BLUE STEEL Explained: A Solid Piece of Cinematic Grit

Maybe because she acted, and did so brilliantly, with Carpenter (The Fog, Halloween). Or maybe because she’s the girl next door on screen, free from any pretentiousness, who – without any cheap tricks – grabs our attention, and while being the first, still remains a three-dimensional woman. And even though people on the internet say she has a horsey and masculine appearance, those are, for me, opinions from the flat earth. Today, we talk about Blue Steel, an unconventional thriller featuring Curtis, made in 1989 by Kathryn Bigelow. One of those far-from-perfect films that still capture our attention. Here’s James Cameron’s ex-wife behind the camera and the former scream queen in front of it, in a strangely protruding but tense film.

Megan, a young police officer, kills a criminal who robbed a gun store on her first day of duty. A witness to the event, Eugene – a stockbroker by day – takes the criminal’s gun, which causes serious problems for the woman in the homicide department. The new owner of the revolver kills someone with it. His sense of power grows. From that point on, Eugene not only inscribes Megan’s name on the deadly bullets but also, fascinated by her, reaches out to her and starts dating her.

Most of the director’s films seem not only to tell stories about men but are also shot from a perspective associated with the male point of view – which is not entirely true because her works also feature scenes or characters that nuance the portrayal of both genders. Her characters seek intense thrills and approach the darkness. In her 1988 film Near Dark or the later Point Break, there was no shortage of blood, screams, and sharp language. By the way, I like the sound and meaning of the English titles of her films; they’re strong and don’t drag on – just like her cinema. Until Blue Steel, Kathryn Bigelow’s only film with a woman in the lead role. Here too – despite Curtis’s leading role – the male essence of the creator seems to resonate. We’re given a harsh thriller with guns, blood, and tough cops telling gruesome jokes about fellatio. But that’s only with a superficial glance. In reality, things happen on screen that go beyond the interests of stereotypical police vs. freaks films, and thus a typically “male” thriller.

It starts with macro scenes of a revolver in cold frames, presenting it like a numb but alluring cocaine model. The object draws the eye with its shiny elegance and creates tension – and Bigelow has our attention. The gun symbolizes brutal power and control; it has such a charm that even some pacifists enjoy action films or pulling the trigger in video games. “I’ve always wanted to shoot people,” Megan says to a colleague, explaining why she joined the police. OK, a joke – but not entirely. Her partner admits shortly before that he joined the police because he always knew you don’t mess with the cops. So, we have a division: a strong caste with the right to kill and a weak mass that has every right to fear the former. This is confirmed in a scene where the man interested in the heroine steps back fearfully upon hearing the word “policewoman.”

The fetishization of weapons, visible from the first scenes, does not yield to the fascination of a psychopath. Bigelow, unlike many other filmmakers, remains aware – she fetishizes, knowing she’s doing it. The shots from revolvers sound like shots from cannons, bullets toss people around like puppets; there’s a lot of slow-motion on how we fly or fall when hit by bullets. Bigelow lets the power of the guns ring out. And she clearly indicates that the heroine – although not a psychopath – is getting something done with that gun. It’s probably about a difficult family situation involving male violence. Megan – I’ll take a shot here – needs to blow someone away. To gain power, control, to release her anger. She hides this need under a uniform and the law, while the stockbroker kills because he wants to be above the masses. He’s not interested in people or hiding his needs behind the intent to serve and protect. This is echoed when he takes the policewoman on a night helicopter ride – hovering over the city, he feels that the world belongs only to them, not to the small dots somewhere on the ground. Brilliant scenes from the chaotic stock exchange (depicted as a male jungle filled with noise) clearly show that the man is an urban predator. He lives at a high level, taking only what suits him from the world. He is alone. The woman also functions on the periphery, and her power attributes on her belt also make her someone above.

When Megan feels safe with the man, and he turns out to be a freak, he becomes just another man who has let her down. No wonder that as the film nears its end, it gets stranger. It’s as if a relatively realistic thriller begins to transition into a western, where – regardless of the letter of the law, other people, or circumstances – a duel must take place. And Bigelow makes Megan pick up the glove. To transform into a predator and avenger. The woman wants to shoot Eugene for the wrong he’s done to her and for killing her friend. And New York – the parks, the streets – becomes the battleground between her and her twisted admirer. The policewoman is not portrayed as a sexy vamp like, say, Pamela Anderson in Baywatch or the heroine from .45. She looks exhausted but determined to empty the magazine and leave its contents in the body of the maniac. The director reduces the plot; only faces, tense with pressure, the fire from the barrels, bullets in slow motion scattering pieces of matter, remain.

