WarGames
(1983)
(SPOILERS) It isn’t easy to imminent nuclear Armageddon fun. By the
sound of it, WarGames wouldn’t have
become the fifth biggest movie (in the US) of 1983 if original director Martin
Brest had not been fired from his more serious take on the tale of a computer
geek who accidentally hacks into NORAD and nearly starts WWIII. The premise is
deliriously hi-concept, but Brest appeared to have something in mind that was
closer to the tone Alan J Pakula’s ‘70s conspiracy pictures. When reliable pair
of hands John Badham stepped into the breach it became something else. WarGames retained its essentials – that
is, a surprisingly smart and occasionally very witty exlploration of the
absurdity of the Cold War nuclear stalemate – but added a lightness of touch.
1983 is really where we begin to see ‘80s, Reagan era cinema
solidifying. E.T. is in the rear view
mirror, and the nascent (post-Jaws)
blockbuster mentality has fully taken hold. From here, there will be a tendency
to superficiality rather than substance. Obviously (alternatively, one might
say ‘twas ever thus), I’m generalising; there would be no shortage of fine Hollywood
movies over then next seven years, many in response to the prevailing political
climate. But to wit my point, Martin Brest’s next project was the wafer-thin Beverly Hills Cop.
If you look at ‘80s cinema, there are fewer pure
“zeitgeist” moments than in the previous decade. It was easier to manufacture
appetite for a picture and persuade an audience to swallow it. Tapping into
prevailing trends and making
something successful was trickier. To an extent, the personality-based rise of
Eddie Murphy and Tom Cruise reflects this, particularly in Cruise’s shallow endorsement
of me-first in the likes of Risky
Business (young man and hookers) and Top
Gun (young man and military hardware; you need to look to the decade’s
bookends for the actor in more interesting war-based pictures, Taps and Born on the Fourth of July). When pictures with their finger on the
pulse did arrive (Fatal Attraction, Working Girl) they were too processed to
really resonate beyond the surface level.
So WarGames stands
out as something of an exception; there were plenty of pictures out there addressing
topical themes, but precious few that became breakout hits on quite that level.
Badham’s film taps into not one but two such threads. The first of these was
the computer, or rather the home computer. This was the era of ZX Spectrums and
Commodore 64s, and the boom in arcade games. Perhaps the most surprising thing
is that the mercurial Spielberg didn’t make WarGames;
he was probably kicking himself, which might explain why he has ‘80s gaming
nostalgia fest Ready Player One lined
up.
It probably felt like there were a lot of similarly themed
movies out there at the time. There was
a TV series, Whiz Kids, which lasted
a season as a quick cash-in on the rising interest in all things computer. And
there was The Last Starfighter, profiting
off the gaming trend, with Weird Science
on the John Hughes side. But it’s more difficult to make a hit from popular
trends than it seems. Oliver Stone should know; Wall Street ‘s antagonist became an icon, but the movie itself did
only decent rather than spectacular business.
WarGames’ alchemy comes
from marrying an idea that tends looks better on paper than celluloid (a hacker
hacks stuff, but what; 1995’s Hackers showed
there aren’t too many spins on the premise that work) to the pervading blot on
the landscape of the period. The ‘70s
détente with the Soviet Union had given way to a new rhetoric when Ronnie
Reagan took office. He favoured extreme language, denouncing “the evil empire” and fuelling tensions.
A nuclear sunset shimmered back into focus like it hadn’t since the early 1960s.
How real the threat actually was is sort of irrelevant; it
was perceived to be so, and that was more
than enough. It has been said the US grossly overstated the threat from USSRaggression and understated its reluctance to use such weapons, which probably
suited the arms manufacturers just fine (and that’s before one gets into some
of the more high-end conspiracy theories about the western bankers behind the communist
edifice).
