Article: Radio Ga Ga - Pump Up The Volume

Pump Up the Volume is Talk Radio (1988) for teenagers. Although a far more hopeful entity than Oliver Stone’s claustrophobic slice of media pessimism, the film orbits around similar themes. It touches on free speech and the intimate power of radio as a medium. However, despite holding a sizable amount of darkness, Pump Up the Volume is a cuter view on similar ideas highlighted in Talk Radio. Christian Slater plays Mark, a sullen loner who finds solace in performing outrageously on his short-wave radio show. Mark uses his radio to communicate with his friends back east after he and his parents move from New York to a quiet suburb in Phoenix, Arizona. However, his persona of ‘Hard Harry’ becomes a solitary voice that delivers truth bombs to isolated and lonely teenagers. A tragic accident occurs after Mark makes some unwittingly flippant comments, and soon the town's adults look to condemn and stifle the voice that is stirring up high school rebellion.

Director Allan Moyle adds a touch of futurism to Pump Up the Volume, which helps it become a companion piece with Talk Radio. Both movies draw attention to the idea of the virility of radio, along with its intimacy. During the opening credits, radio recordings of ‘Hard Harry’ are passed from pupil to pupil via tape recording. Late in the film, background graffiti broadly states, “The Truth is a virus”. But while there’s foreshadowing on the future of media circulation, the sensibilities of its director, and possibly the coming-of-age narrative, give Pump Up the Volume a sweeter taste in comparison to the bitter pill of Talk Radio. Amusingly, both films feature Ellen Green as a quiet voice of reason, who wishes to appeal to the empathy of the characters. Oliver Stone’s movie senses the growing sense of haplessness and frustration, helped by the encroaching capitalist system. Pump up the Volume, with its pirated tapes, rebellious rock music, and sometimes youthful idealism, walks a different path for the adolescent listeners of Hard Harry. One that suggests a sense of belonging. Mark’s Harry persona holds empathy that Talk Radio’s Barry no longer has. If he ever had time for it.

Despite the film having a strand about popularity, Pump Up the Volume was not popular itself. The film suffered a similar fate to Moyle’s Empire Records (1995) in that while it seemingly had all the ingredients to be a mainstream classic, it found itself roundly ignored by audiences upon release. It brought in a measly $11 million during its theatrical run.  Pump Up the Volume’s mainstream failure is another unfortunate chapter in the cinematic career of Moyles, who previously spent 10 years in self-imposed exile due to having a dreadful time on his New York set, punk-enthused, teenage lesbian story, Times Square (1980). For some reason, whenever Moyle wanted to tell stories about teenage lives, he was hampered by unseen cinematic overlords. It is a strange bug within Moyles' features. In 1980, more people were interested in The Blue Lagoon than Times Square, most likely for sleazy reasons. In 1995, Empire Records was overshadowed by Clueless and Kids. In 1990, Pump Up the Volume went against Whit Stillman’s Oscar-nominated Metropolitan and Reginald Hudlin’s House Party. Metropolitan gained a Criterion release in 2006 (DVD) and 2018 (Blu-Ray). House Party was selected for preservation in the United States National Film Registry by the Library of Congress as being "culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant" in 2022. Pump up the Volume, alas, garners no such plaudits.

When watching the film, it’s surprising that there isn’t more popularity behind it. Pump Up the Volume seemed primed for the mainstage. It appeared in the middle of what some may consider MTV's golden age. Coming out two years after Slater’s other pitch-black teen flick, Heathers (1988), PUTV’s teenage rebellion arrives just in time before the '90s went into alienation overdrive.  Its commentary on teenage angst sets the tone for the decade and feels so bleeding edge that it feels like the era takes a few years to catch up.  Smudges of John Hughes-like residue cling to the sides of the film. The sentimentality and acute teenage awkwardness are the key signatures.

