In an era when 3D effects and visual sensation are overwhelming the old-fashioned notion of the movie star, Sylvester Stallone is determined to show people what they're missing. DONALD CLARKEhears the original 1980s star ponder how things have changed
IF THE MOVIE STAR really is dead, then The Expendablesmust be the wake. And who better to toast the departed than Sylvester Stallone?
For the past few years, cinema's anthropologists have spent much time pondering the decline of Homo Starticus. It is not, you understand, that such supernovae have become any thinner on the ground. Stroll through your local perfumers and you will encounter Lindsay Lohan's Nonchalant, Cameron Diaz's Symposium and Amanda Peet's Antithesis (or whatever). Yes, stars can still sell perfume. They – or their cellulite – can certainly flog supermarket tabloids.
Unfortunately, they are no longer as good at selling films. The prime evidence for their imminent obsolescence came with the 2009 box-office chart. Last year was, of course, a record year for the cinema, but none of the films that drew in the really big money – Avatar, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen– could be regarded as old-fashioned star vehicles.
Think about it. When Titanicbroke the all-time box-office record, expectant eyes suddenly fell upon Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet. Their next moves became a matter of great debate in the Clapperboard Arms. Seven months after Avatarpassed out Titanic, Sam Worthington (he was the lead, remember) can still buy a choc ice without getting molested. Did anybody you know refer to Half-Blood Princeas "the new Daniel Radcliffe film" rather than "the new Harry Potterfilm"? I thought not.
Further proof arrived last week when Forbesmagazine published its annual chart of the most highly paid female actors. The five hottest moneybags were as follows: Sandra Bullock, Reese Witherspoon, Cameron Diaz, Sarah Jessica Parker and Jennifer Aniston. Hang on a moment. The most recent films by all but one of the stars – the resurgent Ms Bullock – underperformed at the box-office. Indeed, the last time any one of them could deliver a guaranteed hit, the main mode of exhibition was the travelling magic lantern show.
Things are slightly less grim for male actors, but, when the seemingly indestructible Will Smith laid an egg with Seven Pounds,it became clear that any large investment in any actor, however adored, constituted a significant gamble. For all George Clooney's fame, he remains box-office poison.
All of which explains why The Expendables(resonant title, incidentally) seems so much like a quaint anachronism. An unapologetically chaotic piece of work – something about an evil dictator and his beautiful daughter – Stallone's flick gathers together more stars than you expect to encounter at your local nebula.
Joining Sly in the adventure are Jet Li, Jason Statham, Dolph Lundgren, Mickey Rourke, Eric Roberts, Stone Cold Steve Austin, Bruce Willis and – briefly, but unmistakably – Arnold Schwarzenegger.
Statham and Li should feel very honoured. They have been invited to join a royal family that, since its inception in the 1980s, has generated more revenue than Central America’s underground coca-plant entrepreneurs.
Glamour still hangs about them. The hacks have to kick their heels grumpily before, half-an-hour late, Stallone, Statham and Lundgren enter a side room in London’s Dorchester Hotel.
The three men are presented as equals, but the hierarchy is apparent from the moment the interview begins. Statham, the 37-year-old English baldie, hangs back respectfully. Lundgren, still chiselled at 52, punctuates the odd pause with a Scandinavian grunt. Stallone, also director and writer of the picture, radiates pumped-up charm, but, a silverback of formidable bulk, he leaves us in little doubt as to who occupies the alpha-male boulder. Take his banana at your peril.
“At first it was just myself and Jason and Jet Li,” the great man explains. “Then I began thinking of other characters: maybe Ben Kingsley as the bad guy, Forrest Whittaker, maybe. Then I thought: why not go really old school. I called Dolph and he was very respectful.”
He pauses and lowers his voice in mock apology.
“Look, I mean no disrespect to anybody, but there aren’t many bad asses left out there who just want to get it on. I do believe there are some young guys who want to prove themselves, but there aren’t many around.”
Did anybody turn him down?
“Well, we called Jean-Claude Van Damme and Steven Seagal and they had, erm, different ideas about their career. So . . .”
The ellipsis implies a half-hearted rebuke of those two martial arts stars.
It’s always a mistake to think of any earlier era as “a simpler time”, but, for those examining the relationship between movie stardom and capital, few epochs appear less complicated than the 1980s.
When, in the late 1970s, George Lucas and Steven Spielberg – neither great star-makers, curiously – tidied up Hollywood after its flirtation with post-hippie experimentation, they cleared the way for a new breed of easily digestible movie titan.
Stallone was always Stallone: mumbling, violent, but good-hearted. Schwarzenegger was always Schwarzenegger: robotic, but amusing in spite of himself. Cruise was always Cruise: an action doll whose veins ran with undiluted self-belief.
He may be 62, but Stallone trails waves of ambition about with him. Can Hollywood still contain this class of old-school icon? I ask him how the business has changed. Do stars matter as much as they used to?
