Roadgames: A Little Bit of Rear Window, a Dash of Duel

Quid (Stacy Keach) with his harmonica.

Directed by Hitchcock admirer Richard Franklin, Roadgames (1981) follows truck driver Patrick Quid (Stacy Keach) as he traverses the desolate highways of rural Australia after witnessing what may have been the aftermath of a murder. You see, there's a serial killer on the loose and Quid suspects it's the mysterious man driving a green van.

Released when slasher films like Halloween (1978) and Friday the 13th (1980) were in vogue, Roadgames is an oddity. It sounds like a slasher film, but--as its PG rating suggests--it's more of a throwback to suspense films like The Hitch-Hiker (1953). 

Thematically, Roadgames mirrors Hitchcock's Rear Window with its exploration of voyeurism and the paranoia that comes with it. Just as James Stewart’s character in Rear Window is confined to his apartment, Keach’s Quid is largely confined to his truck, observing the world through his windshield. The film also echoes Steven Spielberg's Duel (1971) with its intense, road-bound cat-and-mouse game, where the vast, empty landscapes heighten the sense of isolation and danger.

Stacy Keach delivers a standout performance as Quid, a trucker with a penchant for poetry and a sharp wit. His character’s quirky charm and intelligence add depth to the film, making him a compelling protagonist. On the other hand, Jamie Lee Curtis has limited screen time and is mired in an underwritten role as a hitch-hiker (again...she also played one in The Fog).* Aussie actress Marion Edward fares better as a stranded wife picked by Quid--and who fears that he may be the killer.

Shades of Hitchock's Rear Window.

Director Franklin makes exceptional use of the rural Australian settings, capturing the stark beauty and eerie emptiness of the outback. This backdrop heightens the film’s tension and sense of isolation, making one wonder why Franklin chose to stage the climax in an urban setting. It's a clunky ending altogether that negates some of the goodwill that Roadgames has established along the way.

Thus, if you watch Roadgames, watch it for the ride. In that context, it delivers modest thrills and a likable quirkiness. The best example of both is a scene in which Quid believes he has the killer trapped in a bathroom stall--and isn't quite sure what to do.

Though it was not a box office success in the U.S., Roadgames attracted enough attention to get Richard Franklin a plum directing assignment. His next movie, Psycho II (1983), was a belated sequel to one of his idol's most famous films.

* Richard Franklin has stated that Actors Equity of Sydney was displeased that an American actress was cast in the role, instead of an Australian performer. Avco Embassy, who provided some of the film's financing, insisted on a "name star" that American audiences would recognize. That led to the casting of Jamie Lee Curtis, who had previously starred in Halloween and The Fog.

The V.I.P.s and The Fog

Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton.

The V.I.P.s (1963).  A fogged-in London airport provides the setting—and serves as the catalyst—in playwright Terence Rattigan’s The V.I.P.s. This collage of mini-dramas shares the same structure as films such as Grand Hotel and Rattigan’s own Separate Tables. The principal characters include: an emotionally-withdrawn tycoon (Richard Burton); his ignored wife (Elizabeth Taylor), who plans to leave him; her lover (Louis Jourdan); a businessman (Rod Taylor) fighting a hostile takeover of his company; his secretary (Maggie Smith) who secretly loves him; an elderly, financially-strapped dowager (Margaret Rutherford); and a blustery filmmaker (Orson Welles), who stands to pay a hefty tax bill if he can’t leave the country by midnight. As expected, some subplots are engrossing (Rod Taylor’s dilemma), while others are filler (the plight of Welles’ filmmaker). The standout performances come from Richard Burton and Maggie Smith. Burton’s initially one-dimensional character gains depth as the film progresses, while Maggie Smith shines brightly from start to finish. A scene between Burton and Smith toward the end is a master class in acting. Dame Margaret Rutherford won a Best Supporting Actress Oscar as the befuddled dowager. She’s good, delivering a more reserved portrayal than usual. However, I would have given that award to the luminous Maggie Smith. 

Adrienne Barbeau in the lighthouse.