However, the blending of growing pains, teenage kicks and sincerity delivers a fresh sense of optimism, which makes PUTV an interesting contrast to Talk Radio, which actively swims in its jadedness. Despite his loudmouth persona, what makes Mark/Harry interesting is that he knows he doesn’t have all the answers. His desire to bring a sense of community towards the very listeners he struggles to connect with in real life is compelling. The film's inciting incident, in which a suicidal teen calls Mark for help, is the film's best example.  Christian Slater considers his role in Pump Up the Volume his favourite, and it’s not hard to see why. When viewed next to his breakthrough role as JD in Heathers, Slater has much more to do here. He balances an immature yet charismatic audio persona with his more inward personality. At school, he is the proto-Milhouse, struggling to maintain eye contact with his love interest, Nora, spiritedly played by Samantha Mathis in her film debut. At night, Mark becomes a masturbating John Peel, charming his teenage audience with Alt-rock and hard truths. Slater does well here. The actor who was struggling with alcohol problems around the same time seems to have taken the weight of that battle and focused that energy into the role.  If the actor was channelling Jack Nicholson as the infamous JD in Heathers, then Hard Harry was summoning the burgeoning Howard Stern, along with a touch of the personal. Harry also becomes a prototype for our podcasting present, where the internet has taken over shortwave radio, and the regulated barriers of the airwaves are diminished even more. Ultimately, however, Harry is a less aggressive, more juvenile version of the darker, more Rebellious teenage psychopath. However, the performance in PUTV is wider in expression. There’s more to hang on to, and the character sees more in his peers than the nihilistic JD.

There’s a constant feeling that Pump Up the Volume is on the cusp of something. Throughout the film, Mark’s radio rants target the parents of his peers who are constantly disconnected from their kin. The raves at a society caving into conformity and drudgery slowly become something of substance. An early outburst feels telling, if only because it’s arriving earlier than scheduled:

“I don’t find it cheerful to be living in a totally exhausted decade with nothing to look forward to and nothing to look up to”

Mark may be aiming for the excess-fueled era of the 80s. However, many of the films which made their mark in the middle and end of the 90s had much to say about the malaise of dispassionate suburban ennui. The middle of the decade was full of portrayals of disaffected youth struggling to find their place in the world. At times, Pump Up the Volume feels like it’s crawling, so the likes of Ben Stiller, Kevin Smith and Richard Linklater could walk. This is probably not the case. Yet a persona like Hard Harry, despite his immaturity, slots in well with the pop culture parables of Randal from Clerks or next to the yammering of a beardy Ethan Hawke in some independent feature. The film doesn’t seem to be suggesting, but more yelling about the upcoming cultural anxiety.  In one exchange, Mark’s dad gives a telling statement: “You don’t rock the boat. Especially if you’re sitting in it.” Elsewhere, we’re given shots of Mark, previously a resident of the unpredictable city of New York, wandering down streets of indistinguishable suburban housing. The film’s message seems clear. If only the stars had aligned with the mainstream advent of grunge three years later.

A core strength of Pump Up the Volume resides in its idea that the youth are being denied their voice. The film’s distribution of illicit material resonates strongly in Jason Bailey’s piece about the film, predicting a media untethered by regulated gatekeeping. These kids are finding a way to be heard. While their parents and teacher scratch their heads, all gaining collective amnesia at the fact that Mark’s brash and juvenile discourse is the exact sort of behaviour kids of that age gravitate to. Bailey is more dismissive of the film’s self-importance. It’s an understandable criticism. Teenage films like this are full of kids who are heavily burdened with dissatisfaction so huge that they cannot look past their noses. However, moments such as the inciting suicidal incident or the freak out from popular student Paige raging against oblivious adults at a parental meeting still resonate, due to their sincerity.