The doctrine of Mutually Assured Destruction (MAD) had
ensured that, if superpowers could match each other nuke for nuke (or
thereabouts), there would never be any danger of firing the damn things. Reagan’s
Strategic Defence Initiative (“Star Wars”; this was the era for appropriating
movie terminology, one where WarGames
was shown to Ronnie and he initiated policy based on its contents), announced
three months before WarGames release (as was his evil empire speech) only
exacerbated the unease with a president who didn’t just favour posturing, he
was actively belligerent (he’d invoke Rambo, for goodness sake). This aggression
has now been rewritten as a stroke of genius, the wily old goat engineering the
collapse of the Soviet Empire. Who knew, huh?
Dr Strangelove must
have seemed like the last word on the absurdity and futility of nuclear war. It
certainly hasn’t been topped. But even before Reagan began putting out fire
with gasoline, the less incendiary side of the nuclear industry was provoking
concerns. The Three Mile Island nuclear accident occurred in 1979, 12 days after
The China Syndrome was released. The
dangers of the nuclear industry slowly came into focus, and it took until 2012
for new permits to be issued for reactors. Ironically, in the aftermath of
Fukushima, a disaster that just won’t go away (despite media attempts to brush
it under the carpet), many nations (including Britain) appear to banging the
drum once more for nuclear.
Has the nuclear threat swum regained potency? Not a bit of
it. The Godzilla remake singularly failed
to run with the original’s nuclear subtext (even making the dangers of radioactive
fallout seem nothing to worry about, as long as you have a super monster to absorb
it all). Filmmakers in the ‘80s, in contrast, still wore the social conscience
of the ‘60s, just about, even if bore an increasingly pecuniary face, as
identified by 1983’s The Big Chill.
The same year still, Silkwood
came out, based on a true story. It proved to be a surprise hit, tapping
into fears in a manner that was both uncompromising and deeply unsettling. The
real gut punches came from TV, though. Within a year of each other,
transatlantic takes on a the big one being dropped appeared in the US (The Day After, also ’83, form Star Trek II hand Nicholas Meyer) and Threads (from Mick Jackson who went on
to, er… The Bodyguard).
Badham delivered a sugar-coated pill, and so managed to address
a disturbing subject in a palatable fashion. Lawrence Lasker and Walter F
Parkes even lifted the mad computer concept from 1968’s Colossus: The Forbidden Project in a much more family-friendly
fashion. It might be tempting to single out the WarGames for not proving
heavy hitting when stood next to such peers, but it’s achievement is getting a
sizeable audience to think about these subjects without dwelling on the ickier
stuff (the following year’s Repo Man
gathers up many similar ideas in more scattershot fashion, but was only ever
going to be a cult rave).
When Lasker and Parkes first came up with their idea for
what became WarGames in 1979, it was
a very different beast. Inspired by Stephen Hawking it featured a dying genius
and a smart kid. It sounds fairly crummy, truth be told, but that kernel morphs
into David (Matthew Broderick) and Falken (John Wood) in the final feature. It
appears the nuclear concept came well into the process, certainly after the
hacking device had been decided (at one point they had a threat from a
space-based defence laser run by the an AI; one wonders if Reagan had been
reading their scripts).
Steve: Turn your key, sir.
The key to WarGames
sticking is a veneer of verisimilitude. There’s just enough to prevail against
the more extravagant aspects (their later Sneakers
would be slightly less cavalier). The opening scene helps enormously in this
regard, with a pre-fame Michael Madsen (his first role) and John Spencer
required to turn the launch key when a nuclear strike is requested. It’s Spencer’s
“old” hand who refuses to do his bit, even with a gun trained on him (no ear
slicing, though); “Screw the procedure. I
want someone on the goddam phone before I kill 20 million people”.
