George Clooney

by Mark Browning

  It is a rare example in Clooney’s career where he looks credibly young enough to play a son and therefore have an on-screen relationship with a fictional father. Clooney does what he can with the lines and on-screen time that he has here, but unfortunately the film is too concerned with its agenda of pranks to pay much attention to developing credible relationships.

  Return of the Killer Tomatoes (John De Bello, 1988)

  Matt:

  It was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen a vegetable do.

  Looking every inch a truly terrible piece of derivative, instantly forgettable awfulness, there is viewing pleasure to be had here, partly deriving from the notion of paracinema, films that offer a low-budget, exploitative reflection of mainstream film. Clooney, first seen with curly hair and a hat as he spins pizzas, is not the lead here but a supporting character, Matt Stevens, best friend of the hero, Chad Finletter (Anthony Starke).

  The frame story of a fictional Channel 73 offering their $1 movie establishes the film-within-a-film motif as well as the level of audience expectation. From the outset, there is a clear sense of fun, parodying transparent titles like “Big Breasted Girls Go to the Beach and Take Their Tops Off.” Instead of seeking to hide its low-budget status, the film being shown flaunts its terrible model work (the picture of the spooky house used for a cutaway is held up later as an example of cost cutting). The derivative elements in the film are played for laughs rather than attempting to create shocks or suspense. The pods of Professor Gangreen (John Astin), like the teleportation pods in The Fly (Kurt Neumann, 1958, and David Cronenberg, 1986), alter matter but operate via a jukebox, and one of the early experiments produces Rambo-like soldiers, clones of which then act as guards throughout the film.

  The film acts as a further subgenre of B-movie, most obviously in relation to films like The Blob (Irvin S. Yeaworth Jr., 1958). Panic about this “Red Menace” (the term is used twice) leads to mass panic, suppression, and indoctrination (summarized in this film as backstory of the Tomato Wars from the original film). The notion of a Prohibition-style ban on tomatoes creates a black market and the need to improvise in certain foodstuffs, such as pizza, now made with ingredients like strawberry jam instead of tomato sauce. Rather than simply absurd, the political parallels work quite well, so that the current generation is portrayed as naïve, having grown up without experience of tomatoes and therefore underestimating the threat they pose.

  However, just as the film looks like it is descending into absurd B-movie cliché with unconvincing battles with giant tomatoes, the narrative is interrupted by a caller complaining about the cheap effect of intercutting footage from the first Tomatoes film, bringing us back to the world of the frame story. There are also some nice satirical touches like TV coverage of the Americas Cup yacht race seen in the background on a couple of occasions, and routinely intercutting excerpts from old black-and-white pirate movies with footage from races, hyping up anti-British sentiment.

  In style, the film seems at times close to the episodic visual gags of The Naked Gun (David Zucker, 1988) with little attempt at naturalism. There are signs in the prison pointing to “Really Bad Guys” or “Former White House Aides,” and later a yellow triangle sticker can be glimpsed in the truck in which Igor (Steve Lundquist) drives Tara (Karen Mistal) away, reading “Kidnap victim on board.” A tight shot of the professor shows him screaming that he can “never get the eyes right” before pulling back to show him playing with a Mr. Potato Head toy. The most obvious break in naturalism occurs when the camera pans from actors to the director and crew off-frame right and an open debate follows about how little money there is left, with a stagehand holding up the painting of the haunted house used at the beginning. Matt, who is sitting being made up, stands and suggests product placement, only to face an objection from a representative from the Screen Actors Guild (with whom Clooney would tangle over Leatherheads).

  Predating similar sequences in Wayne’s World (Penelope Spheeris, 1992), we then start to see a series of ridiculously obvious product placements, including a dialogue scene gradually blocked out by a Corn Flakes box and a pause before a chase sequence when Matt and Chad discuss the relative merits of the quad bikes they are sitting on. There is a pan right to the director who tells them they now have enough money to finish the film, and the narrative restarts.