The film’s prophetic ending highlights how these teens, nay, all of us, will soon be heard. In the film's final moments, Mark loudly advises his fan base to “talk hard” and be heard. The climax has dozens of teens start their own talk radio stations, unburdened by parental control or adult regulation. It’s quaint to consider this now that everyone broadcasts themselves. Pump up the Volume provides a sense of optimism with the idea that everyone having a voice may point toward some harmony cutting through the discourse. Be it podcasts, YouTube, or TikTok, our multimedia platforms have allowed many to have the means to “talk hard”. Of course, what’s happened can feel more like a jaded amalgamated victory for Oliver Stone’s Talk Radio. Despite Pump Up the Volume's more optimistic tone, once everyone had the means to do their own broadcasts in real life, they turned their media on themselves and now get by on a wild mix of fear, consumerism and narcissism. Scarily, Pump Up the Volume could have been talking about this decade in which its youth are staring into the abyss. Living in a totally exhausted decade with little to look forward to and nothing to look up to. However, as a now jaded parent, my words should be taken with a pinch of salt. As an amusing aside, however, in the 1990s, Hard Harry wanted his listeners to talk hard. Now in the year 2025, the internet content subscription service OnlyFans holds over 3 million creators and 220 million subscribers, all getting “hard” in a different way. But perhaps Mark would be sleeping well knowing that they are all happily indulging in his favourite pastime.

Despite its struggles with music rights in the past, Pump Up the Volume can be found on various streaming platforms.

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Article: Up All Night

 

"Kids, your grandma always used to say to me, "Nothing good happens after 2:00 a.m.," and she was right. When 2:00 a.m. rolls around, just go home and go to sleep" – Ted Mosby, How I Met Your Mother 

After spending a lot of my younger life in office jobs and still being in one now, the idea of living for the weekend is a common and desirable aim. Whatever you do in your glass and concrete cage it matters little when the clock hits quitting time. It’s your time to spend. It’s precious. This is clearly obvious for Paul (Griffin Dunne), a word processor and protagonist of Martin Scorsese’s spiraling midnight farce After Hours. The opening moments are so wryly put together. Paul’s wandering eye gaze over the seemingly never-ending piles of paper being carried around to nowhere. His colleague: Lloyd is a new blood trainee who bores him with his mundane chatter about not wanting to be stuck in this humdrum world forever. We all know the type. Especially when you work in an office in your mid-twenties.  It’s clear Paul wants to break free from the shackles of the working day. Very soon the gates that keep him trapped will open and he’ll get his chance of freedom. The trouble is after tonight will he really want it? 

After Hours is usually the first film of the various movies I think of when I hear the overly recycled argument that “Marty only makes gangster films”. Such is the quarrel that I’ve heard for nearly 20 years. After Hours is as old as me, so god knows how long others have had to listen to such lazy claims. Paul this lonely, bored office drone, meets a slightly kooky, bohemian girl, Marcy (Roseanna Arquette) in a diner after work. They bond over the book he’s reading. She’s a little off, but not as much as the weird cashier who they both laugh at. Paul is clearly looking to spice up his life with a lady. Forget about his job for a bit. Looking for an escape from the monotony, it seems there might be something between the two of them. She invites him back to her place in Soho. She lives with a punk artist who makes paperweights. He could have one. Although he’s sure that’s not what she’s inviting him for. That said. What’s the worst that could happen?

In revisiting After Hours, I couldn’t help but snicker at the glee the film has in hiding everything it can from Paul who hasn’t got the facilities for the Soho life. He is not supposed to be there. He does not fit in and it shows in the conversations, the glances. The film isn’t a large-scale clash over social culture, but After Hours makes it clear that Paul is the kind of button-pusher that shouldn’t be hanging around Soho at night, least he found him plummeting into bohemian purgatory. It's not really paranoia if they're really out to get you and the clues circle all around him while he stumbles throughout his urban nightmare. 

Often considered a “lesser” Scorsese, it was a project that the director took up after admitting that he was out of touch with a new blockbuster led world. Both Raging Bull (1980) and The King of Comedy (1982) had failed financially and Scorsese’s pet project The Last Temptation of Christ was abandoned by Paramount at that point. With this as the background, Scorsese moved towards smaller more independent fare. 