The Fog (1980). In his theatrical follow-up to Halloween (1978), John Carpenter opts to create a different kind of horror film with a supernatural tale set in an atmospheric Northern California coastal community. The premise is set up with a nifty recounting of a local story in which a clipper ship’s crew of six died in a crash against the rocks after mistaking a campfire for the lighthouse on a foggy night. A hundred year later, as Antonio Bay prepares to celebrate its centennial, a glowing fog engulfs the town—and brings forth the vengeful ghosts of the ship’s crew. But why are the murderous spirits seeking the lives of six town residents? The answer is somewhat interesting, but therein lies the problem with The Fog. It’s a middle-of-the-road effort that rarely lives up to its potential. The ghosts aren’t frightening, the characters lack interest, and Carpenter fails to generate adequate suspense (a surprise coming on the heels of his superbly-crafted Halloween). The cast—which includes real-life mother and daughter Janet Leigh and Jamie Lee Curtis—is game, but just doesn’t have enough quality material. One suspects Carpenter recognized these flaws as he shot additional footage after viewing the rough cut. The director certainly rebounded, with his next two movies, Escape from New York (1981) and The Thing (1982), ranking among his best.

Jamie Lee Boards a Terror Train; The Animals Have Their Day

Jamie Lee Curtis.

Terror Train (1980).  When a cruel college prank goes awry, its victim, Kenny, seemingly has a nervous breakdown. Three years later, the prank's perpetrators have become senior pre-med students, one of whom has hired a steam-driven train for a masquerade party. After almost everyone has boarded the train, a student named Ed is secretly murdered. The killer rolls the corpse under the caboose and dons the disguise—a Groucho Marx mask—worn by Ed. Thus, all the party attendees think that “Groucho” is Ed…and not a revenge-minded homicidal psycho.

The killer in disguise.

The Canadian-made Terror Train was one of the first slasher films made in the wake of Halloween’s box office success. Helmed by veteran Roger Spottiswoode, it’s an efficient thriller that generates a reasonable amount of tension. A key plot point has the killer donning the disguise of his latest victim. It also features an effective twist at the climax, which—while not original—nevertheless comes across as a mild surprise.

In her third "slasher film", following Halloween (1978) and Prom Night (1979), Jamie Lee Curtis stars as a surprisingly tough heroine. Her character may regret her role in the ill-fated prank and even feel sympathy towards Kenny, but she's willing to take on the killer at the end. The supporting cast is stronger than usual for this type of film with Ben Johnson as the train conductor, Hart Bochner as a manipulative student, and David Copperfield in his only dramatic role as...a magician. If actress D.D. Winters looks familiar, that's because she became Prince's protégé Vanity.

Terror Train isn't an undiscovered gem. It's an average thriller made on a modest budget, but by people that know how to make this sort of thing.

Christopher George as Steve.

Day of the Animals (1977). When the Earth's ozone layer starts depleting, it has an inexplicable effect on both domestic and wild animals living in high altitudes. It transforms them into bloodthirsty killers!

That's bad news for a group of vacationers participating in a two-week wilderness trek through the mountains led by guides Steve (Christopher George) and Daniel (Michael Ansara). After the group fends off an attack by a single wolf, it begins to splinter. Matters get worse when one of the hikers, a bigoted executive (Leslie Nielsen) with a huge ego, convinces some of the group to follow him instead of Steve. Pretty soon, the humans are fighting for their lives as they face mountain lions, bears, birds, snakes, wild dogs--and each other.

Leslie Nielsen.

Made two years after Jaws (1975), Day of the Animals is often mentioned with other ecologically-themed films where Mother Nature rebels against humans (e.g., Grizzly, Frogs, Food of the Gods, The Pack, etc.). That's a shame, because it's better than those drive-in efforts; indeed, for most of its running time, Day of the Animals is a tidy suspense film with solid acting. 

Unfortunately, it starts to unravel when Leslie Nielsen's bizarre executive strips off his shirt and starts acting like a mad man. Sure, Nielsen has a field day overacting and spouts some memorable dialogue (to a young boy: "You little cockroach! You gonna tell me about survival?"). However, his performance ruins the second half of the movie (for a more serious take on a similar character, see Sands of the Kalahari).

Lynda Day George and hair.

The rest of the cast acquit themselves satisfactorily and it's fun to see: Lynda Day George (Chris's wife) as a reporter whose blonde hair always looks perfectly coiffed; Ruth Roman as an overbearing mother; Richard Jaeckel as a well-meaning professor; Paul Mantee (Robinson Crusoe on Mars) as a former football player; and a young Andrew Stevens.

The animals prove to be adequate thespians, too, especially the bear and a pack of wild dogs that attack near the climax. The latter scene does leave one with a lingering question: Why are all the wild dogs in the pack German Shepherds?