Only now does it occur to me... CRAZY MAMA (1975)

Only now does it occur to me... that I never thought I'd live to see Cloris Leachman scream aloud the word "fartknocker" and go on a wild crime spree.

Allow me to contextualize. CRAZY MAMA is a Roger Corman-produced, Jonathan Demme-directed (the second feature from the man who would bring us THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS, STOP MAKING SENSE, and A MASTER BUILDER) nostalgia-crime flick that feels like a less-competent John Waters version of GREASE fused with BONNIE AND CLYDE. Set in the late 1950s, it features Ann Sothern (THE WHALES OF AUGUST, A LETTER TO THREE WIVES):

and Cloris Leachman (THE MARY TYLER MOORE SHOW, THE LAST PICTURE SHOW):

as a mother-daughter duo whose beauty parlor is foreclosed upon by a dunderheaded Jim Backus. This leads to the aforementioned "fartknocker" (screamed by Leachman at a repo man) and a crime spree that sees Cloris and her gang taking out banks, dirt bike races, and even a wedding (!).

As is the New World Pictures Way, there are many scenes of parades and truck stops and racetracks that seem to exist not because the script calls for it, but because the crew wandered past and began filming without a permit.


Imagery worthy of Malick, I say

Of note: the bit parts and cameos are more than worthy of a Demme-Corman flick of this caliber. The legendary Dick Miller shows up as a cuckolding highway patrolman:

We're looking at less than a minute of screentime

 Writer/director and noted gun enthusiast John Milius (RED DAWN, CONAN THE BARBARIAN, EXTREME PREJUDICE)

plays a state cop who lines up the perfect shot but is run off the road by an unbridled Cloris Leachman:


Will Sampson (THE OUTLAW JOSEY WALES, "Chief" in ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO'S NEST) plays a roadside entrepreneur feigning interest in this movie:


And Bill Paxton plays a blink-and-you'll-miss-him cop in his first film role, ever:


Spectacularly, the whole crime spree (which indeed amasses a body count) is relatively consequence-free for Ms. Leachman, who, in the course of this film, murders, robs, speeds, and even vandalizes her daddy's grave.

How ya like that, remnants of the production code?

I'm concerned that in describing this film I've made it seem more appealing than it actually is––it's definitely a mess and occasionally a chore, but for the completist, it is an effective delivery system of Cloris Leachman crazyface in a variety of low-rent 1950s tableaux.

Film Review: FAREWELL TO THE KING (1989, John Milius)

Stars: 3.7 of 5.
Running Time: 117 minutes.
Tag-line: "In the midst of war, one man vanished into the jungle, and emerged as king."
Notable Cast or Crew: Nick Nolte, Frank McRae (RED DAWN, 48 HRS.), James Fox (PERFORMANCE, PATRIOT GAMES), Nigel Havers (EMPIRE OF THE SUN, A PASSAGE TO INDIA), Gerry Lopez (CONAN THE BARBARIAN), Aki Aleong (KUFFS, THE HOUSE OF SAND AND FOG), Marilyn Tokuda (ALL OF ME, XANADU). Based on the novel by Pierre Schoendoerffer (THE ANDERSON PLATOON). Music by Basil Poledouris (ROBOCOP, CONAN THE BARBARIAN).
Best one-liner: "No one moves very far out of line. When you're young you think you're blazing a trail. When you grow older, you realize you're beating a path."

Men carried by the waves. Breakers dwarf their vessel, toss them to and fro like a child's toy. One could say that the winds of war have delivered them to this point, but their final destination depends on the whimsies of that fickle, briny deity known as The Sea.

The sole survivor of a Pacific shipwreck and subsequent massacre by the Japanese, Nick Nolte's 'Learoyd' wanders the dark and hostile rainforest. He is a man, disintegrated. On the outside, raging in the ocean and surrounding lands, is manmade chaos- The Second World War. On the inside is anxiety and despair, further aroused by natural chaos- the untamed jungle. He renounces his connection to his so-called civilization and throws away his pistol. Soon thereafter, he is captured by the indigenous people, 'reified,' and reborn.

On the verge of execution, Nolte's intricate tattoos prove serendipitous, and not long afterward, he is crowned their king. He builds a life for himself, and for his people. It is a genuine way of life, something Hemingway might refer to as "afición."

The jungle no longer teaches Herzogian lessons of darkness, but rather poses Hemingway-esque opportunities for redemption and transcendence- a way to recapture an authentic existence. Before long, the British and the Japanese rudely trespass upon Nolte's idyll, and each actively desires something from him: The British- cooperation and corruption; The Japanese- death.

