1998: Deep Impact
From Chapter Six: Case Study Analysis: Deep Impact (1998)
“Deep Impact (1998) is a variant on those blockbusters that emerged towards the end of the second millenium and which explored explicit Judeo-Christian apochrophal themes. Cynics would argue that they also capitalised on such fears. Within this doomsday genre, for example, we can include Independence Day (1996), Armageddon (1998), and, of course, Titanic (1998). In many respects, the film is a close version of Meteor (1979) which dramatised, however inadequately, the attempt by both U.S. and Russian astronauts to deflect a renegate meteor from its collision course with Earth.
In Deep Impact (1998), the autuerial stamp of Steven Spielberg is evident in its emphasis on family, God, community and heroic self-sacrifice, a character emphasis which leads in the last reel to a final saving purgation that returns America back to a land of renewed promise, still under God. Additonally, in an ironic Prodigal reversal that tracks his own corporate rise to the position of Exective Producer at DreamWorks, he was able to oversee the Z
anuck and Brown production team who twenty three years earlier had hired him as director for Jaws (1975).
Anchoring the Plot
One specific narrative feature, however, positions the film within those texts already cited. Though not strictly set within the conventions of the journalist genre, its epic narrative centre pivots on the career ambitions of another (white) female television/researcher/journalist (Jenny Lerner/Téa Leoni). It is her character arc to MicroSoft/NBC network star that holds the numerous narrative threads together – much in the same way that her function as news anchor secures the trust and that sense of security for the global television audiences as the asteroid hurtles towards Earth.
However, to secure this trusting effect for the film audience as well requires a very deft performance from Leoni the actress who must blend Jenny’s ‘real’ earnest persona ‘off’ camera with her new-found role as main anchor on television. Leoni’s own modest star status – with little carry-over from other films – makes her perfect casting for such a Cinderella role. The effect of transparency in performance, then, is vital if both film and television narratives and special effect images are to merge into an aesthetic whole and thus make both film and featured television audiences ‘one’ in the face of the coming catastrophe.
In this respect, the film and Leoni’s performance differ from Up, Close and Personal (1996) which goes some length to mark the tortured march Atwater must make from cable weather girl in Miami to network anchor in Philladelphia. Therefore, in Deep Impact (1998) there is no room for marked deconstructive ‘ironic’ juxtapositions between image and reality. On the contrary, as we will explore, it is part of the film’s overall agenda to secure in the mind of the film audience the reality of the epic encounter with the asteroid and the narrative events that surround it.
In the process – and as part of its rhetorical function – it also attempts to secure in the minds of the film audience that sense of trust in the news corporations which bring the news in the first instance. The fact that Paramount is owned by Viacom which owns CBS should not be far from our contextual frame. In addition, it also provides incidental moments of journalist research that, interestingly, go no further than a quick two-minute Internet browse.
The opening prelude allows us, the film audience, insight into the coming catastrophe – as scientists and amateur astronomers discover vital information that confirms the fateful collision between the asteroid and Earth eighteen months hence. A one-year jump cut takes us to the offices of MSNBC Washington, D.C. and a scene familiar to all journalist film genres – namely the day’s lead where assembled writers and their seasoned but engaging editor-in-chief haggle and pitch stories that might lead the coming day’s news agenda (Ehrlich, 1997). The chosen mise-en-scene here, however, reflects a lighter more engaging representation of corporate news journalism. While the board room suggests a corporate hightower building with the usual bank of television screens covering a back wall, this is neatly subsumed by a colour coding of soft pinks, light blues and gentle greys across office furniture, cups and wardrobe. The assembled cast of Black, Asian and Caucasian reporters of mixed gender all talk reasonably, listen thoughtfully and reflect wisely in considered phrases and weighted professional pauses. Set decor, polished performances and smooth editing all support the representation of a non-threatening harmonic professional working environment – without staff cuts, budget restrictions or pushy commercial sponsors lurking in the corridors.
