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Lift
off

The Right Stuff
Starring Sam Shepard, Scott
Dennis Quaid, and Ed Harris
Directed by Philip Kaufman

Glenn,

Now playing at Movies at Briarwood
By Bob Learner
A LONE HORSEMAN gallops across
the desert at sunrise, passing
through the orange haze of sky to the
gray asphalt of runway. Here, with a
strange calm, waits for the X-1 for its
rider. Yeager looks at the plane with a
curious reverence; the plane seems to
look back at him with a dare in its eye.
Yeager streaks off towards the horizon,
dare accepted. That night, he breaks
three ribs in a fall from his horse. The
next day, he breaks the speed of sound,
the first man ever to do so.
The Right Stuff is a movie about
heroes, their qualities, and the en-
vironment in which they exist. As a test
pilot, Chuck Yeager embodied these
qualities; he had what author Tom
Wolfe called "the right stuff."
Philip Kaufman's film of Wolfe's non-
fiction book captures these qualities,
this stuff, on an epic, adventurous scale
that completely buries the few small
problems within the film. The movie
begins in 1947 with an attempt to
conquer the speed of sound, and ends in
1963 with the continuing conquest of
outer space.
The first section of the movie is set at
Muroc Air Force Base, where pilots
constantly strive to fly faster and

higher, or in their words, "push the out-
side of the envelope." The poetic look
and rhythm that Kaufman gives these
early scenes at Muroc reflect the purity
of action that exists there.
As remarkably portrayed by Sam
Shepard, Chuck Yeager is the quin-
tessential pilot, the one with whom all
others are compared. When he breaks
the sound barrier, there is no press'
coverage and no overblown
celebrations. These early scenes show
what true heroism is. They serve as a
counterpoint to the different
manifestations of heroes and heroism
that are to follow.
Soon, however, the press invades
Muroc, and pushing the outside of the
envelope becomes a media event. Then
the bomb drops when the Soviets launch
Sputnik I, and the space race begins.
Over 50 pilots from all branches of the
armed services are recruited into a
competition that will yield the first
seven American astronauts. The com-
petition, however, has nothing to do
with flying. In a pointedly humorous
fashion, Kaufman shows us the various
tests performed on the men, many of
which a laboratory rat would find
humiliating. Finally after months of
testing, the seven astronauts are in-
troduced to the world.
The first American astronauts are:
Alan Shepard (Scott Glenn), Gus
Grissom (Fred Ward), John Glenn (Ed
Harris), Deke Slayton (Scott Paulin),
Scott Carpenter (Charles Frank),
Wally Schirra (Lance Henriksen), and
Gordon Cooper (Dennis Quaid). The
press swarms and makes instant
heroes of these men, despite the fact
that they have not yet done anything.
Meanwhile, the men at Muroc who
are risking their lives every day are
ignored. At this point in the film, Kauf-
man has effectively made us wonder
what is so special about these
astronauts, particularly in comparison
to the test pilots at Muroc. The final
section of the film chronicles the

The Right Stuff: Right on time
preparation of the astronauts for the
space flights, and the flights them-
selves.
This is all a lot of story - it spans 16
years - and it is no small accomplish-
ment on Kaufman's part that he is able
to tell it all in three hours. What is even
more impressive is that he does so
without compromising the many issues
that the story raises.
One of these issues concerns the
wives of the test pilots who know that
each time their husbands go up, there is
a good chance that they will die. In a
few tense and well-acted scenes, we see
the wives as they nervously wait,
hoping that their husbands will land
safely. These sequences add emotional
depth to the film as they put the
possibility of flight accidents into a per-
sonal context; they keep this space epic
firmly rooted on earth.
Another issue that Kaufman develops
is whether or not the astronauts really
have the right stuff. AuthorhWolfe
defined the right stuff as "the idea
(that)...a man should be able to go up in
a hurtling piece of machinery, put his
hide on the line and then have the
moxie, the reflexes, the experience, the
coolness to pull it back in the last
yawning moment, and then go up again
the next day..."
In training for the spaceflights,
however, the astronauts do no flying at
all. In a number of sharply funny
scenes, we see the astronauts com-
peting in a variety of tests against their
simian counterparts. The question is no
longer one of who will be the first man
in space, but rather one of which
animal. Angered and embarrassed by
this, the astronauts begin to solidify as
a group and assert some control over
the program. Like good pilots, they

