Eric Lichtenfeld, Excerpts & Conclusion: Sifting Through the Rubble

(In Action Speaks Louder)

I've more or less finished with Lichtenfeld's book (having spent more time than I intended with it, although I regret nothing), and so these are a few brief final notes before I move on to some other books on the Action genre.

Lichtenfeld points out the interesting process by which the 1970s style of disaster-spectacle films which co-existed with the earliest Action films becomes conflated with the Action genre in the 1990s, creating a cycle of transgeneric films which strip Action of much of its Western and film noir elements (not to mention its emphasis on direct conflict between characters, replacing the enemy with a force of nature).

If action films are constructed according to principles of acceleration and passion, as indicated in a previous post, then it's easy to see why John Woo's films and American descendants like The Matrix (and perhaps this week's Wanted?) are so effective at de- and re-constructing the genre; the use of slow motion draws out acceleration without robbing it of its velocity, which in turn intensifies the passion of an action sequence. It simultaneously draws the audience in and pushes them away, creating a sort of detached but highly focuses engagement with the scene.

Ultimately Lichtenfeld characterizes the Action genre - in the face of a wide cultural, structural, formal and narrative variations within the grouping - as films which privilege aestheticized violence, and I think that this, combined with the acceleration/passion concept and the notion of regularly-paced spectacles is a useful definition. Disaster movies and other similar genres and subgenres, in which there is not violence per se (in the sense of humans enacting violence on each other, which is key to the genre) must be treated somewhat differently. (Although, as indicated above, the transgeneric nature of all films creates a great deal of overlap.)

Eric Lichtenfeld, Into the Jungle, Out of the Wasteland: Action in the Wild

(In Action Speaks Louder)

This chapter discusses the wilderness- and post-apocalyptic-set action films of the 1980s, including the latter Rambo films and the Missing in Action and Mad Max franchises. Lichtenfeld points out the importance of capture/rescue in these films, which becomes a core feature of the Rambo franchise after the first film (which, indeed, involves capture if not rescue).

The reversion to a more primal state on the part of the action hero is also common, and can be found in almost all of my primary texts, save perhaps for the Terminator series (although, Sarah Connor could be seen as embodying this). Even Indiana Jones becomes increasingly savage in key fight scenes.

Lichtenfeld expands the dichotomy foundin the Rambo franchise and other action films of superhero/underdog, which I've noted before, to include primitive/modern - Rambo uses both archaic and contemporary weapons and similarly fuses old-fashioned and modernist ideologies and attitudes towards conflict. The futuristic bow with explosive-tipped arrows is a perfect example of this.

Eric Lichtenfeld, Enter the Fists: The Body as the Weapon

(In Action Speaks Louder)

This chapter, hilariously, is almost entirely about Chuck Norris and Steven Segal, and really demonstrates how in spite of subsequent ridicule and extensive satire, they and others, such as Jean-Claude Van Damme, were very much a part of the popular action film landscape in the 1980s. Indeed, many of Norris' films are carbon-copy of what Stallone was doing in the period.

One thing that I think causes this shift in popularity is the emphasis on martial arts, which I suspect eventually was seen as inauthentic compared to "genuine" Asian martial arts films. Indeed, later in his career Chuck Norris essentially abandoned martial arts in favour of guns as his primary method of dispatchment, and the Rambo/Terminator style of action hero became the accepted version. In any case, these films are very different from their Asian counterparts, and fit very closely within the American Action film genre I have discussed previously.

One structural/formal technique that Lichtenfeld describes very effectively is the "victory without agency," in which an action hero is pummeled mercilessly until the very end of a fight scene, when he suddenly finds the hidden strength to instantly destroy his opponent with some kind of single super-move. His pointing it out made me chuckle, because in my youth the various action sequences I wrote, drew and acted out with toys almost invariably ended this way. These moments are especially common in Chuck Norris films, apparently, and was largely superceded by the Die Hard formula, in which the hero sustains and deals significant damage before finally, just barely, gaining the upper hand.

