ST. ELMO'S FIRE: Blu-Ray (Columbia 1985) Sony Home Entertainment

In retrospect, Joel Schumacher’s St. Elmo’s Fire (1985) is a competition piece, set against the brat pack love-in, first inculcated by director, John Hughes' Sixteen Candles (1984). And while Hughes would continue to mine his muse, Molly Ringwald, for two more excursions into teenage angst, with the now iconic coming-of-age classics, The Breakfast Club (1985) and Pretty in Pink (1986), St. Elmo’s Fire illustrates for the twenty-something crowd what Hughes effectively tapped into for his targeted tween audience. Basically, the party is over – childhood actually, like most parents suggest to their offspring, ‘the best time of your life.’ And if the first inklings of this devastating reality were only toyed with in Hughes’ sublime offerings, then Schumacher had absolutely no qualms revealing what a slippery slope and rocky incline life is for the college-bound adventurer, erroneously believing ‘graduation’ as the beginning of a life of social freedoms and total independence.  If, as Washington Post critic, Paul Attanasio, suggested at the time of its release, St. Elmo's Fire was a picture “…about people who go to lunch (but) feel nostalgic for breakfast”, he was sorely overlooking the fact Schumacher’s magnum opus, with all its tribal rituals challenged, represented a first taste in the post-graduate’s master class of life. Depending on the viewer’s age, this reference was either to be framed as a sobering reminder of what lay ahead, or, a nostalgic look back at everything gone before; the view-finder here shot through ever so slightly rose-colored glasses, with the picture’s target audience, uncomfortably nestled somewhere between the so-long/farewell moments of teenage angst depicted in The Breakfast Club and the even more confusing and experimental antics of the true disciples of life, as yet unable to unravel its greatest mysteries in The Big Chill (1983).

The seven castaways set adrift from their alma mater here are, in fact, and, to varying degrees, still stunted in adolescence, some with paralytic apprehensions, yet, as unable to entirely let go of their carefree days in an absolute migration into the real world. That each character met in this cynical pastiche should come with their own emotional baggage is one of the most commendable aspects of the screenplay, coauthored by Schumacher and Carl Kurlander. That cumulatively they should take comfort in each other's flawed camaraderie and feign lasting friendships after graduation was, shall we suggest, a tad too optimistic in this ‘art imitating life’ scenario, and, proves the picture’s Achilles’ heel. St. Elmo’s Fire also makes the inevitable mistake of offering an unrealistic promise of tomorrow as we would prefer it – rather, than as it is – an alternate daydream to life’s unvarnished truths. As example - the coupling of ‘big man on campus’ turned arrogant lush, Billy Hicks (Rob Lowe), and his sudden contrition, devoted – first – to the virginal wallflower, Wendy Beamish (Mare Winningham), remains the most unlikely and insincere of the wish fulfillment.  

Thematically, St. Elmo's Fire leans towards 1967’s The Graduate or even 1969’s Goodbye, Columbus, then the aforementioned teen dramadies of John Hughes. What is lacking here is the hard-candied center of reality. Something about the scattershot way the Schumacher/Kurlander screenplay holds back its ensemble, pushing them to the brink of self-discovery, without ever being forced over the edge and through the other side of the looking glass, rings tinny and untrue. Fancifully, St. Elmo’s Fire infers these characters are still ‘young enough’ to get away with not having to take life full on the chin. Even the superficial Jules (Demi Moore), whose materialism has eaten through her sanity, get the ‘velvet glove’/‘it’s okay, sweetie’ treatment, and a reassuring hug. Yet, this reeks of a strain in misguided movie-land lore to have clumsily stumbled upon, rather than fully crystalized its proverbial ‘happy ending’ – one it desperately seeks to promote, yet owing to its vintage, cannot entirely embrace without completely turning off the audience with an ‘oh, please!’ No, Schumacher and Kurlander have not forgotten that collegiate life is not one on-going ‘shots and bong’ bacchanal. Real work actually needs to be done between this ritualized partying. The story being peddled here is rather one-sided about those who heavily pay for the privilege and others who, seemingly (though, not really) just sail through school as in life, on the ether of their own charisma, good looks and blind luck.

Of the lot, Rob Lowe’s big-haired bad boy is the most evolved character, his dreadful withdrawal from the delicious dalliances of an undergrad, rising up to bite Billy Hicks in the ass. The others are hardly given a free pass. Demi Moore’s Jules is a credit-card devouring, coke-addicted nymphomaniac, throwing herself at her married boss’ head. Andrew McCarthy’s Kevin Dolenz, arguably the most ‘put together’ of this lot, struggles to carve a niche as a writer. Emilio Estevez’s waiter, Kirby Keger, is blindsided by his obsession with the unattainable Dale Biberman (Andie McDowell), who mercilessly strings him along, exorcising a few testosterone-charged demons if faux, flawed male chivalry. Meanwhile, the political optimist, Alec Newbury (Judd Nelson) is rudely awakened to the reality that honesty and politic do not mix. Even the more responsibly-minded Wendy Beamish – a devoted case worker, desperate to marry, and, Leslie Hunter (Ally Sheedy), seemingly a well-anchored woman of the world with her eye on the prize, find no lasting salvation in their principles, incapable of surviving outside the vacuum of theoretical truth.

