Action archetypes dictate the hero must be alone, aloof, and infallible, and while true heroism in a complicated world can be difficult to define, sometimes action films get this so wrong the effect is jarring. The setting is the Cold War, only the good guys of the Capitalist West versus the evil Communists of the East, just to keep things simple. A school for fighter pilots is established that succeeds in training our flying aces to be even more effective at shooting down nobody. After all, there were no smoldering conflicts in which we were engaged in 1985. In any case, this prophylactic training serves to fill our naval air arm with pilots of exceptional skill and predictably high performance. When Tony Scott released his tribute to the military in Top Gun, it had a character playing a pilot of ideal skill, superlative class, earning the utmost respect of his colleagues and the fear of his enemies. Why then, did he make that pilot, Iceman, the antagonist, while the self-destructive narcissistic sociopath Maverick was the hero? Even by 80s action standards, this made no sense and betrays the entire theme of pursuit of perfection. For the sake of avoiding repetition, I will not comment on the gay love story between the two, or reference the vaseline-lensed volleyball game, because that horse is devoid of flesh at this point. One could make an argument that the tiff between the impetuous Maverick and the mature Iceman is a fascinating analysis of a troubled relationship worthy of Scenes From a Marriage, but that would be another review entirely. Iceman is the Misunderstood hero of Top Gun.

To start with, Kilmer is a statuesque God compared to the gargoyle-like appearance of Cruise, not to mention a better actor (an actor, let’s be honest). His is a command presence that never wavers when onscreen, and he is presented as ‘Ice-cold, with no mistakes’. When we meet him, he is in a perpetually good mood, and even his taunts are in the good spirit of competition. “The plaque for the alternates is in the ladies room” was the high water mark for humor for me as a teenager. He has ego to spare, but considering that he is considered one of the best in the world at his job, I would not begrudge him that indulgence. He challenges Maverick with the age-old question “Who is the best?” Fair enough, it is a competitive school. Maverick is dismissive with a guy who would defend his punk ass with his life, but never mind. In combat, he makes few mistakes, taking down his instructors as often as he is taken, but his attitude is that of a learner. He eventually wins the Top Gun trophy, and leads the charge as the United States takes on Stankazzistan to rescue a ship. Not too bad a presentation, but how did he become the asshole here?

Maverick on the other hand is introduced leaving his fellow pilot out to dry while a Mig-28 takes position at point-blank range behind Cougar. Instead of doing something to drive the enemy away, he fucks around with him and takes a Polaroid shot while inverted at a range of four feet, or one Tom Cruise. That this is insanely dangerous goes without saying, and is of little comfort to Cougar, who filled his pants. Cougar was an excellent pilot, but was unprepared for being forced to engage an enemy fighter because his volatile wingman decided to take a vacation. Instead of checking on him, it’s a quick ‘see ya on deck’ and off he goes. If somebody pulled that shit with me, I would feel free to remove their liver with a pair of pliers. Maverick gets no points for coming back to fetch Cougar, because too little too late, and both of their fuel tanks were empty. Endangering his own navigator to fix his fuckup is a meager criterion for heroism. At Top Gun he flaunts his toxic level of arrogance despite being considered second rate even by the commander who knew him best. To be fair, though, that guy threatened to assign him to flying cargo planes full of rubber dogshit, which actually sounds like a hoot.  In any case, he makes one mistake after another, not as a pupil who can benefit from instruction, but as a jackass who is convinced he knows everything. I get that the hero of an action film must always know everything, always be right, and be capable of superhuman feats, victory simply coming to him every time. Maverick, though, is obnoxious about his fragile ego. The far less interesting version of heroism comes from years of thankless work and sacrifice, and perhaps endless preparation for a time that will never come – but when it does, the hero is ready to do his duty without fear or hesitation. Iceman has the persona of someone who worked for their rarified greatness, and his arrogance is earned by his accomplishments. Maverick’s arrogance is borne of being unreasonably daring, and a willingness to ignore protocol to prove his awesomeness. Now which one of these pilots would you want protecting you?

In class, Maverick is a dork. His instructors tell him where he erred, and his first response is to retort “There’s no time to think up there.” Oh really? If instinct is all that matters, then there is no point to a fighter school, then. Way to insult everyone in the room, dickfeather. Otherwise, you need to shut the fuck up and pick up some instincts, reflexes, or both of them shits, because you suck at this. Meanwhile, the teacher states “Now let’s look at an example of excellent combat.” She need not name Iceman, we already know he is the best. Naturally, Maverick runs out like a bitch, whining that his instructor won’t give him a break because she digs his umbilicus-like penis. Ice didn’t seem to have that problem, but then he already fucked his instructor.

Maverick is a terrible team player. Iceman picked up on this: “You like to work alone.” This is the popular view of a hero, acting alone, vanquishing the enemy without assistance, nary a scratch to show for the blood shed. In reality, these assholes die before their glory is realized, since armies tend to include, you know, lots and lots of people acting in unison. Iceman, on the other hand, has no problem working with a team. The one time he loses his cool is after Maverick shoots his mouth off about the awesome Mig episode. You know, the one where he left behind Cougar, who was so shaken by the incident that he retired.  “Who was covering Cougar while you were showboating with this Mig?” “Cougar was doing just fine.” The guy nearly died from fear, and this sociopath registers no guilt or concern. In combat training, Iceman’s exploits are not shown, but rest assured they are awesome – we only hear about how well he does. Maverick, meanwhile, makes critical mistakes and learns nothing from them. In one session, Maverick and Hollywood go up against Viper and Jester, and Maverick leaves his wingman. Maverick is shot down.  Leaving his wingman was stupid, and he accepts this, but fails to heed Iceman’s advice: “It’s not your flying, it’s your attitude. You are dangerous and foolish. You may not like the guys you are flying with and they may not like you, but whose side are you on?” These are words of caution, but Mav and Goose console each other with “At least Viper got Iceman before he got us.” Yes, that is the lesson here, that your fuckups are acceptable as long as someone else is unlucky.

Maverick breaks the hard deck to eliminate Jester in another flight; I have no idea why this is a bad idea, but presumably it is a safety issue, which Maverick was not concerned with. It is a minimum altitude barrier, presumably so fighter pilots in training do not routinely slam into the ground. His move is shown in class to be a bad idea despite winning the encounter, namely that his survival was a matter of luck, and that a more skillful pilot would have escaped rather than stay in combat and lose their plane as well as their life. Naturally, Maverick takes this advice in stride and learns from the experience. Oh wait, he throws a shitfit since nobody on Earth has anything to teach him. The guy who should be the hero intones “You are everyone’s problem. I don’t like you because you are unsafe.” Iceman’s point is well put – when the air speeds exceed Mach2, and weapons of war move faster than brain signals cross synapses, it is calculated precision that matters. Even Jester is not sure if he would want Maverick in battle with him.