Lichtenfeld suggests that Van Damme, for his part, represents a sort of middle-of-the-road between the hard-bodied Rambo aesthetic and the body-as-a-weapon style of action demonstrated by Segal and early Norris, much in the same way that Norris' later films combine the martial artist body aesthetic with gun-oriented action.

Lethal Weapon is also discussed, which could have been an interesting additional film for my thesis if not for the franchise's fairly regular and consistent pattern of release. The character of Riggs especially, who is recast after the first film as a much more light-hearted (rather than suicidally apathetic) character, and the increased emphasis on buddy comedy in each subsequent film. The franchise can also be seen as part of the transition from more self-serious films such as the Rambo franchise towards self-deprecating heroes like John McClane.

Eric Lichtenfeld, Blowing Up All Those Familiar Places: Terror and the Confined Arena

(In Action Speaks Louder)

A few chapters later, Lichtenfeld addresses Die Hard and, as he puts it, the "Die Hard-On-a-Something" film, which adapts the basic formula to a new setting - Under Siege is Die Hard on a boat, and so on. He usefully analyses the formula which defines Die Hard and Die Hard 2, and notes that due to the "everyman" quality of John McClane (and most heroes of the subgenre) sequels pose an interesting challenge. In my discussion of the franchise, I'll have to consider how it avoids mythologizing McClane - or how it embraces the myth. He also stresses the importance of setting in these films, and how they are presented with awe and majesty, as spectacle unto themselves, in the same way that the hard-body's muscles are filmed.

It also occured to me while reading that perhaps the reason why Die Hard With a Vengeance and Live Free or Die Hard deemphasize the enclosed spaces which so define the first two films is precisely due to the proliferation of Die Hard clones in the 1990s - indeed, Lichtenfeld notes that a proposed Die Hard 3 was initially cancelled due to similarity to Under Siege. Although parts of the latter Die Hard films feature action in confined areas, they are incidental to the larger structure, rather than defining. Especially when dealing with such iconic characters, it pays to examine competing and derivative films, which can have a major effect on the development of a franchise.

One criticism I have of this chapter is that as Lichtenfeld moves into the Bruckheimer/Bay era of action films, he becomes suddenly judgmental - after five chapters of discussing a wide variety of terrible films (particularly those featuring Steven Segal and Chuck Norris), Lichtenfeld spends too much time singling out The Rock and Con Air as "overedited," "oversaturated" and so on - at the expense of more interesting analysis of the somewhat unconventional Nicholas Cage heroes of each film. Certainly, the man is entitled to an opinion, and qualitative commentary has a place in academic work, but it shouldn't become the focus. That part of the chapter feels more like a disgruntled review than anything else.

Eric Lichtenfeld, Automatons: Hard-bodies and World Pacification

(In Action Speaks Louder)

Lichtenfeld moves into the 1980s, and some of my primary texts, particularly the Rambo and Terminator franchises. He discusses at length the dichotomy found in many action hero narratives, where the hero is both an indestructible superhuman killing machine, but also somehow an underdog - incoherent, but it underpins many of these films, especially First Blood.

I hadn't considered this point before, but it seems like the nature of John Rambo's power is changed over the course of the franchise... where in First Blood and Rambo: First Blood Part II he is a machine created by Col. Trautman and the ravages of 'Nam, and his violent abilities are sort of an unwanted gift, in the latter films it becomes an inevitability, as if Trautman had simply uncovered what was already there - an inherent predisposition towards incredible acts of violent power. This extends to the newest Rambo, which treats it as a mythical power which Rambo cannot escape and must embrace in order to find any kind of solace.

The machine-ness of Rambo of course becomes literal with The Terminator, a robot from the future. Lichtenfeld discusses how weapons and hardware come to signify the hero - such as the helicopters piloted by Rambo - but in the Terminator franchise, the hero is hardware.

I noted the highly stylized nature of the most recent Rambo movie, and Lichtenfeld makes similar comments when addressing Cobra, an earlier post-First Blood Part II Stallone film that emphasizes style above all else. This hyperstylization can be seen as part of the myth-making of the genre. Lichtenfeld also suggests the importance of ritual (often through montage) in articulating the mythology of Action films, as evidenced by scenes of preparation and equipping.

