'84 was a good year for SF and kind-of SF movies too. The second-highest grossing picture of the year, Ghostbusters, was kind-of SF (pseudo-science fiction . . . PSF?) and pictures like The Natural and Purple Rain are honorary SF due to SF levels of, respectively, implausibility and “what the fuck . . .?”
There was plenty of real SF to choose from at the movies, though. There was an adaptation of Orwell's book (kinda meh; the movie, that is. The book is great), Star Trek III (wherein Spock was brought back to life, which I guess they had to because Spock is Spock but him dying was one of the 12,854 reasons Wrath of Khan ruled so fuckin' hard), there was 2010, there was The Terminator, but one SF picture stands atop the pyramid, a generically-labeled can of beer in one hand, an air-freshener tree thing in the other, a beat-to-shit Chevy Malibu purring patiently a few steps behind: Repo Man.
Repo Man is one of those movies where, if you haven't seen it, all the assholes like me yammering about how it's the second coming of sliced bread might make you not want to see it. It is, I think, the kind of movie that hype can ruin (though I can only think that: my dad had me watch it when I was about 10 and I've thus never been without Repo Man in my aesthetically developed life). Consider the following:---It's very weird. Trust me, when I tell you something's weird, it's fucking weird.
---It's very, very low budget. The crazy CIA lady, for instance, is supposed to have a metal hand, but it's very clear that she's just wearing a shiny glove, and there's a whole scene that doesn't really make sense if you don't realize that her hand is supposed to be metal. Then again, if you're the kind of person who's bothered by that kind of thing, you're no longer watching the movie when that scene happens.
---If you don't like punk, or lack punk-liking aptitude—my mom, bizarrely, really likes punk “because it's no bullshit and it has balls” (much love, Mom) even though she thinks of Henry Rollins as the white supremacist on Sons of Anarchy and forgets that he started out fronting Black Flag—Repo Man is not your picture. This is an SF movie as punk song.
---You will be forced, very much against your will, to take Emilio Estevez seriously for an hour and a half.
---You will end up quoting about three-quarters of the movie against your will, occasionally in very inappropriate situations.
Basically, Repo Man is not for civilians. Fortunately, there is at least one thing that anyone can appreciate: Harry Dean Motherfucking Stanton. Hoooooooly shit. Let's clear the air about something before going any further:
Best Performances of the 1980s (Male):
(5) Eddie, Beverly Hills Cop: Fuck off, he's amazing in this.
(4)Charles Grodin, Midnight Run: Seriously, if you were expecting F. Murray Abraham in Amadeus, you're reading the wrong blog.
(3) F. Murray Abraham, Amadeus: OR ARE YOU?
(2) Harry Dean Stanton, Repo Man.
Because, yes, Bob in Raging Bull is the best. But silvering in this event is something to be proud of. Harry Dean Stanton is ridiculous in Repo Man. Some highlights:
“Look at that kid, look at that. Ordinary fuckin people, I hate 'em.”
“Tense situations, kid. You get into five or six of 'em a day, it don't mean shit anymore. I mean, I've seen men stabbed, didn't mean shit to me. I've seen guns, guns too, they don't mean shit. But that's when you gotta watch yourself.”
Harry Dean Stanton: “Credit is a sacred trust, it's what our free society is founded on. Do you think they give a damn about their bills in Russia? I said, do you think they give a damn about their bills in Russia?”
Emilio Estevez: “They don't pay bills in Russia, it's all free.”
Harry Dean Stanton: “All free? Free my ass. What are you, a fuckin' commie? Huh?”
Emilio Estevez: “No, I ain't no commie.”
Harry Dean Stanton: “Well, you better not be. I don't want no commies in my car. No Christians either.”
[After getting machine-gunned from a helicopter] “I'd rather die on my feet than live on my knees.”
Harry Dean Stanton: “It helps if you dress like a detective. Detective dress kinda square. If you look like a detective people are gonna think you're packing something.” Emilio Estevez: “Are you?”
Harry Dean Stanton: “Am I what?”
Emilio Estevez: “Packing something?”
Harry Dean Stanton: “Only an asshole gets killed for a car.”