Iceman is all class and reserved bravado. In the bar where the pilots contract their next case of gonorrhea, Iceman chats up the ladies with his aloof demeanor, while Maverick puts on a ridiculous show that would, in the real world, end with his eye sockets full of pepper spray. Ice gives credit where it is due, while Maverick pouts about the lack of glory showered on him for being mediocre. One is a stable pilot who is aware of his abilities and limitations, one has no idea what he will do from one moment to the next with his wounded psyche and short man syndrome. Maverick has daddy issues endemic to dumb action films, but Iceman has no such qualms. One is fit for duty, and one is clearly not.

Naturally, a bullshit ending is written so Cruise’s embattled hero actually looks like one, but nothing of what we see leads us to that point. Just before they take off to defend a crippled warship, Iceman expresses his reservations that Maverick is even given an assignment. He is supposed to be an asshole for this, but his concerns are more than justified. The last time Maverick got in a plane, he practically flew into Iceman’s exhaust while whinging for Ice to get out of his way, crashed his plane and frapped his friend’s skull. No fucking way that was an unforeseeable accident. Even in combat, while Iceman is engaged by several enemy fighters, Maverick refuses to enter the fray until he overcomes his crushing depression. The time for that was before you enter the cockpit, you idiot. But hey, he has appearances to keep up, even if he endangers the lives of his fellow combatants.

So. Why isn’t Iceman the hero? Perhaps the story of a pilot who is in the learning process is more interesting, but Maverick learns very little and runs screaming from the bounds of maturity. He is that grand illusion of a hero as isolated victor, one who is great not out of a lifetime of work and preparation, but bred as a genius as an informed attribute. It is the lazy method of crafting a heroic character, since a lazy audience prefers the idea of a protagonist who is given all they need, and no actual effort is required over their arc. A true hero is one who spends their entire life perfecting their craft for the opportunity to effect a difference of great import. Such stories can be told well, but it takes some skillful writing and an adult perspective. Top Gun has none of that, so our hero is a self-obsessed twit who is impulsive, reckless, and ignorant of whom suffers at his hands. But, he breaks the rules and so is more interesting. This assumption is shared by adults living in arrested adolescence and teenaged girls in high school, and this audience made a massive success out of this terrible film. The story is dull and cliche-ridden, and the capability of our developmentally delayed hero is embellished beyond what good sense should allow. The style of writing is that of a gregarious liar who would routinely punch up mundane situations to make them interesting rather than tell a story in an interesting way. I worked with a guy who would do this uncontrollably. He would see a guy pulled over on the roadside, and by the time he finished his version of events at the water cooler, it was a high speed chase that ended with the cops getting sucked into jet engines. So this pilot goes to school – and he fucks his instructor! And shoots down his teacher – BAM! And he kills all the bad guys – WHAM! Well, I beg to differ with this nonsense. Iceman is the hero we should want, but Maverick is the hero we deserve.

Though sometimes accused of misogyny, we at Ruthless will happily march arm-in-arm with our sisters when the cause is just–whether it be for more nudity in JCVD films or against reactionary, sexist propaganda, such as Gremlins. We have always opposed criticism that over-thinks or politicizes films to meet the agenda of the reviewer.  Yet, the patriarchal propaganda that is Gremlins is too transparent to ignore.  With a little analysis, we can see that the message of Gremlins is that society cannot function without a rigid patriarchy that produces obedient women. Given free reign, female behavior will land somewhere between that of animals and children and society will descend into anarchy.

The central figure in Gremlins is, of course, Gizmo, a mogwai. Mogwai represent women in a neutral state. The superficial similarities are obvious. Gizmo is cute, seemingly harmless and vulnerable and calls upon our protective instincts. We want to take Gizmo in, provide for him and snuggle up in bed with him. To grouchier feminists, this initial presentation of Gizmo/woman might seem condescending, but it is not so far from the reality of many male/female relationships. At worst, this depiction is conventional or conservative, but it is the starting point of a deeply reactionary fable.

The extreme, patriarchal expression begins with the three rules of “owning” a Mogwai/woman.

1) Don’t get them wet. Water, a classic symbol of fecundity, is taken a step further and is also a symbol for actual semen. The well-trained Gizmo avoids water. This is because Gizmo has been raised in a firmly patriarchal society (China) and both literally and figuratively kept in a box. But freed from control and supervision in the decadent West and left in the care of an immature man who lacks a firm hand, even virtuous Gizmo can’t avoid coming into contact with water. He goes into an accelerated labor, and painfully ejects his offspring. One minor slip up, and Billy suddenly finds himself with several more mouths to feed. The poorly managed woman, even if virtuous,  is portrayed as a source of ever-increasing burdens.

Gizmo’s offspring lack his strict upbringing and revert to their natural, insatiable desire for water/semen and offspring. Each poorly raised mogwai is governed by a mad desire to reproduce, but the most burning urge belongs to Stripe, who is a stand in for Reagan’s mythical “welfare queen.” Stripe reproduces indiscriminately, seeking water from any source available, including a public pool (bathhouse). He cares little for his offspring and even abuses them, but he expects the rest of society to provide for them. As Stripe’s spawn absorb the town of Kingston Fall’s resources, the remainder trickles up to Stripe who helps himself to the best of it. A rigid patriarchy is essential. A single generation without it leads to a cycle of reckless breeding as one batch of valueless baby factories passes it’s behavior to still larger broods in the next, dragging society into economic collapse, then chaos.

2) No bright lights, especially sunlight. The metaphor here is more subtle but again, sunlight is a common enough metaphor for openness and exposure. This rule is more patriarchal than misogynistic, as mogwai, and even gremlins, must be kept from exposure to light for their own protection. The analogous duty is protecting your women by not allowing them excessive exposure to the outside world. According to the worldview of Spielberg, writer Chris Columbus and director, Joe Dante, women left to their own devices will invariably dress like prostitutes, literally exposing their skin to sunlight or worse, the pulsating lights of “da club.” Of course, the immediate danger is not sunlight itself (though decadent women quickly become obsessed with “tanning,” and risk skin cancer), but the fact that men are entitled to rape women who dress in such a way. Even if such a woman is somehow not raped, a man like Spielberg or Dante will assume she has been violated and is therefore soiled and useless, effectively ending her life. Also note that one of the most common ways gremlins are killed by light exposure is with flash cameras, which is analogous to a woman appearing in pornography or (in 2009) posting shameful pictures of herself on the internet. While camera flashes and significant sunlight are lethal to the mogwai, women who are allowed excessive freedom will immediately demean themselves for sexual attention, couple with shady men or, less commonly, grow intellectually curious and absorb dangerous ideas.  Any of these things can render them useless as daughters, sisters or wives. As the keeper of a mogwai/woman, it is your responsibly to rigidly control their exposure to harmful elements so that they might maintain their virtue and purpose.