Rambo (2008)

This was a strange one.

The fourth Rambo film follows much the same pattern as previous films, taking element from all three. Once again, Rambo is reluctantly brought out of a peaceful (but haunted) retirement, to fight for a political cause, rescuing prisoners of some kind. Suplanting Afhgan rebels for Burmese rebels and Vietnam vets for aid workers, the film is sort of an amalgam of First Blood Part II and Rambo III, only much darker in tone and graphic in depiction of violence.

The basic structure of post-First Blood Rambo movies so far as I can see is as follows:

- Rambo is begrudgingly taken out of retirement for one last mission, which is supposed to be clean and simple. (Take photos of POW camp, rescue Trautman, shuttle aid workers up river.)
- Things become more complicated, and Rambo realizes the larger importance of the fight or recognizes his further utility. (POWs need rescuing, the Afghan people need help, the aid workers are captured.)
- Rambo engages the enemy stealthily during the rescue attempt.
- Rambo engages the enemy (with help from his companions) graphically and completely un-stealthily to the point of all-out warfare.
- Rambo saves his companions, and retires again (sometimes bitterly).
- Over the course of the film, Rambo faces some kind of ideological or beaurocratic opposition, which he overcomes by proving the necessity of his methods in spite of their opposition. (The intelligence officer, his guide, the pacifist aid workers.)
- A political message of solidarity is made. (The USA let down Vietnam veterans, the Russian invasion of Afghanistan is wrong, the persecution of Karen rebels in Myanmar is wrong.)
- The necessity of violence to combat violence is restated and reaffirmed.

This roughly covers all three latter Rambo films, and some elements can be transposed onto First Blood also - certainly, one can see the genesis of these conventions. Rambo reintroduces these elements faithfully, but as noted above, the darker tone and vastly more disturbing visual representation of warfare seems to subvert it somewhat - or perhaps merely intensifies. As with Crystal Skull, repeat viewings will help to calcify these thoughts.

Eric Lichtenfeld, "The Law's Crazy": The Vigilante and Other Myths

(In Action Speaks Louder)

More good stuff from this book. The first chapter heavily emphasizes what Lichtenfeld considers to be the first action film (I wonder if I should start capitalizing Action when referring to the formalized genre, rather than to the broader style of film), Dirty Harry, also from 1971. He makes a convincing argument - compared to Bullitt, Billy Jack, The French Connection, Dirty Harry seems significantly more archetypal. Interesting for my purposes is that it is also the first Action movie franchise.

The rupturous car chases and other action setpieces in proto-Action films are streamlined into intermittent, regularly paced spectacular action sequences, emphasizing an idea Lichtenfeld lifts from another auther: passion and acceleration. Passion refers to the emotional and physical experience which the hero must survive, while acceleration (obviously) refers to the increasing tension as the film careens towards a cathartic conclusion.

Lichtenfeld also discusses the fetishization of weaponry, and the emphasis given to changes and differences in the equipment of violence. This extends to franchises at large, as Action heroes upgrade and adapt their weaponry according to the particular logic of the franchise. Harry's .44 Magnum is a staple of the character (although upgraded to an automatic briefly later in the franchise), as is Indiana Jones' whip - on the other hand, John McClane and the Terminator are not associated with any particular weapon. Rambo has a wide but reliable arsenal, parituclarly his knife, bow and arrow and M60 machine gun. Interestingly, however, in the Rambo franchise his knife changes dimensions and design in each film (as does the barrel length of Harry's .44), which is an interesting way of maintaining continuity but still presenting something ostensibly new and exciting.

The chapter also notes how early Action films remain largely within the modern, urban spaces associated with film noir - it is not until closer to the 1980s that the Action genre gets out of the city and begins to globe-trot - as indicated by the four franchises with which I am concerned.

