Reeling Backward: "Dreamscape" (1984)

"So Jane, what you do here in effect is count boners?"

If there was any better indication that a new Rubicon of filmmaking had been crossed, it was this quote from 1984's "Dreamscape," which was the second movie to be released with a PG-13 rating ("Red Dawn" being the first). It boasted enough gory violence, f-words and sex to earn it an R rating, but slide down to the next category with a few modest trims.

The new rating from the MPAA was designed to address a wave of films in the early 1980s -- "Poltergeist" and "Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom" among them -- that stretched the limits of the amount of blood and violence allowable in a PG movie. Steven Spielberg was actually among those who suggested an intermediate rating between PG and R.

But the studios soon realized the potential to nudge a host of other adult-oriented material into popular mainstream movies, while still selling tickets to kiddies. A new paradigm was established, and since then most big blockbuster films have carried the PG-13 classification.

The 13 part of the rating is simply a guide for parents. As a former assistant manager of a movie theater, I can tell you there was no actual restriction on under-age children buying their way into the movie, despite outraged assertions from any number of grown-ups.

As an almost-15-year-old when "Dreamscape" came out, I can also authoritatively declare that this fantasy/sci-fi/horror hybrid touched a whole lot of erogenous zones for people in my demographic. The story is about the ability of psychics to enter into the dreams of other people, and help or hurt them depending upon their motivations.

As was the case with the "Nightmare on Elm Street" and other cinema of the era, we were made to understand that if you die in your dream, you die in real life, too. Utter hooey, of course, and we all knew it back then, but it's one of those conceits you swallow in the course of a life of mainstream movie-going.

Dennis Quaid was the star, but the person most people remember from the movie is David Patrick Kelly, who steals the entire second half as "dream assassin" Tommy Ray Glatman. (As he also did in the latter portion of "The Warriors," plus other films.)

So intense in his portrayal of the psychopathic psychic, Kelly seems to be practically shivering out of his skin -- something he actually does later, turning into a snake-man for dream combat against his arch-foe, Alex Gardner (Quaid). He also conjures up fingernail blades to tear out the beating heart of a man, a scene that surely would not have passed muster under the banner of a PG film.

Directed by Joseph Ruben, who co-wrote the screenplay with David Loughery and Chuck Russell, "Dreamscape" was reputedly based on a short novel by Roger Zelazny, who sold a story outline to 20th Century Fox but did not receive a screen credit.

The tale is brimming with all sorts of Cold War anxiety about nuclear annihilation, coupled with paranoia that the government is invading our lives and shredding our freedoms. Generally I'm not one to go in much for political interpretations of movies, but the Reaganesque subtext is pretty hard to ignore here.

Eddie Albert plays the President, who is having bad dreams about nuclear war, including being attacked by radiation mutants, and resolves to pursue disarmament talks with the Soviet Union. Bob Blair (Christopher Plummer), an old friend of his who runs a shadowy covert arm of the government -- "They're the guys the CIA is afraid of" -- opposes this, claiming the POTUS wants to "emasculate our nuclear deterrent."

He resolves to nip the problem in the bud by having Tommy Ray enter his mind as part of a secretive "dreamlink" research project housed at a fictitious college. Max von Sydow plays Dr. Novotny, head of the project and an old friend to Alex, whom he recruits to join the mission. Kate Capshaw is Jane, a fellow researcher who takes great pains to keep her relationship with Alex on a professional level.

Quaid, at the height of his brief initial stardom, is a smirky, charismatic presence, playing a guy with the soul of a con artist but who dresses like a preppy (Easter egg-colored cardigan vests aplenty).

George Wendt (Norm!) shows up briefly as Charlie Prince, a best-selling horror author whose vocation somehow gives him insight into the most secretive workings of the U.S. government. He's the one who clues in Alex that Blair is planning to use Tommy Ray to assassinate the president. How the hell does he know this? Unless he's a psychic, too?

The film's lowish-budget roots shine through during the dream sequences, which involve a lot of bad blue screen effects and herky claymation for the snake man sequences. The conception of Alex and Tommy Ray's psychic abilities is rather spotty, granting them the ability to predict the future -- Alex picks winning horses at the track -- but not much insight into other people's non-dreaming state of mind.

I don't think I had seen "Dreamscape" since its initial theater run 30 years ago (gulp!), but I was surprised at how well the movie remained fixed in my mind. I was struck by how much imagery of trains there is in the movie: Alex and Tommy Ray fight aboard a train, and then chase each other through a bombed-out underground station -- all of it bathed in a harsh red filter.

Alex also enters Jane's mind while she is dreaming and seduces her on board a train -- something they act out in real life in the movie's closing shot. Though it's a little creepy when you consider the act in its full context; it's basically psychic rape.

"Dreamscape" holds up well because it boasts a lot of imagination for what is essentially a summer action flick. And it's got a great villain who used the new MPAA rating to get exponentially more dastardly in his deeds.

Reeling Backward: "The Warriors" (1979)

I'd been meaning to see "The Warriors" for a long time. A modest hit with audiences but not critics in 1979, its footprint has grown as it has taken on a reputation that's somewhere beyond cult film status and less than cultural touchstone. If you're a Generation X male, this movie probably means something to you. If you're older or younger than that, or lack a Y chromosome, not so much.

"The Warriors" exists in a quavery dimension between silliness and sobriety that is largely impenetrable. Generally movies with a heightened reality take pains to let the audience see the smirk at the corner of their mouth to let the audience know that despite the brutality they're witnessing, it's not really meant to be taken seriously. Director Walter Hill, who also co-wrote the screenplay with David Shaber, does not tip his hand with any lighter moments to break the mood.