It’s a pitch-perfect place setter, even going to the trouble
of establishing the divide between yesteryear’s halcyon hippy ideals and the subservient
now (Spencer’s girlfriend chants to encourage her flowers to grow; Madsen’s
instruction-friendly punk has no frame of reference for such concepts). Like
much of the picture, if you choose to pull it apart, it’s logically inconsistent;
why are the missile silos opening if it is just a drill (they aren’t, it’s a
cheat) and how does Madsen expect to fire the missiles if he has blown
Spencer’s head off?
It’s also probably the most straightforwardly dramatic scene
in the picture; just the act of introducing teenagers to an adult world shifts
the scale and tone. One could imagine the first five minutes are closer to what
Brest had in mind. We learn 22% of commanders failed to launch their missiles
during test drills. With those stakes established, it’s easier to swallow the
major leap required; that the there would be agreement to take the men out of
the loop and turn the launch over to machines. This is basically Skynet, a
year before Cameron envisaged the apocalypse, and WOPR (“War Operation Plan Response”, as opposed to BIGMAC) is a less
power-mad version of Colossus. Everything’s going to be quite okay, quite safe,
as it’s only “once the president decides,
the computer should take over”.
Curiously, for an ostensibly left-leaning picture, Badham
and co come down on the side of the military. Yes, WOPR comes to the only
logical conclusion at the end (“The only
winning move is not to play”), suggestive of unilateral disarmament. Yet
there’s an essential and surprising optimism in human nature here, even at the
conditioned level of the US military; it’s the old hand who’s reluctant to fire
in the first scene, and the referenced stats suggest a fifth of dutifully brainwashed
military personnel will question orders.
As buffoonish as General Jack Beringer (Barry Corbin) is, replete
with colourful vernacular (pissing on spark plugs and all), his doubts about
WOPR are shown to be correct. We’ve seen the broad, redneck soldier in an
apocalypse scenario before (Slim Pickens in Dr
Strangelove), and truth be told Corbin’s performance works a little too
much against the tension at key moments (we’re never less than aware that his
is a “performance” general), but he is framed as on the right side of a
“nothing can go wrong” scenario.
If you add in a NORAD that is astonishingly easy to escape
from, and spooks who don’t instantly snuff out David when he’s caught (the
original ending where he goes to work for them actually seems the most likely
and only one where he is permitted to get out intact), and it’s science gone
awry that’s the real danger.
Sure, it’s at the beck and call of the combative, but science’s
lack of an ethical component leads to nuclear weapons and it leads to super computers
without a moral compass. WOPR “Spends all
its time thinking about World War III”, “plays endless series of war games”, and “estimates damage, counts the dead, makes key decisions”. A computer
that exists to plays games is easily matched by a disaffected youth who exists
to play games. David doesn’t have the daddy issues of WOPR/Joshua, but there’s
a clear invitation to discover maturity for both the sparring juniors.
David is readily identified as a “classic case for recruitment by the Soviets”, such is a paranoid
apparatus capable of seeing reds everywhere. He’s an intelligent underachiever
with few friends, alienated from his parents, and “He does this sort of thing for fun”. David’s the respectable face
of a character that never really took off, although Pauline Kael understandably
suspected the computer nerd would be a big thing.
Generally be more present on
TV (most notably The Lone Gunmen in The X-Files, with a heavy dose of even
more anti-social conspiracy theorising added into the mix). Here, Malvin (Eddie
Deezen) leads the charge, informed of his irritating ways by colleague Jim
Sting (Maury Chaykin). NORAD even has its very own computer nerd tending to
WOPR.
Broderick never possessed the natural cool of Michael J Fox,
even though he played the most assured protagonist of the era a few years later
(Bueller, anyone?) 1983, with this, Risky
Business and The Outsiders,
represents the dawn of the ‘80s teen protagonist. Movies in previous years were
too disparate to form any kind of youth movement (from Carrie, to The Blue Lagoon,
to Fame to Taps to Porky’s) but
subsequently there was no stopping them. If Tron
had happened a few years later, no way would 30-year-old Jeff Bridges have been
the lead.