Smaller? Yes. Independent? Indeed. Lesser? Not by a long shot. Rewatching After Hours only highlighted how much of an anaconda of a movie it is. Full of the high running anxiety which bleeds through so many of his movies. Watching Paul squirm and struggle after each minor inconvenience wraps around him and becomes a larger problem is something of a macabre joy. Looking back at the one-two punch of this and the King of Comedy, I am fascinated by the amount of dark humour Scorsese gets out of the pervading menace of the urban night dwellers of the New York streets. Like Greek Theatre, Scorsese sees both the tragedy and the comedy in machismo. He still toys with masculinity in later movies (GoodFellas, The Wolf of Wall Street) however it is within earlier works such as this that feel somewhat more defined. Possibly because Paul is only one step up from a two-bit putz. Henry Hill and Jordan Belfort both have the charm to spare. It’s easy to see why people consider their actions in their respective movies to be glamorised. In After Hours, Paul is not so lucky. Late on in the movie, Paul witnesses a murder in a nearby apartment window. “I bet they’ll blame it on me.” He remarks. The crazy thing is, he is so deep into the inner-city sludge, a lot of it his own doing, we would more than likely agree. 

After Hours falls into the strange small sub-category of films in which our protagonists often stuck in a rut in their regular lives, endure madcap hijinks over the course of one night. Other features include the likes of John Landis’ cameo loaded Into the Night (1985), Doug Liman’s kinetic three-storied Go (1999), and perhaps my favourite movie House Party (1990). It’s a sub-genre I find myself enjoying due to the unpredictability that comes with the territory. Paraphrasing from the opening quote nothing good happens after 2 am. The lure, however, is seeing what happens to *these guys* at that time. Watching the cranks start to turn and the oddballs slide out of the shadows, with everything falling under a tightly wrapped cage of controlled chaos. It is the type of film that allows filmmakers to flex their muscles with economy and pace. If Scorsese was feeling frustrated at the idea of blockbuster movie making at the time, he conquers it here with a film that still harbours all his visual tics and themes. Hell, it even allows him to throw in shots reminiscent of the short silent Workers Leaving the Lumière Factory (1895). 

New Jersey writer Joseph Minion seemed to have a passion for the oddballs that wander New York City at night. Along with After Hours, his other feature screenplay of note is the Nicolas Cage vampire vehicle Vampire’s Kiss. Watching Cage as a literary agent slowly descend into hallucinatory madness is eventful, yet despite Vampire Kiss’s holding comparable surreal darkness to After Hours, along with similar anxieties towards women and yuppiedom, Minion’s work holds far more presence and control under the gaze of Scorsese and his crew. Vampire’s Kiss lacks the punch in the storytelling that the likes of Scorsese provides, allowing an overacting and irritating Cage lord all over the material. Amusingly it is no surprise that one of Cage’s best (and more subdued) performances comes in Scorsese’s 1999 film Bringing Out the Dead. Another film which deals with New York in the dead of night. It’s also a film that flopped commercially yet was well received by most who did see it. Additionally, there are no gangsters in sight. 

It’s interesting reading reviews of After Hours (Paul Attanasio and Vincent Carnby are examples) which state that the film “fails to satisfy”, that in itself brings around a small measure of humour. The film itself is almost entirely wrapped with male anxiety and the wish to please and satisfy women. The amusement comes from watching this office type flounder in front of all these women who are clearly more creative and process more control in their destinies. To quote The Rolling Stones “You can’t always get what you want” and that within this turn of events is not only funny but satisfying in its own way  

It would be wise to take note that the demise of one character does come off as unjust from a feminist reading standpoint, helping confirm what many already feel about Scorsese as a male director. Particularly after recent discourse over Anna Paquin’s character’s silence within The Irishman. However, I cannot say that this one aspect confirms the entire whole of the twisted universe of After Hours, in which the other female characters hold their own spikiness. Scorsese has never been the type of director I would look towards for certain female representation and I’ll try not to go back into the likes of his filmography to try and retcon the matter. However, I do find the women that appear in After Hours to be entertaining and sharp in the film's own special way, even if they are not the focus. Linda Fiorentino’s Kiki, for instance, may not feature in many scenes, but her “fuck you” attitude coming 9 years before The Last Seduction (1994) is certainly holds its charms.

