Stars: 5 of 5. Running Time: 300 minutes. Notable Cast or Crew: Directed by Kathryn Bigelow (STRANGE DAYS, NEAR DARK), Phil Joanou (THREE O'CLOCK HIGH, ENTROPY), Peter Hewitt (BILL & TED'S BOGUS JOURNEY, THE BORROWERS), & Keith Gordon (THE CHOCOLATE WAR, WAKING THE DEAD). Written by Bruce Wagner (NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET III: DREAM WARRIORS, SCENES FROM THE CLASS STRUGGLE IN BEVERLY HILLS), based off of his comic strip of the same name. Produced by Oliver Stone, Bruce Wagner, and Michael Rauch (POINT BREAK, SUPERMAN, LIVE AND LET DIE). Music by Ryuchi Sakamoto (MERRY CHRISTMAS, MR. LAWRENCE, THE LAST EMPEROR). Starring James Belushi (THE PRINCIPAL, HOMER & EDDIE), Dana Delany (LIGHT SLEEPER, TOMBSTONE), Robert Loggia (LOST HIGHWAY, SCARFACE), Kim Cattrall (MANNEQUIN, BIG TROUBLE IN LITTLE CHINA), Angie Dickinson (THE KILLERS, BIG BAD MAMA), Ernie Hudson (GHOSTBUSTERS, THE CROW), Bebe Neuwirth (THE FACULTY, GREEN CARD), Nick Mancuso (UNDER SIEGE, STINGRAY), David Warner (TIME BANDITS, THE OMEN), Ben Savage (BOY MEETS WORLD, LITTLE MONSTERS), Bob Gunton (DEMOLITION MAN, THE SHAWSHANK REDEMPTION), Brad Dourif (CHILD'S PLAY, WISE BLOOD), François Chau (Dr. Chang on LOST, TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES II: THE SECRET OF THE OOZE), Charles Hallahan (THE THING, VISION QUEST). Tag-line: "Your reality is their business." Best one-liner: "Babylon has fallen. Let's boogie!"
WILDPALMS is a lurid soap opera, an epic Greek tragedy, and a mesmerizing techno-prophecy, mingled and wired into a jerry-built cyber-apparatus posing as a mini-series. Audiences weren't ready for this in 1993, and they're not ready for it now. It presents a world in transition– religions, corporations, and governments gradually coalesce into a single body; human brains, oversaturated with sheer data, begin to lose their capacity for an emotional response; pop cultural references become out only 'shared experience' as a society- and our only means of expression. The concept of childhood becomes meaningless- if you want a shot at becoming apuppet master instead of just a puppet, you'd better burst forth from the womb and hit the ground running.
It's the little details that lend the series' vision of the future verisimilitude– male formal wear has reverted to the Nineteenth Century, sixties rock is back in style (the rights to all these songs must have cost a fortune!), and digital fixes (consisting of a steady diet of images) have become the addiction-of-the-month. The brainchild of Robert Wagner, Oliver Stone, and Michael Rauch, and featuring direction from Kathryn Bigelow and Phil Joanou , among others, the series draws equal doses of inspiration from of William Gibson (who appears in a cameo!), TWIN PEAKS, Sophocles, and the Church of Scientology- and somehow emerges with singular, unexpected vision and actual emotional stakes.
The cast is a marvelous, chilling ensemble– James Belushi lends a dazed weight to the proceedings as our overwhelmed hero; a suave Kim Cattrall is done up like Audrey Horne; Belushi chats with Audrey Horn– I mean, Kim Cattrall.
Robert Loggia exudes teeth-baring vehemence (“They’re trying TO RAPE ME, Harry!”); Robert Loggia provokes yet another pants-shitting.
a likable Ernie Hudson hallucinates cathedrals, a soothing David Warner sprays Uzi fire; a somber, bedridden Brad Dourif wears a (virtual) powdered wig; David Warner comforts Brad Dourif.
a bitchy Angie Dickinson delivers believable beatdowns worthy of Joan Crawford; Angie Dickinson takes it to the next level.
and a pre- BOY MEETS WORLD Ben Savage is a gleeful, sociopathic kiddie. The icing on the cake is a Ryuichi Sakamoto score which you’ll at first deem corny, then magical, and ultimately, bewitchingly, poetic. WILDPALMS is some of the boldest, most expressionistic work television has ever offered and I must wholeheartedly recommend it.