  Self-reflexive generic gags pepper the narrative. Igor asks a passerby if there has been a chase scene yet, and when told no, he gets into his truck and drives it into some boxes. The later rescue plan for Tara, sketched out on a blackboard, could have been drawn by a five-year-old, and there is a neat visual gag as the professor spins a globe, shown in close-up, while talking of world domination. When the globe stops, it is still covered in splotches of color rather than specific countries. The climactic scene at the gas chamber is halted by a ringing telephone, not with a clichéd last-minute reprieve but with the host from the frame story giving the answer to the quiz for that day. The dramatic illusion is broken again as Chad addresses the camera directly to challenge whether we had noticed that everything set up in the first reel pays off in the last. Matt disagrees, only for the pizza we see him toss up in his first scene now landing back down on his head. The scene where Chad and Matt are shown putting on gloves and helmets, in a series of cutaway body shots, looks forward to the fetish-dominated opening of Batman and Robin (1997), and the final shot anticipates the end of Michael Clayton (2007), bluntly encouraging us to stay in our seats by the supposed mother of the director, telling us to sit and watch the work of her son as the credits roll.

  Clooney’s character is not the stereotypical brave hero. Holding onto Chad’s jacket as they break into the professor’s house, he is not strong enough to hold a window up; and rather than face his adversary in a climactic battle, he would prefer to stay behind in the lab and experiment with making beautiful women (the final shot suggests that perhaps he returns to this pursuit later). On the beach, he turns and thinks about delivering the final words to camera but then just runs off into the surf with his playmates. We can only guess whether part of Clooney might have been happier pursing this road less traveled. It seems to belong to another part of his life, represented in the film by the fake contest he masterminds to win a date with Rob Lowe. Clooney’s image here is of the red-blooded hunk, happy just to be chasing girls.

  Return to Horror High (Bill Froehlich, 1987)

  Callie:

  Gonna be a star, Oliver?

  Oliver:

  Gonna try.

  The title suggests this is a sequel but it is not. Like Tomatoes, this is a low-budget horror film, with an element of self-awareness (reflected in the name of the location, Crippen High School). However, it is much more derivative than Tomatoes, and echoes do not seem to be used to parody cinematic precursors but act more like down-market versions of their better known counterparts. It has an unknown killer wearing a mask, long before Ghostface of the Scream series (Wes Craven, 1996), but there is little of the wit that makes the latter effective (at times). It uses a fairly standard horror trope, the film-within-a-film, as its narrative premise. But unlike The Blair Witch Project (Daniel Myrick and Eduardo Sánchez, 1999), there is no suspense as to the contents of the film itself; it is merely an excuse for the cast to be predictably picked off, one by one. Musically, there are clear echoes of the sudden loud keyboard chords used by John Carpenter in Halloween (1978) and especially the piano in Brian De Palma’s Carrie (1976), another school-based horror tale, but with little of the shock value evident in the earlier films.

  The comment by token love interest Callie (Lori Lethin) about the film-within-the-film, that “there is nothing redeeming about this shit,” may ring true; but the character of Oliver (Clooney) reflects a number of tensions in Clooney’s own career around this time. Like Oliver, he had to decide whether to opt for the security of a reasonably well-paid career in TV with the possibility of long-term contracts and a regular income but also only limited exposure in global terms and generi
cally predictable small-scale projects. Alternatively, he could risk that security for film projects, which might lead to the dream of a fully fledged film career but might entail a start in low-budget, poor-quality work. Oliver’s description of the TV series he accepts (“It’s an action-adventure with some humor. Kind of a rip-off of Miami Vice and Moonlighting.”) sounds close to Clooney’s roles in Red Surf or Street Hawk. When the producer intones that “Oliver’s gone to a better place,” it carries not only the unwitting sense of a literal death but also the metaphorical artistic death, represented by this kind of career. It was a fate Clooney himself only narrowly avoided.

