Wil Wheaton on Stand By Me

Stand By Me © 1986 Columbia Pictures Industries, Inc. All Rights Reserved. Courtesy of Columbia Pictures. L to R: Jerry O’Connell, River Phoenix, Wil Wheaton, Corey Feldman.

know what he drew on for that; I have suspicions. But it was very real. And it was very honest.” In a later, equally gut-wrenching scene, Gordie sobs into Chris’ shoulder as he repeats, “My dad hates me” over and over. Wheaton remembers being incredibly anxious about the scene, but when they fnally shot it, he says, “I so clearly remember feeling like I was really into it, and I was crying really hard. I also remember feeling like I wasn’t done crying. But River needed to move the scene along. So he said whatever the next line was, and then I took these deep gasping breaths, pulling myself together. Here’s the thing: I was Gordie. I was an abused kid. My dad hated me. I lived in a world where I wasn’t safe in my house, and I was invisible in my house. “That is the reason I am so good in this movie,” Wheaton continues. “It’s not that I’m a great actor. It’s not that I had this incredible ability to intelligently process material and articulate a performance based on a deep understanding of that material. The reality is, I was Gordie; River was Chris; Corey was Teddy; Jerry was Vern. And that is what makes the movie work. We all show up when the demands are made of us. And I’m really proud of the younger versions of us for doing that.”

Stand By Me is a movie that hits differently depending on when you watch it. For Wheaton, as both actor and viewer, it’s doubly true. “When you’re a kid, it’s a fun adventure movie. When you’re an adult, it’s…boy, is it different. Then when you’re a parent, it’s something entirely different,” he says. “I didn’t know that I was drawing on my actual experiences when I was on the set, that they were physically informing the performance that I was being directed to give. But when I look at it now, it’s all extremely clear.” Directly after Chris vanishes on screen, the viewer is transported decades into the future to watch a now-adult Gordie writing a manuscript on his computer. “Although I hadn’t seen him in more than 10 years, I know I’ll miss him forever,” he types. Wheaton, like Gordie, hadn’t spoken to Phoenix in several years leading up to his death. “[I believe] each one of us was deeply connected to our characters in ways that I don’t think any of us were consciously aware of. But Rob Reiner absolutely saw and understood,” Wheaton says. “I felt like River had lived too much and had been given responsibilities that were not his. I’m very careful with what I say now, because my memories are very old, and they are from a real particular time in my life. But I know who I remember as a 15, 16, 17 year old, when I was two years behind him every step of the way. And it’s just weird that I’m 50, and he didn’t get to be 25.” The fnal line in the flm is the next one that Gordie types in his manuscript: “I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was 12—Jesus, does anyone?” Stand By Me is most often described as a coming of age story, but the reality feels more complex than that: it’s never fully clear whether the tone of that line is meant to be despairing or fond. “I have always felt that it refects a longing for this very brief moment in everyone’s lives that happens differently for everyone. For me, personally, it happened when I was 12, where we’re old enough and self-aware enough to feel like we’re stepping into adulthood with everything we think that means. But we still are very much protected by the innocence of childhood,” Wheaton says. “And there’s that moment. It tends to happen around the time we’re 12, where we are moving out of that sense of safety that we’ve taken for granted forever. It happens so fast that we’re not even aware of it until we’re adults, when we look back and go, ‘Gosh, I guess I was about 12 or so.’”

UNDER THE RADAR’S WRITERS

ON THEIR FAVORITE MOVIES

Arrival (2016, directed by Denis Villeneuve) By Ben Jardine

Although a fairly recent release, Arrival combines everything I love in a movie: believable science fction, provocative themes, aliens, an incredible ambient soundtrack, and non-linear timelines. When I frst saw Arrival, I was 21 years old and it blew

my mind. The flm’s premise is simple. Aliens come to Earth. They use a complex form of circles to communicate, and linguistics professor Dr. Louise Banks (Amy Adams) is recruited by the military to decode the aliens’ message and learn what their purpose is here on Earth. What got me so excited about this movie is the way it pulls off the reveal that Dr. Banks is seeing visions of her future: her life is predetermined, and she handles this with such aplomb that we think we’re seeing fashbacks the whole time. The movie deals with the themes of free will and determinism in such a fascinating way that we don’t see that twist coming. It’s also a brilliant adaptation of Ted Chiang’s novella, Story of Your Life: staying close to the themes and tone of the source material, but building its own aesthetic along the way. For years after, I would listen to the Jóhann Jóhannsson soundtrack and be immediately transported to the flm’s wide, cold shots. When Jóhannsson passed away in 2018, I revisited the soundtrack and the flm, moved by the way his death—like the death of Banks’ child in the flm—is both a beginning and an end.

