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Every now and then I get asked about Timothy Dalton’s James Bond (and despite my expression in the above picture, I like this) having written He Disagreed with Something that Ate Him (released in 2018! Where the hell has that time gone?) and generally being willing to bend anyone’s ears about the topic. Recently, as part of the film’s 35 year anniversary, David Lowbridge-Ellis MBE (better known to some of you as Licence to Queer) and the 007GB Fan Club invited me down to London for a screening at the Prince Charles Cinema and a get-together afterwards at the Hippodrome round the corner. It was a really nice event; it’s always great to meet other Dalton enthusiasts and to pick the brains of other Bond aficionados and scholars (pictured above left to right are David himself, Llewella Chapman author of Fashioning James Bond, Alan Church who did optical effect on this and other Bond films (and is a lovely man whose brain I am desperate to pick), James Chapman, author of Licence to Thrill, and Steve Clamp, TV news presenter and, possibly, the biggest Dalton fan in the world.

There I was happily chatting when, out of the blue, a well dressed gentleman asked for a quick video interview – turns out this was Chris Swalmius-Dato who has a Youtube channel devoted to discussing movie and tv franchises. Despite the noise of a televised football match in the background we had a fun chat about Dalton and his impact on the Bond series.

This was a terrific event, and it was great to meet so many Dalton fans – also nice to hear how the Fan Club runs as many of these as it can for free – go check them out for more of the same.

As part of the Independent Film Festival (by Boston College and Savoy Cinemas) I had the chance to introduce and chat about Powell and Pressburger’s World War Two classic One of Our Aircraft is Missing – it was great to see so many people from the local area, some of whom shared memories of their family’s experiences of the war. Below is a transcript of my intro:

It was a summer’s day when seven-year-old Margaret Maddrell walked home to be confronted with a shocking site – German soldiers pacing up and down the Railway Swing Bridge. Stan Ladds, 15 at the time, had just finished peeling potatoes in the family fish shop on London Road, when he discovered the same. But both did the right thing – running back to school or home to report what all had been fearing – the German invasion of Britain had begun!

Except of course, it hadn’t. But briefly German boots marched the cobbles in Wormgate and the Nazi flag fluttered above Blenkin Memorial Hall. For during that week in August 1941 the production of One of Our Aircraft is Missing rolled into town – Boston standing in as the Dutch backdrop to this tale of six heroic airmen trying to get back home. Boston, along with Kings Lynn and the Fens, was chosen due to its visual similarity to Holland – years earlier Dutch traders and drainage engineers had left their mark on the town meaning that, with a little set dressing and some costume design, Boston became a convincing stand-in.

The production of the film created a great deal of excitement, as well as alarm – Boston’s newspaper at the time, The Mercury and Guardian, reported that ‘Boston had gone Dutch’ and that the ‘Swing Bridge had been the scene of much mystifying activity. Spectators were in their legion, and all had a different tale to tell’. There was clearly much excitement about the star Googie Withers, described in The Guardian, a little dismissively, as ‘a little lady in dungarees’. This film took Withers from being a bit part player into a start of British film – she plays Jo De Vries in the latter part of the film.

The budget was £70,000 – not a lot for this sort of film, especially as they recreated Stuttgart in model form, taking over a whole studio in Kensington (the rest of the interiors were filmed in Denham Studios in Buckinghamshire). To recreate the bombing raid cameraman Freddy Ford ‘completed the aerial camera shots by lying flat on his stomach for ten hours a day in the roof of the studio’.  

Beyond the significance to Boston, this film is important for several reasons – it’s  worth noting as an excellent example of stirring propaganda, produced with the Ministry of Information, to rally support not only for the RAF (who lent one of their Wellington bombers to the production), but also the Dutch resistance – made so people in Britain would know that although countries like the Netherlands were occupied they were standing and fighting with us. The filmmakers used real stories of escaping airman to inspire them – and the film carries an endorsement by the Dutch Royal Family who were in exile in London.

This was also the first time that the audience was given a glimpse inside a bomber, showing them the crew and their jobs – of course Bostonians would have seen, and heard, hundreds of bombers passing overhead but now they could be inside with the crew, finding out about the reality the RAF faced everyday. That’s why the film, at least at first, feels like a documentary, the filmmakers wanting their audience to get a real feeling of what it was like inside.

