Only now does it occur to me... THE WRAITH (1986)

Only now does it occur to me... that THE WRAITH is the only opportunity you'll have to see the ghost of Charlie Sheen wearing a faux-H.R. Giger stillsuit 

 

and seeking revenge on a gang of the world's oldest teenagers, a utopian coalition of punks, jocks, nerds, tweakers, and middle-aged bad boys,

 including everyone from Clint Howard with an ERASERHEAD hairdo

to a smug and scenery-devouring Nick Cassavetes.

 

Throw in Randy Quaid as the surly Sheriff and between this Sheen/Cassavetes/Howard/Quaid nexus, you begin realize that almost everybody involved has a significantly more famous relative!

 

This is technically a horror movie, but it has a lot more in common with MAD MAX or HIGH PLAINS DRIFTER, as it's a part-sci-fi/part-supernatural/part-Western inflected revenge actioner featuring a vigilante specter driving a cyberpunk murder car around the American Southwest. It's an '80s movie that's drenched in nostalgia for the 1950s; so much so that the inciting incident is "murder by drag race." It's set in Tucson, Arizona (like the '80s Cannon giallo, WHITE OF THE EYE!) so there's plenty of saguaro cacti

 

and roadside charm.

 

Large chunks of the film take place at "Big Kay's Burger," an AMERICAN GRAFFITI-style teen drive-in hangout with roller-skatin' waitresses,

 

 

and at one point there's an extended "Makin' Burgers" montage set to Robert Palmer's "Addicted to Love"

 

which is a nice reminder that the director (Mike Marvin) also directed the (very real) HAMBURGER: THE MOTION PICTURE.

There are a number of John Carpenter references sprinkled throughout: the supernatural car element certainly speaks to CHRISTINE, at one point someone describes ghost-Charlie Sheen as "weird and pissed off" (referencing a line of dialogue from THE THING), and Randy Quaid's character is named "Loomis," like Donald Pleasence from HALLOWEEN.

I would also be remiss if I didn't mention Sherilyn Fenn ("Audrey Horne" from TWIN PEAKS), who is trapped in a love triangle between ghost-Sheen and the man who killed him (Nick Cassavetes). Here, Fenn has none of the stylish charm that defines and elevates her iconic role in TWIN PEAKS (this particular role is severely underwritten, and all of her scenes with Charlie Sheen were rushed into a single day's shoot), and the best part of her performance is probably the parade of terrible/amazing Southwestern '80s outfits they forced her to wear.

 
Lotta fringe  

 
Were there supposed to be pants? 

Spray-tan overdose

Also, word on the street is that Oliver Stone hated THE WRAITH, and believed that Sheen's presence in such a B-movie would make a negative impact on PLATOON's Oscar chances. He didn't need to worry, as he still walked away with a Best Director statue, and PLATOON won Best Picture. (I'd have given it to THE MISSION or A ROOM WITH A VIEW, myself.)

Only now does it occur to me... DAYS OF THUNDER

Only now does it occur to me...  that following in the footsteps of incredibly "whacky" credit pairings like George A. Romero & Menahem Golan and Jesse Ventura & Andre Gregory that the mind-blowing, onscreen juxtaposition of Robert Towne and Tom Cruise is truly one for the record books.

You will note:  one of these men is the screenwriter of CHINATOWN and THE LAST DETAIL.  The other one is Tom Cruise.  Extra bonus:  the "76" car up there says "Die Hard" on the side of it.  Fine by me.

DAYS OF THUNDER subscribes to the genre of movie (TOP GUN, COCKTAIL, RISKY BUSINESS, THE COLOR OF MONEY) where Tom Cruise engages in a flashy and specialized activity (jet-flyin', cocktail-makin', pimpin', pool-hustlin'), works with a mentor (Tom Skerrit, Bryan Brown, Joe Pantoliano?-admittedly a stretch, Paul Newman) gets the girl (Kelly McGillis, Kelly Lynch, Rebecca De Mornay, Mary Elizabeth Mastrontonio), loses the girl, gets the girl back again, and triumphs over all. To fill in the ingredients of DAYS OF THUNDER, we have:  Nascar-racin', Robert Duvall, and Nicole Kidman.