Schumacher explores each character’s awkward foray into adult socializing, building his vignettes around the ensemble’s increasingly self-conscious reunions at St. Elmo’s Bar – their old college haunt, now populated by a new breed of freshman who regard them as fossils from another vintage entirely. As such, the penultimate dismissal of the bar, after one of their own is brutalized by these up-and-comers, marks an emblematic shift in all of their rights of passage. St. Elmo’s Fire immensely benefits from some stunningly handsome high-key cinematography by Stephen H. Burum, and David Foster’s memorable score, to yield two iconic and ever-lasting hits – Steven Parr’s title tune, referenced as ‘Man in Motion’, and Foster’s largely synthesizer-composed, ‘Love Theme’ with a Kenny G. inspired sax solo. The movie’s ambitious opener, depicting the ensemble’s official departure from the ivy-covered walls of Georgetown U., segues into a series of impressions, swiftly to establish the point of embarkation for each of our characters. Alex, and gal/pal, Leslie, chase after their respective dreams of politics and graphic design, Jules – a banker, has her eye on her boss, Wendy is invested in the plight of others, Kirby, struggling through law school, and, Billy – the prodigal saxophone player.

From these auspicious debuts, things go to hell – and fast. Jules becomes addicted to drugs and money, Alex cheats on Leslie, Kirby gets too involved in ‘the idea’ of a woman who can never be his, and, Billy gets the stuffin’s knocked out of him in a barroom brawl. Everything gets even further complicated via the various ‘love triangles’ that permeate the plot. Jules’ speculates Kevin fancies Alex when actually, he wants Leslie. The already married Billy becomes an elixir for the demure Wendy – attracted to bad boys, or rather, to recognize Billy’s worth even before he can recognize it in himself. Alas, Billy also has his hooks into Jules – or is it the other way around?  When Schumacher paints himself into a narrative corner he merely falls back on the movie’s pop-chart-infused soundtrack – predictably, to connect the dots, if never entirely carry the load, so the story can move on to its inevitable resolutions.  Miscalculations aside, St. Elmo’s Fire contains some finely wrought performances – Emilo Estevez’s diminutive daydreamer, and Mare Winningham’s gentle ‘good girl’, eager to be corrupted, or ply her goodness to the rescue of a drowning man, rise to the occasion as subtly nuanced ‘real people’.

In retrospect, Andrew McCarthy’s career, post-St. Elmo’s Fire ought to have gone further – his Kevin, by far, the most congenial of the lot, and, with an undercurrent of forthright solidity to make him everyone’s anchor and sounding board.  Demi Moore reveals a surprisingly sensitive underlay to her outwardly devil-may-care go-getter. The clumsiest performances in the picture are owed Judd Nelson and Rob Lowe who, respectively, bungle their parts to the brink of derailing the entire movie; Nelson, by relying too heavily on his built-in verve for heavily concealed apoplectic mugging for the camera, and Lowe, once again, taking his ‘pretty boy’ good looks too seriously and his acting not seriously enough.  As the Schumacher/Kurlander screenplay never allows any of its participants to truly delve into their characters, the stick-figure representations put forth by Nelson and Lowe run fairly par for the course – relying almost exclusively on each actor’s already well-established character ‘traits’ – expressed via their mannerisms and personality - to sell the wares of their screen alter-egos.

Schumacher has always resisted the term 'brat pack' – suggesting no such clique ever existed. Nevertheless, and for a brief wrinkle in Hollywood time, the term stuck like well-crusted porridge to the ribs and careers of Ally Sheedy, Rob Lowe, Andrew McCarthy, Emilio Estevez, Judd Nelson and Molly Ringwald (the latter, not featured in this movie). Deriving its title from the electrical weather phenomenon to occur when a grounded object comes in contact with an atmospheric electric charge, St. Elmo’s Fire, although an ensemble piece, heavily favors Rob Lowe’s solitary screw-up, Billy Hicks – the once, heavy-drinking/heavy-smoking high man on campus, since caught in a loveless marriage and feckless future in which there is, ostensibly, no place for his sophomoric antics. With nowhere to go but down, Billy plays sax and seduces a bevy of college lovelies nightly at the local frat house pub. Under the main titles, we catch a glimpse of Billy and his graduating cohorts, optimistically departing Georgetown with their cap and gowns donned. Advancing 6-months into their respective futures, we find waiter, Kirby Keger (Emilio Estevez), preppy, aspiring writer, Kevin Dolenz (Andrew McCarthy), political aid, Alec Newbary (Judd Nelson), and, his fiancée, Leslie Hunter (Ally Sheedy), arriving at the hospital emergency ward to make their inquiries about Billy and his date, the demure rich girl, Wendy Beamish (Mare Winningham), involved in a drunk-driving accident. They are almost immediately followed by Jules’ the drama queen, and, her latest, nameless boy toy (David Lain Baker).

