Pink Floyd The Wall

1982 was the year I think I was permanently damaged by the movies. It was a banner year for a newly minted teen: I got to see R-rated films, in the theater! No more mere late night HBO and Showtime viewing. No, now I was seeing all the forbidden reels in all their Panavision glory on, what, 73' by 24' screens? '82 was the year I saw the original theatrical runs of more than a few films that mutilated my delicate psyche: THE WORLD ACCORDING TO GARP, BLADE RUNNER, SILENT RAGE (though that one is just laughable now), and others that perhaps I've blocked out. But none more than the filmic imagining of Pink Floyd's landmark 1979 album, The Wall.

Sure, I'd been traumatized by THE SHINING a year earlier, but that was just on the telly. Not the same. You can escape. In the theater, not so easily. It was so forboding, cold, dark, loud. I felt like I was doing something really bad, just watching and listening. PINK FLOYD: THE WALL took these feelings to their absolute zenith. It was a horrific ride that truly pummeled me. The aftertaste lingered for hours and days. Perhaps that was punishment enough?

The feeling is still there. I recently purchased the DVD and upon revisiting, those old feelings reocurred with great nausea. I suppose such a review is a testament to how successful this film really is. One of my guidelines for a film's triumph is if the creative team realized their goals, followed through on their purpose, usually indicated in the opening minutes. This one succeeds all too well. I can still remember the title of a review in the local newspaper, "Get Over 'The Wall', with Aspirin".

That is the problem. THE WALL almost never stops. Never gives the viewer longer than a few seconds to return to a normal heart rate. Even the slower tunes are riddled with pain, as fans of the album already know. Roger Waters, Pink Floyd's lead singer and opus generator by the mid to late 70s, unleashed a bitter tale of alienation that somehow became a monster success. Every kid in my elementary school sang "We don't need no education" at any given moment. It was all over the radio in 1980, sharing airtime with more benign things like "Whip It" and "Rock Lobster".

When I bought the album a little later, I discovered a 90 minute howl of pain that spoke to my already angsty self. I listened to it, r-e-p-e-a-t-e-d-l-y. Definitely no good for my sanity, especially at age 11. When director Alan Parker had his take splashed on screens a few years later, I was done for. I still can't believe my father didn't pull me out of the theater. He sat there with me, for every painful minute of the 99.

OK, so how did the egos of creative tempests such as Waters and Parker ever collaborate? As the DVD docs attest, not easily. Neither was used to collaboration, being told how to express something. Add political cartoonist Gerald Scarfe to the mix and you have almost as much drama behind the scenes as on it. Parker, who had helmed MIDNIGHT EXPRESS and FAME prior, quit the production several times. Somehow, it all eventually came together. Each talent added their unique ideas. Scarfe's animation is striking and devastating, even now. Parker frames what is essentially a collection of vignettes with style and guts. The docs also add some disturbing info about production. One troubling bit revealed that the fascist rallies we see were populated by a lot of real skinheads, who took their "acting" a bit too seriously. Parker had his hands full, reeling them in. Watching the "Run Like Hell" sequence is now that much more uncomfortable, if that was even possible. The source material needed a brash approach, and THE WALL has that with great aplomb.

Waters also had plenty of input, of course, and surprisingly allowed someone else to sing his songs. Bob Geldof, frontman for the Boomtown Rats (and later, organizer of Live Aid), takes the role of Pink and gamely reinterprets the sad tenor. His acting is also pretty good, certainly for someone who'd never done it professionally. As he moves through scene after scene, displaying the disinteration of a rock star that eventually leads to unspeakable madness, you see an embodiment, a proper fitting. I bought it. He certainly got the sullen expression and frozen eyes bit down.

But the real star here (other than the music, natch), is the style. THE WALL has been called "the longest rock video to date" and accordingly we are treated to razor sharp editing. Myriads of hypnotic images flash and disappear to the sonics. Maggots, crashing billy clubs, cracked skulls (real and animated), meat grinders, needles, it's all there, in your face. By the end, you're a mess. As much as I admire this film, perhaps some breathing room might've made things a little easier to take. It's quite impossible to process this until after you've had time to mull it all over afterward. Even then, just thinking about it stresses me out. This is for occasional viewing. At best.