3) Do not feed after midnight. The lesson here is not to overindulge your woman and spoil her. Women who are allowed to live modestly are grateful to their breadwinners for sustaining and sometimes even treating them, as Gizmo is to Billy. We see this in Billy’s mom as well, as she remains grateful and respectful towards Billy’s dad, even though he is a poor provider and the family lives modestly. Billy’s mom is the uncritical representation of the homemaker portrayed by Friedan. She is fully occupied maintaining the home, excels at it and is a force for order. As though cleaning up after her husband’s destructive inventions was not enough, she is able to use her household appliances–most memorably a blender and microwave–to dispatch some of the first gremlins. Only Billy, however, is allowed to wield the sword against the gremlins, in his first step towards authentic manhood.

Though women’s willing contributions are essential to maintaining the patriarchal order, boundaries must be drawn. Once overindulged, women become insatiable, greedy and entitled. Because the patriarchy is ultimately victorious in the film, most human women are prevented from reaching the gremlin stage, but a human woman who is “fed after midnight” would turn out like Paris Hilton or Kim Kardashian. Sustenance is not only taken for granted, but becomes a vehicle for aimless ostentation and excess. This is exacerbated by the fact that women care little for practical or intellectual gifts, favoring hallow expressions of exclusivity, wealth and idleness (We get a glimpse of this in the movie with Mrs. Deagle’s motorized chair up her stairs), in accordance with Veblen’s account of conspicuous consumption in women. When they become spoiled, their desires easily spin out of control. As their wants become impossible to satisfy, they become unhappy no matter what they are given. For example, a diamond ring has no purpose other than conspicuously displaying of the expenditure of resources. Perhaps one or two such items can be given to a woman to mark special occasions, but if there are no limits the display becomes increasingly meaningless, and therefore increasingly gross and unsatisfying until the woman is adorning her dog with expensive jewelry to show her total disdain for the labor and resources that have gone into it. So, indulged without limit, the woman has moved from a contented being, grateful for sustenance to a monster of consumption and waste–from Gizmo to a gremlin. Just as the overindulged woman will buy expensive clothes to wear once, or often not at all, gremlins destroy as much as they consume, smashing glasses after they drink from them, then demanding more. The gremlin/spoiled woman would neither dream of working for the resources they consume, nor pay the slightest respect or consideration to the effort of those who do work to provide those resources

Women with money, mistaking their luck for superiority and consumed by status, are notoriously callous and cruel to service and others they deem beneath them. This is demonstrated in the film by the relentless and shortsighted abuse dished out by the greedy heiress, Mrs. Deagle. Deagle, clad in ridiculous furs, is clearly unhappy herself and abuses her power at the bank. By hastily foreclosing local businesses and being inflexible with borrowers, she is a threat to the long term survival of the local economy and ultimately the bank itself. We see similar behavior as the gremlins torment Kate (Phoebe Cates) as she tries her best to serve them in the local bar which they destroy in a shortsighted display of power and excess. Kate has emerged as a virtuous woman in a corrupt society. This is only because Kingston Falls is an idealistic depiction of 1950s nostalgia: a representation of what is being lost. In any case, the Gremlins take special joy in harassing a modest and contented woman, just as they do her analog: Gizmo. Of course women who have been “fed after midnight” tend to express similar disdain for, say, housewives or working women.

So we can see the collision between the patriarchy and the liberation of women on a few fronts. First there is Kingston Falls itself: small, almost magically anachronistic town, not yet soiled by the general “progress” of American society and the 1960s in particular. Even the music played on the radio in Kingston Falls is pre-Woodstock. The town teeters between the traditional, patriarchal society represented by China, and the corruption of post-feminist America. It is no coincidence that Gizmo is brought in from Chinatown in New York City.

The faces of patriarchal order are Mr. Wing, the revered father figure who is ignored at first, then vindicated and acquiesced to and Gizmo, the figure of the woman who is content and happy to literally live in the box created by the patriarch. Billy represents the weakened male who no longer knows how to control the new generation of mogwai/women.  So they become gremlins: ungoverned women who erode society, almost to the breaking point, never realizing that their uncontrolled desires are ultimately self-destructive. In reigning in the anarchy created by the gremlins, Billy becomes a real man. Importantly, Billy needs the help of Gizmo and Kate, female figures who understand their place and therefore are as much a part of the patriarchy as he is. Only then, is Billy able to both restore order and begin a relationship with Kate, who intimidated him when he was in his weak state. Also important is that part of Billy’s maturation is realizing that he must take a secondary position in the patriarchal structure, in deference to Mr. Wing and hope that Wing is right in saying, “perhaps someday, you may be ready.”

I’ve meant for years to write an article–not an article for Ruthless, like an actual article in some prestigious academic journal where people analyze Galaga through Lacan–about how many heroes in pop culture are psychopaths. Oddly, the most common type of psycho hero is not an 80′s Action hero who shoots petty thieves with an RPG, or even the de facto heroes of slasher films like Halloween, who are usually pretty much mindless. It’s the comic hero. I think there’s kind of a reciprocal relationship wherein we all hate, but are fascinated by Ted Bundy and want to know everything he did, and we all love Groucho but kind of want to put out his cigar on the tip of his penis. In reality, the freedom from fear or morality intrigues us a bit, but the actions of a Bundy, Enron exec or Jerry Bruckheimer overwhelmingly repel. The fictional realm allows a psychopathic freedom to act without real consequence, but a small part of us resents the selfishness and nastiness of even light, fictional characters in that vein.

So I’d been reading a little about psychopathy when I saw Ferris Bueller’s Day Off again. It turns out, that the true hero of the film is one Edward R. Rooney, Dean of Students. Only Rooney recognizes Bueller as a pernicious force that will certainly create great suffering and perhaps death later in life. A lone crusader, Rooney goes well beyond the duties of his job in an attempt to hunt down and destroy a budding monster. More than Groucho, or any other such character, Bueller is a textbook psychopath. Let’s use the esteemed criteria of Robert D. Hare, the man who largely fathered the modern diagnosis and study of psychopathy.