It’s also a very important film for British Film History – it was directed and written by two men, Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, who would go on to produce some of the most important and creative films ever made in the UK – titles such as The Red Shoes, Black Narcissus and the beloved A Matter of Life and Death. Indeed, it was the financial success of One of Our Aircraft that facilitated a new contract for Powell and Pressburger, or The Archers as they called their company, which gave them the freedom to produce their greatest films.

The film was also the debut for Peter Ustinov (some of you may know him from epics like Quo Vardis and Spartacus or as Hercule Poirot in the late 1970s and 80s), spot him a young Dutch-Catholic priest. For fans of war movies more generally, this was edited by David Lean who would go on to direct Bridge on the River Kwai and Lawrence of Arabia.

The end of the film, which I won’t spoil, also showcased a piece of Wartime technology that was previously a state secret – the filmmakers got special permission to include this in the film and highlight how the Government was helping our airmen escape capture, so watch for that.

One of Our Aircraft is Missing was a hit, garnering positive reviews when it premiered in London, and it was nominated for two Oscars, for Best Original Screenplay and Best Effects. It took nearly a year from filming for the film to find its way to the Odeon in Boston (which was in South Square): in fact, it was in June 1942, and we’re about 81 years and 11 months and 2 and-a-bit weeks away from that date today. There was more excitement when, as The Guardian describes it, ‘The Mayor and Mayoress, many Aldermen and Councillors, Justices of the Peace and their wives’ attended a Monday afternoon premier. The Guardian goes on to review it as a ‘surprisingly good film’ and ‘the shots taken at the end of Wormgate come out splendidly’ – it was ‘good entertainment’ with ‘special appeal’ for the locals.

My favourite review, however, comes from a Stoker (which was an engine room specialist in the Navy), Arthur Stephen Wright from Caroline Street in Town.  Arthur was over in the other Boston when he saw One of Our Aircraft is Missing with an American audience and he reported that ‘it received magnificent applause’.

Hope you enjoy the film – we’re really lucky to get the chance to see it on the big screen as it’s meant to be seen – and I’ll be around after if anyone wants to chat about it.

References

Anon (1941). Boston Goes Dutch. The Mercury and Guardian. Wednesday 20 August, p5.
Anon (1942). Film Show at Boston. The Mercury and Guardian. Wednesday 24 June, p3.
Anon (1943). Two Boys Back from United States. The Mercury and Guardian.Wednesday 28 April, p3.
Arthur, N (n.d.). One of Our Aircraft is Missing. BFI Screenonline (online). Available at http://www.screenonline.org.uk/film/id/447446/index.html
Mould, P (1996). Wartime Schooldays in Boston. Paul Mould Publishing.
Powell, M (2000). A Life in Movies. London: Faber & Faber.

Great to say that The Vigilante Thriller is out in paperback in January – too late to fill a stocking perhaps, but just right for spending vouchers on. At time of writing it’s also reduced a little – click here for Bloomsbury’s official site (of course, it is available everywhere books are sold).

Once again Boston College’s Graduation was held in St. Botolph’s Church (the Stump) in Boston town centre, and once again it was an amazing experience, with your truly up on the podium trying to read Graduates’ names correctly (sorry to anyone whose name I butchered!). For those who missed it, or anyone who wants to relive it, here it is.

Bangor University – 7 & 8 September 2023

Me, being thoughtful second right
There I am, second on the right, as part of the ‘Get Ready for the Ride of Your Life’ panel, flanked (from left to right, by Blake Wilson, Ian Westbrook and Martin Holtz.

I had the great pleasure to return to Bangor University recently at participate in the Paul Verhoeven@85 Conference – a great set of panels discussing the works of a rather neglected director. Organised by Professor Nathan Abrams and Doctor Elizabeth Miller the conference covered all of Verhoeven’s three distinct periods, the early Dutch films, his move to the US, and his return to European filmmaking, and took a wide range of approaches, including looking at philosophy, politics, ideology and some interdisciplinary talks that covered Special Effects, Amputation and the ethics of public and private health care. My contribution, Bodies of Steel, Bodies of Mush: The Hard Body and Paul Verhoeven’s Dystopian Science-Fiction Action Films, discussed how RoboCop, Total Recall and Starship Troopers all subvert Susan Jeffords’ conception of the hard-body action film. Keep reading for the transcript.

