home
***
CD-ROM
|
disk
|
FTP
|
other
***
search
/
TIME: Almanac 1993
/
TIME Almanac 1993.iso
/
time
/
072489
/
07248900.061
< prev
next >
Wrap
Text File
|
1992-09-23
|
4KB
|
72 lines
CINEMA, Page 53We Don't Need Another Heroid
The good guys are cyborgs in a pair of summer sequels
By Richard Corliss
It's an oid-y world out there. Tabloids run factoids about
humanoids on steroids. In a world gone synthetic, why should
movies offer something as organic as a hero? Welcome, then, to
the age of the heroid. In the old days, a hero like Bogart had
brains and guts but also a nagging heart and the seductive scowl
of obsession. Often he failed; sometimes he died. He was real:
us, with muscles. A heroid, though, is just the muscles. He owes
more to comic strips than to romantic or detective fiction.
Never really alive, a heroid cannot die; he must be available
for the next assembly-line sequel. He is the cyborg chauffeur
of mechanical movies.
You can hear the clockwork sputtering inside the brawny
breastplate of this week's heroids: Los Angeles supercop Martin
Riggs (Mel Gibson) in Lethal Weapon 2 and Her Majesty's secret
servant James Bond (Timothy Dalton) in Licence to Kill. Both
men are rogue avengers, out for bloody justice against cartels
that have killed or threatened their partners and spouses. Both
pictures, with their suavely depraved drug lords and curt
disregard for constitutional safeguards, play like extended
episodes of Miami Vice. Both scenarios choose their villains
from the current list of least favored nations: South Africa in
LW2, a thinly disguised Panama in Licence. "Remember," Bond's
nemesis (Robert Davi) warns the film's Noriega, "you're only
President for Life."
The dealer-diplomats in LW2 are just your ordinary bad
guys. They keep zillions of Krugerrands on hand to finance
their chicanery. They have a getaway helicopter conveniently
waiting in downtown Los Angeles at the end of a car chase that
totals dozens of innocent drivers. Now if only this gang could
shoot straight, they might rid the world of Detectives Riggs and
Murtaugh (Danny Glover) -- and spare moviegoers further sequels
to the loathable smash hit of 1987.
That first movie raised the craft of torture to a low art.
Expect no less in LW2, directed by Richard Donner and written
by Jeffrey Boam. This installment features a surfboard
decapitation, death by carpenter's nail gun, a bomb wired to a
very sensitive seat (plot device lifted from Elmore Leonard's
novel Freaky Deaky), and reduction of the Afrikaaner diaspora
by about one-half. As Riggs tells Murtaugh, "We're back! We're
bad! You're black! I'm mad!" Mad to the max. Riggs may not know
how to spell apartheid, but he knows whom he hates. He even
knows how to strike a blow for American property values. When
the Boers perforate his beachside shack, Riggs finds appropriate
recourse. He kills their house.
In Licence to Kill, the bad guys' hideaway blows up real
good too. And there are some great truck stunts. A pity nobody
-- not writers Michael G. Wilson and Richard Maibaum nor
director John Glen -- thought to give the humans anything very
clever to do. The Bond women are pallid mannequins, and so is
the misused Dalton -- a moving target in a Savile Row suit. For
every plausible reason, he looks as bored in his second Bond
film as Sean Connery did in his sixth.
Licence's only innovation comes in the closing credits. To
atone for Bond's use of cigarettes, the producers print the
Surgeon General's caveat on the evils of tobacco. Another
warning would have been welcome: CAUTION: EXPOSURE TO HEROIDS
MAY CAUSE SUMMER-MOVIE BURNOUT.