Relieved to discover both Billy and Wendy having escaped the wreck with only minor injuries, the Schumacher/Kurlander screenplay now pares off to explore each character's private life. Most immediate of these is Kirby's unhealthy infatuation with Dale Biberman, a young doctor for whom Kirby obsessively fantasizes. In another part of town, we discover Alec has managed to fast track his career as a promising campaign advisor. Alas, his eagerness to marry Leslie has been met with subtler apprehensions. It seems Leslie has developed affections for Kevin who has always loved her. Uptown, Jules invites Kevin to her trendy new apartment, furnished entirely on credit, in the hopes her modest job as a bank teller will lead to a promising affair with her boss. Meanwhile, in Georgetown's upscale suburbs, greeting card magnet, Mr. Beamish (Martin Balsam) has invited Billy to dinner, sneakily to unearth what his intentions are toward Wendy. Regrettably, the night is a disaster, capped off by Billy reverting to form, getting drunk and climbing out an upstairs window onto the Beamish's cape cod rooftop with a forty-ouncer. Ironically, Wendy still finds Billy's adolescent antics charming. More to the point, rather than rely on her father's fortunes, thus allowing Mr. Beamish to dictate her future, Wendy has decided to take a job as an assistant at the downtown social services office and homeless shelter.

From here, the narrative threads become more intertwined. Wendy learns Billy has impregnated another girl and ends their relationship. To impress Dale, Kirby gets a job driving limo for a Japanese businessman, then throws a wild house party at his employer's home while he is out of town. Predictably, the guests behave badly and trash the place. Alec publicly announces Leslie is to be his wife, forcing Leslie to reject him and reveal her affair with Kevin to everyone. The realization Kevin and Leslie are lovers sends Alec into a rage-filled tailspin that forever fractures their school ties. Meanwhile, thrust into newfound responsibilities of becoming a father, Billy makes several half-hearted attempts to sober up and procure more serious work. He returns to Georgetown's frat house, hoping his past reputation will stand for something – anything; a chance to prove himself as a campus social director. Alas, he quickly discovers the new plebs regard him strictly as their front man for acquiring better booze and drugs. Across town, Jules’ days of living large have officially caught up with her modest bank account. Repo men clean out her apartment. Worse, she gets fired from her job for skimming monies off the top. Assuming the worst, Billy and Kevin break into Jules’ apartment, discovering her on the verge of suicide. Across town, Kirby’s obsession with Dale reaches its fevered pitch. After pursuing her to a mountain cabin, Kirby learns Dale is already engaged. His heartbreak is seemingly tempered when, in a moment’s farewell, Kirby passionately plants a kiss on Dale’s lips. The movie concludes on an even more ambiguous note as these young adults, each having muddled their forays into the real world, now depart Georgetown to pursue separate interests on their own terms, recognizing their days as 'lifelong' campus compatriots are suddenly, and irreversibly, at an end.

St. Elmo’s Fire is a fairly sobering, occasionally warm-hearted, and introspective entertainment. The Schumacher/Kurlander script gets props for conveying the ‘prat’ and pitfalls of shallow materialism – in hindsight, a mostly rewarding ‘coming of age’ story, surely to resonate with college-bound twenty-somethings, regardless of the generation. Sony Home Entertainment’s Blu-Ray is rendered with a remarkable spectrum of refined colors. Stephen H. Burum’s grain-soaked cinematography is expertly reprised, and fine details pop as they should. Flesh tones are slightly anemic, and, on occasion, lean toward pink. Contrast is excellent, although much of the image favors no deep blacks. There are several softly focused shots, but these appear to be indigenous to their source material. The audio is 4.0 Dolby Digital, expertly to match a vintage 80’s flick, lacking mid-range bass tonality. Extras are confined to a brief retrospective with Schumacher, a vintage 'making of' featurette, an audio commentary from Schumacher that meanders and is not terrible prepossessing, and, finally, the music video to John Parr's Man in Motion. Bottom line: not an outstanding movie, but an iconic piece of 80’s fluff. Recommended.

FILM RATING (out of 5 - 5 being the best)

3.5

VIDEO/AUDIO

3.5

EXTRAS

2.5