Stars: 4 of 5.
Running Time: 105 minutes.
Tag-line: "All he needed was a lucky break. Then one day she moved in."
Notable Cast or Crew: Matthew Modine (FULL METAL JACKET, THE BLACKOUT), Linda Fiorentino (GOTCHA!, AFTER HOURS), Ronny Cox (ROBOCOP, TOTAL RECALL), Charles Hallahan (THE THING, FATAL BEAUTY), MADONNA (BODY OF EVIDENCE, DICK TRACY), Forest Whitaker (BIRD, GHOST DOG), Frank Jasper (FREEWAY MANIAC), J.C. Quinn (THE ABYSS, TURNER & HOOCH). Music (ostensibly) by Tangerine Dream. Screenplay by Darryl Ponicsan (novelist of THE LAST DETAIL and CINDERELLA LIBERTY).
Best one-liner: "SHUTE? Shute's a monster! A genuine geratoid! His own father has to use a livewire to keep him from fuckin' the fireplace!"
VISION QUEST is one of those unsung 80's workhorses- it's not flashy, it's not glitzy, it's not silly. And aside from a brief, refreshingly low-key early appearance by Madonna (her first movie role aside from a student film, A CERTAIN SACRIFICE, which she later tried to have banned), it's not populated with the biggest of stars or the slickest of production values. Shot on location in ramshackle diners, hotel kitchens, and sweaty high school gymnasiums in Spokane, Washington, it has a genuine, blue-collared determination to it. High school is not depicted as some nonstop keg party where the 'rents are on that everlasting "weekend getaway" and every teen has got a bedroom tricked out more elaborately than Pee-Wee's playhouse (a representation which I certainly enjoy in the proper context). Instead, it's filled with true-to-life characters who have to balance extracurriculars with thankless jobs and uncertain futures. On the surface, I suppose you could say that it's about wrestling. Generally, my feeling on sports movies is that if they don't involve soul-crushing performances by Stacy Keach & Susan Tyrrell (FAT CITY), dog skulls (THE BLOOD OF HEROES), pedestrian casualties (DEATH RACE 2000), or Sub-Zeros who become just plain zeros (THE RUNNING MAN), then they're going to be an uphill battle. But this isn't a sports movie. Not exactly. It's about the solitary, spiritual journey that every person must one day embark upon- that critical juncture when you must decide upon the answer to that weighty question- 'How to live?'
Based on Terry Davis' 1979 award-winning Young Adult novel (which was called "the truest novel about growing up since THE CATCHER IN THE RYE" by John Irving) and directed by the generally skillful Harold Becker (CITY HALL, TAPS, SEA OF LOVE...and MALICE), our story revolves around the eighteen year-old Louden Swain (Matthew Modine) and his desire to imbue his life with purpose by dropping twenty-some pounds and challenging Brian Shute, the menacing titan state wrestling champion. Along the way, he develops a sort of relationship with a New Jersey wandering artist (Linda Fiorentino, in her screen debut), who's on her way to San Francisco... and crashing at his house. The plot is deceptively simple, and though it lends itself to some rockin' montage sequences, it's a film very much in the mold of other slice-of-life quotidian storytellers like Vittorio de Sica or Satyajit Ray. And while that claim may seem (and may in fact be) ridiculous, VISION QUEST succeeds in getting you to take it seriously enough that the teased Jersey hair, the silver (astronaut?) track suit,
an odd athletic formation that involves purple jumpsuits & a raging circular movement, and even the presence of Madonna never distract you, never send you on a nostalgia tangent, never extract you from the pure, human drama.
The cast is excellent. Modine is committed, connected, and living the role. Fiorentino is taking that whole 'sexy deadpan' thing that she does and is running with it.