"I quit your world," says Nolte- but the High Command, the politicians, and the bean-counters haven't quit Nolte, and so long as he draws breath and can hold a weapon, he's useful to the war effort. There's wheeling and dealing; Nolte wants guarantees, and he doesn't want his people bulldozed and redacted from the impending final reports and postscripts of the Second World War. James Fox is Colonel Ferguson, a man flummoxed by and dismissive of Nolte's 'peculiar' requests.

Nigel Havers is Captain Fairbourne, a man who begins to see Nolte's point-of-view, though he never truly graps the idea of an authentic existence- it's already been tainted by the war before he arrives (or, more accurately, just as he arrives).

John Bennett Perry plays Douglas MacArthur, another of Milius' "great men of history" who waft through his films, often portrayed as idealized, patriotic spirits, more abstractions than men. "History is written by unusual men, some who become kings, and some who make no more mark than a stone thrown into the ocean"- MacArthur, as channeled by Milius, is initially sympathetic to Nolte's cause.

But he still doesn't understand. The very way that these men exist brands them as incapable of understanding, because it is inauthentic.

War's about as discerning as the swells of the ocean, and, naturally, Nolte is sucked into the breathless void of bayonet-chopping, machete-stabbing, shotgun-blasting combat.

It is here, and not in the initial world-quitting, that Nolte embraces the hideous animal within. That pure black chaos from the deep which is as alien to the transformed Nolte as the "prim and proper" bureaucracy of destruction. To watch him do it is remarkable and terrifying.




In a way, FAREWELL TO THE KING might be John Milius' most John Hustonian flick, combining the culture shocks and "adventure" of THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING with the 'aw shucks' benevolence with which Walter Huston's character becomes a full-time medicine man in THE TREASURE OF THE SIERRA MADRE. Milius was a longtime admirer of Huston, and even had the opportunity to write for him (THE LIFE AND TIMES OF JUDGE ROY BEAN) and direct him (THE WIND AND THE LION).

Despite all of this, I cannot label FAREWELL TO THE KING as a masterpiece. Milius is an excellent writer and director, but he cannot wring the realness from his situations that someone like Huston (or Herzog) can. Another problem is the score by Basil Poledouris. I very much appreciate his work in films like CONAN THE BARBARIAN and ROBOCOP, but here, when the narrative stakes are a little higher, it comes across as oddball Oscar bait. Sometimes the music made me feel like I was watching DANCES WITH WOLVES when I should have felt like I was watching AGUIRRE, THE WRATH OF GOD. This was also a problem for me in RED DAWN. Something like Arnold swinging a battle-axe in CONAN THE BARBARIAN is not a sacred image, it's a pedestrian one. And it's one which benefits from sweeping music. I'm not reachin' for the hanky when I see Arnold swinging the axe to Basil's majestic strains, but I'm grinning and sippin' my Schlitz and having a heckuva time. In FAREWELL TO THE KING, I see Nolte replaced by the primeval beast which resides in the pit of mankind's deepest fears. This is a powerful image. This image speaks for itself. When sumptuous strings interrupt this image, they are as profane as the British army which so brutally barges in on Nolte's Shangri-La.

Nearly four stars, but not the quite the tour de force it could have been.

-Sean Gill

Film Review: USED CARS (1980, Robert Zemeckis)

Stars: 3.2 of 5.
Running Time: 113 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Kurt Russell, Jack Warden (12 ANGRY MEN, ALL THE PRESIDENT'S MEN), Gerrit Graham (TERRORVISION, RATBOY), Michael McKean (THIS IS SPINAL TAP, CLUE), David L. Lander (TWIN PEAKS SEASON 2), Dub Taylor (THE WILD BUNCH, MR. SMITH GOES TO WASHINGTON), Deborah Harmon (JUST THE TEN OF US), Woodrow Parfrey (CHARLEY VARRICK, DIRTY HARRY), Frank McRae (48 HRS., ROCKY II), Rita Taggart (HOUSE III: THE HORROR SHOW, MULHOLLAND DR.). Executive produced by John Milius and Steven Spielberg.
Tag-line: "Estimated Laugh Count: 287 City, 410 Highway. Use these numbers only for comparison. Your actual laughs may vary depending on how you feel about used car salesmen, nude women, spectacular car stunts, and the President of the United States."
Home Video Re-release Tag-line: "From the Director of FORREST GUMP."
Best one-liner: "Well, that's more like a down payment. After I'm elected its 50-50 on all the graft I take."
Number of laffs involving dogs pissing on dude's faces: 1

Directed by Robert Zemeckis (and produced by Steven Spielberg and John Milius!), USED CARS is the zany story of a zany used car dealership and its zany battle with a zany rival, which leads to a zany denouement. In short, it's frequently a little too zany for its own good.

