WarGames

You never know where these things show up. 

Over the Holidays, I was reading Garret M. Graff's intriguingly titled book "Raven Rock: The Story of the U.S. Government's Secret Plan to Save Itself While the Rest of Us Die", when a fascinating passage about a movie showed up. More about that after a look at the film that was mentioned.

WarGames (Martin Brest/John Badham 1983) Seattle high-schooler David Lightman (Matthew Broderick) is a bit of a video-game whiz. Not adept at regularly taking out the garbage, he is quite unique at tasks of a more idle nature. And dishonest. He manages to find his way into his high school's computer to change his grades and those of his friend, Jennifer Mack (Ally Sheedy). When he hears that a new version of a game that he's expert at is about to put on the market, he uses a phone algorithm to speed-dial through the permutations, but is blocked from getting into it by a firewall.

After some consultation with some game enthusiasts/hackers at the University of Washington, he learns of "back-doors" that can be used to get into databases. He's intrigued by one web-site but frustrated that he can't get through its firewall, but the program addresses him as "Dr. Falken," and he uses that nugget of information to do some research and come up with the right security password—"Joshua", the name of Falken's child (now deceased).

But, unbeknownst to him, he hasn't logged into a video-game web-site; he's logged into NORAD, one the nation's defense hubs, and gleefully starts to play a game called "Global Thermonuclear War."

It's no game. At NORAD headquarters, they see the launch simulation as an actual attack, as they don't know what the source is. A new program is underway at NORAD as there has been a noted reluctance on the part of personnel to launch attacks during drills* and director McKittrick (Dabney Coleman) has put the launch controls in the virtual hands of an automated system called the WOPR (War Operation Plan Response). That would be semi-okay if there was an actual launch detected instead of a kid playing around in his bedroom. But before any launch codes can be acquired, the attack is stopped...just like that.

But, the signal is traced back to the source. And, before you can say "you have the right to remain silent," David is arrested and charged with espionage. It seems the WOPR is still running simulations as it has made no differentiation between David's simulated game and an actual attack. Despite this, in a section that strains credulity a bit, given the security at any NORAD facility, David manages to escape the underground complex and, with Jennifer's help, enlists the aid of retired Professor Stephen Falken (John Wood), who is persuaded to come back to the NORAD facility in an attempt to circumvent a triggering of World War III.

It's a fun movie—the switch-over from Brest to Badham was to ensure that the film's touch was lighter than originally intended—but, there are still moments of genuine unease, as the automated systems still manage to continue cogitating, briskly running through possible launch code configurations and attack scenario's that bathe the elaborate NORAD set in an un-eathly light as the screens white-out with displays of nuclear annihilation (kudo's to John Rubinstein's score in that section). The "game"-plan to teach the system the difference between game-theory and "mutually assured destruction" is a bit of a stretch, but as long as the world doesn't blow up, you'll take any way out of it.

Now, a couple things. The first is the conception of Dr. Stephen Falken. The character was based on Stephen Hawking, and the cosmologist was approached to actually play the role while the script was being developed. He refused, because, at this point in his battle with ALS, he felt his appearance might be exploited. The next person the writers turned to was, of all people, John Lennon, who expressed interest in the role, but was assassinated in 1980. Imagine John Lennon in WarGames (I wonder if you can).

But, the most interesting thing about WarGames was its impact after its release. Co-writer Larry Lasker was a friend of President Ronald Reagan, and one night, Reagan settled down at Camp David for a screening of the film. The film affected him deeply, and returning to Washington, he began to make inquiries about hacking and whether what he saw in the film might actually occur. As the film was scrupulously researched with experts from the RAND Corporation and the Stanford Research Institute, he was assured that, yes, such a thing was possible, and not only that, probable. Reagan did two things: he began discussing the film with members of Congress, the Joint Chiefs, and others, leading to NSDD-145, a National Security Directive on securing government computers from cyber-attack.

He also changed his priorities about nuclear weapons. The first years of Reagan's presidency saw him cautioning about military weakness in the face of, what he termed, "The Evil Empire" of Soviet Russia, starting an massive escalation in the military budget. After WarGames, he turned his attention to negotiating with Soviet leaders about nuclear disarmament and reducing tensions (and targets) between the two countries. 

After WarGames. 

It is hard to say exactly what influence a "kid's movie" might have on national policy, but its message of "the only winning move is not to play" still resonates, albeit there are "some" who still hold to the idea that a thermonuclear war is "winnable."

