Semi-Crazy Movie Theories

Original Title: Crazy "Room 237" Style Movie Theories
Original Date Sent: December 9, 2012
Sent to: A few people who enjoy this kind of thing.
Context: I saw Room 237 and I loved it. Then I spent a weekend working on this.



So, I just saw what I'm pretty sure was a secret screening of the new documentary about The Shining, Room 237 (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2085910/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1). I was enthralled the entire time and easily could have sat there for a three hour version. It's quite possibly my favorite movie of 2012 and almost seemed like it was crafted specifically for me (the fact that there was only one other person in the theater didn't hurt that notion). It also got me thinking about movies in general and whether similar theories could be applied to them. So I went home and looked at me DVD collection and came up with a bunch. Enjoy!

The Warriors - On the surface, this is the simple story of a gang fighting their way from the Bronx to Coney Island. It's one of my favorite movies ever and despite the fact that it's well over thirty years old, the fight scenes all still hold up. The story is structured after a Greek history by Xenophon called Anabasis, which features a small band of Greeks fighting their way home from Persia in an effort to return to civilization. The impulse in the film, however, is quite the opposite. Instead of returning to the center of the cultural world, they are actively fleeing it to return to the hinterlands of Brooklyn. At the heart of The Warriors is the conflict between Manhattan and the Outer Boroughs, specifically Brooklyn. All of the physical confrontations between the Warriors and other gangs take place in Manhattan (The Orphans on the Upper West Side, The Baseball Furies in Central Park, The Lizzies in the Bowery, and the Punks in the Union Square subway station). Additionally, much is made of the police cracking down on every gang in the city. However, the only time we see the police really play a role after the initial riot (which itself takes place in an out borough) is in the subway (essentially paving the way for an increased role in movement between Manhattan and Brooklyn, as we'll see later). Sure, there's the stuff with Ajax in the park, but that's more of a general crime booby-trap than an anti-gang sting. The idea of "one gang could run this city" and the supposed meaninglessness of "turf" is addressed in the opening speech by Cyrus, who himself represents the Gramercy Riffs, based in the heart of Manhattan in a neighborhood that once housed the likes of JP Morgan. The Riffs here represent money, power, and the desire to homogenize all of New York City into an extension of Manhattan. In other words, they represent the forces of gentrification. They are the controllers of the rest of the gang world, a underworld Illuminati whose use of the media becomes the narration and soundtrack of the film. Meanwhile, the other antagonists of the film are the Rogues, a band of Lower East Side pre-hipsters ironically driving around in an outdated car and clothed in an odd array of denim, leather, and bandanas. It's rather telling that on their subway right home, after a night of fighting for their lives, the Warriors encounter a group of braying disco-goers, who represent the way that Brooklyn was popularly viewed in the wake of Saturday Night Fever. When they finally reach home, the Warriors are faced with the two main antagonists from the film: the yuppie Riffs and the hipster Rogues, who two decades later would cross the East River to begin their conquest of Brooklyn in Brooklyn Heights, Williamsburg, and Park Slope. The Warriors may have fought all night to return home, but arrived only to find that they were themselves about to be pushed out. Director Walter Hill copped many of the fight scenes from the Samurai films of Akira Kurosawa. It seems that he also copped Kurosawa's fear of modernity, societal progress, and loss of tradition.