Introduction

Richard Nixon, writing in his 1980 book The Real War, raised the question of whether the United States would be a nation of ‘steel or mush’. Condemning the outgoing Carter administration particularly, and the whole US more broadly, Nixon called for leaders who are ‘”steely”, resolute and certain’ as opposed to those he called ‘”paralyzed”…, uncertain, “mushy” and wavering’[i]. The work of Susan Jeffords saw a link between the rise of what she coined the hard-body Action Film with the rise of a steelier version of American masculinity, encapsulated by the election in 1981, and re-election in 1984, of Ronald Reagan. As Jeffords states, ‘Ronald Reagan became the premiere masculine archetype for the 1980s, embodying both national and individual images of manliness that came to underline the nation’s identity during his eight years in office’[ii]. This masculinity, one which was ‘tough, aggressive, strong and domineering’[iii] counteracted the perceived weak and feminine Carter years (and Hollywood’s cinema of crisis and doubt evident during the New Wave period) and was encapsulated by the figures of Arnold Schwarzenegger and Sylvester Stallone. This new hyperbolic masculinity, defined not only through action but through the prolonged gazing at the stars’ musculature, would place the hard-body at the centre of the 1980s box-office, establishing Stallone, Schwarzenegger (and a select few others) as among the top stars in America and around the globe.

The growing American confidence of the Reagen era was reflected in the confident and decisive actions of the hard-body Action Heroes, such as when Stallone, as John Rambo, returned to Vietnam to demonstrate the American Soldier’s superiority in Rambo: First Blood Part II (George P. Cosmatos, 1985), or when Rocky Balboa, Stallone again, put the ‘Evil Empire’ of the USSR in it’s place in Rocky IV (Sylvester Stallone, 1985). The hard-body hero is a hero of overt, muscular, physical display, ritualized suffering, and movement which became synonymous with America itself (even when represented by the heavily accented immigrant Schwarzenegger). Rooted in the freedom of the individual the hard-body hero fights not just threats foreign and domestic, but also the limits of government bureaucracy (mirroring Reagan’s Small Government policies). As Jeffords summarises, these are movies with ‘spectacular narratives about characters who stand for individualism, liberty, and a mythic heroism’[iv].

These are films that offer their spectators a sense of mastery, in terms of plot ‘in which the hard-body hero masters his surroundings, most often by defeating enemies through violent physical action; and at the level of national plot, in which the same hero defeats national enemies, again through violent physical action’[v]. Spectators vicariously experience the hero’s power through identification both on a personal level, and as a collective in that the hard-body embodies the ‘political, economic, and social philosophies’ of the Reagen era.[vi]

This paper discusses how Paul Verhoeven’s Action Science Fiction films, RoboCop (1987), Total Recall (1990) and Starship Troopers (1997) interact with, reconfigure and parody this conception of the Hard Body. The first two of these films are regularly seen as part of the Hard Body movement and I will suggest that rather than conforming to the Hard Body formula, both films explore, expose and critique the very idea of the Hard Body. The third film, made after the Reagan period and post the box office dominance of the Hard Body Action film, builds on the themes from the previous two films but goes further in exposing the hollowness of the Hard Body concept – all three films demonstrate the tenuousness of the Hard Body, but also draw attention the anxieties the Hard Body formula represses. Rather than reinforcing the hardness of the Hard Body, Verhoeven’s films remind us consistently of the mush that sits within the hard shell, that the body’s essential fragility is inescapable and that the political associations of individuality and freedom are illusory. The construction of the Hard Body is drawn attention to, and the spectator’s sense of mastery is subverted – particularly through the repetition of images and themes of lobotomy, a mushy brain.

Part One: Total Body Prosthesis.

