If movies are to be believed — and in this exceptional case, why shouldn’t they be? — Los Angeles has been going to hell, decaying and dying, since the day they put up the Hollywood sign.
The other night, we watched Escape from L.A. (for some reason. Masochism…?) and it was all there, just as it was in Chinatown and Sunset Blvd. and Kiss Me Deadly and Grand Canyon and…
And yet, L.A. remains, albeit just barely.
Anyway, here’s an excerpt from my look back at Falling Down, inspired by the pending release of Bobcat Goldthwait’s God Bless America:
With a buzzcut you could set your clock by, white short-sleeved dress shirt, tie and wimpy pocket protector, Douglas’s iconic physical appearance in this movie – it’s been “name checked” numerous times since (see The Simpson’s ill-fated Frank “Grimey” Grimes) – was presumably styled to remind the viewer of both Bernard Goetz and Charles Whitman. (…)
People misremember Falling Down as having a higher body count than it actually does. Foster kills one despicable character in self-defense; his other “victims” are merely shook up — as is Foster himself, who doesn’t exactly retain expert control over his unwieldy weaponry. (…)Yes, Douglas’ character is a VERY angry guy. But there’s nothing terribly “conservative” about, say, complaining about the price of a can of Coke, or inherently “right wing” about bitching that fast food employees aren’t supposed to serve breakfast after a certain time.
Yes, such stringent regulations seem petty and even arbitrary, and have certainly contributed to the increase of cynicism and the general breakdown of social trust and cooperation. However, if you subtract the automatic weapons, Foster’s tantrum in the restaurant — while obviously designed to echo two still-fresh massacres at Luby’s and McDonald’s — wouldn’t be out of place in the lyrics of “Alice’s Restaurant” or the faux-hippie anthem “Signs.” (…)