Jenny is embedded at the back of the room amongst a number of researchers within the opening frame. Her first shot at prominance, however, comes with a statement that suggests a working, eager mind in operation when she informs the surprised reporters that the wife of the Secretary of the Treasury is an alchoholic and not sick, as they assumed. The information adds to the confusion concerning his recent resignation and will lead her, unknowingly, into uncovering the truth, as withheld by the government, that a collision with the comet is unavoidable. During the meeting she raises the possibility of taking a nighttime anchor role with her line manager, Beth/Laura Linnes. The resultant nettled exchange puts her career ambitions in quick check since she is firmly reminded that she is yet to establish her professional portfolio and that her expectations should, therefore, be more realistic. As Beth picks up her baby daughter from the office nursery and is asked by Jenny “are you protecting me or just holding me back?”, Beth asserts a short, clear but ambiguous “Yes” that stymies further discussion and returns Jenny dutifully back to her dull research routine. Following typical mainstream plot functions, this career block on the budding ambitions of our talented heroine helps establish audience sympathy and empathy for Jenny. More pertinant, though, is how this quick career appraisal in the corridor is undertaken by another, older white woman.
So while the plot point serves traditional functions, its gender inflection here positions the film firmly within a knowing 1990s contextual frame that serves two functions. First, it neatly and effortlessly underlines certain successes in the move towards securing greater equality in the (middle class) working environment that positively promotes the career chances of women. We should be mindful, however, that this remains an assumed and still qualified success, particularly in the media industry (Benokraitis and Feagin, 1995). Secondly, however, it serves to position such women in the traditional role of older villain to the heroic ambitions of the younger female generation. The sequence therefore neatly captures what Dow (1996) would recognise as the classic double-bind in the representation of minority figures within mainstream narratives that support and help structure hegemonic discourses. While one narrative level speaks for and seems to support Liberal agendas (look! nurseries in corporate offices!), a second, more sinister level of suggestive meaning, limits and controls that emancipatory move within more orthodox narrative frames: 1) you must get through the wicked witch to claim your goal, and, 2) it is still the mother who picks up the child. The fact that Jenny is also struggling and white would suggest by implication how successful the 1970s Feminist agenda has been in forwarding the careers of non-white females – of the kind we have already seen featured as star reporters in the White House conference room. In the competitive environment that seems the given, Jenny is therefore, a liminal character who must secure her rightful place over and above other women.
Having set the career obstacle within a skewed Feminist frame, the narrative then underscores Jenny’s difficulty with yet three other troubled woman – namely her smoking/drinking mother Robin/Venessa Redgrave, the alchoholic wife of the Secretary of State and Jenny’s new young step-mother.
Her meeting with her mother underscores their loving relationship at the moment Jason their father/former husband is getting married – “you now have a new step-mother”, Jenny is reminded, “who is two years older than you”. After a warm exchange and loving words, the camera then holds and pauses on the watching mother as she thoughtfully watches her daughter leaving the riverfront restaurant. At this point film audience and mother share the same point of view that frames Jenny in a departing lingering long shot.
With her personal life (subplot) now locked into the main plot, Jenny persues her research into the life of the Secretary of the Treasury, Alan Rittenhouse/James Cromwell. From his wife she learns of the name Ellie who everyone assumes is another woman and thus the reason for his sudden resignation. Her confused interview with the Secretary himself – busy loading his yacht for a long-term sea journey – is rich in narrative foreshadow. Initial attempts by Jenny to make friends with his young daughter are notably unsuccessful. Despite her wrong assumptions about Ellie, the former Secretary soon realises Jenny will unknowingly uncover and make public “the biggest story in history” (and indeed in a short time she will discover it as E.L.E. – Extinction Level Event). He therefore makes a final quiet appeal to justify his resignation, “…Look,“ he says, after pausing to consider his young daughter, “I know you’re just a reporter…but you used to be a person, right? I just want to be with my family, can you understand that?”.
The awkward exchange of looks across the scene from reporter to daughter are rich in subtextual weight and close the scene as the daughter is carried away by her loving, wary and anxious father. This subtextual motif of family togetherness very quickly weaves the epic scope of coming global catastrophe around Jenny’s professional and personal life – a life that will end in the arms of her father looking out to sea.
The invitation, then, to share her father’s recent marriage is more gruelling since it comes at a narrative point where, through her own investigative initiative on the Internet, she has fathomed the truth about E.L.E. – but for sound professional and security reasons, cannot share it. So while her father celebrates his future, she is aware of the severely limited time they all have available and urges him, much to his confusion, to return to his wife and her mother. The family dilemma underscores Jenny’s insecure hold on adult life – and what remains of it. Her parents’ estrangement makes her an orphan without a home, a woman lacking secure identity at a time of possible global destruction and interestingly in this regard we never see her domicile, her place of retreat and privacy. This gap is answered by her move towards news anchor at MSNBC which provides an arena of security that allows her to speak and perform the role of adult to her own parents, and, in time, the world. Her special invitation to the White House press conference provides such an early platform.