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull (2008)

Finally got around to seeing this. It was the first viewing, so I don't have all that much to say (upon further viewings I'll be taking notes rather than sitting enrapt in the theatre) but a few preliminary thoughts follow.

Much as in Die Hard, they really don't avoid Harrison Ford's age in this one - he's in good shape, obviously, and apparently did all his own stunts (which is an important part of the marketing/promotional rhetoric) but the years definitely show - but it's not the years, as the man says, it's the mileage.

Bringing back Marion does a lot to link the film to the franchise, as does the the presence of Mutt Williams, Indy's previously unknown son. There's a sort of passing of the whip that takes place through the film, galvanizing the mythology with a sense of potential longevity (whether or not further films are made). In spite of the shift from Judeo-Christian religious artifact to alien/transdimensional artifact, the adventure plays out in much the same way as previous films, with Communists replacing Nazis, a different old man replacing Henry Jones Sr., and so on. The formula is preserved, as is the madcap, almost slapstick style of action I've alluded to in previous posts. Ants and scorpions serve the mandatory gross-animal function.

I'll have to ponder this more, but it seems that this film is constructed differently from Live Free or Die Hard... I'm not sure quite how, yet. Perhaps there is a greater emphasis on Indiana Jones' adaptability, as opposed to John McClane's stubborn (and ultimately correct) refusal to change. The ending of the film in particular, in which Indy marries Marion at long last, leads me to wonder if it is this is the case.

EDIT: A friend just pointed out to me one significat change - confronted with alien artifacts, Indiana Jones for the first time is not completely familiar with what he's dealing with. He knows all about the Ark, Shankara Stones and the Grail, but the crystal skulls are genuinely baffling to him. Something to consider, anyhow.

Eric Lichtenfeld, Introduction: A Little Violence Never Hurt Anyone and Prelude: 1971

(In Action Speaks Louder)

This is looking to be a very good book - Lichtenfeld seems to share many of my own views on genre and on action cinema, not to mention film scholarship in general. In particular, he espouses an integrated approach to Hollywood cinema, including textual/formal analysis, cultural reception studies and industry/marketing concerns but not limited to any one type of study. I think this kind of approach is incredibly effective, and some of my favourite books and authors employ similar tactics (Justin Wyatt in particular).

Further proving that we're on the same page, Lichtenfeld articulates an argument about the genesis of action movies which is similar to my musings in earlier posts. He suggests that action films (as a genre) do not really emerge until the early 1970s, and represent a convergence of several other genres: the western, the film noir, the police procedural and the gangster film. Additionally, the intensified representation of violence in counterculture films like Bonnie and Clyde is reconfigured as pleasurable spectacle as opposed to jarring political statement.

Lichtenfeld apparently avoids discussing James Bond in too much detail throughout the book, arguing that although the influence of Bond is important, the franchise must be seen as a parallel phenomenon, rather than as part of the generic development of the action film. I'm not sure if I fully agree with that (the James Bond films are about as British as the Jason Bourne films are German), but it occured to me that martial arts movies - which are certainly action films in a broad sense - can be viewed in a similar way, as a parallel genre emerging earlier from different industrial and cultural conditions, but having an undeniable influence on the American action movie genre. Essentially, this formulation avoids problems of taxomomy, by attributing divergences between kung fu movies and American action movies to generic difference as opposed to attempting to articulate a definition of "action film" which includes both forms.

In discussing proto-action vigilante films from the year 1971 - a watershed year for the emerging genre - he notes that although spectacular action sequences begin to appear in films such as Bullitt and The French Connection, it is not until later that these sequences become the focus in films, driving the narrative forward as opposed to interrupting it. The famous car chases in those two films are perfect examples of this narrative divergence.

An important aspect of high concept action movies in the 1980s is the physicality of the hero, and his ability to withstand pain and opposing force in order to save the day - especially in the Rambo and Die Hard franchises, but also in the Indiana Jones and The Terminator Lichtenfeld makes the logical suggestion that this comes from film noir, in which the private dick is often beaten or tortured in the course of his investigation, but doesn't crack or back down. In action films, this threshold for pain becomes a weapon unto itself, an active, agressive way of asserting power, as opposed to a passive resistance as in film noir.