1987’s RoboCop was Verhoeven’s first American film and it is broadly recognised as a satire on many Reaganite policies, particularly the use of the private sector over the public and consumerism more generally. Despite this, RoboCop is often taken at face value as a Hard-Body film, indeed the protagonist is seen as the ultimate Hard-Body, his armour constructed from “titanium laminated with Kevlar”, therefore being an extension of the gym, and steroid, built bodies of Stallone and Schwarzenegger (indeed the panels of RoboCop’s armour mirror the shapes of such bodies). However, while RoboCop might appear as the ultimate hard-body the film asks questions of what lies inside the body and highlights it’s clearly constructed nature.

Much of RoboCop does conform to hard-body action tropes – we are given a hero who goes through a moment of ritualized suffering, only to return and defeat the various villains, therefore asserting his superior masculinity. However, Verhoeven pushes these conventions, taking them much further than the typical hard-body film. Compare a sequence in Rambo III where Rambo cleans and then cauterises a wound in his side, roughly two minutes of screen time, to Murphy’s prolonged, and detailed, dismemberment at the hands of Clarence Boddicker and his gang.

This situates Murphy’s body, more average looking than Rambo’s, as a soft body that needs to be rebuilt but the suffering of Murphy extends, perhaps throughout the whole movie. The steel works finale breaks Murphy’s now Robocop body down again, puncturing, piercing and crushing the outside – far beyond the injury of the typical hard-body hero. This is paralleled with other bodies throughout the film which are similarly broken down, revealing the soft mush inside, whether Boddiker’s spraying arterial blood or Emil’s whole body transformed into softness by toxic waste. The titanium armour succeeds in stopping bullets, but nothing can completely disavow the inevitable softness of the interior.

It is worth noting that RoboCop from the neck down is entirely a constructed product, we know this from the scene in which OCP Executive Bob Morton demands ‘total body prosthesis’ – that all remaining body material is disposed of. This asks questions then of the type of masculinity being presented, and what the spectator is being invited to identify with. In short RoboCop is a castrated corporate product.

His castration mirrors the absence of love interests in many of the Hard-Body films, but makes it literal. The essential element of masculinity, the phallus (in both the literal and symbolic sense) is absent. There are of course substitutes, the large gun RoboCop keeps in his leg for instance, or the ‘interface needle’ with which he kills crime lord Clarence Boddicker act as symbolic substitutes and confer RoboCop much of his power, but for RoboCop, unlike other Hard-Body heroes, the guns and armoured muscularity do not act as substitutes for the un-showable phallus – there is no organ to sublimate with symbolism here. Further to this loss, RoboCop, or Murphy, has lost the a key component of Reaganite policy, and traditional end-point of oedipal driven narratives, the family. Is it any wonder that, when confronted with images of his family, culminating in a curtailed sexual memory of his wife, RoboCop punches out a screen in frustration. Intriguing to that in one of the first crimes he prevents, the attempted rape of a woman by two assailants, RoboCop shoots one of them in the crotch. The hero’s castration is contrasted with the villains, who express an excessive lust (not just for women, but also drugs and violence). Verhoeven has spoken about his desire, early in the pre-production process, for Murphy and Lewis to have an affair, but later realising that ‘following American puritan standards’[vii] this wouldn’t work. This then, makes RoboCop an interesting comment on the Hard-Body hero – a body constructed (perhaps paralleling steroid use), lacking in genitals but having access to destructive phallic substitutes that connote power and strength.

This satire on the hard-body outside is paralleled by the questions of RoboCop’s identity and the question of Murphy’s ghost in the machine. During RoboCop’s recovery, having been attacked by the SWAT team, a distinctly Lacanian scene plays out. Removing his helmet for the first time, RoboCop sees Murphy’s face staring back at him – a moment that invokes the ‘mirror stage’, when the a young child comes to a moment of self-identification (which Christian Metz suggests is imitated by the cinema experience[viii]).

He then proceeds to destroy the baby-food Lewis has supplied for him, a symbolic act of growing up perhaps. The helmet remains off for the rest of the film, and when asked by OCP’s head, the patriarchally identified Old Man, for his name, he now replies ‘Murphy’. This seemingly confirms a moment of self-realization and self-identification, severing ties with the corporate product and reassertion of human individuality. But this triumphant moment is undercut in several ways – Murphy still requires the permission of the Old Man to kill Dick Jones (with the suggestive line ‘Dick, you’re fired’), his prime directives, including the classified ‘Any attempt to arrest a senior officer of OCP results in shutdown’ remains and the final cut of the film, hard-cutting from a smiling Murphy to the title card ‘RoboCop’ reasserts his nature as corporate product, suggesting that his reasserted identity is an illusion.