Aguirre, the Wrath of God - This one actually has several existing theories. It also happens to be another of my favorite movies and one that I have watched both critically and for fun. One popular theory is that Aguirre, the character played by real life psychopath Klaus Kinski, is a stand-in for Hitler. I don't really buy it beyond their shared megalomania. After all, there are quite a few people throughout history who have desired total world domination. Some say that it reflected the good ol' USA's struggles in Southeast Asia at the time (and there's something to be said for that given that Coppola seems to have been hugely influenced by Aguirre in making Apocalypse Now). But Herzog has never been an overtly political filmmaker. His themes tend to operate on a more primal level. It's essentially a Man vs. Nature story. This is fairly obvious given the constant struggle against the elements (both in the story and in the process of making the film itself). The ersatz Spaniards are constantly getting stuck in the mud, getting swept away in rapids, and sweating under their bulky armor in the extreme heat. But while it's often thought that the film is about Nature's ultimate victory over man, I don't buy that. I think Herzog is going for something more here. Nature has always been his greatest enemy (don't believe me? Watch this clip from Burden of Dreams: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uL99NDUWJ0A). The goal of many of Herzog's films was to complete a film in spite of the challenges presented by the natural surroundings. And you know what? He did it. He did it with an astonishing rate of success. And, historically, so did the Spanish, Portuguese, French, English, and Dutch in the New World. The conclusion of Aguirre is not Man's defeat at the hands of Nature, but his Pyrrhic victory over it. Man has not come through the ordeal unscathed - everyone on the expedition besides Aguirre has died. But Aguirre lives, his new army of spider monkeys by his side as he floats down the Amazon. Nature has thrown every punch it had and Aguirre still proudly stands and declares his triumph. 

Cruising - This movie is about HIV/AIDS. To me, and probably any modern audience, this could not be more obvious. The problem, of course, is that the film was made in a pre-AIDS world. The first cases had only just been discovered in Africa and Europe when the film was released and there is literally no way that this could have been Friedkin's intention. But god damn if it isn't symbolically all over this film. From multiple actors playing the killer to the seeming transference of characteristics from one character to another (look how close to the killer Pacino is in dress and mannerism during their final confrontation), it's almost as if we're being hit over the head with the idea of "there's a killer in the gay community...and that killer is AIDS." At one point Pacino's friend in the movie talks about how he's scared to death of the anonymous, random sex of the rough trade world (however, that character's boyfriend isn't and poor Don Scardino winds up in a bloody heap by the end of the film). The tracing of the type of knife used, the dead ends, the ignored warnings of a killer on the loose...these could all be excised chapters from And the Band Played On. And the identified "killer" in the film is an easy stand-in for Patient Zero. Even though he is found and identified, the plague lives on far beyond him and effectively "crosses over" into mainstream society (Karen Allen puts on the leather paraphernalia in the mirror). If this movie had been made ten years later in its exact same form, it would have been criticized for being too heavy-handed in its metaphor. Instead it's just criticized for being absolutely insane.

Revenge of the Nerds - Forget Animal House. Forget PCU. Forget Going Greek (if you've even seen it). THIS is the most pro-fraternity movie ever made. Now, it's not the most pro- bro-ing out, frat hard movie ever. It's the most pro-fraternity movie ever, and there is a distinction to be made between the two. The movie is certainly critical of the former, here personified by Stan Gable, Ogre, and the rest of the Alpha Betas. To them their chapter house is nothing more than a place to party and is easily replaced by freshman dorms when they burn it down (while, what else, partying). But to the nerds, the idea of joining a fraternity is everything. It literally takes over their entire lives and it's never portrayed in the film as being anything but a positive. Each act gives them a different trial, whether it's trying to join an existing fraternity, forming their own fraternity, or securing a spot on the Greek Council. And once they're in a fraternity their fortunes turn around seemingly overnight. They start getting laid and gain a previously-absent self-respect. They treat their chapter house with the reverence usually accorded to national monuments. After all, it's the trashing of their chapter house that is the last straw and leads to the emotional climax at the homecoming rally. It is also a group of Lambda Lambda Lambda alumni who come to their aid when it seems that they are about to be attacked by the Alpha Betas, signifying the idea of the fraternity bridging generations, schools, and even races. In the end, even Stan Gable seems to accept the nerds as equal brothers in the Greek system and this is their ultimate triumph. Through their fraternity they have won the respect of both their peers and their elders.