“we will prevail…”
It is at the conference that the President Beck/Morgan Freeman explains in graphic detail the path of the approaching asteroid and the Russian-American plans to deter it away from collision with the Earth. Jenny, now suited in sharp red, is allowed the opening questions and the extended exchange with the president that follows and which she leads brings her stage front before envious colleagues, family and in full view of a nationwide/global audience of television viewers. Her performance during this sequence remains wholly consistent with Leoni’s screen persona so far achieved – honest, unswerving, forthright, selfless – and leads as if naturally to the all important anchor position deemed essential if under such extreme conditions the news is to be fully trusted and understood by a worldwide audience. She has, after all, confirmed with President Beck himself that, “I’m not interested in using E.L.E. to further my career…” and, further “I always thought the truth was in the nation’s interest…”
Thus, distinguishing herself from the perceived stereotype of the hustling career obsessed journalist, she can shine above the fray and, in the glow of pure untainted professional competence, perform as a modest but forthright hero in her own right – a model of grace under cataclymic pressure. The film even goes to some length tracking her smooth competency in data mining the Internet where the worldwide web seems the only reliable means of sourcing information – her character does, after all, work for MSNBC itself.
This promotion comes five months later at another office conference where she sits at the table alongside Beth/Laura Innes. Her first anchor role is to cover the daring attempt by the astronauts of the Messiah mission to destroy the asteroid. The opening shot of her programme pans uncertainly down from the screen headlining her name and then holds on her eyeline delivery to the film audience who are – by extension – interpellated by her direct delivery as an assumed television audience as well. The uncritical weaving of both aesthetics is a feature already touched upon in Up, Close and Personal (1996).
Her initial uncertainty and slight stiffness gives way to a polished yet very human performance wherein Leoni’s role as Jenny Lerner meshes brilliantly with her new television role as lead anchor. This meshing of performance, then, supports the film’s own strategy of integrating film and (staggered) television audiences as combined watchers for whom Lerner performs as reliable witness, confidant and explainer of the mission tasks as they turn from hope through uncertainty to final disappointment and then disaster; for as she reassures the watching millions and without irony “we will stay on the air – we will stay with you through all of this…”.
Supporting this representation of professional naturalness is the absence in the script and on the screen of any studio factors that would otherwise remind us of the manufactured environment of news delivery as all shots or references to auto-cues, prepared scripts, or backroom countdowns to commercial breaks are rendered invisible by this film representation of broadcast news, circa 1998. In other words, the mise-en-scene of television’s representation of events is echoed and duplicated by the mise-en-scene of the film to the point where both narrative and film frames coalesce into one. In this respect, the film seems to make viable Fiske’s (1991) understanding of news broadcasting and the role of anchor, wherein,
“The relationships which are established between programme and audience, which set the viewer in place in a certain relation to the discourse here, a relation of identity and complicity – are sustained…by the presenters, who have a key role in anchoring those positions and in impersonating – personifying – them.” (Fiske, 1991, p. 54)
In our case, a Hollywood narrative produced and distributed by Viacom/Paramount, owner of CBS and featuring MSNBC, makes attempts to secure this process of legitimisation via the controlling mechanism of the widescreen cinema. The ‘master’ text, therefore, interpellates the film viewer as television viewer into accepting the authenticity of the ‘minor text’ which is the news telecast.
This theme is itself neatly fashioned as we enter act three and Jenny is given the responsibility to cover the last attempts to destroy the approaching asteroid. With the failure comes the news of a “New Noah’s Ark“ – the plan already in place to select and draw by lottery 1,000,000 representatives and secure their future and, through them, the hope of mankind in the caves of Missouri.
One element of the plan, though, deems that all those selected by lottery must be younger than 50 (this is another aspect of secret government planning that journalists and the film seems to uncritically accept). As Jenny delivers the news as a professional anchor we cut across a range of audiences for assumed responses – and particularly her own mother now watching and listening (in appropriate solemn sepia) to her daughter delivering the news that she will not be amongst the chosen few.