They just haven't figured out who would be left to "declare" it.

* There is an opening scene depicting just that happenstance, and the two grunts locked in that conflict ("TURN your KEY, sir!") are portrayed by John Spencer and Michael Madsen.

** In my past life as a audio engineer, I had the opportunity to work with and get to know one of the actors in the film, Barry Corbin, who plays Gen. Jack Beringer. When I first met Corbin, I was a little skeptical of his huge cowboy hat and thick Texas drawl because I'd seen him in this film and the drawl wasn't there. I thought he might be putting on "cowboy airs." But, he was born in West Texas and he comes by it genuinely (He IS an actor, after all...). I also came to find him an extraordinarily talented and well-read, sophisticated gentleman (He did one of those things I love to see actors do—he had a script for a 60 second commercial that in his first run-through he did in 90 seconds, and then, without benefit of any editing, proceeded to do a second "take" that was precisely 60 seconds and just as nuanced, albeit rushed—he just wanted to see if he could actually do it!). He was working on the TV show "Northern Exposure" (which was filmed in the area) and he had frequent calls to do voice-over work, and I found him to be a fascinating, gifted individual. I asked him once why he chose to play Deputy Roscoe Brown, a very gullible and low-brow character in the mini-series "Lonesome Dove" and he said "You just want to be a part of something that special...any part." 

Manchester By the Sea

Good Grief!
or
Tough Love, Massachusetts-Style

I giggled in the lobby of the theater after seeing Manchester by the Sea. A matronly patron groused "Well, THAT was the 'feel-good movie of the year!'" And the voice in my head said "It wasn't SUPPOSED to be, you ass!" Then, I laughed. I could have been doing dialog from the movie.

First off, I loved it, it's definitely a highlight of what has been a dispiriting and disappointing year of movies. Part of the reason is that Manchester by the Sea is determined to not do things the usual "movie" (Hollywood) way. For all the touting of "grit" and "realism" in films, there's always a disconnect. People do not talk like writers talk. If anything, the interpretation by the actors "saves" dialog that is too pointed or too "on the nose" to be really reflective of reality. Movie-goers like to have things spelled out—you show them what's going and reinforce it by telling them what they're seeing. That is the typical movie-making way. You fill the audience in, so no one gets left behind, even if you have to beat somebody over the head with a tacked-on "looped" line.

Manchester by the Sea doesn't do that. At times, it comes frustratingly close to going in that direction and then simply...doesn't do it, not meeting expectations or going the easy way. I like that. I felt like the movie was treating me as an adult and that's a rare sensation in movie-going these days. 

But, then my definition of an adult—as opposed to a child—is someone who knows grief.

Lee Chandler (Casey Affleck, absolutely brilliant, but not showy, which will frustrate some) is a live-in handyman for four properties in a suburb of Boston. His life is "getting by". He gets called to solve problems for the tenants in as efficient a way as possible in order to get the job done. He shovels snow on walk-ways before people can fall and break a hip, he'll do plumbing, electrical—all non-union, all skirting code—janitorial. He gets it done. He's responsible. But, he has a low tolerance for bullshit, as he demonstrates with a tenant, who clearly has issues with thinking of things beyond her orbit. Chandler disrespects her and the super gets wind of it and tells him to apologize. This Chandler won't do, reminding the super very matter-of-factly that he's got a very good deal with him as an employee, but no, he's not going to apologize. The super caves "Alright, I'll talk to her!" Lee goes back to work.

But, a phone call throws him off his duties. He gets a call to go back to his home-town, Manchester—his brother's in the hospital. He goes and quickly, but by the time he gets there, his brother Joe (Kyle Chandler) is already dead of heart failure. He talks to the nurse, he talks to the doctor, he talks to family friend, George (C. J. Wilson), who was there when Joe was stricken. Joe had a bad heart, everybody knew it and it just gave out. The doctor expresses his concerns and Lee just brushes it off with a harsh "Fuck this...."

Cut to eight years earlier. A simple cut. No warning, no fade. A single cut to the day Joe is told he has congestive heart failure and has maybe five to ten years to live. "It's a bad disease," says his doctor. "Is there a good disease?" asks Joe. "Poison ivy," she offers. "Athlete's foot," Lee adds. That's the breaking point for Joe's wife (Gretchen Mol), who is trying to deal and she walks out of the room. 

Back to the present, and Lee is escorted to the morgue to see his brother's body. He lingers, unable to speak, leans over his brother's body and kisses him on the cheek. He leaves.

