University Daily Kansan, June 18, 1981
北京交
'Lost Ark' good for its genre; 'Titans' adequate
By MIKE GEBERT Contributing Reviewer
RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK, starring Harrison Ford, Karen Allen, Renald Lacey, Paul Freeman, Denholm Ellott, John Rhs-Davies. Produced by George Lucas. Directed by Stephen SPIelberg.
CLASH OF THE TITANS, starring Harry Hamlin, Judi Bowker, Laurence Oliver, Burges Meredith, Maggie Smith, Uralla Enda, Caire Bloom, Flora Robson. Produced by Charles Schneer. Special visual effects by Ray Harryhauens. Directed by Desmond Davis.
Two epic adventure films, one bursting with imagination, one sometimes lacking in it, demonstrate the range of films we are likely to see this summer.
Lots of swords and probably precious little intelligence will be on display; summer is a time for the mindless game of juggling, but those two represent the best of the bunch, and now added to their ranks is "Raiders of the Lost Ark," which is not coincidentally, produced by George Lucas, directed by Stephen Spielberg of "Jaws."
"Raiders" is likely to be the summer's big picture, and it's easy to see why Lucas and Spielberg may not be artists, but at the business of entertainment, they have imagination and skill rivaled by no one. "Raiders"
is packed with exciting, bizarre action, cliffhanger thrillers, and dazzling effects, interrupted periodically by funny dialogue from a fine cast. It's a distillation of great B-movies and action films, "and" 'Don Winslow of the Navy," with twelve weeks' worth of excitement crammed into two hours.
Harrison Ford is Indiana Jones—perfect name—an archaeologist and sometimes defender of democracy, who in 1938 is recruited by the American government to look for and find the lost Ark of the Covenant, the one in which the Ten Commandments were kept, before the Nazis do.
In no time, he is off to Nepal, where he meets up with Marion Ravenwood (Karen Allen), an old flame whose
father had clues to the whereabouts of the Ark.
Faster than you can say "Republic Pictures," they are off to Cairo to get the Ark minutes before the French archeologist Belloq (Paul Freeman) and the Gestapo type helping him (Roland Lacey) do. There are snakes, amusing characters, an amazing stunt in which Jones climbs up the mountain going 40 miles an hour that represents the movie's super-duper no-drills-missed attitude. It is too much.
It is too much, at times, Jones is an invincible as Doc Savage, which takes the edge off the suspense. Life is no dangerous than Jones, really, than life in the wild, but runner cartoons—sure, he falls five miles and gets flattened, but he bounces
But it seems unfair to complain; that's obviously how Lucas and Spielberg want things. They want you to know that it's even more of a B-movie than "Star Wars," even if it cost $20 million. It looks grand and reeks of backlot cheapness—they went to Tunisia to make the phony-Arab city to end all phony-Arab cities, and they let you know it. It's better that way.
Blondie sings to rootless young
right back. Like Skywalker lost a hand, but they got him a new one. Likewise, Indiana Jones gets dragged behind a truck and is sealing kills the next day.
By WILLIAM H. WISNER
Guest Reviewer
Predictably, the song designed to sell, sold. But "The Tide is High." Blondie's latest hit off their record "Autoamerican" is followed by a song that is incomparably better, a cut much more deserving of fame than the popular hit, and which is virtually ignored.
"Angels on the Balcony" is energized with the humming electricity of lead singer Deborah Harry's voice, delicate one minute, picking out sylphies by shuffling his hands with invitation or the remote disjunction, even of the ultimate sexual cool.
For all that, Blondie is not only a superb rock group, but an important one. And beneath the sex and the im-
"Angels" is an eerie, fantasical song in which stumped memory is in a "silent sea," and even melody, art itself, is on a "long retreat" before the sun sets. We have conjured into being and which "Autostarman" is ultimately about.
The teen generation, which idolizes Blondie, and Deborah Har伯 in particular, is not the lost generation so much as the stolen generation, robbed of its mooring lines in any meaningful tradition or any meaningful institution, the truest victims of the cynical, and aging, flower generation that now inhabits our society. They are easily susceptible to the hooks Blondie uses in its songs, typical disco devices, frankly popular by admission of the group itself.
But, beyond the top 40, Blondie, like some kind of hybrid self-correcting machine, both registers and directs the emotions of its audience. Blondie gives young America what it wants, and at the same moment reveals to it its own incredible bansality, its love of glitter over substance, its pulsing sexuality that can only end in the defeat of despair.
It is the rootless young who must bear the societal burdens Blondie reveals. It is they who must make the choices that have for the most part made cynical decisions. If they are asked bereft of practically all guidance, to make his way in the world.
drugs, it is the only group today that can persuade us, at the end of their strange orchestra piece "Europa" that America has indeed become "keyed up, on its rims, and abandoned on the expressway" in its search for "total mobility." It is the mobility not only of autos and telephones and calculators, but also relationships, trysts and marriages blown to pieces in the interests of the new, long-awaited expiration of the nuclear family.
Is it any wonder that they turn to Blondie and ask for projesies? It is Deborah Harry who has articulated the fear when she sings, with cool wit and charm. She's tired, and I've lost control—don't leave me here—time is running out. Take me
down the highway like a rocket to the ocean;" or who makes the giving of a telephone number an act of revelation; or sings an elegy to a television tube and says, "the beams become by dream, my dream is on the screen." It is the young who ask for one true thing; "a total picture with no omissions," and their society's denial of it is particularly tragic.
