Back in the day, I went to see Escape from New York without any prior preparation. I haven't seen the trailer, haven't read any reviews, just saw the poster in a display of a movie house, and in I went. It was a late afternoon. 99 minutes later, I emerged in a state of utter bliss mixed with confusion. The bliss was obvious, as I've just witnessed one of the greatest cinematic adventures, but the confusion was pressing. I turned around, purchased another ticket, and went back in. 99 minutes later, I emerged again. It was pitch black outside. The bliss escalated into ecstasy, and the confusion was gone. The world I've just left behind was now as real as the one in front of me, only existing in a parallel, more thrilling reality.
Escape from New York (1981) possesses that rare cinematic power of sucking you into a made-up universe and spitting you out transfixed. It is rare, because all the elements need to click in just at the right moment. For a low budget effort, Escape builds its dystopian reality with great cleverness – its escalating pleasures emerge out of darkness at a furious pace. The plot is literally a time bomb, and the clock starts ticking from the get go. Once our hero, Snake Plissken, embarks on his nocturnal Odyssey, all bets are off. Will he deliver the goods in time?
Carpenter has always been a great political ironist, but in Escape he really nails it without the preachiness that somewhat taints his later They Live (1988). The world he builds in Escape is rooted in history we all know. The States are now a fascist country, run by a corporate President and managed by a militarised police force whose emblem is patterned after the Nazis. The political enemy is a "National Liberation Front", a nod to Viet Cong, as well as to domestic rebel organisations of the 1960s and '70s. A bit on the nose, but it works beautifully as a set up. Manhattan, an island of Wall Street prosperity, is now reduced to post-financial meltdown shambles. You can almost imagine the bankers laughing their arses off in the Bahamas. It is no accident that Snake lands his glider on the roof of World Trade Center. The highest point in town – in more ways than one.
The Manhattan prison is really a concentration camp for all the undesirables: Black people, white trash, mutants, bums, and, generally, the refuse nominated by the elites. It has its own brutal caste system, with Duke at the top. Coming off Blaxploitation, casting Isaac "Truck Turner" Hayes as the Duke of Manhattan was a masterstroke. How many of us remember that Hayes won a Best Song Oscar for Shaft (1971)? Carpenter did, and he rewarded Duke with the best pimp-ride in cinema.
Speaking of music, Carpenter's score for Escape is miraculous. An accomplished musician, Carpenter was an early proponent of synthesiser sound in cinema. In Escape, the deceptively simple melody line sneaks up on you like a heartbeat, creating beautiful, non-intrusive tension. If you recall Ennio Morricone's score for Carpenter's follow-up, The Thing (1982), you can hear how the Italian maestro tried to imitate Carpenter's signature sound.
Kurt Russell was no stranger to film and had already worked with Carpenter on the magnificent Elvis (1979), made for TV. Attempting to put his Disney past behind him, and make his mark as a powerful lead, Russell build Plissken from the ground up. His costume is a combination of military and punk, while his visage, in those days, spoke of counterculture. With long hair and beard clashing with the fatigues, Russell cuts a strikingly unique figure. He also bulked up a bit for the role, but without looking scary, like he did in Soldier (1998). He moves like a cat and growls like a puma. Imagine if Dirty Harry let his hair grow and developed a sense of humour. A terrific performance which justifiably made Russell an instant mainstream film star.
The supporting cast, in addition to Hayes, is a panoply of well-known, and well-loved faces. Everybody shines, and Carpenter allows each player to have a moment of glory. But probably the most unique character is played by the relatively unknown Frank Doubleday. His Romero, Duke's freaky punk sidekick, is, in my moviegoing life, the most memorable supporting character of all time. Doubleday's movement, gestures, stare, and general demeanour come from a different planet.
I pontificate, perhaps. But why not? Not many films out there deserve outbursts of ecstatic veneration.
***
Warning: if you're new to Snake Plissken, stay away from Escape from LA (1996). Instead, watch Guy Pierce doing the best Snake this side of Escape in the joyously silly and magnificently redundant Lockout (2012).
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