I just watched Two Minute Warning on DVD, and believe the film can be viewed from two different perspectives, either as a schlocky popcorn flick or as I prefer a stinging indictment of the American dream.
The film presents a collection of reflective ciphers of or chasing after: The American dream, set against a backdrop of an important Super bowl game which acts as thematic frame upon which to hang parallel characters. The sniper is a metaphorical cultural surgeon, as the film opens with him snuffing out a middle-aged cyclist, replete in synthetic modern tracksuit, the cyclist is of course still chasing after the American dream. An injury burnt ball-player with vivacious young and demanding girlfriend can be viewed as a dream casualty; initially hungry exploiter now almost exhaustively exploited for the purpose of entertainment to which American football occupies one of many sporting dream pinnacles.
Jack Klugman is desperately chasing his vision of the dream via high risk stakes gambling, with money which is not his own, putting his life at risk as he literally tries to get rich whilst almost dying, trying. Then we have David Jansen and his girlfriend who are entangled within a tired and respect-less relationship with Jansen more interested in running off to Las Vegas for some gambling after he proposes to his beleaguered girlfriend with what in all probability will be a quick and doomed marriage.
Archetypal young family guy: Beau Bridges heads the prototypical dysfunctional family that decades later would be fodder for: The Jerry Springer Show, as we witness father chastise his barely long haired youngest son for being wise when the kid rebukes his dad's imposing conservatism with "everyone can see" in response to being told that his hair is too long. Bridges later attempt at model citizenry by informing the police that there is a sniper in the coliseum backfires on him with the brave boys in blue attempting to cart him off somewhat ambiguously for further questioning, do the police believe he may be a suspect in cahoots with the sniper or are they just trying to stop a panic situation, too late, as by this point the dream culture cleansing has begun with Jansen's girlfriend arbitrarily spared a prolongation of their mutually unsatisfying relationship.
The enclosed and insulated television crew, media spinning the ball-game with their customary brand of all-American labelling; as we are all too aware of today, their egos quietened as the carnage unfolds; reality crashing through their subjectively controlled and packaged, vicarious version of reality. An unsuspecting long haired teenager who has clambered up, out of the designated seating area makes himself a target of the now twitchy, prior hung-ho, swat boys who heavy handedly remove him from his perch, upon suspicion of what may be contained within his rucksack, triggering fear that he may be the snipers accomplice; supplicate topical paranoia. Long-haired young men do not fit the profile as signed up card carrying pursuers of the American dream.
Assorted ill reflections upon the dream pop up through-out the picture. Robert Ginty (who would later play a similar kind of Exterminator) as the happy-go-lucky yet avaricious novelty hat seller who fleeces cash-strapped Bridges, embarrassingly obligated to fulfil expectations of the dream when his youngest son announces that his father has no money; plays out the father to son baton handing of the dream, be who you want, have what you want, when you want it.
The lone alcoholic proffering his poison for the solicitation of Jansen's eager to facilitate lady-friend, her eye on her dream, garments of wealth and prosperity, coverting her true longing. The respectable looking Walter Pidgeon failing to pickpocket the film's singular paid up ball-game viewer to be held in esteem by the filmmakers, that of a doctor beguiled by a female onlooker acting as chaperon to an insecure male counterpart who wishes not to be seen in public without requisite female date, trappings of his American dream. During the ensuing human crush we witness said doctor saving the life of his new found lady fan; clinging to life from a stairwell of white concrete.
The sniper's supposed target, that of the man who sits atop the American dream, never arrives. When the bullets begin raining down on this most veneer thin picture of national conservative pride the true spirit of American humanity bulldozes through in an everyman for himself helter-skelter stampede; as a supposedly civilised gathering reverts back to the days of the rush for land the gold rush the oil rush the arms rush the space rush the global greed rush of collapse.
Little wonder why this film bombed on its theatrical release, striking a deep resonant chord within the American psyche. Witness today American's on IMDb's discussion boards label up the film with outraged impotent cries of "Utter Crap" The picture of themselves reflected back through this now time-capsule piece of effective culture and ideal mirroring.
What of Charlton Heston I hear you say, well he represents moderate conservatism, committed by a sense of duty, but willing to provide the trigger happy swat'ers their neccessitation for existence of pumping lead kicks' as a final solution. The larger than life Heston is surrounded by this carnival of human frailty.