Charles Hallahan is appropriately gruff and appropriately supportive as the Coach, and, as a side note, he worked alongside Madonna twice– with this and BODY OF EVIDENCE. Maybe she was a closet fan of THE THING and pulled a couple of strings? Speaking of Madonna, she shows up merely as a singer on stage at the Big Foot Tavern, singing "Crazy for You" and "The Gambler." Hoping to bank more on Madonna and less on the thoughtful storytelling, the studio marketed the film on more than a few occasions as CRAZY FOR YOU. Madonna: not the focal point of VISION QUEST.
Annnyway, Ronny Cox, the icy corporate villain of ROBOCOP and TOTAL RECALL, plays against type as Modine's encouraging, working-class pop (!), and it's a joy to watch. J.C. Quinn is tearing it up as a ragged but kindly arm-wrestlin' co-worker of Modine's.
Forest Whitaker has a bit part as a lighthearted fellow wrestler who doesn't quite qualify as comic relief, but he's got a palpable joie de vivre and he'd work again with Modine some years later on Abel Ferrara's MARY.
The soundtrack is solid, though calling it a Tangerine Dream one is extremely misleading. They only show up a little over an hour in to offer some of their patented, tense 'fiercely pulsating montage music.' The rest of the soundtrack belongs to satisfying 80's rockers like Foreigner, Journey, Don Henley, Sammy Hagar, and Red Rider, whose classic rock radio standby "Lunatic Fringe" is used in such a way that it now makes one think of of Modine working out in a gym instead of Holocaust denying.
Along the way, there's nosebleeds, jealousy, road trips, fainting spells, and martial arts tips from a creepy dude in a hotel room. When it all comes down to it, it's the rare sports film where you actually care about who wins. And you care because you really have no idea which way it's going to go. Hallahan is impressed by Modine's fortitude.
In all, it's a mature, muted look at the formative years. My one complaint is that a near-rape scene is forgiven too easily, but on the whole it deals with sexuality in such a frank, honest way that I have no choice but to admire it. As far as I can tell, it's become a cult hit with the 'high school wrestling' crowd, and that probably has more to do with a loving attention to every grapplin' detail than the rich, character-driven monologues, but I can live with that. Four stars.
Stars: 6+ of 5.
Running Time: 109 minutes.
Tag-line: "Man is The Warmest Place to Hide."
Notable Cast or Crew: Kurt Russell. Wilford Brimley (EWOKS: THE BATTLE FOR ENDOR, THE FIRM, BORDERLINE), Keith David (THEY LIVE, MEN AT WORK, MISTER ROGERS' NEIGHBORHOOD), Donald Moffat (CLEAR & PRESENT DANGER, TALES OF THE CITY, ALAMO BAY), Richard Masur (MY SCIENCE PROJECT, RENT-A-COP, LICENSE TO DRIVE, STEPHEN KING'S IT), Richard Dysart (PALE RIDER, THE HOSPITAL), Charles Hallahan (FATAL BEAUTY, BODY OF EVIDENCE, VISION QUEST), Peter Maloney (MANHUNTER, JFK), Joel Polis (FATAL VISION, CHEERS), David Clennon (STAR 80, THE FABULOUS STAINS), T.K. Carter (RUNAWAY TRAIN, DOCTOR DETROIT, JEM AND THE HOLOGRAMS), Thomas G. Waites (THE WARRIORS, MCBAIN). Music by Ennio Morricone. Special effects by Rob Bottin (ROBOCOP, TOTAL RECALL), dog creature by Stan Winston. Cinematography by Dean Cundey (WHO FRAMED ROGER RABBIT?, ESCAPE FROM NEW YORK, JURASSIC PARK, BACK TO THE FUTURE, ROAD HOUSE, D.C. CAB)- Sven Nykvist, eat your heart out. Screenplay by Bill Lancaster, son of Burt.
Best one-liner: "I know you gentlemen have been through a lot, but when you find the time, I'd rather not spend the rest of this winter TIED TO THIS FUCKING COUCH!"
Well, apparently, this is the 500th post here at Junta Juleil. Since we've been discussing effective horror remakes versus the muttonheaded ones this week, I wouldn't want to use it to discuss anything besides... THE THING.
