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Tank

How to bring a tank to a (corrupt) gunfight.

Wish fulfillment cinema, by its very nature, rarely works for everyone. It’s a genre of total commitment, where every part of the film’s craft is bent to the single goal of fully expressing the fantasy. Because of that, it—like pornography—can fall flat for audiences who aren’t looking to dream that particular dream.

Luckily, in 1984’s Tank, director Marvin J. Chomsky hits on one of the most universal and timeless fantasies of all: “What if, when confronted with a corrupt, poisonous, and sadistic system, you had a tank?”

Well, well, well. How the tables have tanked.

Tank gets everything right to be the kind of movie it wants to be. It makes its first strong strategic move in casting James Garner as Zack Carey, a world-weary Army Sergeant Major who—in a grand cinematic tradition—is this close to retirement. He’ll see out the end of his career in a fort in rural Georgia, sprucing it up with a combination of crankiness and kindness. Oh, and he has a pet Sherman tank.

It’s hard to imagine anyone other than Garner nailing this combination of eccentricity and salt-of-the-earth decency, let alone wearing it so lightly. No matter how ridiculous the situation gets, Carey seems human: an ordinarily good, likable, and gently flawed man elevated to archetype first by profession and then by necessity. To play him as a square-jawed, grim-faced badass would take away all the fun—Garner makes him funny, nuanced, and (eventually) genuinely desperate instead.

The desperation erupts because Carey lives in a corrupt world. The Army comes off much better than the fictional Clemmons County Sheriff’s Department, but one of the bleakest scenes happens on-base, when Carey sees a young corporal’s wife trying to calm her bloodied toddler: “Don’t worry,” she says, “Daddy’s not mad at you anymore.” Carey does his best to stop the abuse, but we know he’s likely just pushing it further underground … and the film probably knows it too. He can cajole, reason, and even threaten, and those are all legitimate tools—but the authorized toolbox can only take you so far.

He says he’s willing to go further. (To go “full tank,” if you will, and obviously I will.) The film presses him to that point by sucking him into a feud with the vicious, blustery Sheriff Buelton (G. D. Spradlin), who runs Clemmons County as his own personal criminal fiefdom. Carey winds up disrupting Buelton’s sunny dictatorship by humiliating a violent pimp of a deputy (James Cromwell) to stop him from beating Sarah (Jenilee Harrison), a young woman the sheriff has coerced into sex work. Carey has the Army on his side, so Buelton’s outmatched—until he frames Carey’s teenage son, Billy (C. Thomas Howell). Carey does his best to resolve the situation peaceably, but it soon becomes obvious that Buelton’s petty sadism is going to get his son brutalized, raped, and possibly killed.

Earlier, when trying to intimidate the abusive corporal, Carey says: “If that boy is ever in there again with a mark on him, I will destroy you ….  My retirement won’t mean shit to me, my stripes won’t mean shit to me, the stockade won’t mean shit to me.”

And for his own son, we see, he certainly means it. It’s tankin’ time.

Tank sets its pieces out carefully. It takes its time building its setting and characters, adding color and touches of realism, and again, it does this—correctly—in service of the fantasy. Because the dream here is about rolling through all that. Flattening it. Demolishing it. And just as it’s more satisfying to watch real buildings and real cars, rather than facades and CGI, crumple beneath a Sherman tank, it’s more satisfying to watch a real world crumple too. Buelton’s folksy evil empire is fully realized and convincing, adorned with all the corruptions and abuses of the real world, and we get to see a tank go through it. There’s even the hope, at the end, that escaping his immediate orbit and exposing all the bullshit will matter in the long run. But if that seems farfetched in these troubled times, we still have a tank plowing into a police station. We still have a sincere quest for justice given extraordinary, game-changing armor.

It all still probably depends on how much you want to dream this dream. But I’m here for it.

Tank is streaming on Netflix. I know, I’m also surprised it’s not Tubi.

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