The story has both pulp and classic literary antecedents. It was based on the novel by Sol Yurick, who in turn created a modern-day version of "Anabasis," the most famous work of the soldier Xenophon. It involves an army of Greek mercenaries who find themselves trapped deep in the Persian Empire surrounded by enemies on all sides, and must fight their way out. In Yurick's vision, the soldiers are members of New York City gangs in a dystopian near-future where society is fraying around the edges.

Hill, though, approaches the material with a comic book mindset -- even separating the story into "chapters" with cut scenes that freeze-frame and transition to illustrated panels.

Then there are the various gangs, which are more like tribes mixed with theatrical troupes. All of them wear their uniforms or "colors," which range from the plain to the outlandish. There's a group who dresses like 1920s dandy boys in neon sparkles, brightly-hued clowns, thuggish skinheads and more. Each gang is not so much a military force squabbling over small sections of turf in New York's seven boroughs as an ethos that is constantly performed for an audience that consists mostly of each other.

In this we can see various cinematic ancestors. There are the Sharks and the Jets in "West Side Story," of course. What is their antagonism based on? The fact that they're in different gangs. I also think of the roving gangs of the Australian wasteland in "Mad Max," which came out the same year as "The Warriors."

But I believe the film that most heavily influences this one is "A Clockwork Orange." There the "droogs" dressed in outlandish mash-ups of fashion and eras of time, mixing 17th century codpieces with Prohibition bowler hats -- not to mention grown men wearing makeup. They are supposed to look ridiculous, but the fact that they're heartless killers makes their outlandish gear even more disturbing.

The Warriors, the gang that controls Coney Island, has an American Indian flavor, favoring buckskin vests over bare chests and even feathers and jewelry for some members. They are notable in that they appear to be the only one of 100 gangs invited to a big meeting in the Bronx who are racially mixed. Most of the others are split between white, black and Hispanic -- such as the Gramercy Riffs, a militant Black Panther-esque outfit that happens to be the most powerful gang in New York.

Cyrus, the leader of the Riffs, has called the meeting in an attempt to meld all the city gangs into one coherent force that will overwhelm the police and take over New York. He's assassinated by Luther (David Patrick Kelly), the head of the Rogues, who tool around in a 1956 Cadillac hearse and delight in causing trouble for its own sake.

The Warriors are fingered for the outrage, and so they must make their way back to the sea with every other gang howling for their blood. A largely unseen radio DJ keeps the "boppers" apprised of the progress.

Two scenes from the film have become certifiably iconic. One is Luther taunting the Warriors, clanging together beer bottles stuck on his fingers while playfully singing, "Warriors ... come out to plaaaaaaayyyyyy!!" It's emblematic of the entire movie -- a childish gesture intended as a chilling moment of deadly intimidation that plays out as a goof.

The other is a fight in a park between the Warriors and the Baseball Furies -- a gang that dresses in Yankees pinstripes with garish face paint. They carry baseball bats as weapons, and their leader whips his around like a master samurai in a Kurosawa epic. The scene is likewise a total guffaw, meant to be frightening but instead quite schlocky.

Other notable gangs that turn up to harry the Warriors include the Orphans -- low-level tramps who are infuriated at not having been deemed important enough to be invited to the conclave -- and the Lizzies (think "Lezzes"), tough girl gangsters who act as sirens to entice a trio of the warriors away from their quest, and then nearly kill them.

The Warriors themselves are more character archetypes than distinct individuals. Their leader, Cleon (Dorsey Wright), is killed by the Riffs as misdirected vengeance for Cyrus, leaving the stoic -- nearly mute, in fact -- war chief Swan (Michael Beck) in charge. He's challenged by hothead Ajax (James Remar), who quickly grows sick of all the running and simply wants to fight everyone, no matter what the odds.

Cochise (David Harris) straddles the thin line of hostility between the two would-be leaders. Rembrandt (Marcelino Sanchez) is the youngest Warrior, almost angelic, who marks their passing with spray cans. Cowboy (Tom McKitterick) wears a hat and Vermin (Terry Michos) is a lothario with a hairy chest.

It's interesting how lean and un-pumped the bodies of the Warriors are compared to the overmuscled Stallones and Schwarzeneggers of the following decade. It's also notable that most of the principle cast members were about 30 when the movie was made, though the undertone of spent youth would seem to indicate teenagers.

Movies of this ilk often have a totally extraneous and unnecessary female character, and here her name is Mercy (Deborah Van Valkenburgh). Women, including the Lizzies, are treated by the gangs as fungible commodities, to be bartered and won through combat. Indeed, the Lizzies entice Vermin, Cochise and Rembrandt by essentially offering themselves as sexual prizes to the Warriors to reward their prowess.

When we first meet her, Mercy is more or less the sex mascot of the Orphans. Immediately sensing that Swan and his gang represent a trade up, she abandons her old crew and tags along. It's never explained why she's there and why the Warriors tolerate her presence, since she's got a mouth on her. Swan or somebody is perpetually grabbing Mercy's arm, pulling her this way or that, demanding she stop slowing them down -- why, exactly, don't they just dump her?

The unreality of the Warriors' situation continually undercuts our ability to get caught up in their great adventure. For example, the Warriors are completely reliant on the subway system to get around -- virtually all of their battles take place inside a station or on their way toward one. It's amusing that these all-powerful gangs are considering a move to take over the entire city, yet they are almost entirely reliant on public transportation to get from here to there.

The Rogues seem to be the only gang that possesses both a gun and a vehicle. (The skinheads are the only others with mechanized transportation, piling onto a dilapidated dump truck.) Luther's use of a pistol is depicted as a dishonorable thing, a violation of the warrior (small "w") code that implies hand-to-hand fighting is the purest expression of combat. The Lizzies also have a gun, but it's not the same since, y'know, they're just girls.

2.5 stars out of four