It's designed as a high-octane Tony Scott thrill ride where we cheer on our bad-boy hero who dips his hat low over his eyes, cause he's cool like that and quite the bad boy:

but upon watching it today, you can't help but root for Michael Rooker the whole time.  Michael Rooker (character-actor extraordinaire and veteran of HENRY: PORTRAIT OF A SERIAL KILLER, THE WALKING DEAD, SLITHER, JFK, CLIFFHANGER, MISSISSIPPI BURNING, RENT-A-COP, and THE DARK HALF)

plays a rival driver who eventually becomes a sidekick to Cruise, but his natural pathos and inspired acting choices contrast so severely with Cruise's tiny-whiny-bad-boy demeanor that you have no choice but to think of him as the true protagonist of the film.  Also, Rooker's character name is "Rowdy Burns" and for the record, I have never disliked anyone named Rowdy.

At one point, after they're both  injured in a wreck, Rooker and Cruise have an epic wheelchair race (to their orderlies' dismay) that just might be the highlight of the film.

Furthermore, Rooker's wife is played by Junta Juleil favorite Caroline Williams (THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE 2, ALAMO BAY, THE LEGEND OF BILLIE JEAN, STEPFATHER II: MAKE ROOM FOR DADDY, LEPRECHAUN 3) who still remains one of Texas' best exports.

Seen here a little more morose than usual.

In closing, I will rattle off three disjointed observations:

#1.  I love it when Randy Quaid says that we look like monkeys fucking a football.

#2.  "Superflo" is only one letter away from "Superflu."

Also, there is so much "1990" happening in that picture, that I feel as if staring at it and meditating (á la SOMEWHERE IN TIME) could in fact transport you back to 1990.

#3.  Nicole Kidman plays an Australian medical doctor whom Tom Cruise mistakes for a stripper.  Later, Tom tries to buy Nicole's love (as in real life) by sending her a shitload of balloons, and– most importantly– a stuffed kangaroo dressed in a doctor costume, you know, because she's a doctor from Australia.

And the best part is that...  it works!  Score one for 'Merica.

Only now does it occur to me... FOXES

Only now does it occur to me...

Okay, three things.

#1.  Continuing the Adrian Lyne rewatch (as previously glimpsed in silly observations on FLASHDANCE, UNFAITHFUL, and INDECENT PROPOSAL), I took a second look at FOXES, a coming-of-age drama that I'd last glimpsed as a youngster, via a library VHS.  It's actually still a solid movie, and well-acted, with fantastic 1980 flourish in the costumes, the random Randy Quaid, the glory of Scott Baio in a tuxedo t-shirt, the likably raw performance of Runaways lead singer Cherie Currie, and the ever-present Giorgio Moroder-produced soundtrack... there's a lot to like here, and the story is told in a way that's unflinching and authentic, making it feel like a definite precursor to "adult" teen fare like FAST TIMES AT RIDGEMONT HIGH.

#2.  An unexpected, super-young, super-nerdy, quasi-villanous performance from a thirteen-year-old Laura Dern!

If I were Donald Gibb in REVENGE OF THE NERDS, I just might say "Nice glasses, neeeeeeeeeeeeeerd!"

#3.  At one point, Cherrie Curie gets picked up while hitchhiking by a couple of leering, lecherous San Fernando Valley swingers who are so caricatured and clearly "evil" that they look they swung straight out of EATING RAOUL.  Now, I don't know if it's because it was late at night, or because I'd had a few drinks already, but it struck me suddenly that the swingers were the exact Bizarro versions of Faye Dunaway and William Shatner.  Amirite?

Well, maybe.  Anyway.  FOXES, ladies and gentlemen!

Film Review: HARD RAIN (1998, Mikael Salomon)

Stars: 3.9 of 5.
Running Time: 97 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Christian Slater, Morgan Freeman, Randy Quaid, Minnie Driver, Betty White, Ed Asner, Richard Dysart (PALE RIDER, Dr. Copper in THE THING), Ricky Harris (HEAT), Jay Patterson (TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES), music by Christopher Young (THE FLY II, DRAG ME TO HELL).
Tag-lines: "In the worst storm in living memory, one guard stands between five men and three million dollars."
Best one-liner: "For twenty years, I've been eatin' shit; breakfast, lunch, and dinner. So now I'm changing the menu. From here on, everything I eat is gonna be shit-free."
Worst Dialogue: "What did you hit me with, anyway? "–It was a crucifix. What? It was all I could find." "–Great, I'm gonna have people from all around the world come to see the impression of Jesus on my forehead."