Wiki:

The PCL-R is a clinical rating scale (rated by a psychologist or other professional) of 20 items. Each of the items in the PCL-R is scored on a three-point scale according to specific criteria through file information and a semi-structured interview. A value of 0 is assigned if the item does not apply, 1 if it applies somewhat, and 2 if it fully applies. In addition to lifestyle and criminal behavior the checklist assesses glib and superficial charm, grandiosity, need for stimulation, pathological lying, cunning and manipulating, lack of remorse, callousness, poor behavioral controls, impulsivity, irresponsibility, failure to accept responsibility for one’s own actions and so forth. The scores are used to predict risk for criminal re-offence and probability of rehabilitation.

So far, Bueller fits the criteria better than John Wayne Gacey. Let’s move onto the actual checklist.

Factor 1: Personality “Aggressive narcissism”

* Glibness/superficial charm

Here’s a slam dunk. Bueller charms everyone, save his sister and Rooney, who can see through him. Though charming, his interactions with others are almost exclusively glib and superficial. What he understands about the people in his life, he uses only to manipulate them.

Score: 2/2

* Grandiose sense of self-worth

“Bueller. Ferris, Bueller.”

Score: 2/2

* Pathological lying

While Bueller constantly lies to get his own way, he also lies just to toy with people, another example of his need to demonstrate his superiority. For example he tells nameless classmates over the school pay phone that he might be dying and needs a kidney.

Score: 2/2

* Cunning/manipulative

Look at Bueller’s relationship to his own parents. He doesn’t feel a bit of emotion towards them, but uses them as pawns to get what he wants (except a car). He mercilessly toys with and manipulates the tenacious but outmatched Ed Rooney, one example being the George Peterson call he makes with Cameron.

Score: 2/2

* Lack of remorse or guilt

At one point in the film, after crashing Cameron’s dad’s car, Ferris offers to “take the heat” because he feels it’s too much for Cameron. This is just a manipulation, though. What better tactic to escape free and clear? He tells Cameron he is too weak to handle the heat, thus cajoling him into taking it, while offering to sacrifice himself, thus demonstrating what a good guy he is. No other ploy offers Bueller any chance to both pin all of the blame on Cameron, yet keep him as a stooge. Moments later, he has moved past any feelings of guilt he might have had and is busy convincing Sloane that they’ve done Cameron a favor.

Score: 2/2

* Shallow affect

While he is good at mimicking and mocking emotion, we rarely see any authentic emotional reactions, even in serious situations. When feigning illness or emotional injury, as when Cameron makes to leave for home after Bueller kicks him, Bueller’s speech and affect usually have an underlying sarcasm.

Score: 2/2

* Callous/lack of empathy

Perhaps Ferris’ worst moment comes when he manipulates his best friend, Cameron into allowing the theft of his father’s rare Ferrari, with the justification that they need a nice car for a particular ruse. Cameron points out that his dad knows the odometer reading. Ferris doesn’t care and suggests running the car in reverse when they get back, knowing full well that this wouldn’t work (he even says so later). Cameron suggests renting a town car or limo, which, by the way, would have the added benefit of allowing Cameron to ride comfortably rather than being wedged into the backseat of a small sports car. Ferris has no concern at all for the welfare of his best friend, and so refuses, due to a slight preference for the Ferrari to a Limo. Later, Bueller convinces Cameron to leave the car in a cheap, unsafe parking garage rather than with a safer service, merely because he values saving some time and a few bucks over the interests of his friend.

Score: 2/2

* Failure to accept responsibility for own actions

Because the film is a psychopathic fantasy, Bueller is rarely put in a position to accept responsibility. The closest case is the destruction of the Ferrari, already discussed. Though Bueller is almost entirely responsible, he dupes Cameron into taking responsibility and forgets about it. If he won’t accept responsibility for seriously harming his best friend, it’s obvious Bueller would not accept responsibility if he were caught hacking the school computer, or tricking other students into having a fundraiser for his non-existent, terminal illness.

Score: 2/2

* Promiscuous sexual behavior

There are suggestions that Ferris is widely admired by the school vagine pool. However, all indications are that he is loyal to Sloane. Bueller lacks the sexual deviance and promiscuity often linked to psychopathy, unless he has a mad fetish for bad actresses. His ridiculous marriage proposal is interesting though. It doesn’t seem to be meant as a joke, but he’s not serious either. She points out the reasons they are too young to marry, which hadn’t seemed to have occurred to him, and he just kind of moves on to the next thing.

Score: 0/2

The fact that Bueller scores so highly on the first factor, aggressive narcissism, tells us that he is probably a case of primary psychopathy, meaning psychopathy is his root condition and probably biological, as opposed to being caused by other disorders or a poor environment.

Factor2: Case history “Socially deviant lifestyle”

* Need for stimulation/proneness to boredom

Bueller is obviously a classic case here. He ditches school chronically; and when that gets too boring, does so in a stolen Ferrari. Researchers estimate that 80% of Ferrari owners are psychopaths, which helps to explain Bueller’s obsession with the car.

2/2

* Parasitic lifestyle

Well, he’s a high school kid so, to some measure this is inevitable. He clearly manipulates his parents for favors beyond what is normal. His primary reason for calling his best friend in the beginning of the film is the need for a car. The tendencies and habits are there, but this is not yet a lifestyle.

Score: 1/2

* Poor behavioral control

Clearly. Even in the tightest of situations, when he is caught posing as “The Sausage King of Chicago” in a restaurant and has the chance to bolt, Bueller will persist. A more elaborate explanation of this trait is that the downfall of psychopaths is often either that they simply don’t consider getting caught, if they are stupid, or that they overly brazen due to their belief in their own superiority, if they are smart, like Bueller. This is why Bueller has the audacity to pick up Sloane in front of the school, with Rooney present, and then, posing as her father, jam his tongue down her throat in full view. If only Rooney weren’t as hapless as he is heroic, Bueller would have been undone before second period.

2/2

* Lack of realistic, long-term goals

Let’s go back to the marriage proposal. It’s based on nothing, having not planned at all for the future, or how they would sustain themselves as a family. He’s clearly a guy who thinks in the short term. Bueller does, however, plan to go to college where he will no doubt major in business. And isn’t having long term goals in high school abnormal? It’s simply too early to tell on this one.

0/2

* Impulsivity

Again, take your pick. Proposing marriage because the thought popped into his head. Stealing Cameron’s dad’s car. And would even the BTK killer have the stones to take over a parade in downtown Chicago?

Score: 2/2

* Irresponsibility

This is another tough one, because Ferris seems to have his shit together. It would be easy to give him a 1 and just assume he looks after his school work just enough and does his chores around the house or whatever. But the question is “is he somewhat irresponsible or strongly irresponsible?” Not, “is he completely negligent?” Clearly, the answer is that he is strongly irresponsible.