Both text and subtext merge as we acknowledge both the public and personal message that Jenny must deliver within the same frame and to the same camera lens and ‘directly’ to her mother. At this point a lens turn to close-up narrows the film frame to fully encompass the television frame and so we, as her mother, see Jenny the performer and Jenny the daughter becomes one in delivering the ominous news. Ironic juxtaposition is then employed in cutting from her mother’s darkened isolation to the colourful nursery where Beth watches the screen with her own daughter in her arms.
The cut across daughters and mothers foreshadows Jenny’s own fateful last-minute decision to substitute herself for the daughter of her line-manager, Beth. Her sudden grasp of the child and her leading run to the waiting helicopter posits her for the first time in a parental role. Her valiant selfless act of bravery foreshadows then the heroic self-sacrifice of the astronauts that splits the asteroid in a way that brings some major destruction to the East Coast of the United States, but saves Earth from destruction.
Genre Representation of the Female Reporter
The theme of identity is of course common amongst those films that track the female news journalist’s rise to success. While male journalists track the story, as in All the President’s Men (1976), females, alternatively, must negotiate the binary oppostion that sets professional against private role as already noted in both Broadcast News (1987) and Up, Close and Personal (1996).
To support this developmental character arc, the film employs visual and narrative motifs that attempt to explain in a more sophisticated way what actually propels Jenny towards the role of news anchor in the first instance – a role which allows the performer to achieve true self before millions of unseen watchers. It is a crucial motif which is introduced by her father as a last-minute attempt at reconciliation and after her mother’s lonely suicide towards the denouement of act three. Reference to one other important strand in contemporary film theory can help structure this specific analysis at this point.
Lacan on the Beach – Motivations and Identity Creation
The motif in question lies in the beguilingly simple black-and-white A4 phototgraph of her father on a beach with a five-year-old Jenny held aloft on his shoulders, and is the same photograph which her mother lovingly takes to her own carefully prepared death. He presents it to Jenny as “proof” that she is not an orphan, a record of “..a beautiful day…such a good day for all of us…don’t you remember…?”. But, still the little girl, she affects not to remember.
The photograph, then, records a primal scene of family togetherness, made all the more resonant by the choice of natural location – a desolate white sand-duned beach – and whose significance is sharpened by the fact that the source image maker is the unseen mother who frames and captures this singular moment of family ecstasy, since “there was no-one there to hold the camera…but she insisted…”.
References to female identity, ‘images’ and ‘primal scenes’ lean invariably towards a theoretical discourse that embraces Lacanian film theory and, indeed, it could be argued, the film operates, however crudely, as a narrative outline of key Lacanian principles as explored in media/literary theory. From this critical frame, then, this frozen moment can be seen to exist in that unified imaginary world which for Lacan functions ambiguously but very powerfully as the mirror stage. The realm is an ambiguous one since,
“The child finds itself reflected back to itself a gratifyingly unified image of itself and although its relation to this image is still of an ‘imaginary’ kind – the image in the mirror both is and is not itself – it has begun the process of constructing a centre of self.” (Eagleton, 1992, p. 164)
In this universe, the self is an abstract sign, always constructed by the surounding language which, like any other sign, finds only temporary surity amongst the flux of changing, often more dominant contexts. In this respect, Jenny’s earlier quest for meaning from her surrogate mother Beth – “are you protecting me or just holding me back?” - is doubly frustrated by the clear yet highly ambivalent answer of “Yes” that denies such helpful context from her line-manager. The corporate line-manager thereby makes entry into the adult world impossible since, ideologically speaking, contexts and identities change only within the guiding determinants of overriding power relations that here, in the case of Beth, denies Jenny access both to her chosen career and her adult life. So, in this particular narrative frame towards the end of the film, the photograph takes on increasingly weighted significance. In this respect we are reminded – however tentatively – of Fiske’s (1991) own account that pointedly describes how,
“Thus a photograph of a scene (which maybe understood as a “fixed“ reflection) is often more pleasurable to look at than the scene iself, for it can close the gap between the imaginary and the real, and pleasure derives from the extent to which the unity is achieved, this gap is closed.” (Fiske, 1991, p. 59-60)
However, the object of identity confirmation – whether it be a photograph, another person, or, for 1970s film scholars, a film sequence – functions through the process of interpellation that hails ourselves yet remains somehow alien to ourselves.
