Norman Jewison's realisation of William Harrison's source novel and then screenplay ticks all the boxes of '70s dystopian sci-fi: a global government, a cultural distraction for a docile public, a take on computers of the future, and a strident anti-individualistic oppression. Details like the corporate anthem and the slick brutality of the game of the title wrench us out of the present day by depicting such as normality. So, why, out of a field that includes Logan's Run and ZPG, would I put this among the peaks of the sub-genre? Because it commits to all of those tropes and pushes character further forward than any of them.
Jonathon E. is a superstar. Between games and the adulation of crowds, his teammates and the corporate overlords, he relaxes at his ranch with his latest assigned spouse. What could go wrong? He could. He's aging and has been at the top of the game's culture for too long in the minds of the bosses. He has become greater than the game. The game's purpose is not the promotion of human endeavour, it's bread and circuses and is the only thing standing between the status quo and a repeat of the fabled corporate wars. Heroes are fine for the continuation but they, like all the products made by the corporations, have shelf life. Jonathon resists, knowing he has many years left in him on the rink. The corporation knows that he can be squeezed out and begin to loosen the rules until there is only the mechanism and the players and a game played to the death.
But the thing about this story is the result of the inevitable showdown between the people as represented by Jonathon and the company as represented by Mr Bartholomew: what will it mean if an act of defiance against the corporate order is successful, the breaking of the order, mass rebellion, more oppression? Jonathon himself doesn't know and Bartholomew is confident that the point is moot as he's on the real power team. Jonathon's development has to do with his initial discomfort at the squeeze to a position of awareness. Friends and trusted colleagues are of little help and then even the mighty electronic brain he visits in Geneva breaks down at his query. He's in this alone and has no way to predict his future if he doesn't conform and retire. As concrete as the conclusion is, we are left with a quiet dread.
James Caan as Jonathon starts as someone who barely questions his lot, being so privileged. His resistance begins with the assignment of wives; he misses one more than any and the suggestion that she was stolen by a suit has a sour resonance. But then, as he watches the game get harder as the constraints are progressively removed, he understands that he won't be allowed to continue. This is a clever twist on the usual dystopian scenarios by applying the costs of a command society to one at the top rather than a Winston Smith foraging around the lower depths. That the rule of the capitalists has become an invisible tyranny is also a switch from the more typical military totalitarianism or hard collectivism: there is a constant illusion of personal liberty for the consumer who is entirely bound by the goods and services from above. Caan's macho strong silence is progressively rendered vulnerable with increased awareness, even to the point of being aware of the trap he has entered.
At the other end of the table John Houseman, everyone's go-to posh intimidator, slimes everyone around him with his unctuous powersleaze. When it is time to render this dark and even sadistic, Houseman brings it and embodies every vocable of his threat. This had already served him in memorable turns like his admiral in Seven Days in May and would again in the film and TV series The Paper Chase. There could have been no better casting.
And Jewison for his part also brings it. He ensured that there would be no glossing over depictions of the game which are white knuckle, constantly engaging and set within a spectacle of brightly uniformed colour, bloodthirsty crowds and a thunderous cacophony of constant threat of injury and death. These scenes thrill today. Back in the designer homes of the players and the boardrooms it's all '70s futurism with trapezoidal screens embedded in walls, primary colours and burnt tones for the suggestion of classiness that the status hungry always chase.
The massive allnighter parties that end in the fiery destruction of trees for the hell of it show the waste and nervous-system-numbing hedonism the new one percent get to live by. These scenes are like old Playboy ads for whiskey or cigarettes come to life and only need slight pushing to work as visions of the world to come. It's where Jonathon attempts to find guidance and sense in the libraries and computer monoliths that the corporate style simplifies into mammoth clean-lined weirdness of design. Many remarkable public buildings from the time were used for this and the suggestion is that we are looking at the near future, not some fancied one far beyond our mortal grasp. Add some rich classical source music for the scoring and you've got what often feels like a cheekily produced bubblegum Kubrick. The fashioner of the busy anachronistic clashing of Jesus Christ Superstar would have been flattered by the recognition.
At school we all had to find a way to get to see this boy's movie to be in the gang. It was an M but one that cinemas were tight about. You could go with parents but the way to do it was as normal paying customers of the claim thereof. No one felt tipped a moustache or strode in with platform heels but if you went offpeak, in the afternoons when they were most in need of bums on seats, you'd get past, especially if you threw them a couple of bucks for softdrink and popcorn. I went to the drive in with my sister and her friend Penny and no one batted an eyelid. By that time, all the kids were talked out about it but I went on about bread and circuses as I'd been through an ancient Rome phase. That stirred a few chats.
You were supposed to go on about the percussive violence, and I did, too, but the figure of the hero struck me more. Always having to dodge around what most of the kids liked and how little I cared for it, I treasured the hero as outsider and, while it wasn't a central text for me, it pushed me rightly away from mass muck. The spectres of things like Star Wars and Grease were to come and I did see and at least partially enjoy some of that, I was able to drop it without any pangs. The one commercial channel in Townsville was showing things like Zabriskie Point and Husbands as midweek movies; cute space and cuter '50s were not going to cut it.
I still like Rollerball. It's not timeless so much as still relevant. It's not just about sport (that would never endear it to me) but it makes a story with sport at its centre rivetting. Had a lot of career ahead of him and all of it is worth your time but for me the trio of Fiddler on the Roof, Jesus Christ Superstar and this form his strongest output, ending with the tale of frightening familiar gone rogue, the billionaire who acts like a king, and more, and worse.
Viewing notes: I watched my Scream Factory 4K with a faultless vibrant transfer not shy with the grain structure. Not locally available anymore but rentable through the usual online outlets.
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