Score: 2/2

* Juvenile delinquency

Well, I’ll go hard on Bueller on this one and easy on the next. The kid isn’t knocking over liquor stores, but he’s a white collar criminal in the making if ever there was one. It’s 1986 and he’s already hacking. He’s habitually truant, steals a car, drives like a maniac (which I say as someone who got nabbed doing 103 in 55 as a kid), commits fraud and seems to be years ahead of the curve on identity theft and every form of technological deception available. He doesn’t like to get his hands dirty, but that’s just because he’s smart and exists in a wealthy, suburban environment. Disagreeing with me would make you a racist.

Score: 2/2

* Early behavior problems

I might be mistaken in giving Bueller only a one here. My reasoning is that there are kids with worse behavioral problems and he isn’t out torturing animals and starting fires. However, many psychopaths never directly inflict physical harm on anyone. Business and politics are two of the fields in which many researchers say psychopaths can thrive, and harm thousands and occasionally millions without so much as throwing a punch. Intelligent psychopaths usually only turn to serial killing and such when they are denied the positions of power they think they deserve. That’s why Rooney could turn Bueller into a serial killer by ruining his life. But better a serial killer than a Senator. So I’m not sure his chronic manipulation, cheating and lying are less of an indication of psychopathy than some dumb kid who sticks fire crackers up cats’ asses. Still…

Score: 1/2

* Revocation of conditional release

This is only somewhat applicable. Among other things, Bueller is never caught. But when he is in an analogous situation–he has 99% of what he wants and could get away free and clear, he will take on huge risks to get the remaining 1%. At the film’s climax he is bolting home to a clean get away with only seconds to spare, yet he stops to chat with some tail.

Score: 1/2

Traits not correlated with either factor

* Many short-term marital relationships

Again, there is indication that Ferris could sleep with every girl in his school if he chose to, and perhaps some past promiscuity. But he seems to take far less advantage of that than the average high school boy would. On the other hand his arbitrary proposal to Sloane and his casual attitude about her reluctance portend some poorly thought out and short term marriages. As with the parasitic lifestyle, Bueller is too early in life to have earned a two.

Score: 1/2

* Criminal versatility

Ferris seems to be primarily a con man and a thief. No sex crimes, no violence, but a range of hacking, cons, thievery and fraud.

Score 1/2

Total Score: 31/40

Bueller’s score is impressive. A score of 30 is considered clearly psychopathic and, from what I can gather, is pretty uncommon. Erase the ease and privilege of his environment, and his young age, and he might score even higher in categories like “parasitic lifestyle” and “criminal versatility.” Rooney might be kind of an authoritarian prick himself, but then so was his doppelganger, Dirty Harry. Only Rooney can see the danger Bueller poses, especially as he has established a strong influence over other students. While Bueller cavalierly risks life, limb and jail for his own gratification, Rooney does the same in order to thwart and stifle a young psychopath. He would have succeeded too, if only Bueller’s dingbat sister hadn’t caved in at the end. Now Ferris will grow up and by 2009 he will be doing awful things, like re-making the Karate Kid with Will Smith’s son and Jackie Chan.

Johnny Lawrence—the timeless bully—handsome, wealthy and rolling deep
with sniveling minions eager to knock a nerd another strata or two
below rock bottom. To be perfectly honest, Johnny was the most fearsome
movie villain of his day because he was real,
whereas I had a high level of confidence that I would never get pantsed
in gym class by Predator. But as is the intent of these articles, we
will reverse gravity and present this fearsome thug in a new
perspective, for there is a tale to be told beyond the rise of
Machhio…all one must do is rip themselves away from the guilt-tainted
sympathy for the weeping underdog and peer through eyes that focus on
what really matters…Power!

Johnny is the All-Valley 18 and Under Karate Champion three years
running. He’s entering his Senior Year in High School and is very
popular. He’s a country club member. He’s fit, athletic and dashing.
All in all, you couldn’t really imagine anything being imperfect at
this point in his young life, as he is arguably at the apex of his
demographic. But alas, there is a flaw and, as it is the most
persisting nuisance facing humanity since Eve fumbled away paradise,
it’s because of a woman.

Johnny’s female social equivalent and the predestined vessel for his
seed, Ali, has recently broken up with him for unspecified reasons, but
I will presume it’s because she felt she was too fat to deserve such a
perfect boyfriend. Following the age-old rules of rebound, Ali’s
hormones shove her in the opposite direction of Johnny and, given that
he’s as Alpha as they come, any alternative is bound to suck…

Daniel Laruso—a gangly, bastard being supported by a shrill mother
driven by big dreams that barely rival welfare. Daniel is poor,
unrefined and inexplicably cocky,
probably as a result of his hot-Moorish blood getting an octane-boost
with the confidence instilled via YMCA-taught Tai Cheese. But despite
these terrible handicaps, things start out well enough for Daniel. He
makes a quick friend when he kicks the door of his new Section 8
housing into the face of Freddy the Mexican. Awed by the ability to
raise one’s leg parallel to the ground while screaming an
Asian-sounding exclamation, Freddy inquires with amazement “Hey, was
that karate?” as if Daniel had just smashed flaming cinder blocks while
wearing a Gi full of piranha. Realistically Freddy asking Daniel if
that was karate was like asking every guy that can get a boner if he’s
a porn star. Fuck you, Freddy.

But the innocuous meeting with Freddy has a snowball effect as it sets
in motion a series of events that lead our flawless hero, Johnny, to
first encounter the darkened, ugly form of Daniel…And what greasy beast, its hour come round at last, slouches towards Reseda to be born?

Courtesy of Freddy, Daniel has been invited to an All-Male Valley Scum
Beach Party that happens to be adjacent to a Rich Hills Girls Beach
Party, complete with a space-age battery-powered tape deck. As the
grunting boys perform amazing Feats of kickball for the largely
disinterested group of girls, something terrible happens. Ali, the
alpha female and explicit property of one Mr. John Lawrence,
inexplicably falls under the slummy spell of Daniel during an extended
moment of creepy eye contact. Ok, let’s be serious here… does anybody
have fond memories of making instant friends and reeling in prospects
of raw-dogging the Prom Queen during their first half-day after a
disruptive trans-continental move? Didn’t think so…but wait…I hear dirt
bikes in the distance!

Perched atop a nearby cliff top is our Johnny, talking excitedly of
his impending senior reign and enjoying a celebratory beer with his
bros. But soaring moments tend to be fleeting as Johnny is quickly
grounded when alerted to trouble brewing on the sands below.
Justifiably infuriated by the unexpected sight of his chunky girlfriend
being courted by a coltish stranger in home-made cut-off jean shorts,
Johnny intervenes.