There is also the question of the bullet lodged in Murphy’s head, embedded in the prefrontal cortex, the area of the brain that ‘regulates thoughts, actions and emotions’[ix], and the area targeted by lobotomies. A sexless, lobotomized, corporate product – is this, perhaps, Verhoeven’s (and screenwriters Ed Neumeier and Michael Miner’s) view of the mythic heroism embodied by Stallone   and Schwarzenegger? RoboCop, and through identification the spectator, have only the illusion of mastery here.

PART 2: IT’S THE LATEST THING IN TRAVEL. WE CALL IT THE EGO TRIP

The question of lobotomy is essential to Total Recall, it’s threat repeated several times to the hero Douglas Quaid. The casting of the ultimate hard-body, Arnold Schwarzenegger, as Quiad allowed Verhoeven to create a more hyperbolic film than perhaps first envisioned in the multiple script drafts. Rather than simply reiterate Schwarzenegger’s previous screen image however, Verhoeven uses the opportunity to subvert some of core elements of his star’s screen persona. Central to this are Quaid’s fantasies of Mars and desire to visit Rekall – in a sense even Arnie dreams of being Arnie and wants to take ‘a holiday from himself’. This tacitly points to the unreality of the Schwarzenegger image, that it is artificial in itself. Indeed, artificiality is a major concern of the film, whether it is in the sense of artificial memories, the predominance of screens (such as one in Quaid’s kitchen showing an artificial landscape), the Johnny Cab driver or the moment when Quaid becomes indistinguishable from his own holographic projection ‘Ha ha ha, you think this is the real Quaid…?’.

Perhaps the most subversive elements of the film is Verhoeven’s treatment of Schwarzenegger’s body which, other then an early scene, remains mostly covered by clothing. Gone are the explicit and fetishizing displays of muscularity. Instead, we have an elastic Arnold, one that cab be pulled and stretched in strange and unnatural ways. Three scenes show us this. The first is when Arnold removes the bug from his head, stretching his nose impossibly (and suggesting there was an unreasonably large gap somewhere in his head for it to be hidden), the moment when the ‘Two Weeks’ disguise pulls apart showing his head in an impossibly small space, and the finale where his eyes bulge and tongue lolls during his expulsion onto the airless Martian landscape (Quaid and Melina are marked out from Cohaagen by their ability to endure this stretching, in effect to be soft and malleable as opposed to hard and unyielding).

Of course, all these moments are performed by, very convincing, special effects, and these impossible moments return us to the questions concerning the real and fantasy that dominate the film (they also draw attention, in similar ways to how The Terminator does, to the fact there is something unreal about Schwarzenegger himself).

If the hard-body hero is made to have an elastic body here, the question of the mush inside returns in several ways. Visually it is dramatized through the mutants who populate Venusville on Mars – oxygen starvation has transformed their bodies, so that, in many cases, the barriers between internal and external have collapsed, organs breaking through their skin.  

Returning to questions of fantasy and reality, we see how Verhoeven draws attention to the film’s narrative construction in the scenes where Quaid visits Rekall and the plot of the rest of the film is laid out exactly as his fantasy of being a secret agent who will ‘get the girl, kill the bad guys and save the entire planet.’ Quaid’s surrender to the fantasy mirrors the spectator’s, but it also throws doubts on our mastery of the narrative. By making the spectator conscious of the construction, then questioning its validity in the scene with Dr. Edgemar, our identification with Quaid, the spectator’s ‘Ego Trip’, is questioned and thrown into doubt. Despite this, Verhoeven allows the spectator to retain their feeling of mastery, as Quaid eventually wins, only to pull it away at the end. As Verhoeven describes regards Doug’s fate, ‘I mean he is lobotomized at the end. That’s why at the last shot, when they are so happy and kissing each other, it slowly fades to white, which to me meant “OK, there he goes. That’s the end-that’s the dream – they lobotomized him”’[x].

