Can you DIG it? - The Warriors 45 Years Later, a Review by Geoff Jackson

“These are the armies of the night.  They are 100,000 strong.  They outnumber the cops five to one.  They run New York City.  Tonight they’re all out to get the Warriors” — so states the movie poster for the 1979 film, “The Warriors”.  

Loosely based on ancient Greek history, where a handful of Spartans stood against an entire Persian invasion, the film revisits the familiar theme of “few against many.”  While not as dynamic or flashy as the 2007 movie, “300” — where digital Spartans skewer hapless Persians a thousand different ways — “The Warriors” stands the test of time (45 years later) and holds its audience’s attention throughout a compact 90-minute runtime.  

It’s about a street gang that gets framed for an assassination they didn’t commit.  Messianic leader Cyrus is shot after addressing a huge convention of punks in late-night Manhattan and, since the Warriors get blamed, all hoodlums involved are out for revenge and retribution.  Our heroes must make it back to their home-turf in Coney Island before sunrise, because they’re all now marked for death.  

It's a dark, claustrophobic, non-stop thrill ride — fanciful yet realistic — keeping viewers on the edge of their seats the entire time.

Last night I rewatched it at my local nonprofit movie-house as part of their summer “Retrograde” series — where staff cognoscenti pick forgotten nuggets from the 70’s and 80’s to lure aging Gen-Xers to part with disposable income.  After catching “Blade Runner” and “Escape from New York”, I patiently suggested they screen “The Warriors” for years.  I’ve seen it five or six times, and the fact the theater sold out and drew over 100 people on a Thursday night attests to its well-deserved status as a bonafide cult-classic, vindicating my bouts of prolonged consumer insistence.

 What makes it so special?  It’s a menagerie of disco-era cheese.  Take the goofy lingo: “Can you dig it?”  Sure, I can dig it.  And I can dig the stylized violence and toxic masculinity.  Women get clobbered, sexuality is used as a trap, and New York is shown as dystopian and unsafe.  The ‘fros are huge and the footage grainy and amateurish — it’s as if scenes were shot in only one take (which they probably were).  But it’s got heart and soul. 

I buy the relationship between actors Michael Beck and Deborah Van Valkenburgh, the film’s main protagonists.  I find the scene where they stare at two other young couples on an empty subway train to be the de facto highlight of the film — encapsulating the divergence of their lives (wild, brutal, and hopeless) from those of their peers (safe, privileged, and conventional).  Very well done.  

And nothing beats hearing Joe Walsh of the Eagles perform “In the City” when the credits roll — 70s rock at its finest with a statement about urban life in its edgy lyrics.  

Is it the best movie you’ll ever see?  Not by a long shot.  Does it feature baseball bat-wielding weirdos trying to splatter our heroes into tenderized pork loin?  Absolutely.  It’s kooky, awesome, raw, exaggerated, and both realistic and fantastic at the same time.  See it for yourself on the biggest screen possible.  

Like I did.