Joe's son, Patrick (Lucas Hedges) is in hockey practice and is having a bad day, when Lee shows up to tell him. Despite facing disciplinary actions for his attitude on the ice, he is allowed to go home with his uncle. "So that's the Lee Chandler," says one of his classmates. "You know, that story is total bullshit..." says another.

Back home at Joe's house, Lee is trying to make arrangements, find a funeral home, and deal with the logistics of his brother's service and burial...and trying to keep an eye on Patrick. Patrick is a diffident teen, and Lee is having a difficult time trying to be a supportive uncle and being there for him like Joe would have. He's unsure and agrees to have Patrick's friends from school come over to help him deal, even...somewhat reluctantly letting Patrick's girlfriend Sylvia stay the night.

But, the two males have a difficult relationship, especially given the difficult times. It's when he drags Patrick along for a meeting with Joe's lawyer that Lee gets his biggest shock: Joe has arranged for Lee to be Patrick's guardian in the event of his death. This floors Lee—financially, Joe has everything set up for Lee to take over (Patrick gets everything and Joe has set up a stipend for Lee to handle things until Patrick turns 21), but it means that Lee will have to uproot what there is of his life and move back to Manchester—which he does not want, nor does he want the responsibility of being Patrick's guardian, all for reasons of his own. Lee has a past there, and his ex-wife (Michelle Williams, who has few scenes but don't be surprised if she wins the Oscar for them) lives there and...well, he just does not want to move back.

This sets up a conflict between uncle and nephew that becomes contentious. Both of them have trouble communicating, anyway—Lee has few words, if any, and Patrick can't help but retort to anything other than derision and sarcasm. Patrick is without a parent, and is old enough that he wants to have a say in his own life, and Lee would just as soon give that to him, but he is legally and responsibly bound to take care of his nephew, who he loves...but....

I hate to cop out at this point, but to say any more will spoil some big reveals that Lonergan inserts at opportune times to show the reasons Lee does what he does, and why. Affleck plays his scenes with an internal intensity that may be off-putting for most audiences, but he's a man in pain and deeply grieving and infects his entire being right down to his soul. He's a man who doesn't trust himself, and doesn't trust the responsibility of taking care of his nephew. He's responsible and it scares him to death.

"Feel-good movie of the year?" Not in the least. But, I deeply loved Manchester by the Sea, which, like Lonergan's You Can Count on Me, feels less like a movie than life, which is messy and you have to pick your way through it, with no easy answers. It's not for everybody. But it certainly is for me.

Rules Don't Apply

Never Check an Interesting Fact*
or
Hughes Kissing Her Now?

Warren Beatty's tall-tale about Howard Hughes, Rules Don't Apply, is about as ungainly as The Spruce Goose, but like the idea behind that aeronautical white elephant, it is not without its charms. 

For one thing, it's not done with any malice aforethought. Beatty's been trying to make a movie about Hughes since the 1970's, and they've started it up and shut it down at various times, the timing never seeming right. After Scorsese made The Aviator, I'm surprised this was made at all, but one can see why Beatty still forged ahead with his story that he wrote with Bo Goldman (who also touched on Hughes in his original screenplay Melvin and Howard) and came out of self-imposed domestic bliss (Beatty wanted to raise the kids he had with wife Annette Bening, for God's sake!) to make it. He's managed to make a somewhat racy Disney fairy tale out of Hughes' life, complete with princess, Prince Charming, and even a happy ending for all involved. And that takes some doing, even if it takes a lot of liberties with the timeline and history.

It starts in 1964, where Hughes (Beatty) is a recluse who has not been seen in years, and an elaborate phone hook-up has been set up with Hughes for experts from the press who are awaiting a call from the man, who is only speaking due to an unauthorized biography that a ne'er-do-well (Paul Schneider) has penned claiming it as a genuine autobiography.** His aides, Frank Forbes (Alden Ehrenreich) and Levar Mathis (Mathew Broderick) are trying to convince the reluctant Hughes to go through with it, as his reputation is on the line. But, the fire's gone out of Hughes, who couldn't care less and would just as soon be left alone. How he got here and how it gets resolved takes some back-story.

