The Warriors

I must be slacking in regards to Hollywood philistine cinema because until the other night I had yet to see The Warriors. Going into the film, I did not have any serious expectations as far as quality cinema goes. Now after watching The Warriors, I must admit it is a fun barbaric flick full of cheesy gang romanticism. Essentially, The Warriors is the perfect film for those people that can only tolerate the first 1/3 of Stanley Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange. The Warriors has all the ultra-violence minus the intellectual pessimism that most American’s do not seem to be too fond of. Sure, The Warriors maybe a dystopian gang war film set sometime in the near future but I find such a world ideal. After all, there is no diversity in the modern world (most gangs taking their “cultural” cues from the American Negro) but the world that the Warriors battle in is as colorful as a rainbow on fire. 

 

Like A Clockwork Orange before it, The Warriors immediately influenced vandalism (and even death) when it was initially screened in theaters for American audiences. Any film that influences violence and death is certainly doing something right for all great cinema has the ability to change reality. In a way, The Warriors director Walter Hill is a postmodern magician, an individual who through the power of cinema has manipulated reality with his own auteur vision. Of course, there is nothing brilliant or intellectually exceptional about the film itself. The Warriors is like a drug that brings excitement and potent entertainment from beginning to end, certainly positive cinematic qualities few films hold. 

One of the most interesting aspects of The Warriors is that each gang has their own distinct wardrobe. Sure, most of these urban warfare uniforms look quite tacky nowadays but they certainly beat the jungle “uniforms” most modern gangs where. After all, for all the talk of diversity in America, this country is becoming quite homogenized and mongrelized. The world of The Warriors features wild boy homo Dingos, effeminate Negro pimpz, baseball clowns, and multicultural skinheads. The protagonist gang, the Warriors, wear a humble yet masculine uniform of leather. The Rogues, the enemy gang of the Warriors, would have been better described as The Scorpio Rising gang in tribute to the Kenneth Anger film of the same name. The Rogues is led by a little loudmouthed turd by the name of Luther (played by David Patrick Kelly of Twin Peaks infamy) who is easily the most memorable yet despicable character in the film. 

Another positive aspect of The Warriors, strangely enough, is the “love interest” Mercy. Unfortunately for Mercy, she is from a part of town where the loser gang the Orphans reside. When the Warriors walk through Orphan territory, Mercy makes sure to check out every swinging dick, finally catching her lovely eyes on alpha-warrior Swan. Like a lost kitten, Mercy stalks the the Warriors even after they attempt to throw her away various times like a used condom. Mercy is like a femme fatale minus the brains for her only desire is sex with an alpha and possibly a better life, certainly a girl that does not aspire to be much aside from living in the moment. Angelic (but not angel) Mercy is the kind of woman all feminists should aspire to be.

Apparently, hack action director Tony Scott is planning a loose remake of The Warriors set in Los Angeles. Scott hopes to use real gang members in his dubious remake of the 1979 classic. With all the vintage character of The Warriors, a remake only seems like it could be at best a rotten piece of stillborn cinema, a film that should have never be born and that should be soon forgotten. Of course, with the solely monetary-driven businessmen at Hollywood any remake guarantees an audience (and financial success). It will surely be a dark day for cinema when some Hollywood producer has the audacity to remake A Clockwork Orange. On a more positive note, at least we still have the originals as I will surely be re-watching The Warriors sometime again this year. 

-Ty E