Now, if you're one of those unfortunate souls who has never seen THE THING (I'm continually surprised by how many people, even self-proclaimed cinephiles, haven't seen it), stop reading immediately. And don't resume doing whatever you were doing before you started reading this- put on some shoes. Leave your work/school/home behind. Tell them you're going to lunch, or have a medical emergency. Head to the nearest liquor store. You're going to need some J&B. It's not the best scotch on the planet, in fact, it's not even really a scotch (it's a blend), but Kurt Russell seems to like it just fine, so just shut it.
Now you'll need to procure a copy of THE THING. It shouldn't be that hard. It should be easier than getting copies of THE LETTER PEOPLE or HEAVENLY BODIES or BLACK ICE, starring Michael Ironside and Michael Nouri. Also, it's not essential, but if you could get one of these hats before you watch it:
that'd be great, too. Now, watch THE THING, and report back to me immediately. But just in case you're the sort of pantywaist who won't abide by my instructions, I'm not going to give away any major plot developments in this review. Onto the THE THING:
A breakthrough film for John Carpenter. The son finally tops the father––Carpy breaks through and outdoes the Howard Hawks original with this inimitable paranoid masterpiece. It's horror/sci-fi/thriller perfection. It's so evocative you can taste the stinging J&B tempered by Mac's frosty breath, sense the icy dread of the desolate, labyrinthine corridors, 'hear' the resonance of the overpowering silences, and feel the foreboding throb of the Morricone score.
The less the uninitiated knows, the better. This is the 'Red Scare' paranoia film taken through a post-modern meat grinder. Rob Bottin's special effects are so pre-CGI brilliant that it becomes a completely visceral experience.
We are there. Every manifestation of the The Thing is tangible, tactile, viscous, gloppy––it's really there. That tightening in your stomach? That flutter in your heart? That's movie magic. It's real men doing real things, assailed by real monsters (well, almost). There is no disconnect, no cartoonish nonsense, no frills. These are desperate men fighting for survival.
Donald Moffat is an old-school cold warrior wholly unprepared for Lovecraftian foes. Also, pretty tired of this fucking couch.
Richard Masur is the bewhiskered head of the kennel who toes that fine line between dog-lover and terrifying lumberjack (a major contrast from the 'Dad'-type roles he was confined to, later in the 80's). RICHARD MASUR IS GOING TO TOUCH YOU THERE
Keith David is the gritty, unwavering, ice-cold survivor, Childs. Keith David does 'pissed off' like nobody else. In fact, somewhere, as we speak, he's probably glowering at someone and doesn't know why.
He's one of those rare actors who can serve as the cornerstone for 'suspension of disbelief' in an action picture. I mean, if you don't, he'll will probably show up on your doorstep to twist you into a pretzel like Sarge always does to Beetle Bailey. (He'll do that to you if you call him David Keith by mistake, too.)
Wilford "AH KIL YEW" Brimley is Blair, who possesses a stout, astounding severity. AH KIL YEW
The way he grimaces and groans while doing the autopsy-
or the way he stares at the computer readout which says the entire population of Earth could be infected in the next 27,000 hours, then nonchalantly reaches for his gun... (A scene almost exactly duplicated in LEVIATHAN.)
I guess on my scores of previous viewings, I was too caught up in the gravity, the horror of the situation to realize- as I did in the presence of other audience members while seeing THE THING on the big screen––that Brimley is not only brilliant, he is absolutely hilarious. And you are not laughing at Wilford, ohh no. Nor are you laughing at the fact that his reactions to these given scenarios are so stoically over-the-top. You're laughing because- no matter how ridiculous he gets––you believe every second of it. These are merely the ways that the very real 'Dr. Blair' happens to react when faced with The Thing. I'm all better now
Kurt Russell really comes into his own in this film. Even the era-defining Snake Plissken (a year prior) is a little too Eastwood-derivative (but can you blame him?- he was hanging out with Lee van Cleef!), but MacReady is all Russell. He can pull off that ridiculous Antarctic winter sombrero, which just might be the most awesome hat in the history of film. He can swig the J&B like no other (watch him make sure he doesn't spill a drop when the Norwegians barrel into camp).
He can fly a chopper through the eye of a needle, brandish a flamethrower with élan, and tell that electronic 8-bit chessmaster (the uncredited voice of Adrienne Barbeau) what's what.
