Southern Comfort

In keeping with the military theme from my last post, I feel the moral obligation to share a film with you called Southern Comfort. Directed by Walter Hill (The Warriors), Comfort follows a Louisiana National Guard squad at odds with a group of territorial Cajuns. Set deep in rural swamplands, the soliders call on all of their military experience in an attempt to get home safely. But with the homefield advantage going to the French-speaking poachers, the group finds themselves underprepared. And now with the roughest gang of Cajuns on their tail, the band of good guys have to, in a sense, bop their way home.

Walter Hill knows how to direct a group. His other ensemble cast films, The Warriors and The Long Riders, each use their opening act carefully--familiarizing the audience with a large number of characters in a short amount of time. Connections are built quickly; they have to be because in each case, not everyone makes it back alive. In fact, not everyone makes it past the first acts. Comfort's characters are immeditely distinguishable. You've got the Leader, the Back Up Leader, the Guy Who Wants to Be Leader But Shouldn't, The Guy Who Doesn't Want to Be Leader But Should Be. Comic relief, badasses, good ol' boys. They're all here. And they all piece together well.



The action is good. The suspense is better. The Cajuns have booby-trapped the wetlands with bear traps and assorted other inhumane devices. The troops have guns but are low on bullets. And to top it all off, there's a power struggle within the ranks that pretty much guarantees a knife fight. Hill loves him some slow-motion accents but doesn't overdo it. There were numerous times where I audibly yelled (even though I was watching by myself) in genuine shock/excitement. Southern Comfort is cool. You're gonna like this one. And if you don't like it, skip Deliverance.

Cast Your Friends: Deliverance (1972)

Do you ever cast your friends in the movies you watch? Anytime there's a group of guys hanging out, that's when my friends' faces start popping up on screen. Apparently, my friends and I have such specific personality types, all so different from one another, that Hollywood producers use us for models of male friendship.

My friends Taylor, Brad, Ryan, and I make up our core group. Taylor gets cast as the smart guy who always speaks as the voice of reason. You know, the one most likely to survive. Brad plays the manly-man who'll punch a bird out of the sky if he's hungry. Ryan's the cool, quiet guy whose funeral the rest of the group reunite to attend. I swear, Ryan's character almost always dies within the first fifteen minutes.

I'm the clown, the one who keeps everyone's spirits up...sometimes at the expense of the group's safety. Taylor's character tells me to stop fooling around, Brad's character threatens to stab me with the spear he's just carved out of a pine tree, and Ryan...well, he doesn't say anything; he's dead.

Usually these movies are comedies, sometimes light dramas, Edward Burns' filmography comes to mind. So does Without a Paddle, sadly. Apparently everyone else got the memo to wait for a DVD release, as I was completely alone in the theatre. Anyway, last night, I watched Deliverance. I know what you're thinking. Please don't tell me you cast your friends in Deliverance. Well, I couldn't help it.



For those of you unfamiliar with Deliverance, here's a quick synopsis. A group of friends decide to take a canoe trip down the Cahulawassee River before a dam is put into place which will turn it into a giant lake. Along the way, a group of toothless rednecks decide to terrorize them.

Here's a breakdown of the main characters. Jon Voight plays the heroic everyman. When placed into a crazy situation, he rises to the occasion and kicks some major ass. Unlike other "Ryan" characters, he actually lives past the first fifteen minutes. Burt Reynolds, seen here without a mustache, is the manly-man who takes out anything from halibut to hillbillies with his bow and arrow. He's the "Brad" character.

The "Taylor" character is played by Ronny Cox. He's the guy who's way too intelligent to be rafting down Georgian rivers with overall-wearing rednecks hiding in the bushes. Ned Beatty plays the "Me" character. He whines at the first sight of outdooriness and would rather just hang out at home than float down white-water rapids in an aluminum gravy boat.

Everything's going fine. Then I get raped.



You clicked on that link, didn't you? Well, either way, this movie gets pretty crazy for a mainstream thriller from the early 70s. It's nothing compared to the gruesomeness and gag-reflex inspiring antics of Last House on the Left or I Spit on Your Grave but it's an attention-grabber throughout.

One of the strongest points the film makes is not to generalize all people from the South as backwood booty burglars and to point out that Southern hospitality still exists even when chubby, curly-haired guys get molested amidst God's wilderness. Bastards.

What I learned last night was that while casting your buddies in a movie might seem fun, sometimes people get hurt...anally. Let's keep the casting up to the professionals, shall we?