start taking matters into their own
hands and showing what kind of stuff
they are really made of.
The actors who portray the
astronauts convey this solidarity well;
they work as an ensemble and all have
the properly vital look that
distinguishes them from the others.
Probably because they get more screen
time, however, there are individual
standouts. Scott Glenn, Fred Ward, Ed
Harris, and Dennis Quaid make the
most of their individual scenes and
establish strongly unique identities.
Each in their own way is a convincing
possessor of the right stuff. It is these
performances that hold the film
together and make the flying sequences
a true adventure.
Both in the atmosphere and out, the
special effects are absolutely stunning.
The sequences with Chuck Yeager in
experimental aircraft capture the
rough feel of flying to an amazing
degree. This feel is also captured in the
various stages of the spaceflights, par-
ticularly so in John Glenn's perilous
reentry from orbit.
After Glenn's spaceflight, the film
concludes in fittingly epic form as the
issues and themes raises come together
in a grand, gaudy, all-American, and
finally heroic fashion. In an historically
inaccurate but thematically proper
manner, Kaufman cross-cuts two
temporally distinct" events to make
final clarification of the difference bet-
ween hero and type. We see that
heroism is a quality within; something
that the press is unable to depict, and
the government unable to distort.
Not only are these men heroes when
in the air, Kaufman tells us, but they
are also heroes on earth, a much more
difficult task.

Almost
there
Halfway Inn
East Quad
By Joe Hoppe
E AST QUAD BASEMENT bands
are go. They're the bands that
don't or can't play anywhere else in
Ann Arbor, maybe because they just
got together for fun, maybe because
they haven't been around enough and
aren't ready for the bar scene yet, may-
be because the bar owners don't like the
music they play or else the music is
"undefinable" and wouldn't guarantee
a profit, or maybe even because they're
from out of town. With all this un-
definability, and the whole commercial
world seemingly against them, you
can't help but like East Quad basement
bands.
They are the Ann Arbor equivalent of
all the L.A. garage bands. They're the
maybe un-professional, self-inlulgent
types that are getting so much press on
the coast - Plan 9, three O'Clock,
Green on Red, Dream Syndicate, to
drop a few names along that course.
With the weekend all-ages shows at
Joe's dried up for the moment, the non-
state of the Mile High Club/Big Beat
and Second Chance being the only bar.
to maybe go near the untried untrue
(usually warming up for the Cult
Heroes, once every two months), East
Quad's basement, which we can now
get around to calling the Halfway Inn
or the Halfass, is where it's at for fresh
rocks.
Beyond the bands, there's East
Quad's basement itself. If you've ever
been down there, you know it's more
than your basic basement. BecauseIof
the people down there ("What's that I
smell? Is that homercooking? It's only
clove cigarettes, it's only clove cigaret-
tes."), the basement has to be more
than a basement. Depending on who's
down there when, they'll make it into
post-WWI Paris and a lost generation
absinthe-drinking dada den, or a San
Fran Beat cellar, or some New York
'60s Warholian hole, then it might be a
deadhead Summer of Love, or more of-
ten lately, ground zero-land of a har-
dcore Nihilismus. All of the above, none
of the above; and finally someone has
recognized what a great place it is for
bands, and is actively endeavoring to
get them.
The someone(s) is the music co-op,
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The
Michigan
Daily

