likes to be in charge and get others to do things her way.

Cady’s “fall” in her conflict with Regina, doesn’t make her completely evil either. But no longer is she spotless. And, in fact we can see that very few of the characters in Mean Girls are perfect heroes in the madness of high school. And many have mean streaks. Fortunately, there’s no one like that at SPA. Just keep telling yourself: “It’s only a movie!”

Kaia Findlay
Film Club Publicist

Sidney Lumet’s Network (1976)

"I am mad as hell and I’m not going take it anymore!” With these twelve words, screenwriter Paddy Chayefsky engraved his name in film history. Network is one of the most potent criticisms of the media and continues to be, even thirty years later. Directed by Sidney Lumet (Dog Day Afternoon, 12 Angry Men) in 1976, the film brilliantly explores the dark side of corporate media through the brilliant performances by Peter Finch, William Holden, Beatrice Straight, Robert Duvall, Faye Dunaway, and Ned Beatty.

Howard Beale (Finch) is the news anchor for the poorly rated UBS station. After learning he is going to be fired, Beale announces on air that he will commit suicide a week later. Although at first the company is outraged, enter entertainment head Diana Christensen (Dunaway), who sees Beale’s insanity not as a problem, but as an entertainment grab. As news head Max Schumacher (Holden) fights against Diana’s idea, he is subsequently removed from his post.

But at the center of all this is the lunatic Beale. Beale continues to go on air, ranting numerous times about the tumultuous events that seem to be creating fear around the country. Then, in one news program, he tells people to announce their anger to the world (thus the famous quote), and Christensen locks on to his power, creating the true spectacle of the show. What I find interesting is how audiences react to Beale. Beale shouts important rants on how we can deal with the problems of the world. He is giving the answers. But do people listen? No, they simply go on watching the show and eating their dinners.

Somehow, Network predicted how the world of television would shape the next thirty years. Chayefsky seemed to be the real “mad prophet of the airwaves.” He knew exactly how television worked back then and how we seem to follow the same patterns today. We still care only for ratings. News programs still focus on getting ratings through entertainment instead of quality journalism.

At the same time as Beale is giving his prophetic speeches, Diana begins an affair with Max. She seems to live life on the dangerous side all the time, as seen by her idea for a reality show following the lives a terrorist group (obviously inspired by the American terrorist group, the Symbionese Liberation Army). It seems over the top, but it doesn’t seem unreasonable in today’s strange world of news.

The power of performance is something Network seems to master. Two performances in particular achieved so much in so little time. Beatrice Straight only appears on screen for five minutes as Max’s wife. But her conviction as a woman hurt, but not surprised, by her husband’s affair is so convincing, so real, that it works (Straight’s Oscar win is the shortest screen time win of all time). Then there’s Ned Beatty as the executive of UBS who delivers a powerful monologue: “There is only IBM, and ITT, and AT&T, and DuPont, Dow, Union Carbide, and Exxon. Those are the nations of the world today,” he shouts at Beale.

Though most people reference Finch’s performance (who won the Oscar posthumously) as the standout, Holden’s for me remains the more subtle and actually more curious performance. Holden remains a moral conscience for us, but at the same time he is no better than others. Though he cares about Beale and real journalism, his engagement in the affair shows his vulnerability. When Max finally realizes he’s wrong, he gives a great monologue that shows his conviction to the world of TV. “And it's a happy ending: Wayward husband comes to his senses, returns to his wife, with whom he has established a long and sustaining love. Heartless young woman left alone in her arctic desolation. Music up with a swell; final commercial. And here are a few scenes from next week's show.”

Like any good TV show, as Diana would suggest, Network ends in a murder. It’s not a surprise though; we see the executives openly, and cynically, discuss how they can end the Beale show to save the ratings. The decision is made that Beale will be assassinated for the new terrorist reality show. What I find so fascinating about this scene is the complete lack of morality. Only at one point does one member suggest what they are doing is capital punishment. The world of Network is one without morals. It is simply about what we can do to increase ratings. It is the world we live in today, where capitalism undermines our moral conscience.

Network is a direct attack on corporate media. Somehow, despite its strong message delivered through powerful performances, people fail to listen. And what has happened to our news media? It has only gotten worse. Sometimes films can make a difference. Sometimes it will try and right a wrong. Unfortunately, no one has listened and TV continued to dominate. But as long as people continually see Network, there’s hope. And as long as someone is mad as hell, and not going to take it anymore, there’s a chance for change.

Peter Labuza
Film Club Co-President

Stanley Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove (1967)

In 1963, one could say that the world was truly going to hell. The United States was in chaotic turmoil as it tried to keep the world together while fighting communism from the Soviet Union. The Cold War had almost turned into a blazing hot one the year before with the Cuban Missile Crisis. Schools were still practicing the classic “duck and cover.” Nuclear arms had suddenly advanced faster than almost any technology in the world. Worst of all, no one could make a large enough statement to reach the masses.

Until Stanley Kubrick came along.

Kubrick, considered the greatest filmmaker of all time by many (including myself), has directed some of the most thought provoking and visually engaging films ever made, including A Clockwork Orange, 2001: A Space Odyssey, and Full Metal Jacket. His films manage to be precise in shots and structure for every single second.

In 1963, Kubrick began working on a script about the danger of nuclear arms. He was going to adapt the novel Red Alert from Peter George -- a serious, quick-paced thriller about the possible breakout of World War III. But as Kubrick worked on the script, he apparently found the situation “too funny” and began to create his film as a comedy.

It’s this ingenious trait of Dr. Strangelove: Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb that makes it such a successful film. For one, it’s ridiculously hilarious. Roger Ebert states in his 1999 essay on the film that the comedy is effective not because these people are trying to be funny, but because they don’t know they are being funny. Sterling Hayden’s Jack D. Ripper seems convinced he is protecting America by stopping the fluoridation of water. It’s a straightforward performance, but it’s hilarious to hear.

For another, Kubrick has the comedic genius Peter Sellers in a triple role. Each one of his characters are put in situations that none can comprehend, yet because their characters are so shallow-- save for the good doctor – their timid reactions come off as funny. There’s a preposterous scene in which Sellers plays the president of the US and has to call the Russian Premier to inform him that his country is about to be bombed to hell and back. It’s an improved conversation that feels so contradictory to a possible reality that it is side-splitting. Then there’s George C. Scott as General Buck Turgidson. Scott’s performance is just a marvel to behold. His laid back attitude to the whole thing just couldn’t feel funnier. In one scene, Scott explains how good his pilots are, reaching almost insanity, only to back up and have his realization.

Kubrick directs this as a Cold War thriller. At no point does the film feel like it’s comedy is comic. It’s simply presented accidentally on screen. The paranoia should take over in the viewer’s mind -- but the absurdity of the comedy keeps the viewer distanced from the reality. It’s this use of the Verfremdungseffekt (a distancing of the audience from the characters) that makes us realize the utter disconnect of the situation and the Cold War in general.

Satire is a brilliant way to get a grip on a situation that seems beyond individual control. As you view the comedy of Mr. Kubrick’s work, realize what he is saying about the Cold War. This was a direct attack about America’s first instinct to use the bomb But even with the Cold War over, Strangelove’s satire is still relevant in America today: just turn on the news. The film’s continued relevancy is also a product of its genius, its ability to simultaneously caution us and entertain us. A frightening tale about those in power and human nature, a powerhouse warning about the dangers of nuclear arms, Dr. Strangelove, like all good things in life, also makes us smile and laugh.

Peter Labuza
Film Club