The archetypal hard-body hero, reconfigured as an elastic body – but elastic only through fantasy. Meanwhile he lies on a table somewhere, his brain turned to mush.

Part 3: They Sucked his Brains Out

Starship Troopers’ Johnny Rico is Verhoeven’s final critique of the hard-body hero – the individualist, muscled, American reduced to a simpleton unable to make decisions. As Verhoeven described it, the characters of Starship Troopers are ‘streamlined in a certain way… you could also call it lobotomised’.[xi] In the fascist future the film depicts even South Americans are reduced to being the corporate ideal of the bland US soap opera star; Rico, on the surface at least, appears to fulfil Jefford’s formula. He undergoes extreme suffering (the flogging which, like Murphy’s death in RoboCop, resembles the Crucifixion),

he possesses the muscular body that suggests mythic heroism, and moves through a series of action scenes. However, Rico never suggests any of the individuality Jeffords suggests, or that was part of the Reaganite messaging. Rather he is a character devoid of individual drive, manipulated by others, and incapable of making decisions.

Rico’s actions during the film are responses to others, rather than from a drive of his own. He decides to enlist (partly due to his teacher Rasczak, partly peer pressure) then changes his mind after his parents promise him a holiday, then changes his mind again (Carmen being a big influence), only to decide to leave the Mobile Infantry when Carmen dumps him, via a videoed Dear John letter. Despite gaining swift promotion in the field, there is little to suggest Rico has great leadership skills – rather he simply has a great capacity for surviving. He orders another trainee to remove their helmet during a live-fire exercise, which leads to the trainee’s death,  and later he is guided to find the surviving Carmen, unknowingly, by his psychic friend Carl suggesting he has the mental ability similar to Carl’s pet ferret (who was similarly manipulated in an earlier scene). It is perhaps no wonder that a Brain Bug never threatens Rico – it is unlikely it would find much to suck out. But of course, the sucking out of brains by the Bug mirrors the sucking out of brains by the fascist society. As Rico gets promoted we watch as he simply adopts the persona of his teacher/commander Rasczak, imitating his dialogue and behaviours. Here the hard-body ideal is rendered brainless, lobotomized by society rather than a bullet or a Leucotome – Verhoeven himself stated ‘I felt that the soldier characters were all idiots. They were all willing to die… because of the propaganda they had been fed.’[xii]

And the film offers us a parallel hard-body, that of the bugs – in many ways harder-bodied than the humans and their armour which appears to offer little to no protection from attack. Indeed, the film is consistently reminding us of the fragility of the human body, from the various characters showing amputations and prosthetics, to the many violent ways in which the bugs kills the humans (including various bisections and decapitations). Rico himself is believed dead for a time after his leg is pierced through by an Arachnid. The bugs however are still fragile, and the film shows us the many ways in which they can also be reduced to the mush inside the hard carapace. One early scene, set at high school, shows the various organs of one bug and Rico’s takedown of the Tanker Bug throws orange goo up into his face. The only soft Bug, provocatively, is the Brain Bug – a soft mass that ripples and undulates. Is it significant too that the highly intelligent, and psychic, Carl is one of the few characters not to be defined by muscularity and physical action?

The mushy fragility of human life is always present – no amount of hardening (in literal muscularity or metaphorical political philosophies) can hide that fact. What then of mastery, as Rico shows such little of this quality (in some ways the real hero of the film is Drill Sargeant Zim who captures the Brain Bug). Whereas the two previous films were subtler in subverting the hard-body ideal, Starship Troopers is more direct by suggesting the very ideal is empty, individuality a myth in this ultra-right wing society.

Part 4: Consider this a Divorce.