Johnny confronts Ali’s betrayal, but she has already succumbed to
Daniel’s musky spell and the simple, classless future he might offer.
Instead of talking it out, Ali keeps cranking her boombox up to 11 in a
petulant display, using it as a dumb shield against his overwhelming
reasoning. Tired of her childish reaction, Johnny lobs the radio into
the soft sand, not intending to break it of course, but only seeking to
maneuver the conversation in a constructive direction. But the apparent
disregard for Ali’s property is all it takes to spark aggression in
Daniel’s brutish mind and it is at this pivotal moment that he decides
to stick his big, marinara-stained nose where it doesn’t belong.

Daniel rushes to the aid of the radio in a weak attempt to cull
favor from Ali with a grand display of the obsequiousness a
relationship with him would offer. Johnny, annoyed by yet another
middling distraction, tries to hand Daniel the radio so he’ll hopefully
rush off to fence it, but in the process, accidentally shoves him to the ground because he greatly overestimated Daniel’s ability to stand.

Daniel, fueled by New Jersey Choochery, rushes Johnny, who properly
reacts to the low threat level with a harmless trip, hoping that it’ll
send a clear message of dominance in its effortlessness. Unfortunately,
all it does is cause a fresh surge of garlic-tainted adrenaline to gush
into Daniel who doesn’t get the point, even after his second
embarrassing face plant. Johnny, not wanting to further humiliate
Daniel, drops his guard just long enough to catch a total sucker punch
that bloodies his nose. No man should be expected to absorb such an act
of cowardice with grace. In a quick flurry that is more reflex than
response, Johnny handily dispatches Daniel, knowing that dropping him
will be the only way to cease his macho charges and spare him serious
injury.

Ali somehow manages to chastise Johnny for defending himself from
the spaz attacks of this busybody stranger and opts to rush to Daniel’s
aid as he lays sobbing and bleeding in the sand like the Everywimp in
the first cells of a Charles Atlas advertisement. A fine moment comes
when Daniel’s group of potential friends garnish the beat-down sundae
with a bright cherry of disgusted insults and dismissive gestures as
they leave his prone form to be nipped at by the crabs.

The next day is Daniel’s first at his new school and he gets to
make his already awkward debut sporting a black eye that would make Ike
Turner nod in proud approval. Seriously, we’re supposed to root for a
guy who is so pathetic that he’s a black-eyed joke before
his first day at school? A guy so squirrelly that he’s already
blatantly ducking “bullies” in front of Ali, despite being in the safe
haven of school? A guy who pulls his sweatpants up to his armpits, then
starts hurling punches when legitimately slide-tackled during kickball
tryouts? Daniel is the antithesis of a hero. One moment, he is craven,
slinking unseen between sanctuaries, the next he is an opportunistic
savage, master of the cheap shot.

Hoping to up his Karate repertoire, Daniel ventures to a local
school that he sees across the street from the restaurant his mom moved
them across the country to be a hostess at. It is called Cobra-Kai and
it is, for the purposes of the film, the factory of Daniel’s
tormentors. The sensei of this school is a hardened veteran of the Viet
Nam conflict, the highly-decorated John Kreese. Kreese is a hard man,
but like any good teacher, he instills in his students a simple, yet
powerful morality that promotes strength, overcoming of fear and the
defeat of those that would bring you harm…shit they apparently don’t
teach you at the Newark Y. Obviously, Daniel flees the situation
instantly because, God forbid, he opts to impress with bravery or even
humility.

As Daniel peddles his way home on his Huffy, the Cobra-Kai ride up
next to him on their expensive, motored bicycles. They tease him
innocently for a moment, but Daniel freaks out needlessly and goes
armadillo, losing control of his bike as it rockets to an uncontrolled
10mph down the mildest of slopes. A simple accident precipitated, once
again, by the fact that Daniel is a clumsy, spastic dunce that doesn’t
realize that the new guy is supposed to get hazed just a little before
blending into the social slurry. Instead of taking the growing pains,
Daniel goes into a dejected tantrum that catches the attention of a
tiny, mysterious Asian who will eventually show him the path to
quick-fix, unearned respect.

Several weeks suddenly pass and it’s Halloween. There are no
yellowing bruises decorating Daniel’s face, so it’s safe to assume that
Johnny and the Cobras have graciously left Daniel alone for some time.
Daniel decides to go to a school dance solo and, once again, falls into
popular-girl-pussy like it’s an ocean of goddamn quicksand. After
molesting Ali in the portable shower (originality points won courtesy
of Asian mystic), Daniel is pegged in the face by an egg and, due to
some blip in his neurochemistry, decides not to instantaneously
spear-tackle the guy in the chicken suit and rain haymakers on his
beak.

Daniel ventures to the bathroom to clean up the first literal
egg-in-the-face he’s received thus far and, in the process, spies
Johnny in one of the stalls. Instead of, I don’t know, fucking leaving
the bathroom and proceeding with Mission: Sodomize Ali, Daniel decides
he’s going to even the score by getting an unsuspecting Johnny wet. I
don’t know how this plan played out in his head, but I don’t think it
went beyond the wetting stage because it’s slightly difficult to escape
reprisal when you not only run out of the bathroom in obvious guilt,
but you are also dressed as a ten-foot tall fucking shower.

Johnny, needlessly provoked once again by a cheap shot, sets out in
pursuit, friends in tow because that’s what friends do…they get your
back. They chase Daniel outside into the night, where he causes
additional harm to innocents as people crash their cars trying to avoid
him as he flees comeuppance. Being weak, he is inevitably seized by the
angry pack just before he’s able to scale the fence surrounding his
ghetto, crushing his hopes of having his mom chase the Cobras away with
wild swings of a broom. Johnny draws Daniel to eye level and
breathlessly asks of him “You couldn’t leave well enough alone, could
you?” A fair question leveled at a recidivist coward in desperate need
of recalibration.

Since punishment akin to spankings had demonstrated little effect up to
this point, it was time for Daniel to be shown his place via the heavy
hand. It was the only way, otherwise, Daniel would eventually wrong
somebody not possessing of mercy who would fuck him up worse than any
BMX accident could ever cover up. Just as the stern lesson is starting
to take, Tiny Asian appears in a cloud of Dragon’s Breath to fuck it
all up…pathetic really, a skilled martial artist beating up a bunch of
seventeen-year-olds.