  Oliver, having walked out on his contract and dismissing the director’s threats to sue, is punished in a sense by being the killer’s first victim after only 13 minutes into the film. The film’s generic confusion is clear as it attempts to create a frightening setting by having some inexplicable mist appear in a school corridor, before Oliver is grabbed by a hand in a yellow rubber glove and dragged into a nearby room. Oliver’s bloodied face appears momentarily on the other side of the door, there is the thud of a blow, and he disappears from the film. This, however, is not the existential nightmare that Wes Craven creates in his school corridors in Nightmare on Elm Street (1984) with its oblique angles and sheep appearing for no apparent reason. Here we have some brooding percussion, but basically we are watching characters wander about in a poorly lit school, nothing more.

  The film opens and repeatedly cuts back to a scene of carnage outside the school; although without clear fictional markers, this transition takes a while before it becomes clear. Even the exact distinction between past and present, fiction and reality, and naturalistic and the inexplicable are too easily mixed. We cut from a stumbling figure in rubber gloves to an inexplicable hand that grabs victims from a small sand pit (another nod to the end of De Palma’s 1976 Carrie). The inconsistency and incoherence of this location, which later supposedly provides the opening for a network of tunnels, evokes other Froehlich-produced pictures like Children of the Corn II (David Price, 1992).2

  Both Tomatoes and Horror High feel like substrata versions of more culturally accepted subgenres. Tomatoes works on its own terms, but in terms of Horror High, it is hard to know exactly what those subgenres are. It may have been granted some form of release (it has a theatrical trailer after all), but in terms of horror, there is little suspense created; in terms of a parody, it is only derivative rather than intelligent with its allusions; as a comedy, there is no sign that lines are meant to be funny; as an exploitation film, the portrayal of sex and violence is relatively restrained, and the character of Callie openly addresses the director during a scene to argue against the stereotypical role she is playing.

  Red Surf (H. Gordon Boos, 1990)

  Attila:

  Who the hell are you, the Godfather?

  As Mark Remar, Clooney takes the lead in a film billed as action-adventure but that is closer to domestic drama in places, as he is faced with the needs of a pregnant girlfriend, Rebecca (Dedee Pfeiffer), and a loyal friend, Attila (Doug Savant). The film is a lone example of Clooney’s character seen drinking heavily, swearing freely, and smoking drugs, though he is redeemed by an emotional bond with the heroine and particularly by his sacrificial death.

  However, the level of transgression is limited. Clooney’s character never carries a knife or a gun or perpetrates an act of violence on another. He does however tolerate violence performed around him, as scenes show gang leader Calavera (Rick Najera) living in a strangely decrepit house and throwing unfortunate spies to a pack of dogs. Drug dealing is certainly not to be condoned; but we see Clooney’s character not as a hardened criminal, but rather joking around, playing practical jokes, and getting high instead of inflicting pain on others. Riding a Jet Ski at night to pick up his merchandise seems to be as rebellious as Remar gets. Putting a bandana on does not erase the dominant appearance of Clooney here with a goofy grin and a mop of curly hair. When Rebecca wants Remar to give up his current life, it seems more a life of partying than crime.

  Whereas Point Break (Kathryn Bigelow, 1991) explores the notion of divided loyalties in a similar situation, it also includes credible surfing footage, something very lacking here as we cut from Remar standing on the shore to a clearly professional double out on a big wave. Point Break, though hardly a masterpiece, also articulates a sense of a relationship with the ocean, which rivals connections between humans. Remar’s strongest connection is with narcotic substances rather than with the surf, friends, or romantic partners. Like his later ability to outrun a powerboat and a machine gun-toting pursuer with a small Jet Ski, narrative plausibility is sacrificed for attempted spectacle. However, maybe any film with Gene Simmons (as the surly Doc) explaining the workings of an AK-47 is not all bad, and certainly Tarantino liked Red Surf, which was one reason why he offered Clooney an audition for Reservoir Dogs.