Broderick is great, or was great, at a certain nerdy confidence,
and managed to maintain that energy through up until somewhere around the time
of Roland Emmerich’s maligned Godzilla. Now that his career has stabilised into the kind of downtrodden (middle-aged) roles he previously
subverted, it’s easy to forget what a confident and prepossessing performer he
was. He carries WarGames
effortlessly, essaying a kid who’s more cheeky than wholly rebellious (“Your wife?” David responds to a teacher
asking who first suggested the idea of reproduction without sex). He makes if
feasible that Ally Sheedy would be into him, because he’s not that geeky; because he does things he shouldn’t,
like breaking into the school computer and changing his and her grade (that’s
the stuff of a thousand teen tearaway dreams right there), he eludes the
pitfalls of Malvin.
McKittrick: There’s no way that a high school punk can
put a dime in a telephone and break into our system.
That’s the other part of War
Games; it inspired a generation of computer geeks. Not that they probably
really need much persuasion, but for a brief time it gave some prestige to an
unglamorous pastime. Badham captures a portentously uneasy thrill when David
first contacts Joshua and comes across a list of games that spans from Chess to
Theatre Wide Tactical Warfare, Theatre Wide Biotoxic and Chemical Warfare, and
Global Nuclear Warfare (wouldn’t it have been “interesting” if David had chosen
to play the second to last?) The eagerness with which he decides, “I’ll be the Russians” and opts to nuke
Las Vegas and Seattle is both funny and chilling.
WOPR/Joshua: Shall we play a game?
David: Love to. How about Global Nuclear Warfare?
WOPR/Joshua: Wouldn’t you prefer a good game of chess?
Attempt what David does today, or discover a secret space
program from the comfort of your bedroom, and you face life extradition and
life imprisonment.
WarGames was
instrumental in persuading the US Government to implement more robust legislation
to safeguard their cyber rights. It led to the Computer Fraud and Abuse Act
(someone somewhere has probably suggested the movie was devised purely to
legitimise just such an act). If the sleights of hand in the picture, from actually
breaking into the NORAD system, to Joshua’s ability to speak, are a big
swallow, the mantra “I don’t believe that
any system is totally secure” is a persuasive one. Particularly with the then
concurrent case of the 414s, hackers who broke into such systems as the Los
Alamos National Laboratory.
What of the Hawking figure who sparked the writers? He’s
introduced mysteriously, the tantalisingly mythological figure who wrote Poker & Armageddon: The Art of Bluffing
in a Nuclear Standoff. He designed WOPR/Joshua (the name of his deceased
son) and then “died” a decade earlier. David finds Falken rather easily, and
the character’s obsession with extinction feels rather rote (comparing humans
to dinosaurs and secluding himself to await the inevitable).
This section of
the picture is a bit lumpy, truth be told, when it should be the kind of stirring
meeting of minds that emboldens the third act. Badham even throws in (courtesy
of Tom Mankiewvicz) a rather limp discussion of the end of the world between
David and Jennifer. Badham takes the blame here, pushing for it as a vital character
beat. It feels artificial, foisted on the picture – which it was – and nursed
to retching fruition with a particularly insipid harmonica accompaniment from
Arthur B Rubinstein.
Falken: General, you are listening to a machine. Do
the world a favour and don’t act like one.
What saves Falken is casting. John Wood (he also voices
Joshua) is a marvellously vital and eccentric figure. He has the frame and tone
of Benedict Cumberbatch if he went back in time 15 years from now to become an
actor in the early ‘80s. Once they arrive at NORAD, Falken’s assertive
dismissiveness of the general apparatus and authority (in particular Dabney
Coleman’s McKittrick; “I see the wife
still picks your ties”) is infectious, particularly as it comes while mentoring
David to lead by intuition.
General Beringer:
After very careful consideration, sir,
I’ve come to the conclusion that your new defence system sucks.