For clarification in what can be, for some, a notoriously tortured account of psychoanalysis as applied to literary/film theory, we can return to Eagleton (1992)
“The imaginary for Lacan is precisely this realm of images in which we make identifications, but in the very act of doing so are led to misperceive and misrecognize ourselves… As a child grows up it will continue to make such imaginary identifications with objects, and this is how its ego will be built up… For Lacan, the ego is just this narcissistic process whereby we bolster up a fictive sense of unitary selfhood by finding something in the world with which we can identify.” (Eagleton, 1992, p. 165)
That process propels the growing ego towards changing loci of identification throughout life, always approaching but never arriving, with only momentary assurances of self that never quite satisfy the lingering lack of former assumed completion. Beth’s “Yes” is the positive and negative that fixes us uncertainly both ambiguously ‘in’ and ‘out’. In the broader field this may explain the extended longevity of U.S. broadcast anchors whose regular appearances over the decades provide for the television audience this very sense of unitary selfhood that, particularly in times of crisis, merges the ‘you’, the ‘we’ into the ‘us’.
So, as the remains of the giant asteroid swerves to crash into the Atlantic, Jenny evacuates her office, but returns momentarily to retain the beach photograph. With it, she arrives at the primal scene itself – the same beach where her father waits amongst the sand dunes for the inevitable coming end. Despite her earlier protests to the contrary, in her reconciliation with her father she admits that,
JENNY
When you came to the studio and brought those pictures, I lied when I said I didn’t remember. I remember everything. I remember we were right over there and that’s when mum got the picture of the house. It was a perfect happy day.
Their sense of momentary family wholeness is achieved ultimately in submitting to the tidal wave of death that engulfs them (we should note again how the scene is neatly foreshadowed in act one in the weighted comment by the Secretary of the Treasury who, in the knowledge of coming doom, wanted simply to be with his family: “can you understand that…?” and by Chloe’s own most recent decison to be with her mother)
In this way Jenny’s work before the television camera is an attempt – and, in Lacanian terms, an inevitable failed one – to duplicate that imaginary wholeness that father and daughter celebrate in their photograph and try to accomplish in death. Her mother, of course, oversees both images – as creator of the defining photograph and as viewer of the televisual image.
So, under this critical paradigm, it can be tentatively argued that while Jenny persues her enquiries as a researcher and while she then becomes the safe and secure voice of calm and authority in a world given to growing panic and despair, she is at the same time trying to secure some permanent sense of self-fulfillment at the focus of the studio camera eye – and, moreover, the controlling and defining presence behind it, her watching mother.
“They trust you” – The Female Anchor as Everyman
With just four weeks and two days to go before the fatal impact, both mother and daughter walk peacefully along the banks of the Potomac River in Washington, D.C. for what will be their last screen time together. Under telling stately shots of Capital Hill and the Lincoln Memorial her mother calmly reflects on, “…how liberating it is not to be called…”. Jenny, though, is characteristically racked with modest self-doubt, claiming “It seems kinda unfair that I got picked…I’m not a doctor or a scientist…”, to which her mother confidently answers, “…people need continuity, everyone knows you and they trust you…”
That sense of continuity is clearly emphasised in those scenes showing the professionalism with which Jenny calmly reports the mayhem and global panic that then engulfs the world during the final days before impact. However, such mayhen seems not to touch the safe secure zone of her own television studio where (less) people still have meetings and drink designer coffee from large paper cups.
The claim that Jenny represents continuity and trustworthiness exposes the film’s ideological agenda that furthers the cause of corporate news broadcasting in America at a time in the 1990s when, as we have gathered, public and academic concerns about such corporate ownership was growing. In this respect we can summarise a number of points that position the film firmly within the corporate culture which it claims to represent and realistically portray and for which, as a product of that culture, it speaks.