Zany.

Thankfully, the infectious, chortling charisma of one smarmy, plaid-clad Mr. Kurt Russell keeps you watching even when the proceedings get a little too generic or groan-inducing.

Definitely in the same vein as something like D.C. CAB or 1941, predictable madcap insanity and endless hijinks ensue when two brothers' (both played by a convincing Jack Warden) rival car lots face off in the midst of Kurt's (who works for the nicer Warden) burgeoning state senate run. A gleeful, matter-of-fact depiction of graft and corruption (on the personal, state, and national levels) is one of the film's stronger suits- it doesn't poke fun at the fact that you can basically buy a state senate seat: that's just a casual fact of life in the film's (and our!) universe. And why not? In a world where dishonesty is rewarded and culpability shied away from, people'll grab a piece of the pie any way they can. The supporting cast is serviceable: LAVERNE AND SHIRLEY's Lenny and Squiggy (Michael McKean and David L. Lander) play mischievous A/V guys:

David L. Lander shows off the pacemaker he installed on Michael McKean.

Gerrit Graham plays Russell's superstitious right-hand man, and Dick Miller's even around for an obligatory cameo. Race, disco, Jimmy Carter, Iran, and the FCC are tackled, and one sequence seems to prophesy a certain impromptu half-time nudity that would occur some 20 years later. But it all comes back to Russell: cackling away, he's the epitome of lovable sleaze. From unsavory winks to glad-handing to hearty slaps on the back to various slapsticky antics, Russell shows himself to be a master of physical comedy.

And in a world of charlatans, Russell's one who you almost wouldn't mind being swindled by. Three stars.

-Sean Gill

Film Review: RED DAWN (1984, John Milius)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: 114 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Directed by John Milius (writer of APOCALYPSE NOW, EXTREME PREJUDICE, parts of DIRTY HARRY; director of BIG WEDNESDAY, DILLINGER, CONAN THE BARBARIAN). Starring Patrick Swayze, Charlie Sheen, Lea Thompson, Jennifer Grey, C. Thomas Howell, Harry Dean Stanton, Powers Boothe, Ben Johnson (DILLINGER), Darren Dalton (THE OUTSIDERS), Brad Savage (SALEM'S LOT), Vladek Sheybal (Mr. Boogalow in THE APPLE). Cinematography by Ric Waite (THE LONG RIDERS, COBRA). I must note that about half the cast had just 'graduated' from working with Francis Ford Coppola (on the OUTSIDERS), and, likely as a result, are completely 'on' and connected to the material. Harry Dean Stanton manages to emit more pathos in a few minutes of screen time than most can aspire to in an entire career. Powers Boothe's brief appearance is similarly weighty.
Tag-line: "A full scale military invasion by foreign troops begins. Total surprise. Almost total success . . . ."
Best exchange: "What about Europe?" –"I guess they figured twice in one century was enough. They're sitting this one out."

Outside a rural classroom window, paratroopers gracefully drift down from between the clouds. A schoolteacher, hypnotized by the sight, staggers outside- and the cracks of rifles rudely interrupt the reverie.

RED DAWN has entrancing imagery, worthy of Ford or Malick: children huddled on rocky crags, eating canned beans and evading capture; a world of rape, occupation, fathers in cages. You can choose to see this film through many lenses- a student's survivalist daydream, a cautionary tale for a country gone soft, THE BREAKFAST CLUB meets SALVADOR, or a parallel dimension where the Cold War plays out like Philip K. Dick's THE MAN IN THE HIGH CASTLE.

It's a film that focuses on teenage awkwardness- not at sex, but at war. Like WARGAMES, released the previous year, it features marketable young actors forced to accept our world's destructive horrors. But while WARGAMES' terror was confined to one side of a computer monitor, RED DAWN buries your face in the dust and forces you to watch your neighbors as they're shot in the street like dogs.

It puts you in the shoes of an insurgency and in the beleaguered minds of the occupying force. Jingoists can claim that the film gives legitimacy to Reagan, the Military Industrial Complex, Red-Baiting, or what-have-you, but instead, it only demonstrates the impotence of a System that promises safety but has never experienced true loss.