It's six years previous. 1956, to be exact, in this movie's version. Hughes is head of RKO Pictures where he fiddles with movies and has big aviation dreams, still designing aircraft and leading a lifestyle that goes beyond reclusive. Frank Forbes is a driver for RKO, specifically for the bevy of starlets Hughes has under exclusive contract, all hoping to make it big in movies...or to, at least, meet Mr. Hughes personally. Frank and his immediate superior Levar are part of the motor pool for the RKO hopefuls—because the girls can't have their own cars, so as best to keep an eye on them (who knows how much trouble they could get into?) and the Hughes iron-clad contract guarantees that no Hughes employee is going to fraternize with them; the drivers stay in the front seats while the girls are completely safe and unmolested in the back-seats.

It's one of Frank's jobs today to pick up Marla Mabry (Lily Collins, who's presented as something like the love-child of Audrey Hepburn and Elizabeth Taylor), RKO's latest recruit, escorted by her mother Lucy (Bening), who's there to make sure that Marla doesn't stray far from her Baptist upbringing (at one point, Levar, observing them says: "You know why Baptists are afraid of sex? They're afraid it will lead to DANCING!") and that things are on the up-and-up, especially with regards to meeting Mr. Hughes. 

They're going to have to wait awhile, as nobody sees Mr. Hughes except for a select few in his daily flight-path. In fact, his way to pay the starlets is to lower checks from a clipboard attached to a string from his second floor window. Weird, yes, but Hughes is a busy man with a lot on his mind besides merely the RKO lot. There's his aerodynamic firm, his Daddy's tool company—of paramount importance—his studio, his investments—he's interested in birth control advancements, the recent discovery of DNA, and what appears to be an attempt at a clinch is merely his noticing that the fabric of an actress' blouse is rayon—but also, he's concerned with Congress breathing down his neck about his recent plane plans, questions of his competency and possible incarceration into a "looney bin," his abhorrence of appearing in public (leading him to supervise the casting of "doubles"), and then, of course, there's "The Spruce Goose"—the HK Hercules—the wooden behemoth of a plane that has not yet flown (actually, Hughes flew it in 1947). It was built as an experiment to see if a transport could be built without commodities that might be in short ration supply during wartime, like aluminum.

A lot on his mind. Probably too much. Beatty plays Hughes in a hyper-scattershot style (which he excels at, and is always Beatty as his most interesting as an actor), usually obscured by shadow, often at a loss about what people are talking about when they're not talking about something that interests him. At this point, he's a man of reputation, which he keeps up by not being seen. A late night liaison arranged for Miss Mabry turns into a dinner where the two dine on TV trays with freshly warmed TV-dinners in tidy aluminum trays (which Hughes eats with gusto), a brief musical interlude where he plays the saxophone, and a lot of awkward silences.

The movie's at its best when Hughes is in the picture, although one wonders where it's all going when he doesn't show up for 45 minutes. At least, that early part of the picture is breezily, almost brutally, edited (Beatty has been known to turn in long edits of his movies, but this one clips along at just under 2 hours), and the director delights in period detail and idiosyncratic music choices for background—"Rockin' Robin," a Lawrence Welk tune—that entertain while teeing up the conflicts that will beset the young lovers from that first act as the movie progresses. The movie says something about breaking away from the constraints that hold us back, with Hughes as prime example, cautionary tale, and inconvenient road-bump on the path to true happiness. That's a lot of duty for the "Magical Helper" on a hero's journey, but Hughes was always an iconoclast.

Maybe too much. Around about the time Beatty's movie-Hughes starts making demands for a particular flavor of ice-cream, then flipping to another, the movie starts to sag away from that hyper first section and lose interest in the romance, losing its heart, but ultimately tying all loose ends together for a melancholy ending in which everybody seems to be getting what they want. It's a deft conceit and an odd unconventional addition to Beatty's short list of odd, sometimes unsettling, but always rather interesting films that linger in the memory far fonder than they do in the watching.

* Ascribed in the film as being said by Hughes, but I can't verify that.

** Anyone who's been alive as long as I have knows that phone conference didn't occur until 1971, when Clifford Irving published his bogus "autobiography" of Hughes that contained all sorts of wild speculations about Hughes' aversion to germs (not exactly false), and his dietary and personal habits, including growing out his fingernails—Hughes quipped during the call "Yeah, I was thinking how do I write checks?" As Beatty notes after that opening Hughes quote "Names and Dates Don't Apply."

*** One of my favorite films involving Hughes is Orson Welles F for Fake, which takes on the rather daunting subject of the worth of art, with amusing anecdotes about a particular art forger, who became friends with, and was subsequently, biographied by...Clifford Irving.