With the balance of power now destabilized by the introduction of a
child abuser, Daniel goes on the offensive and demands of the Cobras to
be left alone, otherwise he’ll sic his murderous Nisei on them again.
Sensei Kreese, with his superior understanding of Asian codes of honor,
suggests that Daniel and Johnny square up on-on-one to settle things
once and for all, like champions of yore. But once again, Daniel’s
inherent weakness requires all manner of accommodation instead of him
once again denying that the new kid’s lot in life is to just shut the
fuck up and wait for the opportunity to prey on newer kids. So once
again, Johnny must turn the other cheek and agree to leave Daniel alone
until the All-Valley Tournament where he might be sufficiently trained
to avoid crying in a crumpled heap after a two-second ass-beating.

With the cease-fire in place, the Cobras honor the decree as expected.
What does Daniel do at first opportunity? He runs up to the Cobras, Ali
in tow, to flaunt his untouchability! He even stakes passive claim to a
black eye he didn’t even deliver! “Haha! You can’t deservingly kick my
ass cuz’ your Sensei said so!” What a fucking greasy pussy bitch. I’d
sooner cheer for the Nazis in Raiders of the Lost Ark.

At this point, the pacing of the film dies, as we are bored to death
with karate training cunningly disguised as Koi Pond maintenance,
Daniel building confidence within the safety of his snow globe
existence and a very normal, healthy friendship developing between a
young boy and a reclusive old Japanese man that may or may not have
tampered with American radar emplacements on Oahu, c. December 7th,
1941.

So tournament day finally arrives. Johnny is the heavy favorite to
win, being that he is a three-time champion and has achieved this
spectacular level of success through years of diligence and hard work.
Daniel shows up unprepared, lies about being a black belt, steals somebody
else’s black belt and then he, Benedict Akira and Ali all conspire to
dupe a kindly ring official into breaking the rules to Daniel’s
advantage.

The tournament begins and Daniel starts off with his typical Clinic
in Spinelessness, going so far as to be pre-terrified because his first
opponent appears to be meditating. After running out of the ring a few
times like a gay elephant fleeing a mouse, he gains his composure and
wins with a few unspectacular moves just as the first thumps of “You’re
the Best Around” swell, escorting us into the montage that speeds us
through the tournament.

We see the well-trained Cobras making quick work of the
competition; Johnny especially dispatches his foes with practiced
perfection. We also see Daniel, even with the assistance of cinematic
smoke and mirrors, perform Karate moves with all the grace of a
rusted-out Asimo.

As the final tournament brackets start to take form, Daniel must fight
a series of Mini-Boss battles in the form of the second-tier
(non-Johnny) Cobra-Kai. In the semi-final round against Bobby, Sensei
Kreese, tired of watching the deceptive Daniel scale the ranks and
dishonor millennia of tradition, tells Bobby he wants Daniel “out of
commission.” Bobby follows his order, but still summons the character
to apologize, despite the fact that Daniel, a supposed practitioner of
Karate, should perhaps be capable of self-defense. Unfortunately,
Bobby’s attack was only sufficient to deter instantaneous Western
methods of healing, but unbeknownst to him or anyone else, Daniel has yet another Ace up his sleevein the form of the Japanese Shiatsu Knee Fix, again courtesy of Mr. Omni-Tool-San.

Johnny, a given in the Finals, is accepting the trophy after another
amazing run unfortunately soured by a default victory, courtesy of that
guy that fucks up everything for him. But like a decapitated and
thought-dead villain in the B-est of horror films, Daniel emerges from
the locker room, his game knee pinned together by the very will of the
Khans. There will be a final apocalyptic fight after all. Good versus
Evil. Light versus Dark.

Sensei Kreese, fully confident in his student’s superiority,
rewards Johnny’s months of patience by allowing him to punish Daniel in
the one arena where outside influences will not affect the outcome, a
place where warriors kill and cowards are slain. Get a point. Give a
point. Maintain the stalemate until every unearned achievement that
ever drove Daniel is mashed out by fist and foot. Deconstruct him, and
then reform him into a true man from the basic elements.

Johnny bats Daniel around as easily as he did on the beach many months
before. Perpetually overmatched and on the defensive, Daniel skits
around the ring like a cornered mink, his fear and weakness on display
for hundreds to see. Once again, Kreese tires of this sheepish show and
the infamous request of “sweep the leg” comes into play, a maneuver
considered illegal in the tournament, but probably only so because
Daniel’s mother somehow stole the tournament rule book and tailored it
to suit her son’s statued fighting style. Johnny, still only a student,
questions his teacher’s motives momentarily, but the leg is swept
nonetheless and Daniel’s balky knee crumbles anew, this time with no
hidden parlor tricks available to repair him.

Everything is unfolding according to Darwinian law, until the
first-point-wins Sudden Death comes into play. Johnny, who has
dominated every single moral and physical challenge up to this point,
suddenly finds himself staring at an idiot wobbling on one foot with
his arms held up like those of a gibbon-gone-terrestrial. In this one
flawed moment of uncertainty mixed with overconfidence, Johnny charges
Daniel face-first and is rewarded with a punt to the nose, courtesy of
the lamest animal-themed-style outside of Platypus…plus, I thought
contact to the face was illegal?

The fair-weather crowd erupts and rushes the ring; fond memories of
Johnny’s glorious reign are shoved aside like pencils in a Halloween
horde. The ecstatic Daniel is hoisted onto strange shoulders as he
celebrates his ill-gotten victory, never accepting it as
tainted-lightning-in-a-bottle, but no matter, for we have countless
examples of the type of person he really is; a weak, opportunistic
instigator doesn’t become Mr. Bushido because of one fluke Crane Kick.

And from the throng of revelers, who should emerge, bloodied and
defeated, but still rising above it all, even in his darkest moment?
Johnny, that’s who. And what does he do but wrest the All-Valley 18 and
Under Trophy from the announcer’s hand and presents it to Daniel
himself, proudly saying “You’re all right, Laruso.”

If this is not the most selfless cinematic moment in history I don’t
know what is, but as I sit here and appreciate the big picture one last
time, I realize something important has somehow been left unspoken for
these 20+ years…

“Johnny, it’s you that’s all right, Man. It’s always been you.”

History has not given Ivan Drago a fair shake. Not even close. In all likelihood, Drago, a.k.a. The Siberian Bull, a.k.a. Death From Above, will go down as one of the defining terrors of the 1980s. Our grandchildren will remember him as a barely human manifestation of everything that was wrong with the Soviet Union. But that shit isn’t right. The elitist intellectual scholars who are in a rush to place Drago in a league with the Takagi-fortune-Stealing, non-girl-needing, Wade-murdering, Boddicker-esque villains that defined the 80s couldn’t be more wrong. At worst, he is a misunderstood abomination, the monster to the Soviet Union’s Frankenstein; a beast with incredible (and sometimes lethal) capabilities whose character is deeply buried beneath its freakish appearance and distorted by the fear it inspires. At best, Ivan is nothing short of a hero, a revolutionary, and, in 1985, one of humanity’s brightest lights.