If a situation such as the one in RED DAWN were to arise, the saviors would not be those who wear flag pins and shit-eating grins, nor the blue blood a-holes who, in the film, roll over like so many Rocky Mountain Pétains. It will be the downtrodden, those who have lost the most, those who have witnessed injustice and nurtured their righteous anger like a precious resource.

Che was a medical student, Georges Bidault (of the Free French) was a history teacher, Lech Walesa worked in a shipyard, Nelson Mandela was a clerk at a law firm, and here, the Wolverines were just some high school students in Anywhere, U.S.A...

Five stars.

-Sean Gill

Film Review: DILLINGER (1973, John Milius)

Stars: 4 of 5.
Running Time: 107 minutes.
Tag-line: "...he was the gangster's gangster. "
Notable Cast or Crew: Warren Oates (BRING ME THE HEAD OF ALFREDO GARCIA), Harry Dean Stanton, John P. Ryan (IT'S ALIVE, RUNAWAY TRAIN), Geoffrey Lewis (MIDNIGHT IN THE GARDEN OF GOOD AND EVIL), Richard Dreyfuss, Cloris Leachman (YOUNG FRANKENSTEIN), Michelle Phillips (SHAMPOO), Ben Johnson (THE LAST PICTURE SHOW). Directed and written by John Milius (RED DAWN, FLIGHT OF THE INTRUDER, BIG WEDNESDAY, CONAN THE BARBARIAN).
Best one-liner: "Okay, boys; let's go make a withdrawal."

John Milius, with his "men's men" (or "gangster's gangsters" in this case) and bloody shootouts, is often compared to Sam Peckinpah. And while the comparison is apt, most are content to pin him down as merely a Second Amendment-lovin' reactionary, and leave it at that. But there's a humanist inside Milius, a lover of nature, a quiet observer of humanity's (violent) inclinations. And in this respect, I would compare him equally to Terrence Malick. (And also in their propensity to use Harry Dean Stanton, Warren Oates, Nick Nolte, and windswept, amber waves of grain.) DILLINGER, Milius' feature film (directorial) debut, is an excellent fusion of 30's gangster pic and the existential 70's 'road trip drama.' Oates' Dillinger is smarmy, full of hubris, and ultimately an asshole ("this is gonna be one of the big days of your life..."): it's brutality, to be sure, but it's brutality with élan.

Harry Dean Stanton is a gang member with a bad attitude, a giant sombrero, and brimming pathos; Richard Dreyfuss is appropriately psychotic as Baby Face Nelson; and Ben Johnson is steely and appropriately detached as Melvin Purvis.

What a lineup: Oates, Stanton, Lewis, Ryan.

The mantra for the film (quite literally at one point) becomes "hard times"- Dillinger doesn't have to do much conniving to find willing accomplices or make a prison warden take his "cut" of a robbery made during an escape. As a Dust Bowl ragamuffin fittingly observes, the only difference between the bank robbers and the FBI is that you "Have to go to school to be a G-Man." There's no joy to be had in seeing anyone get shot here, be it lawbreaker or lawman; characters scream in agony as they die, and no one dies easy. It's a film full of unexpected emotional weight- Dillinger's homecoming to a resigned, sad, tolerant father, or Harry Dean Stanton intoning "things ain't workin' out for me today" in a way that truly no one else could. Four stars.

And stick around after the end credits to hear J. Edgar Hoover denouncing the film (in true a-hole form).

-Sean Gill

Film Review: EXTREME PREJUDICE (1987, Walter Hill)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: 104 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Written by John Milius, Fred Rexer, Deric Washburn, and Harry Kleiner. Starring Nick Nolte, Powers Boothe, Rip Torn, Michael Ironside (TOTAL RECALL, SCANNERS), William Forsythe (PATTY HEARST, THE ROCK), Clancy Brown (HIGHLANDER, LOST), Matt Mulhern (BILOXI BLUES), Larry B. Scott (THE KARATE KID, IRON EAGLE, the gay nerd in REVENGE OF THE NERDS), Dan Tullis Jr. (UNDER THE GUN, MARRIED WITH CHILDREN), Tiny Lister (BEVERLY HILLS COP II, 9 1/2 NINJAS), Mickey Jones (Bob Dylan's drummer), Maria Conchita Alonso.
Tag-lines: "An army of forgotten heroes, all officially dead. They live for combat. Now they've met the wrong man."
Best one-liner: "Música! and make it sweet, goddammit, or I'll shoot the band!"