The film presents a collection of reflective ciphers of or chasing after: The American dream, set against a backdrop of an important Super bowl game which acts as thematic frame upon which to hang parallel characters. The sniper is a metaphorical cultural surgeon, as the film opens with him snuffing out a middle-aged cyclist, replete in synthetic modern tracksuit, the cyclist is of course still chasing after the American dream. An injury burnt ball-player with vivacious young and demanding girlfriend can be viewed as a dream casualty; initially hungry exploiter now almost exhaustively exploited for the purpose of entertainment to which American football occupies one of many sporting dream pinnacles.
Jack Klugman is desperately chasing his vision of the dream via high risk stakes gambling, with money which is not his own, putting his life at risk as he literally tries to get rich whilst almost dying, trying. Then we have David Jansen and his girlfriend who are entangled within a tired and respect-less relationship with Jansen more interested in running off to Las Vegas for some gambling after he proposes to his beleaguered girlfriend with what in all probability will be a quick and doomed marriage.
Archetypal young family guy: Beau Bridges heads the prototypical dysfunctional family that decades later would be fodder for: The Jerry Springer Show, as we witness father chastise his barely long haired youngest son for being wise when the kid rebukes his dad's imposing conservatism with "everyone can see" in response to being told that his hair is too long. Bridges later attempt at model citizenry by informing the police that there is a sniper in the coliseum backfires on him with the brave boys in blue attempting to cart him off somewhat ambiguously for further questioning, do the police believe he may be a suspect in cahoots with the sniper or are they just trying to stop a panic situation, too late, as by this point the dream culture cleansing has begun with Jansen's girlfriend arbitrarily spared a prolongation of their mutually unsatisfying relationship.
The enclosed and insulated television crew, media spinning the ball-game with their customary brand of all-American labelling; as we are all too aware of today, their egos quietened as the carnage unfolds; reality crashing through their subjectively controlled and packaged, vicarious version of reality. An unsuspecting long haired teenager who has clambered up, out of the designated seating area makes himself a target of the now twitchy, prior hung-ho, swat boys who heavy handedly remove him from his perch, upon suspicion of what may be contained within his rucksack, triggering fear that he may be the snipers accomplice; supplicate topical paranoia. Long-haired young men do not fit the profile as signed up card carrying pursuers of the American dream.
Assorted ill reflections upon the dream pop up through-out the picture. Robert Ginty (who would later play a similar kind of Exterminator) as the happy-go-lucky yet avaricious novelty hat seller who fleeces cash-strapped Bridges, embarrassingly obligated to fulfil expectations of the dream when his youngest son announces that his father has no money; plays out the father to son baton handing of the dream, be who you want, have what you want, when you want it.
The lone alcoholic proffering his poison for the solicitation of Jansen's eager to facilitate lady-friend, her eye on her dream, garments of wealth and prosperity, coverting her true longing. The respectable looking Walter Pidgeon failing to pickpocket the film's singular paid up ball-game viewer to be held in esteem by the filmmakers, that of a doctor beguiled by a female onlooker acting as chaperon to an insecure male counterpart who wishes not to be seen in public without requisite female date, trappings of his American dream. During the ensuing human crush we witness said doctor saving the life of his new found lady fan; clinging to life from a stairwell of white concrete.
The sniper's supposed target, that of the man who sits atop the American dream, never arrives. When the bullets begin raining down on this most veneer thin picture of national conservative pride the true spirit of American humanity bulldozes through in an everyman for himself helter-skelter stampede; as a supposedly civilised gathering reverts back to the days of the rush for land the gold rush the oil rush the arms rush the space rush the global greed rush of collapse.
Little wonder why this film bombed on its theatrical release, striking a deep resonant chord within the American psyche. Witness today American's on IMDb's discussion boards label up the film with outraged impotent cries of "Utter Crap" The picture of themselves reflected back through this now time-capsule piece of effective culture and ideal mirroring.
What of Charlton Heston I hear you say, well he represents moderate conservatism, committed by a sense of duty, but willing to provide the trigger happy swat'ers their neccessitation for existence of pumping lead kicks' as a final solution. The larger than life Heston is surrounded by this carnival of human frailty.