Sunday, 17 September 2006

• Let me tell you a little story. When I was in the fourth grade, Maximum Overdrive was unequivocally the greatest movie ever made. It was big, it was bold, and it was on TBS three nights a week. But only after I happened to find a VHS copy at a local department store did my love turn into a flat-out obsession. I'd spend every waking moment watching, then re-watching the movie, finally dragging my parents in front of the TV as well ?at which point they came to the conclusion that I was just going through some sort of phase. I'd bring the film to a friend's house and, being a bunch of impressionable 12-year-olds, we'd all get a huge kick out of it. Shortly thereafter, we began playing "Maximum Overdrive" in the backyard ?imagining that we were being chased by big rigs or, taking it one step further, pretending that the army's whole fleet of attack helicopters were trying to gun us down. Then Halloween rolled around, as it invariably does every October 31st, and the opportunity laid before me was simply too good to pass up; Maximum Overdrive would be the subject of my scary story due on All Hallow's Eve. I don't recall if I actually called it MO, but I did borrow heavily from what was then my favourite film. But anyway, more on that a little later. For now, let's begin this review proper...

   

  

   

  Trucks come to life, proceed to eliminate every living thing in sight, and wreak havoc on a quaint North Carolina truck stop. That the premise for horror novelist Stephen King 1986 film Maximum Overdrive, starring a young Emilio Estevez, an old Pat Hingle, and a stuttering Laura Harrington. Now Ie always said that North Carolina is a damn scary place in and of itself, what with its myriad Venus Flytraps (the official state carnivorous plant) and the Carolina Shag (the state popular dance), but throw in a few homicidal big rigs and a gaggle of dull-witted, slack-jawed, gun-toting rednecks (is there any other kind?), and the place becomes exponentially more terrifying.

   

  

   

  As explained in the film opening sequence, Earth has just entered the tail of a mysterious rogue comet, and will apparently eat its dust for the next eight days, five hours, twenty-nine minutes and twenty-three seconds. Though it might sound like an astronomer wet dream, we soon learn that all is not quite right in the land of granite and longleaf pines; due to the comet sinister green haze, machines across the globe have begun acting in increasingly disturbing ways. At first the incidents are relatively minor: a bank machine calls Stephen King an asshole, electronic billboards flash the words UCK YOU?to unsuspecting passersby, vending machines spew out change like their flashy Las Vegas brethren, and soda machines go berserk at a local Little League game; you know, the type of stuff FOX News would be all over.

   

  Soon, however, the incidents exit the world of the unusual and enter the world of the downright nasty: on my scorecard Ie got one case of blindness by way of gasoline, one case of arcade cabinet electrocution (that one pissed-off Star Castle console), and one severe electric kitchen knife attack. Sweet...

   

  But that all small beer compared to the public relations disaster about to befall the peaceful rolling hills of Wilmington, North Carolina, for every family sedan, tow truck and eighteen wheeler in the county ?from a 1966 Autocar garbage hauler to an insidiously malevolent Step-Van ice cream truck ?will soon come roaring to life with the sole intent of completely and irrevocably annihilating every human being in sight, no questions asked. (Try explaining that on a tourist brochure.)

   

  

   

  Still, perhaps the most ominous of our diesel-fuelled enemies comes in the form of a black, 1978 White Western Star with a massive Green Goblin face mounted on its front grille. It even comes complete with a Happy Toyz Co. trailer painted with all sorts of diabolical-looking clowns ?as if the whole omicidal big rig?bit wasn already enough to make you defecate all over yourself.

   

  But, in any event, the patrons and employees of the Dixie Boy Truck Stop find themselves smack dab in the middle of the ensuing nightmare. Oh, and in case you hadn yet made the connection, big rigs = bad, therefore truck stop = oh-God-please-don-let-these-bad-machines-team-up-and-kill-us-all-in-an-orgy-of-blood-and-severed-body-parts. atch. Emilio Estevez and the other goofballs thus have to deal with our main mechanical antagonist, Mr. Goblin Face, along with an increasingly angry mob of his fuel-injected companions ?who circle the truck stop day and night, only occasionally taking a break to run down a few helpless Homo sapiens. (Gasoline-eyed man and Mr. Foul-Mouth Bible Salesman immediately come to mind.)

   

  King once wrote that, he mythic horror movie, like the sick joke, has a dirty job to do. It deliberately appeals to all that is the worst in us. It is morbidity unchained, our most basic instincts let free, our nastiest fantasies realized.?Never one to stray far from his philosophies, King riddled Maximum Overdrive with an exorbitant amount of jolting images, including more than a few lifeless bodies, a bloodied Golden Retriever choked to death by a toy car, and ?most memorable of all ?a rampaging steam roller flattening a helpless Little Leaguer (complete with horrified screams and an incredibly vile crunching sound.) It nasty, it crass, and it totally unapologetic ?and it works.

