Fathers and sons. Rivals, always, but eventually, an understanding. In the best cases – the rarest cases – a fine example is set. Lessons for the future, something to build on and develop. Too often, the opposite. A firm hand goes too far. A great absence, then making up for lost time. And its opposite, a great presence; an inability to let go, leading to a crippling overbearance. In the best of times, we look to it as a means to explain what we lack. At the end of the world, we fill in the gaps to define what can never be. Not anymore. And when the Russians invade America, along with some ragtag Cubans and Central American Communists, all we can do is voice our fears through a chain link fence. Because dad is now a prisoner of war. Booty for the Reds. A casualty of a nation that got soft, turned its back, and all but let the sonsabitches take over.
Here, the father is Tom Eckert (Harry Dean Stanton). A simple man, a son of the soil. He was hard on his boys, but dammit all, it’s a hard life. Because the land won’t work itself. Up at dawn, to bed well past sundown, and quiet meals where conversation is stifled by the glare at table’s head. The boys are Jed (Patrick Swayze) and Matt (Charlie Sheen). They’ve learned to be brave and strong, playing football when maybe they wanted weekends off. Mom had no say, of course, and where the hell is she now, anyhow. Dead, obviously, likely raped by Cossacks on the way out, but all she was, not even worth a summary. Just a look. The boys know. It’s just us men now, the way it had to be before feminism forced us to share. But she was weak. And I’m strong. And alive at this moment in time. Maybe not tomorrow, but here, tonight. And boys, listen up.
“Don’t talk, don’t say anything. Let me look at you.” Wants to size up the fine young men he raised, in spite of mom’s coddling. Letter jackets and iron jaws all around, so I done alright. First, an apology. Tentative and difficult, but maybe they’ll get it. “I was tough on both of you,” he whispers. “I did things that made you hate me sometimes.” Our imagination takes hold. The strap, a shot to the chops, maybe a switch out back, hand selected so you’re complicit in your own downfall. All of it necessary by his estimation, and we all know dads have an instinct for these things. But then, a reflection. Embracing reality because he’s got nothing left to give. “It’s all gone,” he sighs. Hope, family, the ties that bind. They pushed the men out and let savagery in. Once we’re no longer the bosses of our own homes, the nation itself is sure to fall. The proof is in the parachutes that landed in our Colorado town.
“We can’t afford to be crying anymore.” Tom knows. Tears got us here, and they’ll only prolong the suffering. With only a few moments left, he offers a memory. Something tangible, even daringly sentimental. Playing on those swings. Boy, were you little. “I remember,” Jed sniffs. “I remember all of it.” An important reflection, maybe the most important between the three of them. A time before shouts and threats and unending expectations. Just a dad, his sons, and a swing set. Nothing, but to simply be. Now dad is in an internment camp, awaiting reeducation. Or death. Likely the latter. But Jed and Matt have their marching orders. Unspoken, until dad’s final roar. It’s risky, but he’s already dead. “Boys! Avenge me! Avenge me!” In a single statement, dad has once again become the central figure in the Eckert story. Revenge not for the loss of country, or a Constitution shredded, but dad. Pop. The man who gave you a roof and clothing and a reason to live.
We know what follows. Jed and Matt lead their merry band of brothers (and a few sisters) on the great crusade, greater even than the one led by old Ike. Occupied territory needing a release from its iron grip. Kill, capture, bomb, and terrify. Keep ‘em on edge. Channel the wisdom of the fathers – Tom most of all – and return order to chaos. And so they will. Let’s face it. The happy ending of Red Dawn – if there can be a happy ending to a story where, it is estimated, 500 million people worldwide have died – is not even remotely possible without that chain link summit between the Eckerts. The boys had an inkling, but it needed clarity. It’s no exaggeration to say that the Centennial State falls without Tom’s fire, and with it, the whole ballgame. Because a son should avenge a father. Maybe he doesn’t deserve it. Maybe he knows it. But when he calls for it, especially as the world teeters on the brink, get busy. Guns in hand. Better dead than red.
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