  Whereas One Fine Day (Michael Hoffman, 1996) is clearly a romantic drama, there is a useful contrast here with Clooney acting opposite a different Pfeiffer. This is a personal drama, a challenge to Remar to commit to a relationship and a family rather than the free-wheeling fun that he has with his male friends (echoing some of the conflicts Clooney has had in his own life). The film ends with a revenge attack on Calavera, and Attila adopting the position of hero substitute in going with Rebecca to Portland, an almost folkloric role of a best friend.

  The Magic Bubble, aka Unbecoming Age (Alfredo Ringel and Deborah Ringel, 1992)

  Julia:

  You remind me of someone.

  Mac:

  Warren? Tom Cruise? Kevin Costner?

  Julia:

  Charles when he was young.

  The film is a rare example in Clooney’s film career where, as Mac, he looks young enough to play the object of romantic attention for a clearly much older woman. Julia Cole (Diane Salinger) is an unhappy woman in a predictable marriage with unpleasant children who undergoes a miraculous transformation on her 40th birthday due to some mysterious magic bubbles, after which she starts to act in a more youthful and less inhibited fashion.

  The motif of a magic role reversal or releasing of one’s inner child can be seen in mainstream hits in the 1980s like Big (Penny Marshall, 1988), Weird Science (John Hughes, 1985), or even Honey, I Shrunk the Kids (Joe Johnston, 1989). The difference here is that the narrative is based around a very female sense of midlife crisis and wish fulfillment. There are some frankly embarrassing scenes involving Julia dancing around the bedroom and hopping pretending to be a rabbit, few characters that rise above predictable cliché (insensitive husband and brattish kid), and some clunky detail with the boom mike appearing in tennis scenes and later during a dinner party. However, Julia’s articulation of the wish for age to be just a loose concept has some narrative interest, particularly in Salinger’s Susan Sarandon-style appearance, since it is this aspect of her that sets her apart from Mac’s usual choice of girlfriends.

  Clooney as Mac, despite his dominant presence on marketing material, features in only five scenes; 27 minutes into the film, Clooney appears in a supermarket checkout, and clearly finding Julia attractive, he poses as a bagging boy, taking her groceries to her car as a means to flirt with her. There is barely a line of dialogue spoken before he inexplicably drives off in a classic car, clearly not the lowly worker she had taken him for. The pair meets again by chance in an ice-cream parlor after Julia storms out after a row with her husband, Charles (John Calvin). Here they sit and chat for several hours. It is at this point that, perhaps jokingly, Mac invites her to have an affair. However, Julia’s refusal is important. Clooney’s star image is not that of a marriage wrecker. He is a figure of temptation but one that is resisted. He remains a peripheral figure, whose good looks and charm (and a mysterious, unexplained source of wealth) cast him as more of a wish-fulfillment fantasy than a fully rounded character. His third appearance is in the supermarket again where he helps her to buy beer. His appearance, sporting a baseball cap worn
backward, along with his floppy hair, seems symbolic of youth fantasy. He meets her later on the street where he does not recognize her, as she has reverted to her old appearance and habits to please her husband. Their final meeting, on a hilltop, viewed by Charles from afar, feels almost like the banishing of a dream. Indeed, after the initial bubble incident, the magic catalyst is largely forgotten as Julia just acts increasingly as she wishes.

  The norms of marriage are protected as Charles blows the bubbles too and discovers a sense of lost youth, and the Coles’ marriage is reinvigorated rather than abandoned. Charles responds to his son, Junior, now renamed Willie to give him a greater sense of selfhood, and attends the final symbolic baseball game as a supportive father. The symbolism is fairly heavy-handed, like birthday candles that Julia cannot blow out. More light romance than comedy but lacking the real punch of related genre pieces like Bull Durham (Ron Shelton, 1988) or Liar Liar (Tom Shadyac, 1997), it is a harmless enough piece of drama that is probably about as revolutionary as its ambition.

  ER (various directors, 1995–99)

  Rachel:

  Monica, they are cute, they are doctors (spelling it out in the air for her slow friend), cute doctors, doctors who are cute!