Caddy Shack 2 - Now, I know what you're thinking. Just by forming a ridiculous theory you've already put more thought into that movie than the filmmakers did. This may well be true. However the reason I bring this movie up is that it birthed something that my friend Kyle and I came up with while watching it one night: The Chevy Chase Theory. There's also the Harold Ramis-Gopher Axiom, but that's something that shouldn't be discussed in polite company. The Chevy Chase Theory states that in every movie ever made there is an actor who just showed up on set who was neither cast nor scripted and just started to do their thing uninvited. Look at the way Chevy acts here. He crashes into things, steps on people's lines, and looks as if he's only moments away from being forcefully removed from set ("What is this? An episode of Community?"). It's like Chevy heard that they were shooting a Caddyshack sequel and just assumed that he was supposed to be in it. If nothing else, it was an eye-opening experience. We began to see examples of it everywhere. Alec Baldwin in The Departed, Ernie Hudson in Ghost Busters, Leonard Nimoy in the most recent Star Trek. One could even argue that Daniel Day-Lewis in Lincoln could be applied to this theory. At no point does Lincoln himself seem to fit into what is supposed to be his own story. This is a movie about congress trying to pass an amendment to the constitution during the Civil War. It's as if DDL heard that this movie was in development and just decided to start living in a log cabin and tirelessly researched frontier anecdotes. Then he just showed up for the filming and Spielberg was like, "Okay, I guess we're no longer calling this movie Amendment." Shit, Lincoln isn't even in the same building for the climax of the movie. This is a boring, lame movie with embarrassing "inspirational" music punctuated by scenes of DDL telling awesome stories in his Americanized Bane voice. He's so great that he literally steals the movie in what might be the ultimate example and crown jewel of the Chevy Chase Theory.

The Departed - Nicholson's character is a pedophile and he was totally all over Matt Damon's character as a kid. You know that thing about how the most virulent homophobes are usually in the closet themselves? Well, Nicholson's character sure does spend an awful lot of time accusing other people of being pederasts throughout the film. We know that Damon's character is probably gay based on references to his sexual life and his reactions to homophobia in other characters. Nicholson also needles him about it throughout the film (the purple dildo scene (and yeah, there's a Scorsese movie in existence where you can casually reference "the purple dildo scene")). It almost comes off as a way for Jack's character to immediately assert his dominance over his protege. Finally, when the two have their last scene together it sure comes off more as a breakup between a bitter couple than a gritty crime movie murder. I don't necessarily think any of this was in the original script or at the insistence of Scorsese either. It seems like something Jack thought was interesting and god damn it if he wasn't going to have things his way.

Predator - Predator = Hernan Cortes, leader of the Conquistadors. Ridiculous? Perhaps. But think about it for a moment. The film is set in Central America, not far from where Cortes landed in 1519 (and was actually filmed in Southern Mexico, even closer to Cortes's landing point). The Conquistadors used superior weapons, technology, and transportation to topple an incredible empire in just under two years. Well, Predator had superior weapons (fifteenth century firearms are here represented by his shoulder laser cannon with the red dot aiming mechanism), technology (here also represented by the awesome laser cannon, among other things), and transportation (the Spanish had horses, previously unseen in the New World, while Predator has the uncanny ability to silently swing his 500 pound frame through the trees without a sound). And that mighty empire is here mankind in general and the United States in particular. Predator also has a biological advantage (being huge and awesome) much like the Conquistadors (being really sickly but not dying from it while passing on their diseases to the Aztecs, which proved to be lethal to them). However, they each have a biological disadvantage as well (Predator can't see through mud, the Conquistadors were given Syphilis in return for their diseases). The two also share similar bulky armor that proves to be impractical when they are forced to survive in the deepest part of the jungle. Plus, let's not forget that when Predator is cleaning up his skulls it has a ritualistic, dare I say religious, tone. Almost like a priest. At the end when Arnold is finally able to draw blood, the Predator just laughs at him and sets off a nuclear explosion. The other reason I like this theory is that I imagine someone among the Aztecs must have looked around like Carl Weathers and said "You really think this Aztec Scout bullshit is going to work?" And then an Aztec with an Austrian accent says "They could see all our trip wires. Maybe they won't see this. Instead of standing around and complaining about it, maybe you could help." Followed by SHIRTLESS AZTEC MONTAGE. Also, Billy is an American-Indian...so, you know...symbolism.

