Viking Night: Logan's Run

By Bruce Hall

May 27, 2014

Don't be such a prude!

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It’s called an “ankh” and it belongs to an outlaw group dedicated to helping the runners. The computer further explains that their base of operations is a place called Sanctuary. Then, in what has to be one of the biggest dick moves in science fiction history, the machine casually informs Logan that the runners are actually correct – “renewal” is a lie and so is the basis of their entire society. Then it arbitrarily turns Logan’s palm crystal red, four years early. His assignment is to pose as a runner, infiltrate Sanctuary and destroy it. Then, presumably, he can fuck off and die. That’s like finding out you’re adopted AND responsible for the death of Santa Claus all at once. But Logan has no choice but to carry out his mission, since it’s only a matter of time before he’s discovered.

He looks up Jessica, and inquires about Sanctuary. Sadly, this sets in motion a series of events that puts him on the run from not only his own people, but a skeptical band of outlaws who have an axe to grind with the Sandmen. I know – this sounds pretty exciting so far. The only problem is that it reads a whole lot better than it plays out. From about the midpoint of Logan’s Run to the middle of the last act, damn near nothing happens aside from some excruciatingly drawn out exposition and people wandering around what looks like an abandoned water treatment plant. I’m not sure the story payoff is enough to excuse the run time, and the inevitable climactic fistfight isn’t much more thrilling than what you could already see every week on Starsky & Hutch.

Despite its sprawling futuristic cityscapes, sociopolitical pretense and occasionally – sex appeal, Logan’s Run is nothing more than the story of a boy who must pass into manhood by punching things until he wins. Only then can he acquire a hot girlfriend and lead his people to freedom. At best, this 90 minute long Hero’s Tale stretched into an interminably ass-numbing two hours because it believes it has something realistic to say – except it doesn’t.




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Peter York pulls his weight in the title role, although that buttery British tenor of his makes Logan sound a whole lot more sophisticated he is. Most of his dialogue involves being incredulous about obvious things, such as trying to figure out what ice is. Jordan does his best to breathe life into Francis, the most important relationship in the movie. As Jessica 6, Agutter is limited primarily to serving as a sex object/damsel in distress, but I guess it’s fair to say she excels in both capacities. She fares better than Farrah Fawcett, whose five minutes of screen time could have been covered by a moderately appealing mannequin.

Logan’s Run won a lot of praise for its visual effects, which is funny because in an effort to look futuristic, much of the film was shot in an empty north Texas shopping mall, dressed up with what looks like some rope light and aluminum foil. I’m sure shopping malls looked impressive back in 1975, when putting JC Penney and Oshman’s under the same roof with Orange Julius seemed like genius. But it’s no place to shoot a movie about the goddamn 23rd century, and the deception is painfully obvious. It’s fitting, though, because Logan’s Run is based on a much more interesting novel by the same name, whose more complex themes were discarded in favor of the four act space opera/rejected Star Trek episode that is the finished film. Visually and thematically, Logan’s Run tries to pull a fast one and falls short.

I wish I could find something good to say, but I really can’t. This is a movie I enjoyed a lot when I was a kid, but at that time in my life I can’t say I had anything resembling standards. I wore parachute pants, considered pixie sticks and root beer to be a delicacy and would have sold my family to the Russians for a pair of those stupid Carrera sunglasses. Still, the basic premise of Logan’s Run is rich with possibility, and it’s a franchise I wouldn’t mind seeing rebooted.

Let’s...just stay out of Michael Bay’s head when we do.


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