He's a character written by Bill Lancaster, Burt's son- and if you squint a little and clench your jaw, you can almost see the sturdy, benevolent shadow of Burt looming over Mac, like a hardass guardian angel-
In short, he's just the kind of man you hope is on the front lines when the heavy stuff starts to go down.
Stars: 4.6 of 5. Running Time: 104 minutes. Notable Cast or Crew: Whoopi Goldberg, Sam Elliott (FROGS, THE BIG LEBOWSKI), Brad Dourif (ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO'S NEST, CHILD'S PLAY), Harris Yulin (CLEAR AND PRESENT DANGER, ST. IVES), Cheech Marin, Mark Pellegrino (Jacob on TV's LOST, MULHOLLAND DR.), James LeGros (DRUGSTORE COWBOY, GUNCRAZY), John P. Ryan (IT'S ALIVE, CLASS OF 1999), M.C. Gainey (Tom Friendy on TV's LOST, SIDEWAYS), Rubén Blades (PREDATOR 2, ONCE UPON A TIME IN MEXICO), Charles Hallahan (Norris in THE THING, SILKWOOD). Music by Harold Faltermeyer (KUFFS, THE RUNNING MAN). Holy shit, the only people missing from this movie are Clu Gulager, Donald Pleasence, and James Remar. Tag-line: "An earthquake is about to hit L.A. It's called Detective Rita Rizzoli." Best one-liner: "Do you want a glass?" –"Do I want a glass? No, wrap it in a taco, dumb motherfucker, yes, I want a glass!"
FATALBEAUTY is an extremely underrated (buddy) cop thriller directed by Tom Holland (CHILD'S PLAY, FRIGHT NIGHT) and written by Hilary Henkin (ROAD HOUSE) and Dean Riesner (DIRTY HARRY). The cast is extremely eclectic and chock full of undersung, prolific 80's character actors, and Whoopi has never been more likable. There's ginormous boom boxes, zany high-heel'd hookers, chubby Latino queens channeling Divine, Cheech Marin as a smarmy bartender ("Gimme a kiss"), and Rubén Blades as a bearded, milquetoast cop who doesn't even know who Richard Gere is (zany, right?). It's a forgotten film, misplaced in a sea of BEVERLY HILLS COPS, LETHAL WEAPONS, and DIE HARDS. Discarded, derided, and disregarded, this is the sort of thing that Drug Mart puts in the 50-cent bin, then withdraws from circulation entirely 'cause no one is renting it... except me. I am renting it. And then I am proclaiming it to be a "hidden gem" for all the world to hear. So here are thirteen reasons why FATAL BEAUTY deserves its place in the pantheon, beside the likes of THE FRENCH CONNECTION and TURNER & HOOCH:
#1. John P. Ryan (R.I.P.) as the crusty Lieutenant who you love to hate. He drinks Pepto Bismol out of the bottle, smokes a pipe, and is always threatening Whoopi with that old standby– We'll stick you behind a desk if you screw up one more time, you whacky action-luvin' cop! He gets to deliver the classic "Gut feeling! We need probable cause– we can't go down to the D.A.'s office with your gut!" But then he pulls a disappearing trick halfway through the narrative and is never heard from again. It's a thankless job, and John P. Ryan has to do it. And I don't even grace him with a screencap here. That's completely unintentional, but probably an all-too-common theme for the credit owed to John P. Ryan. Lost in the shuffle. IT'S ALIVE? You probably just remember the killer baby. CLASS OF 1999? You can't think of anything but Pam Grier's robot boobs. RENT-A-COP? All you can think of is Liza getting goosed and James Remar dancing up a storm. THREE O'CLOCK HIGH? The bully. DEATH WISH 4? Bronson. WHITE SANDS? Dafoe. And John P. Ryan doesn't even get credited in that one. Where is the love? One of these days, I will devote an entire week to John P. Ryan. But, poetically, I'll probably forget that I ever promised that.
