In the many remembrances admirers have written for the late director Stuart Gordon, the words “kind” and “generous” are repeated again and again. Nearly everyone who knew or worked with Gordon described him as an empathetic man, one whose collaborative style made him a joy to work with.
That might be a surprising description to those who only know Gordon as the man behind grisly shockers like Re-Animator and Castle Freak. And yet, even his most viscera-filled endeavors glowed with a love for humanity.
These dueling impulses are particularly clear in Gordon’s final feature film, 2008’s Stuck. Written by John Strysik, Stuck reimagines the true story of Gregory Glen Biggs, a homeless man who died stuck in a car windshield after being hit by Chante Jawan Mallard, who drove home and let Biggs slowly bleed out while she went on with her life.
Gordon and Strysik use that premise to explore the need for empathy and the limitations of free will. Mena Suvari stars as Brandi, a Nurse’s Aide who works at a retirement home, with Stephen Rea as down-on-his-luck Tom Bardo. After a particularly bad day, Bardo finds himself homeless and looking for shelter; the same evening that Brandi and her co-workers party at a club. Despite the various substances she’s taken, Brandi decides to drive herself home, a decision that leads to the accident that leaves Bardo stuck in her windshield, begging for help.
What follows is horrifying, moving, and even comic, as Bardo tries to escape or get help and Brandi tries to go about everyday life. Aware that a drunk-driving and manslaughter conviction will cost her her job, just as she’s about to get a hard-earned promotion, Brandi searches for a way to deal with Bardo without revealing herself. Meanwhile, Bardo struggles to free himself, by honking the horn or using a cell phone, all to no avail.
That plot description might suggest that Brandi is a simple amoral murderer, who could have helped Bardo and simply decided against it. But Gordon and Strysik cast doubt on the very idea of free will. Throughout Bardo’s very bad day, he’s told that he has the ability to decide his fate. We’re introduced to Bardo as he’s being harassed by a tenement landlord, who tells him to pay rent or get out; it’s his choice. When a clerical error at the unemployment office results in Bardo losing an interview, he’s told to decide between resubmitting the paperwork or forgoing the office’s help. When a police officer tells him he cannot sleep in an empty park, he’s given the choice between going to jail or walking several blocks to the nearest shelter.
Obviously, Bardo has no agency in any of those situations. But by using the language of choice, those in power can obscure their involvement. The landlord, unemployment clerk, and police officer all can do more for Bardo than he can do for himself, but they make him take sole responsibility. Simply put, Bardo is stuck long before he collides with Brandi’s car.
Although no one is in a situation quite as dire as Bardo, no character is completely free to act, either. When Brandi asks for a weekend off, she’s given a choice by her supervisor (the director’s wife and regular player, Carolyn Purdy-Gordon): work on Saturday or lose your promotion. After a Latino neighbor boy hears a horn blaring from Brandi’s garage and spies Bardo through the window, he asks his parents for help. But his father refuses, fearing that attention from authorities will get his family deported. A police officer fails to see Brandi driving with Bardo in her windshield because he must arrest a homeless man. Even a 911 operator who Bardo finally reaches via cellphone can’t send help because Bardo does not know where he is.
Gordon intensifies the sense of hopelessness evoked by the characters’ situations with his penchant for gore. Together with cinematographer Denis Maloney and editor Andy Horvitch, Gordon presents the initial accident in hyper-real detail. We watch from multiple angles as Bardo goes through the windshield, glass and plastic slicing into his flesh.
Once stuck in his dire situation, we feel the excruciation of every movement Bardo makes. Rea twists his face to sell the pain suggested by close-up shots of a windshield wiper in the abdomen and the sound of crunching glass loud in the mix. Every push, pull, and twist Bardo tries to set himself free tears his body more and often leaves him no closer to redemption.
Despite these gory visuals, Gordon retains his gift for black comedy. Bardo’s constant failed attempts to get help feel like cosmic jokes, as when a pampered dog finds him and licks the bone protruding from his leg before returning to its self-indulged owner. Russell Hornsby shines as Brandi’s boyfriend Rashid, capturing the humor of his character’s sudden change from bragging street tough to frightened man in over his head. Even a seemingly extraneous scene in which Brandi finds Rashid in bed with another woman mixes antics with abject horror. Suvari seamlessly switches from playing Brandi as a scared victim to a hardened fighter, hitting the other woman and throwing her naked body out into the hall.
Over and over, Stuck tells the same joke, a gag that intensifies the philosophy of its horror: life is hard and no one will help you…. because they have no choice.
This bleak worldview makes the movie’s one defining act of compassion so powerful. On his first night on the streets, Bardo encounters a homeless man named Sam (Lionel Mark Smith). Even though he has next to nothing, Sam gives Bardo a drink, a shopping cart, and useful advice. More importantly, Sam gives Bardo dignity, treating him like a human being. Sam made a choice to help Bardo, even though it cost him something.
Gordon plays up the frightening stakes of that choice in the way he introduces Sam. Maloney shoots Smith from a low angle as Sam emerges from the darkness, a solemn look on his face. Low strings rise on the soundtrack as Sam approaches Bardo, holding the tension until he finally declares, “Man, I don’t know if I should ask you for change or give you some.”
Ironically, the scene only reinforces the horror of Stuck. We all need someone to make Sam’s choice, to offer help despite the cost, but nearly no one will. And yet, in that horror is a desperate plea to the audience: don’t force others to undergo that suffering. Make the hard choices and take care of each other, no matter the cost to yourself.
That’s a fitting message for the final film from a man who loved both horror and humanity.
