Introduced by Matt
My uncle in Hong Kong would periodically treat myself and my younger sister to videos of new releases for Christmas—often before they hit UK shelves. These tantalising, foreign VHS tapes arrived adorned with Chinese text, alternate artwork, and (forgivably) hardcoded Cantonese subtitles. Broken Arrow was one of these arbitrarily-picked, prized possessions.
I would typically receive blockbusters, and random action fare such as Independence Day (including the bonkers Jeff Goldblum-hosted ID4 making of) and that forgettable Michael Caton-Jones remake of The Jackal where Jack Black gets his arm blown off. My sister—seven years my junior, bagged Aladdin and The Lion King. Occasionally, he’d grab something from Heathrow instead, such as the moody Bruce Willis boat cop vehicle, Striking Distance, or Steven Seagal’s dire directorial magnum opus, On Deadly Ground. These sought after contraband cassettes were a hit amongst friends—and friends of friends, and would do the rounds in my village and secondary school, getting lent out, borrowed, circulated, and thankfully—most of the time, returned unscathed.
“I just realized something—I never actually killed anyone before. I mean, I dropped bombs on Baghdad, but never face to face. I don’t know what the big deal is, I really don’t.”
Major Vic “Deak” Deakins, Broken Arrow
John Woo’s sophomore American film is perhaps most notable as John Travolta’s second stab at the big time, having been resurrected from talking baby movie jail by Quentin Tarantino’s Palme d’Or-plucking, Pulp Fiction, two years prior. Travolta was missed by QT and Pauline Kael alike, and deemed worthy of a career resurrection after fine performances in prime De Palma pictures, Carrie and Blow Out, and of course, the iconic hits, Saturday Night Fever, and Grease.
Broken Arrow also reunited former off-screen couple, Christian Slater and Samantha Mathis—the hottest chick in tan and taupe since the cousin in Jaws 2—who played together with teenage chemistry in the 1990 pirate radio, shock jock flick, Pump Up the Volume. This was also perhaps the first instance of score cannibalisation I can recall (outside of sequels, obviously) with Hans Zimmer’s instantly hummable, “dang-dang, dang-dang” being thieved for Wes Craven’s Scream 2 the following year.
“Hush! Hush!”
Major Vic “Deak” Deakins, Broken Arrow
Broken Arrow was an action staple for me, and remains a crackers, yet embarrassingly regular revisit. Travolta is a shimmering, glazed ham that clearly could not be corralled by the adeptly visual, yet evidently English tongue-lacking, Woo. Slater and Mathis arguably phone their parts in, with whatever former, adolescent screen alchemy they had palpably dissipating over the six years since. However, it should be said that Slater’s commitment to the physicality of the role is solid—particularly as it’s actually him getting precariously dragged beneath a train to sell the stunt.
Why cast Mathis over, let’s say, a 25-year-old Denise Richards, or a similarly peaking Heather Graham? Are we to believe either starlet as a single park ranger with no fella and a dog? Probably not, but when Hale and Carmichael go for an unintentional dip, and Terry has to whip her jacket off all of a sudden, we’d surely find ourselves in a very different movie if a screen siren such as Baywatch babe, and actual Playboy bunny, Miss July ’89—Erika Eleniak was wheeled out, purely for us to ogle—see 1992’s Under Siege. This mature, perhaps Eastern-influenced casting choice alerts us to the fact there is almost no male gaze in Broken Arrow whatsoever—Deak’s pervy, from behind, forced keypad pressing at gunpoint being the oddly lecherous exception. It’s not a lewd or lascivious film. Woo seems completely uninterested in exploiting sexuality here, other than any, I’m almost certain, accidental homosexual subtext between the duelling male leads.
“Goddamn you, Hale.”
Major Vic “Deak” Deakins, Broken Arrow
Travolta’s preposterous, foldy-up, nuke through the guts demise is daft as a brush, and yet I return to this movie more often than I’d care to admit. It’s a bizarre comfort watch; a nostalgic, nineties explosioner with beat-hitting, box-ticking set-pieces, and stable—if somewhat unsophisticated performances. Woo exhibits a sure footing—more so than on 1993’s overtly humorous, snake-smacking, Hard Target, I would argue—with the JCVD mullet-led editorial tinkering failing to quell the director’s bullet ballet choreography—thanks partly to the gallantry of studio mandated “chaperone,” Sam Raimi. Having said that, it still feels diluted and sterilised when recalling his original Hong Kong smashers, A Better Tomorrow, The Killer, and Hard Boiled—the most obvious direction I would point any newcomers when first encountering Woo.
Listen on Spotify
Listen on iTunes
Listen on Google Podcasts
Listen on Breaker
Listen on RadioPublic
Listen on CastBox
Listen on Stitcher
Listen on Overcast
The Rewind Movie Podcast 
Leave a comment