Yeah, okay, so he caved in Apollo Creed’s head. What? That’s his fault? Fuck no. Like his wife said, he’s a professional fighter, not a killer. He never wanted to hurt Creed, who was well known and very respected in the Soviet Union. No, Ivan Drago didn’t kill Apollo Creed. Apollo Creed killed Apollo Creed, with assists from Rocky Balboa and an incompetent referee.

The fact of the matter is that Creed killed himself when he manipulated his way into fighting Drago. He had no business getting in the ring with anyone, for that matter. He was a god damned Has Been, just like straight-shooting Russian antagonist Nicoli Koloff said he was. Honestly, it could be argued that Creed was washed up before his first fight with Rocky. He eked out a controversial spit-decision victory against a struggling club fighter who only had six weeks to train for the fight. Then, a year later, he was knocked out by the same club fighter, who was boxing right-handed for the first time, nursing a surgically repaired eye, and had virtually no strategy (Run through him? Run over him? Thanks, Mick).

And that was some eight odd years before the Drago fight, when he was beaten to death in the second round by an amateur fighter. The Counte of Monte Fisto evaded exactly zero of the 41 punches Drago threw. The only reason he didn’t die sooner was because Drago wasted five or six punches on his body. And it’s not like he wasn’t warned beforehand. Rocky reminded Apollo that he was an old man, and cautioned him against mixing it up with Drago. Did he listen? Fuck no. He bitched about someone else stealing his glory. He was a fucking Has Been that died because he was everything Drago and Rocky weren’t: arrogant, boastful, flashy, superficial, lazy, and, at the risk of being redundant, black.

Speaking of Rocky, THROW THE DAMN TOWEL! It was pretty clear that Apollo was being beaten to death by the end of the first round. Drago even gave him a shake of the head, all but pleading for Rocky to shut Apollo down. What? He mumbled something to you, after suffering severe head trauma, about not stopping the fight? That’s your justification for letting him die in an exhibition match? In front of his wife? In front of James Brown? And where was the ref? Yeah, he made half an effort to get between Drago and Creed, but he obviously wasn’t trying hard enough. He probably wasn’t even a licensed ref. He was probably one of James Brown’s entourage. That fight was such a god damned circus, it wouldn’t surprise me.

Anyway, while Creed’s death wasn’t going to make anyone look good, Drago’s bad rap comes mostly from the shit stoically proclaimed as Apollo was dying in Stallone’s arms. But what does he say that’s so awful? “I cannot be defeated. I defeat all men.” Nothing wrong there. You can hear his anger at being forced into this situation bubbling up through his words, but he hasn’t crossed any lines. “I defeat real champion.” Yeah, the liberal media assumes he means he wants to fight Rocky, but he hasn’t fought Rocky. He fought Apollo. I’m pretty sure he just called Apollo a Real Champion. Pretty fucking generous words for a man who lost his last two fights to a club fighter and an amateur, respectively.

Of course, everyone got their panties in a twist when the gentle giant calmly explained that “If he dies, he dies.” Yeah, that shit sounds pretty callous until you realize that Drago knows virtually no English. I mean, the guy is doing his damnedest to explain what’s happening, but he just doesn’t have the vocabulary to expand upon his philosophy. A young guy from a small town in the Soviet Union, on his first trip to America, forced to fight a childhood hero on a stage in Las Vegas, who has a legendary fighter and trainer in his corner, and was just was dancing with Soul Brother Number One. And now his idol is dying by his hand. Fuck, man, it’s a miracle that he remembered any English at all. And who knows what he was trying to say? He was probably trying to be compassionate. Maybe he was trying to relate to Americans a Soviet parable that would bring dignity to Creed as he lay dying on the mat.

His words to Rocky before the climactic fight illustrate his fragile state of mind: “I must break you.” Must. As in, against his will. He didn’t say “I want to break you,” or “I will take pleasure in breaking you,” or even a more passive “You shall be broken by me.” He must break him. Drago was clearly shaken by the death of Apollo Creed, and wanted Rocky to understand that he was being forced into the ring.

And then there’s the fight. Drago spared Rocky’s life. There’s no two ways about it. We have all wondered, laughingly, how Rocky could survive a fight with a man that threw punches with 2150 pounds per square inch behind them. Just a stupid movie plot hole, right? Wrong. Drago was pulling punches for the entire fight. You think Drago didn’t see those readings when he punched that psi bag, or whatever it was? Of course he did, and he knew what would happen if actually unloaded on Rocky: he’d be dead by the second round.

Not only did Drago keep Balboa alive, he threw that fight. I’m certain of it. Even in the early rounds, you can see him setting the stage. Yeah, Rocky is like a piece of iron. My ass. I doubt Drago would even notice if Rocky was, in fact, made of iron. With more than 2,000 psi behind his punches, he could probably punch a hole in God.

And you know why he threw it? Because he loved America and he loved capitalism, and he wanted to bring righteous American values to his own country. The idea that Drago was representative of Soviet values was bullshit. We all remember what Drago declared before the 15th round. He bellowed at his handlers, the Soviets in attendance, and the fucking politburo: “I WIN FOR ME! FOR ME!”

For me? Does that sound like a Communist to you? It doesn’t sound like any fucking Red I’ve ever heard of. And you’ll notice that he only said that he wins. He didn’t say he wins boxing matches. That’s because he never intended to win that boxing match. His goal was to let this noble American come into Moscow and, against all odds, emerge victorious, thus displaying the magnificent virtues of capitalism for all of the Soviet Union and its citizenry to see. I mean, you didn’t see Drago rushing to stop Rocky during his climactic speech, did you? Fuck, he probably wrote it for him. The broken English is a dead give away.

Without a doubt, Drago had a plan, and it did not involve winning the fight. How else can you explain Drago lifting a man, who looked to weigh in excess of 200 lbs, several feet off the ground, with a single arm, and then going out and losing to a man who, by that point, had literally been beaten retarded (in yet another example of recklessness by American trainers; hit the one in the middle? Are you shitting me? Throw the damn towel!). Or the panicked manner in which Drago openly begs Rocky to take a swing at him in the 15th round, so he can take a believable dive?

“To the end,” Drago tells Rocky before the final round. To the end is right: the end of the Soviet Fucking Union. If that wasn’t a toast, then I’ve never heard one. And yet, Drago’s legacy is that of a scoundrel, and it is Rocky Balboa, a man who won American hearts by bludgeoning successful black men and AIDS victims, that we remember as the hero. Who is the real monster? Not the Siberian Bull. Not Ivan.