I'm gonna give it to you straight: whether or not you like this will be very dependent on your tolerance for late 90's natural disaster movies and the writing of Graham Yost (SPEED, BROKEN ARROW, HERMAN'S HEAD). Once you get past that, it's basically Bruckheimer-lite. But it's Bruckheimer-lite infused with The Slater Factor, so we end up doin' a little better than OK.



Before I delve into the good, however, I gotta tell you: there are some things in this movie that will piss you off. There is a whole lot of quasi-witty banter and jokin' around in hypothermic, near-drowning situations. Characters show up outta nowhere for rescues that will strain and then shatter even the most seasoned action fan's suspension of disbelief. And despite her best efforts, Minnie Driver can't overcome her underwritten role.


 

But there's a lotta good stuff, too. Randy Quaid, so frequently misused, comes into his own once more as a fed-up Sheriff with electrifying shades of Terry O'Quinn.



Ed Asner and Betty White provide pathos and comic relief, respectively. Morgan Freeman's got a cowboy hat, an earring, and a beleaguered badass attitude (the impetus for his casting in NURSE BETTY). Danish cinematographer turned director Mikael Saloman (who shot THE ABYSS, BACKDRAFT) brings a lot to the film's gimmick, and the film's gimmick is lots o' water. The sheer volume of real––not CGI––water pouring down on our heroes is actually breathtaking. They must slosh, swim, and float their way toward and away from a variety of creative, genuinely suspenseful situations made all the more visceral by the deluge of real water. And The Slater Factor, though a tad damp and clammy, shines through.

Even when they're a little soggy, the eyebrows still work.

We get a little eyebrow and a couple one-liners ("Low tide, sailor!"). And the whole thing ends on a freeze frame of Slater being a smartass. I'm not sure how ya did it, movie, but here's (nearly) four stars.

Film Review: THE LAST DETAIL (1973, Hal Ashby)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: 103 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Jack Nicholson, Randy Quaid (MIDNIGHT EXPRESS, MAJOR LEAGUE II), Michael Moriarty (TROLL, THE STUFF, IT'S ALIVE III: ISLAND OF THE ALIVE), Otis Young (BLOOD BEACH, THE HOLLYWOOD KNIGHTS), Carol Kane (LICENSE TO DRIVE, THE PRINCESS BRIDE), Gilda Radner, Nancy Allen (ROBOCOP, BLOW OUT), writer Robert Towne.
Tag-lines: "No *#@!!* Navy's going to give some poor **!!@* kid eight years in the #@!* brig without me taking him out for the time of his *#@!!* life. "
Best one-liner: "I am the motherfucking shore patrol, motherfucker! I am the motherfucking shore patrol! Give this man a beer!"

Scripted by Robert Towne (CHINATOWN, SHAMPOO), directed by Hal Ashby (BEING THERE, HAROLD AND MAUDE), and based on the novel by Darryl Ponicsan, THE LAST DETAIL is a grand rumination on injustice, indoctrination, the privileged, and the complex dynamics that bind them together, and it's a film that's as prone to hilarity as it is to soul-crushing angst. It's a film of train stations and travel lockers, of Schlitz and Pabst and shitty hotel rooms; of fear and regret and bravado and rage.

It's about that class of people (which is comprised of nearly every one of us) who are instruments in a flawed system and powerless to do anything but bitch, bitch, bitch. And we're really good at that. Really good at expending all of our righteous indignation at the wrong people, at putting more energy into bitching instead of taking action.

But what can we do? Suppress our emotions until they explode (invariably, at the wrong time)? Maybe we should just stick to that. Do the job. Deliver the man. Listen to your handlers. Just keep moving so nothing sinks in. Drink your drink and mouth off; take out your frustrations on the wrong people, the other cogs like you. Maybe crack a joke or two to make yourself feel like more of a man and less like a lackey. Repeat.

Nicholson lives up to the hype: highly volatile and extremely complex. Otis Young is fantastic as well, and truly holds his own against Nicholson. (Young really should have had the chance to work more.) Youthful Randy Quaid is bumbling and extremely sympathetic. Brief appearances by Gilda Radner, Nancy Allen, and Carol Kane add feminine flavor amidst the masculinity, and the icing on the cake is Michael Moriarty, popping up in the final act as one of those asshole 'handlers' I was talking about. Excellent, excellent, excellent film, and one of those perfect, iconic fusions of script, direction, and acting that seemed to flow so effortlessly out of the 1970's. Five stars.

-Sean Gill