Back to the Future (1985, directed by Robert Zemeckis) By Mark Redfern

I don’t know why I have such a fascination with time travel in fction, but Back to the Future has been my favorite flm since childhood and Doctor Who is my all-time favorite TV show (with the original Quantum Leap being another favorite). Perhaps we all have a desire to revisit our past and legendary historical eras or to see if humanity’s future is shiny and bright or post-apocalyptic. Back to the Future’s co-writer/co-producer Bob Gale was visiting his parents and came across his dad’s old yearbook and wondered what his father was like in high school and whether or not they would’ve been friends. That became the genesis for the flm, with the script feshed out with the flm’s co-writer/director Robert Zemeckis. High schooler Marty McFly (Michael J. Fox) is accidentally sent back in time 30 years by his scientist friend Emmett “Doc” Brown (Christopher Lloyd). Once in 1955, Marty unwittingly interferes with the moment that made his parents fall in love and he needs to fx it or else he’ll fade out of existence. With the help of a younger Doc, he also must work out how to return to 1985. Along the way he helps invent rock ‘n’ roll.

Back to the Future is as perfect a flm as there is. There are so many details that are set up in the frst act that pay off, often humorously, later in the flm. The making of Back to the Future, however, was somewhat troubled, with over a month of flming done with Eric Stoltz as Marty before Zemeckis realized he was miscast and was able to replace him with Fox (their original frst choice, but initially unavailable). The eventual flm is an effortless blend of science fction and humor, betraying no evidence of such behind-the-scenes drama, and it became the highest grossing flm of 1985 and one I saw three times in the theater as a kid and many more times since. The sequels are classics too, although I prefer Part III (the one in the old west), as Part II is a bit more dated now that we know 2015 didn’t alas have hoverboards and fying cars. On top of owning various items of Back to the Future merchandise, I even dressed as 2015 Marty for Halloween a few years ago. Before starting Under the Radar, I briefy worked for Steven Spielberg’s non-proft Shoah Foundation, which was tasked with documenting holocaust survivors via video interviews. Their offces were on the backlot of Universal Studios in Hollywood and I would often eat my lunch on the same town square set where Back to the Future’s fctional town of Hill Valley was flmed. I’d eat my sandwiches with a view of the flm’s iconic clock tower, each day co-existing in the same space where my favorite flm was made. In a small way, I was time traveling (as we all do when we watch an old movie).

Boyhood (2014, directed by Richard Linklater) By Kaveh Jalinous

The funny thing about my appreciation for Richard Linklater’s Boyhood is that it wouldn’t exist if I had discovered the flm earlier or later than I did. Linklater’s flm is simple. It captures the life of Mason (played by Ellar Coltrane), from 6 to 18, using the same actors throughout the flm’s 12-year production. Given the risks involved, it’s almost a miracle that everything worked out the way it did. Every time I revisit Boyhood, I am always struck by how the almost three-hour flm’s quotidian and effortless fow. Linklater’s strong screenplay gracefully subs large climactic moments for gentle coming-of-age revelations and loud characters for those who are expertly grounded in reality. During these rewatches, I often fnd myself drifting to the memory of seeing the flm for the frst time when I was 12. I vividly remember the overwhelming feeling of being utterly engulfed by the events fashing in front of me, experiencing a crippling sense of anxiety as the central character and I ventured into his unknown future together. At that age, I could connect with Mason’s mid-2000s childhood and witness his journey towards adulthood, recognizing that parts of his future would eventually echo my own, for better or worse. Considering Boyhood now, especially having passed Mason’s age when the flm ends, I always feel nostalgic, not just for my own life, but for Mason’s too. I often wonder what story Linklater would tell if he had the chance to follow up with these characters. I’m glad he didn’t, though. Only seeing 12 years of Mason’s life makes Boyhood feel just as small as it does grandiose.

