directed by Walter Hill
Soon enough, Detroit’s cussed up veneer will be up on big screens all across this expansive globe, showing earthlings everywhere just how rough it is out here. And just like Chris Hansen and his B.S. Dateline shitfest, only the worst will make it to final cut. I’m talking about the remake of one of the coolest movies of all time, The Warriors, and how our fair city is going to look like Carpenter’s futuristic L.A. It’s like that old saying “He’s not fat. He’s my brother.” Detroit isn’t the scariest place in the U.S. (contrary to popular belief), it’s home. Anyway, I’ll stop ranting about how crappy of a shake the D gets in popular media and focus on my original plan, reviewing Walter Hill’s legendary film, The Warriors. The Warriors is a classic cult film in that everyone knows this film, even if they have never heard of it. As soon as clinking glass mingles with David Patrick Kelly’s eerie voice chanting “Warriors. Come out to plaaay,” the collective genius is tapped, and everyone knows what film you are talking about. Sure, they may say things like “Wow. I didn’t know that line was from anything,” as if quotable lines like this emerge sans any kind of context. Walter Hill is one of the true maverick (dammit, Palin and McCain! Why did you have to ruin a perfectly good word?) directors of the film world, doing his thing like Chuck Berry, and The Warriors may be his finest work. Centering around a gang battling their way through NYC to get back to their home turf on Coney Island, Hill’s hyper-stylized world of gang warfare is comic book-esque in its beauty and visceral in its energy. While I may be partial to such forgotten favorites as Streets of Fire (where Michael Pare is magnificent and Willem Defoe has way too much fun, again!), The Warriors is a cult classic in the traditional sense, and it will never die. Can you dig it?