Roy Batty's Wonders Were Here All Along
The Hitcher (1986)
directed by Robert Harmon
rating: 4 out of 5 cravats
on DVD from Netflix
Eric Red wrote Near Dark, one of my favorite movies. I didn't learn that until after I'd watched The Hitcher, but it seems unusual that two relatively inexperienced directors (Kathryn Bigelow for Near Dark and one-time cinematographer Robert Harmon here) would complement two screenplays so well. The Hitcher is a thriller, but if you think about Near Dark, you remember that the vampires are immortal but more or less human. Vicious, sure, but no powers beyond heightened senses that draw a girl like Mae out into the moonlight.
In The Hitcher, John Ryder appears and disappears in ways that don't make sense. He's always exactly where he needs to be, to an uncanny degree. Harmon shoots the desert so wide open that it's as if the conflicts and car chases we witness are flickering mirages that play out and fade away. Meaning, I guess, that there's something supernatural at work, just as there always is anytime you're too far away from things on your own.
In both movies, there is a scene where someone we care about calls home to tell the person on the other line that he or she is okay. These are remote, local situations and they play out with regional law enforcement and almost no one else. No one is up against a vast conspiracy, and nothing that happens gets national attention. These movies take place in expanses of land that people in cars pass through. When night falls travelers want to be safe in bed, not out on the weary and limitless road.
The burger that Nash cooks on a griddle for Jim is a hall-of-famer. The car stunts in The Hitcher go toe-to-toe with the best of them. There are good Texas touches but there isn't a moment when the movie doesn't look like the Mojave Desert. Harmon's cinematographer, John Seale, takes advantage of every easy dip and gentle curve on the highway. Night and day switch places indiscriminately, and buses that Jim passed catch up to him. It seems like there should be a bigger city somewhere, a destination more permanent than a gas station, but he's stuck with very little to hold onto. Just that burger, really, wolfed down out of the sun.
It's my favorite dream, dreamed by an agoraphobic. If I really have "Riders on the Storm" to thank for this then it's time to reevaluate my relationship with the Doors.
directed by Robert Harmon
rating: 4 out of 5 cravats
on DVD from Netflix
Eric Red wrote Near Dark, one of my favorite movies. I didn't learn that until after I'd watched The Hitcher, but it seems unusual that two relatively inexperienced directors (Kathryn Bigelow for Near Dark and one-time cinematographer Robert Harmon here) would complement two screenplays so well. The Hitcher is a thriller, but if you think about Near Dark, you remember that the vampires are immortal but more or less human. Vicious, sure, but no powers beyond heightened senses that draw a girl like Mae out into the moonlight.
In The Hitcher, John Ryder appears and disappears in ways that don't make sense. He's always exactly where he needs to be, to an uncanny degree. Harmon shoots the desert so wide open that it's as if the conflicts and car chases we witness are flickering mirages that play out and fade away. Meaning, I guess, that there's something supernatural at work, just as there always is anytime you're too far away from things on your own.
In both movies, there is a scene where someone we care about calls home to tell the person on the other line that he or she is okay. These are remote, local situations and they play out with regional law enforcement and almost no one else. No one is up against a vast conspiracy, and nothing that happens gets national attention. These movies take place in expanses of land that people in cars pass through. When night falls travelers want to be safe in bed, not out on the weary and limitless road.
The burger that Nash cooks on a griddle for Jim is a hall-of-famer. The car stunts in The Hitcher go toe-to-toe with the best of them. There are good Texas touches but there isn't a moment when the movie doesn't look like the Mojave Desert. Harmon's cinematographer, John Seale, takes advantage of every easy dip and gentle curve on the highway. Night and day switch places indiscriminately, and buses that Jim passed catch up to him. It seems like there should be a bigger city somewhere, a destination more permanent than a gas station, but he's stuck with very little to hold onto. Just that burger, really, wolfed down out of the sun.
It's my favorite dream, dreamed by an agoraphobic. If I really have "Riders on the Storm" to thank for this then it's time to reevaluate my relationship with the Doors.
posted by NPK at 12:01 AM
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