The masculine and feminine elements intertwine here. Megan – with her slightly boyish appearance – is portrayed as a multidimensional woman, which does not exclude a fierce revenge on her part. The stockbroker – up to a certain point – embodies care, warmth, and understanding. He seems like a lonely romantic. But eventually, his madness is revealed, suggesting that he and the girl are the same inside. Perhaps because he’s right, he must be “taken down” by her? Some scenes come off a bit cheap, as if the coffee is served in a really large red cup. When Eugene, with shining eyes, asks the woman – already in a situation of intense erotic tension – to hold the gun in front of his eyes, you can’t help but sigh with some pity. Similarly, risky are the sequences where the freak covers his body in blood or starts talking to God, clearly speaking to him in his head. Besides, as the action develops, the man becomes more and more like a werewolf – hunched over, stalking through the park, which breaks the convention of a police thriller (which, as I’ve mentioned, already starts resembling High Noon). I bought this character as a precursor to Patrick Bateman from American Psycho, but the over-the-top literalness of the second half of the film sinks this character. And although on the symbolic level, everything still works, on the level of the cinematic spectacle, it starts to feel just odd.

Curtis is great here. Without her energy and naturalness, the story would’ve fallen apart. The traits of both genders merge in her in such an interesting way that probably every other sequence or shot could be linked to gender issues. Yet, “on the surface,” the actress plays an ordinary person who might sometimes have potatoes spill out of the bag on the way home from the market. It’s harder to assess Ron Silver’s performance. He’s an actor whose roles in Being or The Time Guardian I remember quite well, but it’s clear he’s no powerhouse. Here, on one hand, he brings a lot of disturbing energy, but on the other, his “crazy” acting borders on self-parody. It would’ve been much more interesting if we weren’t sure what exactly drives the murderer. The “hotline” with God during physical exercises doesn’t add much gravity to him. His visit to Megan’s parents also doesn’t hold tension; it looks poorly executed and half-heartedly done. And while the controversial surrealism in the film’s final parts makes sense to me, some sequences with the stockbroker (such as the rape scene) come off as clumsy. But maybe that’s just the director’s charm? I remember that Strange Days and Near Dark captivated me with their juicy atmosphere but cooled me down (especially the latter) with their plot dips.

Not everyone will like the fact that the camera here is infatuated with shooting the characters’ faces up close. This happens frequently in the film and at times resembles Sergio Leone’s fixation on even larger close-ups of eyes or skin pores. Personally, I like Bigelow’s heavy, strong style.

The director knows well (and knows how to show) that the more fear and tension surround us, the greater the hunger for closeness, but also for sex and release. Hence the strong chemistry first between Megan and Eugene, and later between her and Nick, the cop who helps her solve the case. The latter will lead to a quite natural, uncomplicated erotic scene. By the way, Nick is initially a rude jerk, but it turns out to be just a macho façade, a convention resulting from the fact that he works in the homicide department and not as an author of books on forgiveness and slow life. When he believes the girl, he will risk his life for her. He will become her true protector. Clancy Brown, playing the cop (the memorable Kurgan from Highlander), is such a charismatic and expressive actor that he instantly elevates the film by half a star. Tom Sizemore, playing the drugged-up thug, shines as the reliably naughty character, here richly drawing from his personal experiences.

Despite its considerable flaws, this is an interesting film. Dark, well-stylized. The director knows how to shoot in a way that makes the viewer breathe in the thick atmosphere. She films the street beautifully, which is both dangerous and alluring at the same time. You can feel that specific urban vibe, which the Scott brothers – Ridley and Tony – were masters at creating: the air filled with smoke, tension, and streaks of light entering rooms. It’s stuffy, and you know that something is about to explode. Great cinematography and very good – metallic and minimalist – music by Brad Fiedel (composer of the Terminator score; Bigelow and Cameron liked to share collaborators) make Blue Steel a strong entry.

This title, produced by Oliver Stone, turned out to be a flop. Perhaps it was too ambiguous for the mass audience. Maybe it was too uneven. However, I appreciate Blue Steel because it’s a solid piece of cinematic grit. It doesn’t hit the mark perfectly, it’s a bit heavy-handed, but it evokes a strange respect in me. The script was written by Eric Red, who has a history with The Hitcher – also full of ambiguity, with an unconventional relationship between the maniac and his victim. It was on the set of Blue Steel that James Cameron started discussing the True Lies project with Curtis.