   

  

   

  That not to say the film is particularly scary, because it is not. But even with all the cuts those bastards at the MPAA imposed, you still be hard pressed to find a nastier horror flick from the time period. This is, without a doubt, every twelve-year-old idea of the quintessential horror film. An eerie premise, buckets upon buckets of blood, and enough profanity to permanently desensitize even the most conservative of viewers. Oh, and did I mention the film soundtrack is provided courtesy of one the greatest rock bands of all time, AC/DC? And I not just talking about the opening theme, either; the famous Australian rockers wrote, produced and recorded the entire musical score. While that means wee treated to an impressive panoply of their landmark tunes, including "Hells Bells," "Shook Me All Night Long" and "Shake Your Foundations," it also means that whenever the machines go on a bloody rampage, we get to hear Angus and Malcolm Young do their best rendition of the theme from Psycho. "Bramp ?bramp ?bramp ?BRAMP!" Likewise, when one of the main characters is pedaling through his war-torn neighborhood, we get to bob our heads to the awesome guitar riffs and thumping drums of "D.T.", a kick-ass piece written expressly for the film. (Incidentally, "Who Made Who," which is commonly credited as one of the band greatest songs, was also written for the film and can be heard during the opening credits.) ight not have been the most practical choice for a horror film, but it does undeniably add a certain indefinable quality to the proceedings, and many regard it as the picture only saving grace.

   

  What that? How could anyone not love every goddamn minute of a film about evil 18-wheelers who terrorize a small town? Well, anyone who put off by absolutely moronic dialogue and poor execution, of course. Ie always had a hard time understanding how King ?who is, for all intents and purposes, one of the best-selling novelists in the world and the most financially successful horror writer of all time ?could completely botch his own screenplay by writing a script rife with so many awkward lines and glaring plot holes. I mean, whatever happened to evolving character personalities, underlying subplots and ulterior motives? Hell, whatever happened to the most basic element of good film: convincing dialogue?

   

  

   

  Take the following example into consideration: the Dixie Boy has just been overrun by machines and is being encircled by about two dozen independent, free-thinking, angry-as-shit tractor trailers hell-bent on exterminating the human race. Two poor schmucks have already met their gooey demise at the hands ?err, figuratively speaking ?of the marauding trucks; another got toasted in the games room; and one poor waitress almost got her arm sawed off. Obviously, this would be enough to scare the pants off anybody I know, but how does it come across in the main cast? Well, during an embarrassingly trite conversation with Emilio Estevez, Laura Harrington breaks down and says ?wait for it ? scared.?Uhh...Youecared? No shit, you stupid tramp ?of course youe scared. Youe stuck in a rundown gas station with fifteen other soon-to-be-casualties and at any moment a whole horde of tractor trailers could come bursting through the walls and turn you into road kill ?if the stupid schmuck with the rocket launcher doesn do it first. And all you can say is,  scared? Could you give us a little more detail, please?

   

  On that note, as much as I personally enjoy this movie and appreciate its sizeable cult status, one can help but wonder if the film might have been better served had Stephen King not plastered his name all over the posters. The guy a freakin?horror legend, for Pete sake, and though I can't imagine Maximum Overdrive garnered a heck of a lot of hype, viewers' expectations were bound to be a little high. In the teaser trailer, a slightly unhinged Stephen King is seen standing in a dark, spooky room, accompanied only by the sneering Green Goblin face in the background. Lamenting the way his novels have been portrayed on-screen in the past, King says,  lot of people have directed Stephen King novels and stories, and I finally decided, if you want something done right, you better do it yourself.?Then a screeching horror theme kicks in, accompanied by a plethora of shots of women screaming, trucks attacking and people a-splattin? Awesome as it is, the whole thing probably did have a very detrimental effect on the film ?I mean, the trailer makes the movie look about twenty times better than it actually is. Which is why audiences were probably a little disappointed when they realized that Maximum Overdrive, with its insanely graphic slaughters and its rollicking heavy metal soundtrack, is neither a very polished film nor a very scary one.

   

  

  Click the pic to view the trailer!

   

  A fatal mistake viewers tend to make is watching this movie with the pre-conceived notion that because King is on board, it somehow on the same level as Carrie or The Shining. Those were professional, slick, complex horror films by directors who were quite clearly masters of their craft. Maximum Overdrive, by fate or by design, is none of those things. It is, however, a very visceral example of a big, hulking, balls-to-the-wall horror film. It might not have won any Oscars, but Il be damned if it doesn't work perfectly as a Friday-night time killer. Especially if you're drunk. Or on 'shrooms.

   

  And whatever came of my fourth grade English story, you ask? Well, after sitting through most of my classmates' well-crafted tales, all of which featured spooky subjects like haunted houses, ghosts and diabolical mad scientists, I looked at my story full of trucks and flying pop cans and, though it pains me to say it, totally chickened out. I completely refused to read the story in front of the class, out of fear of being booed all the way back to my seat, and sat there with my eyes on the floor wishing I'd gone with the tried and tested Halloween themes. So the teacher read it for me...And then gave it a C. Yeah, a big, stinking, underachieving C. I'll stop short of claiming the existence of a "Maximum Overdrive curse" ?but you have to admit, the evidence is intriguing.  

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