This type of movie usually collapses in the third act. WarGames is actually thematically
coherent, even if it ends with the computer making a joke. Lasker and Parkes
cleverly structure a false dawn, whereby the new arrivals convince the NORAD
personal that the first strike is just an illusion. All seems well… until
Joshua attempts to seize control of the launch codes and fire the missiles
himself. It’s at this point that the picture reverses the modern blockbuster
trend. Instead of an explosive climax (they could have blown up NORAD, rather
than the World, I guess), Lasker and Parkes run with a more cerebral one.
Jennifer: The game is pointless.
Falken: Exactly back in the war room they believe
you can win a nuclear war, there can be acceptable losses.
True, this isn’t rocket science, but it is satisfying. The Tic-Tac-Toe (or Noughts and Crosses as it’s more
accurately called) has been introduced as a concept sufficiently early that reimplementing
doesn’t feel artificial at this juncture. And works coherently as a metaphor
for the pointlessness of the arms race (although some might say it merely
evidences the necessity of the stalemate of escalating and equal defences); there’s
no way you can win that game. The child can also be seen to develop the wisdom
its more combative human masters lack.
WOPR/Joshua: A strange game. The only winning move is not
to play.
Joshua’s “How about a
nice game of chess” is a bit of an “I’m quite alright now” goofiness,
particularly since he will now no doubt be decommissioned and turned into
scrap. One could probably get away with a slightly unresolved sense in a movie
like this (Raiders of the Lost Ark does
it with the fate of the ark), but it’s a delicately navigable field, nuclear
Armageddon.
While Badham is a fairly nuts and bolts director, his
efficiency is put to good use here. He’s particularly strong with scene in the
expensive and impressive-looking control room (the set still looks great, and
it seems those working in the real deal were jealous of the size). He also
allows the odd quirk to break through. David’s parents are a couple of weirdos,
the types who went through the ‘60s without any acknowledgement of counter
culture.
There’s a wonderfully funny little scene in which dad (William Bogert)
carefully rubs his corn on the cob with margarine only to bite into it and
discover it hasn’t been cooked. Mum (Susan Davis) confirms the fact, commenting
on how nice and crunchy it is.
Other touches include Juanin Clay, as McKittricks’
assistant, popping his gum in her mouth when he gives it to her to dispose of (ewww!) There’s also an appearance from
Mr Strickland himself, James Tolkan, as one of the NORAD top brass.
The picture garnered three Oscar nominations; Lasker and
Parkes for Best Original Screenplay (Tender Mercies took it), William A Fraker
– who did sterling work on The President’s Analyst a decade and a half earlier
– for Best Cinematography (Fanny and Alexander was rewarded) and Best Sound
(The Right Stuff walked home with the award). It was only the only Top 10
picture of the year, aside from Best Picture winner Terms of Endearment, to
make any kind of dent on the nominations front.
Badham was something of an unsung ‘80s hit factory. In ’83
alone he had both this and Blue Thunder.
Short Circuit and Stakeout followed a few years later. His
cachet slowly dwindled, however, and he has been confined to television for the
last decade. Which really rather suits him. Much as he can be relied upon to
imbue a lightness of touch, or deliver first-rate tension in the opening scene,
he isn’t a guy who stamps personality on his product. WarGames is his best picture (most would agree it’s this or his
other zeitgeist movie, Saturday Night
Fever), and one that can claim to be both a time capsule and still
relevant.
It isn’t as if the nuclear threat has gone away, or like cyber crime
isn’t an issue. The stakes are very different now, but in many ways not so
different at all. WarGames also
succeeds so well because it is relevant science fiction. Most of offerings in
that genre today are purely escapist, which is fine but they don’t provide food
for thought. While remaking WarGames
is probably a bad idea (it has been in development) striving for something that
delivers the same kind of mass-audience resonance and provokes discussion and
reflection would be a worthy goal.