Robin Wood, in discussing the Horror film from the 1960s to 1970s, suggests the following:

Two elementary Freudian Theses: in a civilization founded on monogamy and the family, there will be an immense, hence very dangerous, surplus of sexual energy that will have to be repressed; what is repressed must always struggle to return, in however disguised and distorted form.[xiii]

For Wood the horror film brings forth, through analogy, that which is repressed. During the Reagan administration there was an emphasis on the return to traditional family values[xiv], with several action films of the era (such as the Lethal Weapon films and Die Hard) reflecting this concern. More generally the hard-body film is one that largely represses sex, with very few sexual relationships for the heroes. Verhoeven’s three films have great fun in unpicking this, by bringing forth the sort of psychosexual imagery usually sublimated or disavowed in such films – except, perhaps, when displaced into muscles and weaponry. Castration imagery recurs, not only in Robocop where it is quite literal, as we’ve discussed, but in Total Recall through Lori’s crotch based attempts to subdue Quaid, to the amputation of Richter’s arms. Various limb removals in Starship Troopers reflect this too. Other, more explicit and challenging, psychosexual images are also in play: the quasi-male-birth of Quato out of George’s body, the killing of Benny via drill and the typical Arnie quip ‘Screw You’; the Martian pyramid reactor can be seen as a feminine space of caverns, that gives out a life saving ejaculation of air at the film’s climax; the Phallic Spaceships of the Federation are assaulted by semen like spays of plasma; Rico’s vaginal leg wound is healed in an amniotic tank; more caverns appear in Starship Troopers and the Brain Bug itself, is a nightmare blend of vaginal orifice and penetrating, sucking, appendage (which we only see attack men). 

Marriage, one of the core elements of the Reaganite revival, tied to his support from the Evangelical Christian Right, is subverted too – a ‘lost paradise’ for Murphy to which he cannot return, a burden for Quaid that limits him from indulging in his fantasy (and easily dispatched with the one-liner, ‘Consider this a divorce’), and it is not even on the cards in Starship Troopers, where Carmen happily moves between men as her career progresses, men and women shower together without a hint of sex and Rico fails to retain a romantic partner.

This use of psychosexual imagery and subversion of marriage is, I would suggest, part of Verhoeven’s critique of what he sees as the ‘puritan attitude in America’ – bringing forth the desires and ideas that such as an attitude must repress.

Conclusion

In conclusion, these three films take the hard-body concept and subvert and play with it – the body is deconstructed, wounded and lobotomized. The individuality the hard-body was supposed to connote is withdrawn, and with it a complete sense of mastery for the spectator, either personal or collective.

In RoboCop Verhoeven shows the hard-body as a corporate construct, the hero’s return to individuality undermined by his persistent programming. In Total Recall the ultimate hard-body star, Arnold Schwarzenegger, is made elastic before a final lobotomy curtails the fantasy of being Arnold Schwarzenegger. And in Starship Troopers, perhaps the most thorough critique, the hard-body hero is the idiot soldier of a fascist republic, incapable of individual thought. Hard bodied perhaps, but mushy brained.

Bibliography

Arnsten A.F. (2009) Stress signalling pathways that impair prefrontal cortex structure and function. Nat Rev Neurosci. Jun;10(6):410-22. Available from https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2907136/#:~:text=The%20prefrontal%20cortex%20(PFC)%E2%80%94,detrimental%20effects%20of%20stress%20exposure. [accessed 03 September 2023].

Ayres, Drew (2008). Bodies, Bullets, and Bad Guys: Elements of the Hard Body Film. Film Criticism. 32 (3), 41-67.

Cornea, Christine (2007). Science Fiction Cinema: Between Fantasy and Reality. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press.

Ellis, John (1994). Visible Fictions: Cinema, Television, Video. London: Routledge.

Glass, Fred (1990). Totally Recalling Arnold: Sex and Violence in the New Bad Future. Film Quarterly, 44 (1), pp. 2-13.

Jeffords, Susan (1993). Can Masculinity be Terminated?, in Cohan, S. & Hark, I.R. (eds.). Screening the Male: Exploring Masculinities in Hollywood Cinema. London: Routledge, pp. 245-262.

Jeffords, Susan (1994). Hard Bodies: Hollywood Masculinity in the Reagan Era. Rutgers University Press: New Jersey.

Kac-Vergne, Marianne (2018). Masculinity in Contemporary Science Fiction Cinema: Cyborgs, Troopers and other Men of the Future. London: I.B. Taurus.

Keesey, Douglas (2005). Paul Verhoeven. Cologne: Taschen.

