(By Nicola Bozzi)

After last week’s post about Demolition Man (1993) and the city of Los Angeles, today I’m writing about another action flick dealing with urban imagery, also come out the same year: Last Action Hero. Both movies are cop-tales, reterritorializing a way of dealing with crime and justice from one world to another. In Stallone’s sci-fi exploit the change happens in time, while in the more sophisticated – and also more tongue-in-cheek – film starring future governor Arnold Schwarzenegger the jump is twofold: from reality to fiction and, quite significantly, from New York to Los Angeles. Before we go further about the retorritorialization I mentioned before, a short introduction to the movie’s plot is necessary.

A little New York kid, Danny, is used to go to this old cinema to watch his favorite movie character, an Eastwood-inspired off-the-book cop named Jack Slater and played by Arnold Schwarzenegger (the actual name is mentioned in the movie, that is, Schwarzenegger is playing himself playing Slater), over and over again. At some point, the cinema owner gives him a magic ticket which can supposedly make him travel to another world and which he was never ballsy enough to use. The kid uses it and enters the movie to his and Slater’s surprise. As the movie goes on, Danny’s expertise on action stereotypes and slaterisms gets him closer and closer to his hero, and both try and stop the film’s supervillain, who is an 100% evil stone-cold mass murderer with colored contact lenses. At some point the villain gets his hands on the kid’s ticket and enters the real world, where he realizes that, on the other side of the screen, crime does pay. Slater and Danny follow him and eventually defeat him, but the hero is seriously wounded and, for him not to die, his biggest fan has to send him back to the movie where he belongs, and where bullets are little more than sand to him. Things are then back to normal, except the kid has now some kick-ass memories about his special hero-friend.

In Last Action Hero the real/unreal dialectic is eventually preserved, just like in all the stories of the same type: from Alice in Wonderland to Where the Wild Things Are (2009), passing by Who Framed Roger Rabbit? (1988) – where at the end cartoons can finally have their own place to stay – the territory of fiction and fictional characters needs to be somehow separated from our own, in order for them to keep their imaginary appeal. In this case, though, the gap is not only a dimensional jump through a mirror, but a coast to coast flight from New York City, where the kid lives and the “real world” happens, to Los Angeles, where the Jack Slater movies are set. Such geographic polarization of real and unreal – or fictional – is not casual at all.

As pointed out in this great article by Emilio Spadola, which I already linked in last week’s post, the lack of urban landmarks on LA’s territory makes the Hollywood sign the only visual symbol of the city, identifying it with movies and their magic appeal. A hint to this notion of the city as a celluloid map is also given in the movie, when the young protagonist first tries to help Slater in his search for the bad guys. Danny has seen the movies over and over, and knows every frame of them. When they are driving around in the cop’s red convertible, the kid is then able to spot a familiar villa, where the villain actually resides. It is not through coordinates or spatial directions that he moves in the fictional LA, but by recognizing patterns in his visual field.

On the other hand, New York does have landmarks, and the filming in the Big Apple took place almost exclusively in the Times Square area. Despite being highly symbolic itself, Manhattan is a particularily fertile ground for a reality check, as pointed out by philosopher Slavoj Žižek in his article on 9/11 and its related movie depictions. “September 11 is the symbol of the end of [...] utopia, a return to real history.” As a landmark, the iconic status of the World Trade Center was also the reason of its election as the most sensible target for the terrorist attacks. In Last Action Hero, New York seems to be the filmic synthesis of the highest grade of the Real. Reality in NYC is shown as ruthless, and evil can happen without people noticing or caring. Although there are no historical symbolisms and despite being shot years before the 9/11 tragedy, the movie clearly identifies the territory of non-fiction with the City par excellence, the dense and heterogeneous urban reality of Manhattan.

The aforementioned geographical polarization of fiction and reality across the US territory is not limited to Last Action Hero, though, and is a recurring element in American movies. As for Los Angeles, the work of director David Lynch is a good example of the city as an imaginary plateau on which a delusional reality is projected. Films like the masterpiece Mulholland Drive (2001) and the later Inland Empire (2006), with their very localized titles and ambiguous plots, are probably the best examples. As for New York, Woody Allen’s very recent Whatever Works (2009) shows us a series of characters all finding their own real selves in Lower Manhattan, a place where even the most cynical Larry David can be given a life lesson. Although very different from Last Action Hero, once again the urban density and human confrontation provided by the City prove crucial in establishing a contact with the real world.

Of course these are few and partial examples, and we shoulnd’t forget the urban mythology underlying the aforementioned filmic stereotypes might be a driver in grossing record-making, but it is just the most evident face of Los Angeles’ celluloid alter-ego. The City of Angels has been taking conscience of its real side as troubled areas like South Central have gained iconic status through films like Boyz ‘N’ Da Hood (1991) and South Central (1992), without mentioning documentaries like Crips and Bloods: Made in America (2008). The popularization of this imagery is also reflecting on the real, actual city, as guided tours of gang territories become an alternative to taking snapshots of the Beverly Hills villas.
And apart from its balkanized ghettos, LA is also deterritorializing away from the Hollywood sign and onto its status of a border territory, as depicted by movies like the immigration-themed Crossing Over (2009).
Schwarzenegger definitely wasn’t the last action hero, and the Hollywood myth is far from dying, but it seems Los Angeles can aspire to filmic reality after all.

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