To prophey, Blondie has to know its audience better than it knows itself, and it is certainly no accident that its lead singer, the electric essence of the group, Deborah Harry, herself is no longer under thirty.
With a complex, tragic past of her own, which included the death of a boyfriend to drugs and her own addiction, she has a right to prophesy. At age 18, she sat at its best, one of the few remaining voices that can reach stolen youth.
is Ray Harryhausen, the protégé of Willis ("King Kong"), O'Brien and probably the greatest stop-motion animator in the world. His only rival is David Winton Vilton, whose work is very different and definitely non-commercial.
The cast is excellent. Those who bemoan the lack of modern Gables and Bogars don't realize that Harrison Ford has been all along, it's just that nobody made "Casablancas" for him until now. His delivery is perfect, but he isn't as charming as that, that I suspect, does a lot to keep the movie from being campy. Karen Allen (she played in co-writer Karl Kaufman's "The Wanderers") and also in "Animal House") is no romantic interest; she slags it out with the best of them and has a festy comedy charm that makes you want to lick at him proud. And Ronald Lacy as the Peter Lorre-escue Nazi, with his sadistic-idiot grin, deserves special note; I only wish Paul Freeman's world-weary bad guy Belloq could be a character, as he's one of the few bad guys in these kinds of pictures that approached three-dimensionality. The Nazi is one woman, but it's a good on-dimension.
William H. Wisner is a graduate student in the department of English.
My only regret about the film is that it is going to prompt a lot of imitations. I look forward to more Indiana Jones films, but many of these imitations will probably be very bad. "Raiders" may be unbelievable, or even silly. It's definitely lightweight. But it comes from men of imagination, and they are few enough of them in Hollywood
"Clash of the Titans" gives us a preview of what those imitations may be like. There is one man tremendous imagination and skill at work here. He
I have great respect for Harryhausen's first two "Sinbad" pictures and films like "Jason and the Argonauts" and "It Came From Beneath the Sea." Even in his lesser works, such as "B.C." or "Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger," there has been much to admire in Harryhausen's animation of monsters and such—particularly a very lifelike troglodyte and a fine tiger in the latter. But those two had nearly unrelated lives; Harryhausen's "Clash of the Titans," despite some Harryhausen's most amazing work, is the same way.
Harry Hamlin is Perseus, son of Zeus, with the help (or hindrance) of a handful of Greek gods and goddesses, impersonated by a number of top British actors who try not to look embarrassed, rescues his beloved Andromeda from a nasty creature, along the way fighting giant scorpions, a two-headed wolf, Medusa, Calibos and an owl. The dialogue is painfully silly—though not silly enough that it's any fun, apart from a few bits with Maggie Smith as one goddess and Burgess Meredith as Perseus' cranky old pal.
A fight with giant scorpions reminds one of the classic duels with skeletons in "Jason" and "The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad," Harryhausen's animation of Sinbad, a hybrid horse, and two headed Cerberus hurdles, to be two greatest achievements to date. But the fact is, the human parts of the film are dull and often betray their cheap budget, and as the special effects don't really get going until the last third, the fatality hurt. The last 45 minutes are often magical; the first 75 are killers.
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'WHY DO THE HEATHEN RAGE?'
Psalm 2:1 and Acts 4:25
The heathen rage because they are the enemies of The Kingdom of Heaven, the King of Eternity! "Or God, the heathen are come into Thine Inheritance; thy holy temple have they defiled—"Pasim 79:1. They can sing and pray "Hallowed be Thy Name, Thy Kingdom come, Will you be done on earth as it is heaven," and apparently enjoy doing and, think they mean it. However, when it comes to literally obeying and establishing The Heavenly Temple, they must commandeurms, and享受 their in our daily conduct and commerce, if not most of the time, men are aroused to racing against them!
God is not pleased with such an offering of worship! "I hate, I despair my feast days," ... take thou away from Me the noise of thy songs; for I will not hear the melody of thy visils. But let judgement run down as waters, and bring me to the earth, that it may ye call me Ye mle Me, Lord, and do not the things which I say"—Luke 8:46.
"The great desideratum in the council-chamber of the infernal king has always been how man's innate religious feeling should be satisfied, and yet God not be served. How could the heart be kept from God, the clamors of his inner fire? How could he not feel the power of feeling be answered?" The arch enemy of man's immortal hopes solved the problem. The solution appears in the cunning devices he has sought out to beguile unwary souls. He has varified his plans to suit times and places in a way that would enable him to govern of human governments, and the condition of the human mind."—Whoever it was that said that surely "knew his way around" in the spiritual world. And he goes on to point to the devil's strategy down through the ages in solving the problem, and success until he gets to the place where God saves:" Thus far, but no further.
Luther, the great man of God of the 16th century, said that if he had the gift of miracles, it yet better were to testify of his fall by obedience, than by witchcraft.
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Come and see him play a variety of instruments
Enjoy great food and entertainment
9:30 pm-1:30 am 1401 W. 7th
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Friday, June 19th
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Eliot Fisk, Guitar
Thursday, June 25
8:00 p. m.
The New York String Quartet Tuesday, July 7 8:00 p. m.
From the Aspen Festival:
Dick Waller and Friends
Featuring Dick Waller on Clarinet
Tuesday, July 14
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