"No. Stars really don't matter that much," he says. "Concept matters. The overall originality or reinterpretation of a classic situation is what matters. We go back to that famous philosopher, erm . . . The Hero With a Thousand Faces?What's his name?"
Joseph Campbell?
“Yeah, yeah, him. It’s all variations on that. When Dolph and I started – back when Jason was just a concept – they would just surround you with guys and the guys would develop a character. You can’t do that now. There is a lot at stake today. You’ve gone from 400 films a year down to 250. The stakes are very high. It’s a science now. It’s no longer about having a gut feeling or taking a chance. Every actor is weighed against what he is going to attract in each territory. It’s like a math project.”
Here, Sly hits upon an interesting point. Star power does still matter a great deal outside the US. Schwarzenegger, Willis and Stallone remained huge draws in Asia long after their pulling power waned in the United States. With Beijing-born martial artist Jet Li on board, The Expendableshas every chance of making obscene amounts of money in the vital developing market that is China.
Cynics might argue that, not worrying too much about dialogue, action stars such as Sly and Arnie are bound to travel better than quip artistes such as George Clooney or deadpan comics such as Will Ferrell. Be that as it may, the more you think about it, the more The Expendablesbegins to look like a very odd – but interesting – experiment in retro-economics.
In the 1960s and 1970s, it was common to pack films such as The Great Escapeand The Towering Infernowith movie stars. The escalation of salaries that Stallone's generation precipitated means that such projects are now unaffordable. More troublingly for actors, the recent devaluation of star power means that, even if you could stuff your film with DiCaprios and Depps, it is doubtful whether it would be worth the trouble.
For The Expendablesto go properly ballistic it needs the support of three sectors: older action fans, younger DVD hounds and, most importantly, cinema fans in Asia, South America and continental Europe. To reiterate: they never stopped loving Arnie in Taiwan.
“It cost a lot of money to get these guys, but it was worth it,” Stallone says. “Jason is very expensive but he’s worth it: £100 a week plus free fax paper. Ha, ha! No, seriously, we couldn’t have afforded it without favours. That’s one reason some people wouldn’t do it: they demanded their price and then backed down. But people are having trouble getting work. Actors that were on $10 million are now down to two. But this was all favours. Some of these guys worked for nothing – me, in particular.”
He goes on to confirm that, even at the height of the star system’s dominance, when each actor drew in millions, no producer could have justified such an expensive cast. The presence of Willis and Schwarzenegger is particularly notable. Neither appears for very long, but their imprimatur grants the film a kind of unofficial action-hero blue riband.
“We couldn’t have gotten Arnold and Bruce back then -- not a chance. They were too expensive and too busy. That would have been the whole budget of the movie. The Governor . . .” And he drifts off into one of his characteristic near sub-sonic mumbles.
You may or may not have enjoyed Stallone's recent pictures – Rocky Balboais worth a look; the most recent Rambofilm is not – but only somebody with a heart of anthracite could resist the moneyed warmth of his old-school celebrity. There will always be great actors about the place. We are, however, in danger of allowing the great star to be overwhelmed by a clamour for effect and sensation. (What was that about Avatar?)
At the advance screening of The Expendables, a huge cheer greeted each well-remembered name as it appeared in the credits. Somewhere in the collective psyche of the Body Cinema, we crave proper, certified icons.
Yet you don’t get any sense of Stallone crumbling beneath the weight of expectation.
“I guess it is a lot of pressure,” he says in his lop-sided way.
“Sometimes I’m out there and I know I’ve got a turkey and it’s not even Christmas. This one was the other way round. I never expected all this excitement when I started. But now the anticipation is crazy.”
He seems at ease with that excitement. Though Stallone occasionally breaks out of his comfort zone, he has, as the grey years progressed, appeared quite content to provide punters with the most familiar version of Sly. He gives us Rambo. He gives us Rocky. He gives us the angry bloke in
The Expendables
. We will not, I suspect, be seeing his King Lear any time soon.
"I think I am past my prime as a dramatic actor," he says. "If you try too hard to get recognised as a dramatic actor it can look like a pathetic cry out. I would much rather direct dramas. I am proud of the drama in Rocky Balboa – that's about as deep as I can go. But I would like The Expendablesto go on."
It well might. But, in an era where digital boffins are the real stars, The Expendablesdoes look like an extraordinarily old-fashioned project. If this comes off, Stallone might like to try relaunching the western or reinventing tableau vivant.
None of which is to suggest it’s not cheering to have the old team back. Wakes are, after all, supposed to be fun. Raise a glass to the late, lamented movie star.
“Hey, we’re prehistoric,” Stallone chortles. “We were head waiters at the last supper. We had dinosaurs as pets. We’re old, man.”
- The Expendablesis released next week