We have already touched on Leone’s finely tuned performance(s) that seamlessly web her worthy selfless character profile to her effective trustworthy anchor position. The same can be said of Morgan Freeman’s President Beck who meshes his roles on and off the television camera. In one interesting instance during his first press conference he actually performs the role of television anchor himself by interviewing the crew of the Messiah, thus giving further legitimacy both to the role Jenny will later take and the thankless task of news anchor generally. In addition, we should be alert to the dramaturgical significance of the news conference itself – which, beyond the screens (or only ‘on’ them), exists as a simulacrum in the real world of Washington, D.C. politics, an entirely fabricated forum specifically designed to provide only certain access to the White House administration updates yet which serves only to canal ‘information’ to hailed journalists who perform their assigned role as invited supporting players. The realistic and non-critical duplication and representation of such a staged arena merely serves to legitimise this highly questionable process of White House news delivery and journalist practice/capture.
Transparency Fallacies
To return to earlier themes, the representation of broadcast news itself is in keeping with this agenda of transparency. As Jenny seems always ‘on’, so the script never allows for costume change decisions, make-up calls or line rehearsals, no on-air instructions from the control booth direct her delivery, no technical glitches interrupt the smooth flow of the broadcasts and no executives confer about ratings or advertising revenue. Indeed there is no reference to any commercial break – which is significant in an operation depending entirely on such a vital income source. The broadcaster, we are led to believe, seems only focused on delivering relevant public service news programming to the mass audience, thereby fulfilling its mandate as a responsible and responsive public utility with a social conscience free of political or economic agendas. Performance and mise-en-scene work towards a visual aesthetic that in its representation on film supports news television’s claim to record and report unmediated reality.
The first Presidential conference is notably interesting in this respect since it cuts seamlessly from the ‘live’ event to its reception amongst various groups in the United States – these include families, Jenny’s parents, the Messiah crew in Houston and crowds in New York’s Time Square (foregrounding a billboard for Panasonic). The representation of audience response – always engaged, receptive, believing – is itself a crucial element in the interpellative loop that attempts to co-align the film audience with staged television audiences and their belief in the unfolding drama. By seguing the action and dialogue across both film and television screen reifies the Realist aesthetic that underpins their overall ideological projects of both film and television modes of address – something which both MSNBC and Viacom/CBS would have a vested interest in.
The casting of Morgan Freeman as a black President Beck alerts us to the film’s surface Liberal coding, though in keeping with mainstream agendas this is continually contradicted by more traditional and orthodox plot strands that ensure a final closure that ideologically seems to settle these tensions. The only young couple who are foregrounded to survive, for example, are white, they marry and are last seen atop the Adirondacks with a shrouded baby having undertaken their perilous Biblical flight from “the waters”.
Freeman’ casting, though, as the honourable and dignified U.S. President Beck who believes in a (Christian) God and the power of prayer, should alert us to a more significant ideological manoeuvre that touches on the representation of Washington, D.C. politics in general. In this context, the film aligns itself with a range of Hollywood films that serve to remind the lawmakers of how central the mass media is in securing their own legitimisation in the public sphere. This is particularly the case when, as at present, Hollywood films are more than ever produced by the same media conglomerates that produce news broadcasting in the first instance (ABC/Disney and CBS/Viacom) and whose expensive commercial air time the politicians must submit to during election times (McChesney, 1999).
Hence, though the film makes initial gestures towards questioning Washington, D.C. practices and agendas – the Secret Service and White House staff are presented in act one in threatening postures, even colliding with Jenny’s car – the film soon turns towards a more reconciliatory representation of Washington, D.C. politics that shows the media obligingly report policies that have already been secretly set but which emerge only when circumstances deem appropriate. The Noah’s Ark scenario, for example, wherein 200,000 special representatives are chosen, is dutifully explained but never questioned by the station’s journalists, or the film itself.
The transparent effect, then, that weaves actor performance, mise-en-scene and twinned aesthetics takes on wider more worrisome ideological ramifications since it neatly segues the ‘innocent’ operations of the corporate media with questionable central administration policy that legitimately withholds vital information highly relevant to the future of the planet. The aforementioned shift by the role of President to anchor/interviewer would be symptomatic of this overall alignment of special political, ideological and aesthetic interests.
Deep Impact (1998) was one of several blockbuster epics which emerged in the closing years of the second millenium. Like those films it became itself a media event that ritualised the fears that many had about the coming Armaggedon, and like several other films on our list it had as its representative Everyman a television news anchor.
One other title, Costa Gravas’s Mad City (1997) explored the nature of threat in more pedestrian terms – as something emerging not from outer space, but from the inner contradictions of the Republic itself.”
Where Now?
How about another film, this time from 1986:-
END