LaBruce, Bruce (2003). Paul Verhoeven. In (ed) Barton-Fumo, M. (2016) Paul Verhoeven: Interviews. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi.

Lebeau, Vicky (2019). Psychoanalysis and Cinema: The Play of Shadows. Columbia University Press: New York

O’Brien, Harvey (2012). Action Movies: The Cinema of Striking Back. Wallflower Press: New York. 

Ryan, Michael & Kellner, Douglas (1990). Camera Politica: The Politics and Ideology of Contemporary Hollywood Film. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press.

Shea, C. & Jennings, W. (1992) Paul Verhoeven: An Interview. In (ed) Barton-Fumo, M. (2016) Paul Verhoeven: Interviews. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi.

Tasker, Yvonne (1993). Spectacular Bodies: Gender, Genre and the Action Cinema. London: Routledge.

Telotte, J.P. (2001). Verhoeven, and the Problem of the Real: “Starship Troopers”. Literature/Film Quarterly. 29 (3), pp. 196-202.

van Scheers, Rob (1998). Paul Verhoeven. London: Faber & Faber.


[i] Jeffords (1994) 8-9.

[ii] Jeffords (1994) 11.

[iii] Ibid.

[iv] Jeffords (1994) 16.

[v] Ibid 28.

[vi] Ibid.

[vii] Cornea (2007) 136.

[viii] Fuery (2000) 15.

[ix] https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2907136/#:~:text=The%20prefrontal%20cortex%20(PFC)%E2%80%94,detrimental%20effects%20of%20stress%20exposure.

[x] Shea & Jennings (1992), in Barton-Fumo (ed) (2016), 75.

[xi] Cornea (2007) 172.

[xii] LaBruce (2003) 154.

[xiii] Wood (2018) 57.

[xiv] Jeffords (1994) 191.

Minor Spoilers.

James Wan’s 2007 Vigilante Thriller Death Sentence came and went without much of a noise, despite a terrific starring turn from Kevin Bacon. Sandwiched between Saw (2004) and Insidious (2010), and released the same year as the enjoyably silly Dead Silence, it was perhaps too soon for Wan to break out of the Horror genre – a change later afforded to him by Furious 7 (2015) – all of which is a shame considering how effective the film is at both critiquing the genre and indulging in many of its pleasures.

The set-up is familiar, happy family man Bacon has it all – a high powered job in insurance, a happy home (neatly communicated through an opening montage of home videos) comprising a wife (Kelly Preston) and two sons (one that Bacon clearly prefers – adding an interesting edge to the proceedings). As the genre demands the family is threatened, and one of Wan’s innovations is to have the preferred son murdered during a gang initiation, rather that following the Michael Winner Death Wish route of raping/murdering the wife. It’s a random attack, and Bacon easily identifies the killer – but the DA’s determination to cut a deal, reducing the killer’s sentence, sends Bacon off on his own quest to find justice.

From here the film plays it trump card; instead of simply watching Bacon follow through on his Vigilante desires, the film tackles the issues caused by this escalation of violence; he kills one of the gang, they then come for him; he kills another, they come for his family. In this, borrowing the spirit of Brian Garfield’s novel Death Sentence (a sequel to his Death Wish) if not the plot or characters, the film begins to suggest that Bacon’s quest causes more issues than it solves. Bacon’s transformation is electric, reminding us, again, how good a performer he is; his first killing is an accident, his second self-defence, by the end he has become a shaven haired angel of death, happily blowing the legs of anonymous goons; he becomes indistinguishable from the very gang members he hunts, suggesting the corrupting power of violence.

Two set pieces stand out, one in a multi-story carpark with excellent cinematography and stunt work, and the finale where the film, perhaps, goes a little over the top in indulging in the very violence much of the film critiques. Wan stages the violence well, keeping a keen eye on the geography and editing for clarity, rather then chopping the hell out of the action like so many filmmakers insist. Alongside Bacon, Garrett Hedlund is good and scuzzy as the gang leader and John Goodman makes a nice cameo as a bespectacled gun-dealer. Preston is also good, reminding us of what a good actress we lost in 2020.

Wan clearly knows his Death Wish films and makes nods towards Taxi Driver. Death Sentence manages to both inhabit the genre and provide some surprises along the way.

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