Another interesting idea that crossed my mind, while reading about Shaft in the Prelude, is that the blaxploitation hero's status as a "super spade" who is beyond reproach and virtually invunerable, while often seen as a compensatory way of promoting the black hero to black audiences, can also be situated as an important predecessor to the archetypal action hero, who is similarly unflappable and unstoppable.

The length of this post should indicate how potentially useful and fascinating this book is. It looks like Lichtenfeld has a Blogspot blog of his own, and has posted about some of my primary texts, in addition to writing journalistic articles about them. I'll have to check some of this stuff out later on.

Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (1989)

After the dalliances of Temple of Doom, the third film in the Indiana Jones franchise very deliberately reintroduces elements which were not featured in the second film. In particular, the race for a Judeo-Christian artifact against Nazis, and the globe-trotting narrative (Temple of Doom takes place mostly in the same location). Additionally, important side characters including Marcus and Sallah are reintroduced.

The famous opening sequence, featuring a young Indy, establishes virtually all conventions of the films by writing them into the mythology of the franchise itself. In the span of ten minutes or so, Indiana Jones becomes afraid of snakes, learns to use a whip, and gains his trademark fedora - all while stealing back a precious artifact from a rival.

The opening sequence also further calcifies the Buster Keaton-esque nature of many of the franchises action sequences, even featuring a mailbag stunt right out of The General. This expanding slapstick style of action can be found throughout the franchise.

Another convention which seems inevitable is a scene featuring large numbers of creepy animals - snakes, bugs, and now rats. I'll have to create a structural formula for the Indiana Jones films, as they seem to follow a pretty consistent pattern (not unlike the James Bond films from which they take inspiration).

Crystal Skulls tonight.

Rambo III (1988)

Once again, Rambo is brought out of peaceful retirement to fight for Col. Trautman. Many of the conventions established in First Blood Part II are reintroduced here, including especially the emphasis on Rambo/Stallone's body (particularly the graphic tending of his own wounds, which goes back to First Blood). He once again is aided by an indigenous friend who is familiar with the terrain and conflict of the new setting.

Some differences, though, are the addition of more buddy-movie-like banter during the action, usually relegated to Trautman's battles on the home front. Of course, one could argue that Trautman (who is captured and rescued by Rambo, and fights alongside him) is simply taking that aspect of the franchise with him into the field, but much of the gravity of their relationship seems to be gone in this film. Perhaps it is no coincidence that Die Hard is released the same year, taking the established action hero framework and infusing it with self-deprecating wisecracks? Indeed, Rambo is much less tortured by his past in this film (especially considering the angry, disillusioned ending of First Blood Part II, and is even granted a happy ending of sorts - a significant departure from the formula.

One convention that seems, without fail, to return in every Rambo film is Col. Troutman warning the antagonist incredibly dramatically about Rambo's abilities. To wit:

First Blood

Teasle: Are you telling me that 200 of our men against your boy is a no-win situation for us?
Trautman: You send that many, don't forget one thing.
Teasle: What?
Trautman: A good supply of body bags.

Rambo: First Blood Part II

Murdock: And if I were you... I'd never make the mistake of bringing this subject up again.
Trautman: Oh, you're the one who's making the mistake.
Murdock: Yeah? What mistake?
Trautman: Rambo.

Rambo III

Zaysen: Are you insane? One man against trained commandos... Who do you think this man is? God?
Colonel Trautman: No. God would have mercy. He won't.


I'll miss those hilarious moments in the newest film - Trautman apparently isn't in it.

Matt Hills, Star Wars In Fandom, Film Theory and The Museum: The Cultural Status of the Cult Blockbuster

(In Movie Blockbusters)

Hills argues in this chapter that there is nothing textually definitive about blockbusters, and that blockbuster status is discursively constructed by fans, the industry, and the academy, and that its cultural status is thus constantly in flux as discourse shifts from one point of view to another. This is interesting because I intend to argue that there is something textually distinctive about franchise films, but that this distinctive feature (the logic of reintroduction) can only be observed in context of other films - so perhaps a better way to say it is that franchise films are intertextually distinctive.