#2. M.C. Gainey and Norris from THE THING (Charles Hallahan) as two sexist cops who Whoopi schools the shit out of. In fact, that's kind of the set-up for the entire film: A. People offend Whoopi, calling her "bitch," "cunt," or by engaging in illegal activity. B. Whoopi kicks their asses and has a snazzy retort. Case in point: "Kevlar, bitch!" BLAM BLAM BLAM –"Smith & Wesson, asshole!" The retort doesn't even have to be that scathing, it just has to be sassy: "Hey, stay bent over like that and I'll show you a good time." –"Oh yeah? One quick hump and you'd be in the hospital, honey."
#3. Whoopi's style- she's got a cat like Philip Marlowe, drives around in a snazzy pink Mustang (shades of "AWSOM 50" anyone?), decorates her home with Chuck Berry paintings, shoots dudes in the ass and then tortures them, and whomps a WASPin' country club beyotch into a pool and thru plate glass window.
"Everywhere I go, people aredyin'to meet me." I didn't even get to the scene where she steals cookies from a restaurant before she leaves to abuse a suspect in the meat locker. Yes, she is awesome. I must admit, in the past I have generally had pretty lukewarm feelings on the subject of Whoopi Goldberg. Now she is a lifetime member of Junta Juleil's Hall-o-Fame.
#4. Rizzoli! I guess Whoopi is an Italian-American. Have-a some more s'getts, you look-a too thin! Whether or not the screenplay was written for a black woman is certainly open to debate, since they definitely run with some of the jokier aspects (in retrospect?). Either way, I love it.
or like a 1960's housewife-slash-debutante: her many disguises are guaranteed to delight and inspire.
#6. Mark Pellegrino as Billy Idol-lookin' punk named Frankenstein. Compare it to his character in DEATH WISH 4. It really puts a whole new spin on LOST. (And one scene in particular even eerily anticipates the Season 5 finale.) In fact, wait a minute- this movie is full of LOST alumni (M.C. Gainey, Cheech Marin). The wheels are turning. Note the black and white imagery.
#7. The guy who chews on a glass bottle for no reason. Hey, Busey lit his arm on fire in LETHAL WEAPON, so why not.
#8. Whiny James LeGros. He's the first of two characters to drop the C-bomb on Whoopi (Dourif being the other) and is referred to as a "snot nosed limp dick in designer jeans." LeGros prepares to drop the c-bomb with little to no warning.
Don't worry, though, the country club douchebomb who Whoopi whoops with such commitment and élan... is his mom.
#9. Sam Elliott. So soothing. Seriously, though, he and Werner Herzog should team up and do a radio show. The show could air from, I don't know, maybe 7-10 AM EST on weekdays, and I could set my clock radio to it, and that way I could bestir myself to something other than "Time keeps on slippin' slippin' slippin'...into the future..." which I guess is soothing in its own way, but it feels very old hat to me at this point in my life but I guess it's my own fault for having the dial tuned to a classic rock station only plays about five or six different songs. I digress. Regardless, Sam Elliot says, "I always had a thing for Italian ladies." Ro-mannnce!
#10. The eponymous cocaine blend which will kill you or drive you crazy in thirty seconds. WHATTT?! What a great plot development! It's so over-the-top and with such high stakes, that I have to say we're nearly in DEAD HEAT territory.
#11. Brad Dourif. Cast (in a pre-Chucky Tom Holland flick!) as the main villain, it doesn't matter if he's in silk shirts, ridic 80's wool sport coats or weird little red shoes- his frizzy hair is in that classic lopsided part, and he's skittering around like he's king of the drug world. He's surprisingly earnest, too. Well, at least before he starts killing everybody. We're entreated to the sight of Dourif blasting automatic weapons and shooting up innocent bystanders and security guards at a mall, which is strangely similar to the opening scene of CHILD'S PLAY- in fact, in addition to thinking of it as a second parallel universe on LOST, I'm going to start considering FATAL BEAUTY as a prequel to the Chucky movies. Hey, they both use the word "bitch" a lot.
#12. Harris Yulin. Always typecast as this sort of character. Always great at it. Lather, rinse, repeat. Is that a terrycloth smoking jacket or an especially dignified robe?
#13. The ending that may or may not involve a mustache kiss and a freeze frame, and the closing credits song "It's Criminal" by Shannon. "It's crim-in-nal. I THINK IT'S A CRIME! It's crim-in-nal. DOIN' TIME!"
Stars: 5 of 5.