Cinema Paradiso (1988, directed by Giuseppe Tornatore) By Celine Teo-Blockey

I’m a sucker for love. All my favorite movies are love stories—Franco Zeffrelli’s Romeo and Juliet, Betty Blue, When Harry Met Sally. But at the top of the pile sits Cinema Paradiso, about how one can’t ever quiet the loss felt in childhood or with a frst love but it can spur us on to craft beautiful things. It begins with Salvatore Di Vita (Jacques Perrin) a successful but jaded director, being bestowed yet another award. A phone call from home then acts as a portal to step into his past. The frst act establishes the wonderful relationship between the grandfatherly-projectionist Alfredo (the warm heart of the flm and beautifully portrayed by Philippe Noiret) and his mischievous helper, nicknamed Toto (an eight-year-old version of Salvatore, played by Salvatore Cascio). Toto’s father has just died in the war and he not only fnds comfort in being with Alfredo but is quickly smitten by the romance of the cinema and the whirr of its projector. To protect the modesty of the small, Sicilian town and not incur the wrath of the local priest present at every screening, Alfredo is tasked with cutting the saucy bits out of every flm. This includes kissing scenes and passionate embraces. Toto starts to steal these from the cutting room foor for his own amusement. The second act sees Toto as a teenager (now played by Marco Leonardi) in a doomed romance. And in the third act, Salvatore returns home to the old Sicilian town he left 30 years ago and never looked back. The cinematography is stunning. The performances by Noiret and Cascio are charming in the way that kindly but cantankerous elders can be with young children. The sweeping Ennio Morricone score is a star all on its own and, like much of the flm itself, pulls at the heart-strings without being cloying. I ugly cry every time I watch it, then feel more alive after. My younger son, Alfe, is named Alfred in homage to Alfredo. Cinema Paradiso is a postcard from a bygone era that centers a love for cinema and all that it represents. Sure, it’s nostalgic but in an ever-encroaching imperfect world, it’s a reminder that pain and loss are as much a part of us as love and joy, and experiencing that from the safe confnes of a darkened room is comforting.

Fargo (1996, directed by Joel Coen) By Hayden Merrick

The Coen brothers’ magnum snowpus is more than a spree of clumsy killings, an austere landscape, and a bunch of goofy accents. Fargo is a guidebook for how to live a humble and contented life while the rest of the world goes to shit. The story’s orienting force—and the audience’s counsel—is pregnant police chief Marge Gunderson (played by Frances McDormand), who is tasked with investigating a roadside murder that hastily unravels into around-the-clock bloodshed caused by incompetent, selfsh men. Juxtaposing these grisly scenes, however, are those in which Marge interacts with her sweet-natured but taciturn husband Norm (played by John Carroll Lynch); the down-home couple are the movie’s heart, setting it apart from those crime ficks that interrogate little more than the meaningless chaos of life. Marge and Norm relish in life’s uncomplicated, wholesome pleasures—sharing food (“ya got Arby’s all over me!”), making art (Norm is a painter), doing kind things for your loved ones (“I’ll fx ya some eggs”), going at your own pace, and being satisfed with your lot. Chiefy, they understand that “there’s more to life than a little money, ya know. Don’tcha know that?” as Marge asks the antagonist in the back of her prowler at the flm’s denouement. Despite the hedonistic greed and unconscionable cruelty that Marge witnesses and refutes throughout the movie, her morals, the contentment she draws from life, prove unshakeable. In the fnal scene the couple are sat propped up in bed. Norm’s mallard painting is going to be on the three-cent stamp. There are two more months until the baby arrives. Heck, they’re doing pretty good. The Florida Project (2017, directed by Sean Baker) By Mark Moody

It’s not easy to pick a favorite movie and Sean Baker’s flms aren’t necessarily easy ones to watch. Baker’s characters live life on the margins and the reality of that can make for more than a handful of