Hills also discusses the "time-value" of Star Wars and how it's endurance in cultural discourses is seen as justification for its cultural status and continued existence. This is similar to many discourses surrounding the James Bond franchise, in which its uncanny ability to continually reintroduce itself successfully is seen as valuable in and of itself. I think that the reintroduction of the four action heroes with which I am concerned can be seen as partially motivated by a sense of time value, especially with characters like Indiana Jones and the Terminator which endure in the cultural consciousness. The simple fact that I can title my thesis "He'll Be Back" seventeen years after the release of Terminator 2: Judgement Day and still have people who haven't even seen the film recognize it is a testament to that percieved "time-value."

Hill cites somebody who refers to blockbuster films as "commercial inter-texts." That could be a useful term (although I would axe the "commercial," as it implies that other texts are not fundamentally intertextual).

Douglas Gomery, The Hollywood Blockbuster: Industrial Analysis and Practice

(In Movie Blockbusters)

Well, industry practice, anyway. Gomery doesn't do much analysis in this short chapter, but provides a concise and effective account of how the blockbuster functions and has functioned in the industry since Jaws in 1975. No small part of the article is dedicated to further debunking the great myth of competition between television and Hollywood (which is discussed in more detail in Contemporary Hollywood Cinema), when in fact Hollywood has been taking advantage of television as a marketing and distribution system essentially since its inception.

One interesting point made here is that virtually all of the top grossing films in Hollywood are action-adventure films of one variety or another - with the obvious exception of Titanic, which continues to hold the crown as the most profitable film of all time (having raked in almost two billion dollars to date). That said, family-oriented animated fairy tale/comedies also hold quite a few of the top spots.

Gomery comes right out and, without qualification, refers to the vertical integration of the "Big Six" media conglomerates, and more power to him. Synergy, horizontal integration and so on are really just euphamisms for exactly the same kind of top-to-bottom ownership that characterized the classical studio system.

One thing the chapter made me think about is that I really can't refer to Hollywood or the film industry most of the time - but what term should I use instead? The media industry? The entertainment industry? I'll need to figure that out before I start writing, becuase nothing I deal with is exclusive to film anymore.

Gomery ends on a strange note by defering to Thompson's (and by proxy, Bordwell's) argument that the textual conventions of Classical Hollywood Cinema remain strong, and are without a doubt the backbone of blockbuster success... without really actually making the argument or providing any justification. I don't know precisely where I stand on the whole classical-versus-post-classical debate, but I do know that it seems pretty silly to suggest that nothing at all has changed or will ever change about the narrative and formal construction of Hollywood films. Instead, I would argue that the only thing that never changes about Hollywood cinema is its capacity for change, adaptation and incorporation of new elements.

Rambo: First Blood Part II (1985)

This one feature much more of what we associate with Rambo: fetishized muscles and military equipment, near-constant explosions and gunfire, and shirtless warfare.

Some elements of the first film remain, though, particularly Col. Trautman's function as Rambo's only real friend, fighting the war on the home front against beaurocracy and incompetence. The political message is consistent also, although it becomes more pronounced.

The tension between high tech equipment and Rambo's more visceral physical methods is introduced in this film, culminating in Rambo's cathartic destruction of a room full of computers. The implication seems to be that technology which is controlled by people away from actual combat is weak and useless, while technology in the hands of Rambo is powerful and an extension of his physical prowess (his beloved M-60 machine gun, helicopters, etc.). The beaurocratic villain, interestingly, is made to look extremely non-military in both costume and behaviour, contrasting with Rambo's over-the-top warrior look. This is analogous to the overweight and vulgar police chief in First Blood.

The brief introduction of a love interest (she is killed as soon as professing her love for Rambo) may or may not continue in the franchise, but a much greater emphasis is put on male relationships, particularly between Rambo and Trautman, but also between Rambo and the POWs he is tasked with rescuing.

Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981) & Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (1984)

I interrupted my Rambo-watching to go through the Indiana Jones films upon finding out that one of my friends had never seen them, and in anticipation of finally seeing the latest one next week.

Raiders obviously establishes the formulas and conventions of the series, and one thing that struck me was the Buster Keaton-esque nature of much of the franchise - the stunts get bigger, the fight scenes are full of strange coincidence and props, and Indiana often seems to be caught in an infernal machine beyond his control. The Marion character is being reintroduced in the newest film, a first in the franchise (which hitherto has followed the same pattern as the James Bond franchise by featuring a new girl in every film).

Temple of Doom is generally thought of as the low point in the franchise, and in some ways it's easy to see why. It occured to me, though, that the film incorporates (or perhaps further elaborates, since it's not completely absent in the first film) screwball romantic comedy conventions into the film pretty extensively. This lead me to consider the transgeneric nature of the overall franchise. Based on what I know of the newest film, it adds B-movie sci-fi to the mix as well. Perhaps an argument could be made that one of the ways in which the Indiana Jones franchise reintroduces itself is by shuffling its generic elements?

The movie also suffers a bit from a sort of second-film syndrome, which I see in many franchises of the period (particularly in Die Hard 2), which leads the film to go to sometimes ridiculous lengths to reincorporate and elements in the first film. For example, Indy's famously brief confrontation with a scimitar-wielding Egyptian in Raiders is directly referenced in Temple of Doom, self-consciously reconfigured. This self-reflexivity, I suppose, is part of a process of calcifying what exactly the conventions of a franchise are - as noted in an earlier post, Rambo II, not First Blood is the film which really establishes the Rambo formula. By deliberately invoking aspects of the first film, a second film can be seen as testing the water. Some elements which return in a second film may not return in subsequent instances, but those which to will become the trademarks of the franchise.

Marc Edward DiPaolo, Wonder Woman as World War II Veteran, Camp Feminist Icon and Male Sex Fantasy

(In The Amazing Transforming Superhero)

Hmm. This is an interesting survey of how the Wonder Woman character has changed over time, but it's predicated on the idea that there is an objective, authentic ideal "original" version of Wonder Woman and her ideology which all versions of the hero either aspire towards or "appropriate" and stray from. In this sense DiPaolo basically treats the multiplicity and complexity of comic book franchises as a problem, rather than a unique opportunity for study.

This is especially silly becaue DiPaolo quite obviously does not espouse the original ideology of Wonder Woman (which is a fairly outdated version of feminism) and enbraces many of the changes that have taken place - only he avoids referring to those changes he percieves as positive as such, instead making it seem as though these are regressions to the original, ideal version. That's just not the case - the Lynda Carter TV series which he values to highly is notably different in many ways from the original comics, and these differences should not be brushed off as mere coincidence when other differences, percieved to be negative, are emphasized as proof of the "appropriation" of the character.

Superheroes exist in many different versions all at once - old versions do not disappear, they remain in our consciousness and in our libraries alongside newer versions. Rather than making evaluative statements about changes to the Wonder Woman character, I think it's much more interesting to look at why and how theose changes take place - after all, superheroes are not static meanings, but fluid elements in an ever-expanding snowflake of meanings.

First Blood (1982)

The first Rambo film is a bit strange, because it's so unlike the canonical image of Rambo in many ways- it's much less of a ridiculous action movie and more of a coming-home thriller about a Vietnam vet on the lam. Interesting that the conventions of the franchise really don't come into play until the later films.

It struck me that the film is almost identical to Billy Jack in structure, only rather than a paragon defending an ideal, the protagonist is broken and fighting as much against his own trauma as the antagonists. Both films end in the same way, only with Rambo alone and haunted and Billy Jack morally rectified and supported by his community. What a difference ten years makes.

Further to my thoughts on the genesis of action films, it strikes me that even in 1982, still has vestiges of an earlier form of action film, as though the high concept action hero movie has yet to fully take hold. I'll keep this in mind as I move on through the series.