Duck Soup - This was Zeppo Marx's final movie and I think I have figured out why. It's not because he was the lamest Marx Brother and got kicked out of the group. They wanted him to come along when they switched studios, but he wouldn't do it. There's a scene in the middle of Duck Soup where all of the Marx Brothers dress up Groucho in a nightgown and do their thing. All of them, that is, except Zeppo. I imagine Zeppo showing up to set that day wearing a grease paint mustache and a night cap, all ready to go. "Hey guys, I thought it would be great if we had a really lame, unfunny version of Groucho in this scene," he probably said, full of hope that he would finally be on equal footing with his older brothers. "lol no," was probably the kindest response he received. "Eat a dick, loser," Harpo probably said, breaking character for the first time in a decade. Zeppo's subsequent crying was only interrupted when Chico demanded help in paying off his numerous gambling debts (still in his Italian accent, Chico don't break character). Can we blame poor Zeppo for stepping out and going the way of Gummo? Oh, and one more thing. This movie is totally about World War One, guys (wealthy dowager = Archduke Franz Ferdinand?).

Rollerball - The original, not the abysmal remake. In the wake of Moneyball and the statistical revolution in sports, it's been common practice to go back and look at undervalued athletes throughout history. For instance, a player like Tim Raines has been totally reevaluated by the statistical community and may soon reach the Hall of Fame based on achievements that are only truly appreciated after in-depth analysis. I think it's high time we did the same with our fictional athletes as well. One of the best is the guy in Teen Wolf who just dominates that final game, hitting something like a dozen shots and grabbing almost as many rebounds. I'm sure someone could also make the case that oft-maligned Roger Dorn's play in the field along with his strong OBP make him a much more important part of the "Major League" Cleveland Indians team than more lauded stars like Willie Mays Hayes, Pedro Cerrano, and Ricky "Wild Thing" Vaughn. Rollerball statistics seem much harder to quantify. We're told that James Caan's character Jonathan E is the statistical leader in a number of categories, and it's also clearly established that he is the Lionel Messi of the Rollerball world. But I feel that his hulking sidekick Moonpie is just as important to the success of the Houston team (I'd equate him to Andres Iniesta, but I don't think anyone would ever describe Iniesta as "hulking") (Also, does that make the main motorcycle guy Xavi?). Moonpie is the master of "The Swoop," which seems to be the most devastating defensive maneuver in the game. Also, when the Tokyo team purposely injures a Houston player it's not Jonathan who they target but Moonpie. And it's not like he's an easier target or anything. He's at least twice as big as Jonathan. Could it be that Moonpie is what made the Houston machine work while Jonathan just happened to be a flashier player with gaudier statistical achievements? After all, Houston totally breaks down in the finals against New York. They just can't get anything going. It's a far cry from the incredible performance against Madrid in what I assume was the quarterfinals of the Rollerball Champions League. In conclusion, vote Moonpie for the Fictional Sports Movie Characters Hall of Fame.

Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves - The infamous Costner version. At least it's infamous in the circles in which I travel and for two reasons: Alan Rickman's AWESOME Sheriff of Nottingham and Kevin Costner's god-awful attempt at a British accent. Even if you've never met someone from England in your entire life you can tell that Costner is doing it wrong. This was neither the first nor the last time that Costner butchered an accent (The N'awlins "drawl" in JFK especially stands out) but here I think that it's intentional. I'll explain by way of a digression. In 1548, a Basque peasant named Martin Guerre fled from his village in southern France after being accused of a petty crime. Some years later, a man appeared in the village. This man, claiming to be Guerre, took up with the Guerre's widow, claimed his inheritance, and spent three years living as if he were the genuine article. He was eventually discovered and the real Martin Guerre returned dramatically during the impostor's trial (more details here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Martin_Guerre). What does this have to do with Robin Hood? Well, I maintain that Costner is an impostor Robin of Loxley. He's a man from somewhere in the world other than England who bears a striking resemblance to an English noble. They meet during the Crusades and Costner's character assumes his identity after escaping from the Moorish prison. He then comes to England to claim the noble's inheritance but finds that the Sheriff of Nottingham stands in his way. So he rallies a group of oppressed peasants to his side in order to win his undeserved prize. This actually accounts for several problems in the movie. Why it takes awhile for anyone to recognize him, why he has such a terrible accent, why he isn't given back his former lands upon appearing, and why he seems completely unfamiliar with the place where he supposedly spent much of his life. It also accounts for the retcon of Will Scarlet being his supposedly long-lost brother. Scarlet (who also has trouble with his accent) spots "Robin" as a fake early on (that knowing look after the stick fight in the river) and takes advantage of the fact when he sees that the tide is turning Robin's way. He successfully calls Costner on his bluff and gets to share in the spoils after victory is achieved while the rest of the Merry Men presumably sink back into feudal poverty. This has to be intentional on the part of the filmmakers because how the hell else are we supposed to accept that accent?

Point Break - This Gary Busey line right here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=YS_6mR82eQk#t=24s could very well be hinting at something. "Forget it kid, they are ghosts." I'm going to go ahead and take this literally. Not all of the surfer bank robbers are ghosts, of course. That would just be ridiculous. But their leader Bodhi, ably played by Patrick Swayze, certainly has an ethereal, otherworldly presence throughout the film. He is treated not as a person but as some kind of minor deity, the god of surfing and heists and skydiving. So while he's not literally reprising his role from Ghost, Swayze is again playing someone who is not held back by the bonds of being human. It's very fitting therefore that Bodhi is not killed or captured at the end of the film but instead disappears into a towering wave, never to be seen again by this generation of mortal man.

Anchorman - On the surface, a silly comedy full of quotable dialogue and colorful clothing. But below it lies a tale of media accountability in post-Watergate America. The first clue comes in the form of Will Ferrell's previous filmography. A few years earlier, Ferrell had portrayed Bob Woodward in the Watergate comedy Dick. Perhaps this experience stirred something in Ferrell and caused him to want to further explore the world of news in the 1970's (Ferrell co-wrote the Anchorman script). During and after Watergate, American media was under intense scrutiny. Did the Washington Post really have the right to conceal the Deepthroat source, who was thought in some quarters to be disseminating government secrets? Anchorman treats the idea of the news anchor, and by extension the mainstream media, as the most important tool in the fight against American ignorance. Everyone in the story watches the news. They are portrayed as gathering round TVs to be informed collectively, a far-cry from our current world of individual consumption via blogs, CNN text alerts, and DVR'ed episodes of the Colbert Report. With no competition from outside the mainstream (and little public accountability), the news had to be a symbol of trust and objectivity. Ron Burgundy is expected to read the news and do little else. He is a vessel through which the public is informed. He is not there to editorialize and he is not there to make the news himself. That is why his cardinal sin, his almost unforgivable blunder, is to do both things at once ("Go fuck yourself, San Diego"). It's not that he insulted the city that gets Ron Burgundy into hot water, it's that he has betrayed their trust as a newsman.