“The guys that make it are the guys that get in their cars at any time. Get in at 3am, get up at 4. That's why there aint a repo man I know that don't take speed.” [cut to Harry Dean Stanton and Emilio Estevez doing rails in Harry Dean Stanton's car]
Not only this, but Harry Dean Stanton's “repo code” is basically word for word Isaac Asimov's First Law of Robotics. As with any all-time classic performance, a good part of what makes it great is a well-written part, but Harry Dean Stanton knocks this shit so far out of the fuckin' park SAG had him tested for steroids. And you know what? He fucking PASSED. Harry Dean Stanton is an actor with balls, ladies and gentlemen.
He's not the only heavy hitter in this lineup (sorry, pitchers and catchers report soon, I'll try to stop). Emilio Estevez holds it down in the lead. Sy Richardson is the definition of padded-cell hip ("Somebody pissed on the flo' again?"). Tracy Walter is Tracy Walter, and he has the movie's most-quoted line: “The more you drive, the less intelligent you are.” Duke, Archie, and Debbie, the punks who “do some crimes,” are hilarious. Rival repo men The Rodriguez Brothers—one of whom played by the same guy who was one of the strike organizers in Robocop—are terrific.
The plot defies comprehension. Emilio Estevez is Otto, a punk rocker who gets fired from his job at the supermarket for saying “fuck you” to his boss, but when his parents give the $1000 they've promised him if he goes back to school to a televangelist, Otto apprentices himself to Harry Dean Stanton, repo man. So Otto steals cars, meets this weird brunette who tells him that aliens have landed and are being driven around in the trunk of a '64 Chevy Malibu, and may be decaying—they sure as fuck are, the state trooper who pulls over the mad scientist driving the Malibu around gets vaporized when he checks the trunk—but Otto's skeptical.
Weird brunette (Leila): “Laugh away, fuckface! These pictures are going to be on every major newspaper in two days' time!”
Anyway. Otto begins shtupping the brunette. Some crazy CIA agents—“It happens all the time. People just explode. Natural causes”—are in pursuit of the Malibu, and put out a $20,000 reward for anyone who can find it. Naturally, every repo man in LA starts chasing it. The Malibu changes hands several times, including once when Archie opens the trunk to mock Duke and gets zapped. Debbie and Duke are a little shaken up.
Debbie: “Come on, Duke, let's do those crimes.”
Duke. “Yeah. Yeah. Let's get sushi and . . . and not pay.”
Exeunt. Otto gets his hands on the Malibu after being lectured about the immorality of nuclear war by the dying mad scientist who advocates 100 chest X-rays a year and describes the effects of the neutron bomb lovingly: “Eyes melt, skin explodes, evraybody dead” before dying.
A bit of running around transpires—I've seen the movie dozens of times and I still can barely follow what's going on—and ultimately, the CIA, the repo men, Otto, Otto's brunette, the televangelist, and all kinds of people convene at the repo yard around the glowing Malibu (which, awesomely, was not done with special effects, they just bought a whole bunch of reflective paint and lit the shit out of it) which is repelling all attempts to enter. Until Tracey Walter is able to enter with no problem. Otto reminds him, “But you don't even know how to drive.” Tracey Walter smiles inscrutably and beckons to Otto, who starts to move toward the car. Otto's brunette is not happy.
Leila: “Otto, don't go! What about our relationship?”
Otto: “What?”
Leila: “What about our relationship?”
Otto: “Fuck that.”
And Otto gets in the car with Tracey Walter. The car starts to fly, and flies away into the LA night. Fin.
I know, I know, I know . . .
FAQ's
Q: Wait, what the fuck?
A: Don't look at me, dude, I didn't write it.
Q: Yeah, but what the fuck does that ending even mean?
A: Ask Alex Cox, man. He's a weird guy, did you see Sid and Nancy? Straight to Hell? Walker? The man's out of his fuckin' mind.
Q: Is there, ultimately, any deep message to be gleaned from Repo Man? Or is it just a fun ride?
A: It's just a fun ride. What profundity there is is in the details: the generic products that just say “food” and “beer"; the middle-finger to Scientology Dioretix: The Science of Matter Over Mind; the televangelist's program; Otto's zombie-stoned parents . . . most of which are more clever than deep, but fuck it.
I revisit Repo Man a couple times a year, and every time it's still just as funny as the first time. Not many movies can say that. Like . . . shit . . . Young Frankenstein? Animal House? And Repo Man stays fresher than either of them. As SF, sure, it's a little ephemeral. But as comedy, Repo Man is without peer.
EDIT: I forgot about this. Enjoy!
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