VHS Revival traces the most nostalgic movie experience of the 1980s
It is perhaps ironic that one of the most nostalgic movies of the 1980s acquires its sense of sentimentality from an entirely different era.
Based on Stephen King’s short story The Body, Stand by Me is an intoxicating ode to the 1950s, with a tragic underbelly that belies the myth of what on the surface might be considered simpler times. It is a tale of four small-town boys and their abrupt transition from childish passivity to stark self-realisation. It is a story of alienation and togetherness, of pain and conflict and personal resolution. It is also one of the finest movies of the decade.
Key to the film’s success are the quite remarkable performances of its largely juvenile cast. Although Gordie Lachance (Will Wheaton) might be considered the main protagonist, it would be unfair to say that any one of the four deserves more credit, although River Phoenix is particularly outstanding as unwilling miscreant Chris Chambers, whose unabashed display of sadness in a scene which poignantly outlines his own personal conflict is really quite astonishing. The film explores the malevolent side of small-town life and the roles we are bequeathed in a claustrophobic environment that breeds togetherness, and as a result segregation.
Mr Lachance: Why Can’t you have friends like Denny?
Gordie Lachance: Dad, they’re okay.
Mr Lachance: What, a thief and two feebs?
These performances are in no small part due to the people skills of director Rob Reiner, who handles the cast with a masterful gilt-edged air. The actors involved have attested to this, but according to the movie’s bonus documentary it wasn’t all fun and games. Actor Jerry O’Connell, who plays the group’s whipping boy, Verne, spoke candidly about the infamous train scene that saw his character blubbering like a baby as he raced towards a more immediate freedom. In reality, he was unable to achieve the desired affect himself, and Reiner resorted to openly scalding him for his efforts. What you see onscreen is very much a genuine reaction.
In the movie, all four characters are caught in their own personal traps. Gordie is the overlooked child whose All-American brother was killed in a car accident. His parents don’t hate him as his fragile mind strains to conceive, they are just uncaring, unaware of his own talent as a writer and motivated entirely by the interests of the community. Another reason Gordy’s father disapproves of him is the company he keeps and how that reflects on the family name, and his callous description of Chris, Verne and Teddy only serves to highlight the problems facing four kids who will never be allowed the chance to grow beyond the town’s misconceptions.
The boys don’t have to look far to see what life has in store for them. Chris only has to look as far as his elder brother, ‘Eyeball’, a faux-miscreant who exudes the kind of smug, self-confidence that contradicts his role as hanger-on. Eyeball oppresses those who expect to be oppressed. He behaves exactly as he is supposed to, wearing his dime-store infamy like the scar that mars his face, embracing an ugliness there is simply no escaping.
His role model in life is the town’s true delinquent. Ace Merrill (Kiefer Sutherland) is the casual scourge who lingers on every corner, the kid who was pushed too far, and whose only solace lies in the destruction of other wilting spirits. Ace may be battle-hardened, but his Draconian strength was forged from a similar weakness, the kind that threatens every nameless birdbrain to come out of the backwoods, and if you are unable to escape the prison that incarcerates his soul, you’ll be paying him for the rest of your life.
Against all of their emerging hardships, our young cast remain boys for one last defining journey, as they set off to find the dead body of a kid their age. Like most nostalgia pictures, the memories facing the movie’s narrator―a now successful writer who is led down memory lane by a sudden and unexpected tragedy―are the stuff of half-truths, cushioned by the bubble of myth and imagination which protects children from the often brutal and sobering nature of a reality they are not yet prepared for. We all have those stories, those that imbue life with a sense of the fantastical, and which we cling to in later life, recalling with great, synthetic warmth the heady lens of adolescent perspective. The most memorable of these instances concerns the local junkyard dog, Chopper, an unseen beast who is rumoured to have been trained to have a rather cringing appetite, only to emerge as a golden pup of cutesy proportions. Then we have the junk man himself, a flagrant reminder of the realities lurking beneath, an ogre who goads a rambunctious Teddy Duchamp and reminds him in great detail of how his father was not the war hero his idealistic nature portrays, but a loony up in the nuthouse who almost burnt off his ear when he was an infant.
Though the sobering obstacles pile up as they are drawn toward their symbolic goal, the four kids manage to maintain a sense of the mercifully naive, particularly fat kid Verne and the self-destructive Teddy, whose attempted train dodge reveals his own demons in a way that clearly evades him. Their isolation is very much suppressed beneath issues of dubious prominence, such as who would win in a fight between Mighty Mouse and Superman, while the true identity of cartoon character Goofy remains a topic of almost scholastic interest. Contrarily, best friends Gordie and Chris are very much conscious of their unravelling world, sharing in bouts of well-meaning aggression and explicit sadness that elevate Chris’ role as the surrogate father of not only his closest friend, but of the whole gang.
Gordie Lachance: Did you take it? [the milk money].
Chris Chambers: Yeah, I took it! I mean, you knew I took it. Teddy knew I took it. Everybody knew I took it. Even Vern knew it, I think. But maybe I was sorry and tried to give it back.
Although Gordie finds his environment harder to cope with, Chris is the true victim of Castle Rock, the kid tarred with the familial oil who others oppress with the aim of elevating their own place in society. So isolated is he that even his teacher pinned the blame on him for stealing the milk money from school, safe in the knowledge that her mean-spirited accusations would stick. On the surface he is just another bad apple from the rotting cart, when in reality his persecution has succeeded in creating an anomaly: a capable, sympathetic young man who possesses the kind of selflessness that is alien to his community. And perhaps they sense this. Perhaps it is this veracity which leaves them at pains to smother his wilting potential.
In spite of its hardened skin, Stand By Me remains a joy to watch. Not only is it imbued with a sense of watercolour nostalgia, it is sharp and witty, tender and poignant, with some of the most fun and memorable dialogue of the decade. Who can’t relate to inane discussions about their favourite cartoon characters, about choosing candy as your all time favourite meal or the first stirrings of a libido, and those rare moments of incalculable beauty that adulthood promises to deliver?
Above all of the turmoil and angst and desperation, those are the abiding memories I have of the movie, the ones that seem to shine through in spite of it all. Stand By Me is an often devastating film that highlights some of the most gruelling aspects of the human condition, but whenever I think of it I invariably think of those lighter moments, and they never fail to leave me smiling the way they did when I first discovered its magic, back when I was of a similar age and those characters spoke to me in a way that I can no longer fathom.