Before you stick this thing in your player, I want you to mark out an 8 foot radius around your TV set. Then I want you to make sure there's nothing in that zone that you wouldn't mind having 40 gallons of testosterone poured over. EXTREME PREJUDICE has been proven to make wombs shrivel and has turned the frilliest of ladies quite husky; it makes men stumble, confused, into the street with a mysterious desire to chomp on cigars and arm wrestle. It's robust, potent, severe, and is completely safe when used as directed.

It's about men staring at men staring at men.

The ensemble cast possesses a dangerous volatility that borders on the atomic:

we got Powers Boothe crushing scorpions with his bare hands and calling people "shitheel,"


we got quasi-hick Bill Forsythe skewering rats on a hunting knife,


we got Michael Ironside correcting us in our misconception that the scariest face to ever wear a nylon stocking was Willem Dafoe's in WILD AT HEART,

Well, I guess this question's still up in the air.

we got Rip Torn as a drawlin' sheriff spoutin' aphorisms like "the only thing worse than a politician is a child molester,"

we got Clancy Brown as a man so stern that I think he's the original form in Plato's cave for "No Nonsense,"


and we got Nick Nolte as a Ranger whose tolerance for "bureaucratic fatasses fluffin' their duff" is- that's right- ZERO.

And the only woman of any note, Maria Conchita Alonso, is HOT. And I mean that quite literally: she's kept well-steamed, sweaty, and safely objectified for the duration via contrivances such as showers and non-air conditioned bars.

Everyone in this movie is sweaty.

She's one of those women who wants to "talk" with her man, Nolte. Talk?! Screw that. He doesn't even know what that means. Writer John Milius' reactionary political views are at first offensive, then charming, and finally just 'stand back and let the gringos kill each other.' Limbs are blown off, bombs are hidden in cute little rabbits, and the inspiration for BULLETPROOF has never been more apparent (adding more fuel to the Busey/Nolte fire). Kill 'em all, let God sort 'em out, and give this thing five stars.

-Sean Gill

Film Review: DIRTY HARRY (1971, Don Siegel)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: 102 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Clint Eastwood, Andy Robinson, John Vernon, John Mitchum, Harry Guardino, John Milius (uncredited screenplay contributions), and a Lalo Schifrin score.
Tag-lines: "You don't assign him to murder cases, You just turn him loose."
Best one-liner: "Stupid kid! Come on, sing everyone! Sing, or I'll go home and kill all your mommies, sing, sing!"

"For $29.50, let it hurt." Of all the directorial "father" figures that molded Clint Eastwood into the legend he is today, I would say that Don Siegel had the greatest impact. Their collaborations (COOGAN'S BLUFF, THE BEGUILED, ESCAPE FROM ALCATRAZ, etc.) embodied a certain counter counter-culture sensibility that sometimes flirted with fascism, but shouldn't be confused for it. Instead, the films are complex dissections of the "man of values" in a world which has none, with our hero gradually realizing that his supposed values systems are in fact shadowy and undefined, and aww, who the hell cares anymore, let's shoot some people.

But then there's no satisfaction from that, either. So, call it what you will, but I think our leather elbow-padded, sweet sunglasses-wearing, constantly squinting, ever-sneering hero perpetually sits in judgment of society- ALL society- from the rich stuffed-shirts to his fellow cops to the hippies.

Plenty of extremes are presented to show you what Harry's not: the skeezy politico mayor (John Vernon), the homicidal racist homophobe Scorpio (Andy Robinson), the by-the-book cops and office drones, street thugs, and innocent victims. But, despite the nihilistic undertones, DIRTY HARRY is hilarious: "Do it at home!" he harshly intones to a young man cruisin' in the park, "Go on out and get some air, fatso!" he growls at Bob Mitchum's overweight brother (and that seriously takes some guts to offend a Mitchum- I guess that means you think you can take on Bob...and maybe Clint can!). And every Siegel flick has at least one amazingly head-scratching moment that fails to immediately sink in. HARRY's is when, in the middle of a crucial stakeout, his binoculars roam across a hippie's apartment, hosting some kind of ridiculous threesome. Instead of the sneer of derision we expect, Harry whispers to himself, "You owe it to yourself to live a little, Harry." WHUTTTT?! Bravo, Harry. Here's five stars- even though I know you'll just throw 'em in the river.

-Sean Gill