Speed (1994) dir. Jan de Bont

I cannot talk about Speed without talking about Los Angeles. On screen LA is represented frequently but not accurately—it is often the site of the apocalyptic, the superficial and fake, or it acts as a synecdoche for the Hollywood industry. I am not a stickler for realism in my stories, and I prefer to approach every story with the appropriate amount of suspension of disbelief. But the wonderful thing about Speed is that I can locate the real Los Angeles—and especially real Angelenos. 

This is, of course, an ironic thing to say about an action film whose premise is an LA bus that’s been rigged to blow if the speedometer goes beneath 50 miles per hour. Speed strains hard against one’s suspension of disbelief, derailing to the silly, ridiculous, and entertaining, and working nonetheless. But even the premise is inherently Angeleno—that a bus can somehow maintain 50+ in LA’s notorious traffic is impossible. No other city is known for being so expansive, with such expansive, choked freeways to connect it, and with the little public transportation there is unable to diminish the amount of traffic. The film cracks jokes about the unfinished nature of our transportation (metro and freeway alike!) and uses the traffic as a jumping point (literally!). And rather than knock these things for the hundredth time, the film twists the approach—we view the film through the Angelenos who do take public transportation.

This is the heart of the film for me: the everyday people that I know use such buses. That the bus riders are diverse in race, age, and gender matter to me. That a quick throwaway line in the middle of the film, where the Hispanic woman asks Que dice?, had my theater rolling with laughter. That Alan Ruck’s character serves as a the perfect tourist foil to the Angelenos, so that immediately upon meeting him Annie moves to a different spot because he’s so grating. That when he says, “Cops are supposed to help us,” the entire Angeleno bus looks at him in a mix of pity and contempt. That when the final action sequence ends and the (unfinished) Metro train collides with the end of the construction area, it collapses on Hollywood Boulevard, one last joke at what people expect from an LA film. This feels real to me. 

That being said, if the LA of it all is not the draw for you, then I’m happy to say there’s no shortage of praise for everything else the film can offer. It has a surprisingly slow but smart opening sequence that allows us to understand our characters. It has a good wit and humor to it, sometimes from wonderfully comedic delivery by Sandra Bullock and other times from horrible delivery by Keanu Reeves (both are charming). The leads have intense chemistry that services the romance well. The action is exciting and tense and successfully builds on itself throughout the film. It’s an action film par excellence.

—Peyton

The Trial of the Chicago 7 (2020) dir. Aaron Sorkin

This movie has a really interesting structure that I am beginning to identify in other films across genres. Hilariously bleak. A silly goose time with a heavy dash of “we live in hell and there is no escape.” Or maybe that’s just how I view them. The Trial of the Chicago 7 (2020) was a rollercoaster ride of emotions for me, but in the end I was enthralled by its ability to expose the absurdities of American imperialism, nationalism, and its police state.

This film is based on the true story of the Chicago 7, a group of Vietnam war protestors who were arrested and put on trial for inciting a riot in the late 60s. The star characters, the seven men, are a comedic mismatch of idealists, realists, and everything in between. While they are all virtually on the same side of the conflict, they often argue about the best way to go about the ever-elusive goal that is progress (a clear mirror to the in-fighting of today’s progressives). The beginning of the film is genuinely a fun time. Two of the seven, Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin, played by Sacha Baron and Jeremy Strong respectively, are the comedic hearts of the movie. Cut between trial moments are stand-up sets where Abbie and Jerry share the ridiculousness of the situation they are in.

And yet, there are clear through lines to remind the viewer that this shit is all fun and games . . . unless you’re not white or being forced to die overseas for a government that doesn’t care about you at all. One of the men put on trial with the other seven men is a black man named Bobby Seale, played by Yahya Abdul-Mateen II. The tonal shift of this movie for me was when Bobby learns that Fred Hampton of the Black Panther Party was murdered. Bobby, having nothing to do with the seven men on trial other than being at the wrong place at the wrong time, advocates for his constitutional rights in the courtroom, and is then taken to another room, beaten, gagged, and placed in chains. This stark moment cuts through the humor of the film. Even the comedians are horrified. 

I truly enjoyed this movie, and I highly recommend it. The performances and the editing from scene to scene and moment to moment was a joy, even if it does make me feel like the world is in an endless cycle of bullshit that I am powerless to stop.

—Elise