specifically a freshperson I talked to
named Jane, who hasn't been around
.this town long enough to know that it's
not cool to do things and you just have
to piss and moan and posture about
nothing ever being done. So they're
trying to get all kinds of bands in the
Halfway. Even reggae (maybe the)
deadheads will come). If you've got a
band, or just a couple people with in-
struments that you think might like to
be a band, call Jane at 764-3659. (If any
of you HEX NUTS are out there, please
call; Ann Arbor needs you.)
So, the hope of a new wide-open and.
inexpensive (non-profit oriented) venue
arises, but we must not forget the fun
times of last year. Yeah, because every
once in a while last year a bunch of East
Quadies called C.F.G., which stood for
Civilian Fun Group, would get together
with guitar, bass, drums, and trom-
bone and it was wonderful.
NEWS FLASH: There is a possibility
of C.F.G. re-forming. Singer-
trombonist Lawrence and guitarist
Nick might be returning from Spain
next semester. (Hooray). Other bands
that would grab the Halfass for their
own sick purposes when no one was
looking included the Bats, Thin Red
Line, Dharma Bums, and 3-D House of
Beef. The Bats are even still together.
Which almost brings us up to the
present. First we mustmention a Half-
ass show featuring Framed and
Private Angst earlier this year. Sadly, I
was only there for a short time when
they did. So...
On to last Friday night and a big
triple bill featuring Disorderly Con-
duct, Halloween (formerly Bill's Cor-
pse) and Angry Red Planet.
There was only one real problem with
last week's show, no people (or maybe
30 at most). Through scientific jour-
nalistic analyzation, I've concluded
that the reason for this was twofold; 1.
X was playing in Detroit and 2. The
Death of Hardcore was announced in a
recent Metro Times by Bill Brown. The
first is undeniable, and I wouldn't have
minded seeing X either. The second is
debatable, but somewhere someone
must have read the article, and noticing
the names on the flyers, and maybe
even knowing about some of the
musical styles or H.C. connections
within the bands, decided to stay home
and watch television rather than risk
being seen where bands were perfor-
ming a "dead" genre. Maybe they even
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thought that the show had been can-
celled. Ah well, maybe we can talk
about the Death somewhere else, and it
was a cool thing to say (almost as cool
as when David Bowie said "I am the
new wave" a few years back).
The first band to play Saturday,
Disorderly Conduct, had not heard
about the Death. They played typical
hardcore, unintelligible lyrics, high
energy, anger, all that, and they did it
well. Better, in fact, than some of the
young bands around. These guys were
medium-aged for hardcore, and have
had more time to hone some musical
virtuosity and anger into their stuff.
They sang originals with titles like
"Living Like a Ghost," "Why the
Fuck," and "Guilty Until Proven."
They also covered stuff by Discharge
and Minor Threat. They would have
been a lot better if a lot of people were
there, slamming and such, but as it
was, three of the singer's buddies got
together and caught one another as
they did stage dives. They got to sing,
too.
Disorderly Conduct has been
together, in various configurations, for
almost a year. They're from the Detroit
area and have played around before.
This was their first time in Ann Arbor.
Except for the skinhead singer and his
N.A. T-shirt, they looked pretty nor-
mal.
Between sets, Disorderly Conduct
and friends play Duck Duck Goose.
When Halloween took the stage they
looked mean; lots of black clothing,
leather jackets, the guitarist had dark
Halloween smudges on his face, the
bassist and drummer wore dark
glasses. The drummer also had a
shaved head; looked real razor's edge
scary back behind the set. There was a
Korg electric organ, but no one played
it (can't say that I'm disappointed).
The guy that played that played the or-
gan later on took over one of the drum-
mer's floor toms and they began a
terror-throbbing twisto-rock song that I
later found out was called "Get Outta
Sodom."
This band seemed pretty good, they
were playing around with what they
were doing, not working within a genre,
but out and out having fun. The organ
playing began with the second song,
and an echo chamber was turned on. It
began to get excessive. "Sounds like a
cross between Duran Duran and Killing
Joke," said someone who should know.

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Corner of
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4 Weekend/November 4, 1983

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