The Dirty Dozen - Most war films feature some sort of moral center. Charlie Sheen's character in Platoon uncomfortably straddles between the hippie-dippy Elias and the remorseless Barnes (in one of the great character actor clashes of all time). Kirk Douglas in Paths of Glory tries to rally against the notion that war must be hell even outside of the trenches. Jeff Daniels delivers the monologue of his career espousing the noble aims of the Civil War and why the Union must win in Gettysburg. The Dirty Dozen features no such moralizing. To me, the central theme of this film is that war is best fought by scoundrels. It skirts around and obscures this fact in a few different ways. It gives a few of the prisoners understandable motives for their crimes. It contains copious amounts of comic relief. And the enemy are faceless Nazis so these Americans must be pretty good guys. All in all, it comes off as a rather gregarious war movie on the whole. It doesn't contain the gritty realism of the Saving Private Ryan opening, that's for sure (and provides not one tenth the intensity of Come and See, the most brutal and terrifying of all non-documentary movies about the war). What is achieved instead is more subtle. Take, for instance, Robert Ryan's Colonel Breed, who I view as the main antagonist of the movie. He is the perfect officer: efficient, good to his men, and by the book. He is also portrayed as a complete blowhard and the type of person who stands in the way winning the war. His men are inconsequential nothings who are mocked by our hateful, criminal protagonists. The irony of the film, and I believe that it is intentional, is that these are exactly the type of men who would have joined the Nazi Party had they been born in Germany instead of the US (well, maybe not Jim Brown's character). It's appropriate that much of their final mission hinges upon dressing in German uniforms. During the final battle scene, they seem to take an unbridled joy in killing and they do so indiscriminately, taking out not only the German officers and soldiers whom they are tasked with eliminating, but also their wives, mistresses, and the staff of the chateau. Had there been children in the bunker they surely would have still filled it with gasoline and grenades. And yet in the end they accomplish their mission (though only a small number make it out alive) and are hailed as heroes upon their return. Well, "hailed" may be too strong a word. They are reluctantly accepted as heroes and little more. There is no parade and no reward, just a condescending visit from the generals (who almost seem to carry a tone of shock and certainly lack the sureness of their own personal standing that they had possessed previously). The behavior of the Dirty Dozen is condoned (though not celebrated) because god damn it, war is hell. They may be scoundrels, but they're our scoundrels.

Full Metal Jacket - Gotta throw a Kubrick one in here just for the sake of the theme. While The Dirty Dozen is about grown men in war, Full Metal Jacket is quite the opposite. The soldiers in this film are not men, but merely boys. Every step of the movie has them either being treated like or acting like children. In boot camp they are subjected to the whims of a harsh father figure. In Vietnam, they hurl insults at each other than aren't far removed from the school yard. And, of course, at the end of the film we fade out on the marines singing the theme from the Mickey Mouse Club. Okay, so what does all this mean? Is it as simple as Kubrick saying that America was sending its boys off to war instead of its men? Hadn't many other Vietnam movies said this before (most notably Apocalypse Now and Platoon)? And with a slew of classic Vietnam movies having already been made, why did Kubrick, so often a ground breaker, choose to do one as well? But perhaps this isn't a Vietnam movie at all. I mean, it takes place in Vietnam in 1968. There's no question of that. But genre-wise, this feels nothing like the other Vietnam movies. Most of the combat takes place in an urban setting. The production didn't travel to any exotic locations for scenes in the jungle. There are no extreme conflicts within the core group of marines (just the petty pissing matches characteristic of schoolboys). No, this is not a Vietnam movie. This is a World War Two movie. It would take very little revision in the script to have this take place on Okinawa in 1945 or Italy in 1943. But while all the old World War Two movies had weathered, mature men who looked and acted like soldiers, this seems to be an experiment in what would happen if they were instead a group of nineteen year-olds thrown into combat with no guiding hand (a sidenote here is that Matthew Modine's character was originally going to be played by Anthony Michael Hall who to that point had made a career of playing a scared, frail teenager). Every authority figure either dies (the drill sergeant, Lieutenant Touchdown - himself only just out of college) or appears briefly and then leaves the characters helplessly to their own devices (the Stars & Stripes editor, the officer who criticizes Joker's attire). At the end of the film it is literally just a bunch of lost teenagers placed in a situation meant for John Wayne or Charles Bronson.

And finally...

The Shining - After watching Room 237 and considering the movie very carefully I have concluded that Danny is to blame for everything. It's his weird mental powers that trigger all the events and get everyone in trouble. It's his elaborate, little kid way of getting revenge on his abusive father. Danny's a creepy little kid with a homicidal imaginary friend. It's Danny who lets Jack out of the locked pantry. It's Danny who allows Scatman Crothers to walk into the ambush. It's Danny who fills the hotel with all these weird visions. He and his creepy little bowl cut get the last laugh. Also, the moon landing was fake and Jack is a Minotaur.