The spotlight is however on Paul who holds a type of guilt which is common with Scorsese films of its ilk. Paul’s “blame” comment is funny because while his punishment doesn’t fit the crime, the film suggests this simps arrogance within the earlier segment of the film; courting Marcy (Roseanna Arquette) while hitting on rock chick Kiki, when Marcy steps out briefly, is more than enough to set the wheels of fate turning. It is the type of butterfly effect turn that has the film in common with Scorsese’s Cape Fear (1991). Someone is going to pay for that somehow. It is little surprise that The Wolf of Wall Street (2013) and Goodfellas (1990) are quick to get picked on when looking at Scorsese's work. Their asshole protagonists have little care in guilt or shame, which can make them dangerously glamourous to some. If only Paul was as brazen, he was in the earlier scenes. Then again, it’s clear he doesn’t know that nothing good happens after hours. He should have just gone home and slept. 

Review: Project X

Year: 2012

Director: Nima Nourizadeh

Screenplay: Michael Bacall and Matt Drake

Starring: Thomas Mann, Oliver Cooper, Jonathan Daniel Brown

Synopsis is inconsequential is there doesn't appear to be a story. 

What the fuck ever happened to the Teen Film? I walked out of the Project X and that's the first thought that stuck me as I left the theatre. They never used to be as belligerent as this. From your the likes of Animal House (1978) to Ferris Bueller (1986) to my favourite film House Party (1990), there was always a certain element of charm and innocence to the films, lest not their leads. A reason to follow them and spur them on when they "get the girl".

Project X is what you get when you shoehorn a sub par American Pie direct to DVD sequel into a sub-genre that is getting overused at the best of times. But there's more. A liberal sprinkling of MTV reality T.V morals is added to the mix (fame is everything) just to show how insidious the undertones of this movie is. I would send a pox on this film, if it wasn't already so sickly.

Utilizing the trend of "found footage" - despite looking like an tediously over-long, slick music video half of the time, Project X details a weakly told tale of a boys birthday party gone wrong. The idea of lurid teen horniness, pranks and parties going array isn't really a big thing. Films like Superbad (2007) and T.V Series' such as Skins (2007) have their sticky foundation based on such elements. Even last year; one of the biggest British hits of the year was of course The Inbetweeners Movie, a film which managed captures the awkwardness of adolescence that was brought across in the T.V series before it. The thing is, all the above examples do well to at least try and counterbalance some of the more dubious morals on display. But then again none of the above examples have anyone as vile as Costa.

Costa is a character whose lack of remorse or care for anything except his love for "pussy" and "bitches" is a almost as off-putting as the dubious Jewish stereotype that's bestowed on him. But then again this is a character whose quick to use "nigga" in a film in which no black characters say anything substantial and yet hip-hop is blasted out of every audio orifice. This is no Inbetweeners Jay, who is clearly made the butt of the jokes due to his over exaggerations, but a loud mouth wannabe stifler character who garners far too much attention in a film like this.

Oliver Cooper clearly has talent however, as I do not believe for a second that the actor is as obnoxious as his fictional counterpart. Unfortunately it his the characters voice which sets the tone, and he's not even the lead character.

The tone is lots of drunken jailbait breasts bouncing around to loud music as events head way out of control. The plausibility of what happens isn't really the issue, it's the lack of empathy for these nimrods in a film that forgets the basic element of found footage: you have to be really good at making things look bad. To make things worse, the film takes overdone elements and wears them into the ground a little more, doing nothing to make them more interesting. The popular girl is a bitch, there's a blonde douchebag that turns up, the fat friend is also considered to be a little "special", "great stuff". When a car flies into the swimming pool in the films later half, I yawned. Not only was I immediately reminded of Oasis' third album (or The Who), but that even John Hughes was better at how he staged such scenes. He also understood the importance of consequence, character arcs and general entertainment. I fear now he is slowly rotating in his grave. If however you still find the idea of dogs humping amusing, you may find more than I did here.

Note: The film isn't funny either.