Film Review: COCKTAIL (1988, Roger Donaldson)

Stars: 2.9 of 5.
Running Time: 104 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Tom Cruise, Bryan Brown (BREAKER MORANT, THE POSEIDON ADVENTURE '05), Elisabeth Shue (THE KARATE KID, HOLLOW MAN), Laurence Luckinbill (THE BOYS IN THE BAND, STAR TREK V), Kelly Lynch (ROAD HOUSE, ROAD HOUSE, ROAD HOUSE), Gina Gershon (SHOWGIRLS, FACE/OFF). Written by Heywood Gould (THE BOYS FROM BRAZIL, co-writer of ROLLING THUNDER). Directed by Roger Donaldson (WHITE SANDS, SPECIES, THE BANK JOB, THIRTEEN DAYS, NO WAY OUT).
Tag-line: "They thought he was good. They were wrong. HE WAS THE BEST." Also, see review.
Best one-liner: "I don't care how liberated this world becomes - a man will always be judged by the amount of alcohol he can consume - and a woman will be impressed, whether she likes it or not."

I'm not sure what to say. I enjoyed this, yes. For starters, it has one of the greatest tag-lines in film history: "When he pours, he reigns." There's high-fives, an amazing 80's neon font, and a sort of visceral, perverse fascination to be had in watching Tom Cruise and Bryan Brown undulate in unison, doing the Hippy-Hippy Shake as they mix Singapore Slings and what-have-yous.



But there's a key element of revulsion: the bad boy 'counter-culture' facade is easily unmasked to reveal a basic celebration of crass yuppie ideals. And it thusly kinda turns into a ginormous, reassuring pat on the back for yuppie sell-outs.

COCKTAIL says, "Fuck money! Fuck selling out! Yeah! Choose love!," and then cranks up the volume on some Starship before resuming with a business plan for creating a chain of bars for strip malls. It LITERALLY does of all of that. Only a yuppie shithook would think of themselves as a 'Maverick' because they're devoted to trite success manuals and dream of one day franchising NYC ambiance to tools across the land. Only the worst of douchebombs would truly relate to a romantic hero who successfully employs "A guy lays down a dare, you gotta take it!" as a perfectly legitimate, forgivable excuse for cheating on your girlfriend.

"THE BAR IS OPEN!"

But still, COCKTAIL is an important cultural document. The late 80's saw several exposés of yuppie culture. Something like BRIGHT LIGHTS, BIG CITY examines the origins and driving forces, and something like John Carpenter's THEY LIVE attempts to place it in perspective through the lens of outrageous sci-fi action and social commentary. But COCKTAIL exists as the flip side- the dark side- of that coin... almost a yuppie Bible. It's also a lot of fun. But for sheer vapidity, I'd rather be watching CAPTAIN RON, and for vapidity with subsequent meaning, I'd rather be watching AMERICAN GIGOLO. So there you have it. Not quite three stars.

-Sean Gill

Film Review: WHITE SANDS (1992, Roger Donaldson)

Stars: 3 of 5.

Running Time: 101 minutes.

Notable Cast or Crew: Directed by Roger Donaldson (COCKTAIL, SPECIES, THIRTEEN DAYS). Starring Willem Dafoe, Mickey Rourke, Samuel L. Jackson, Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio (SCARFACE, THE ABYSS), M. Emmet Walsh (BLOOD SIMPLE, STRAIGHT TIME), John P. Ryan (CLASS OF 1999, FATAL BEAUTY, THE COTTON CLUB), Miguel Sandoval (JURASSIC PARK, REPO MAN), Maura Tierney (ER, SCOTLAND PA), Royce D. Applegate (Rev. Brocklehurst on TWIN PEAKS, UNDER SIEGE 2), and cameos by Mimi Rogers (WEDLOCK, THE RAPTURE) and (failed presidential candidate) Fred Dalton Thompson.

Tag-line: "The most dangerous way to solve a murder... become the victim."

Best one-liner: "I've never met anyone like you...you're honest...even when you're lying."

WHITE SANDS is a mediocre conspiracy thriller in the mold of countless others, but it remains watchable because it's packed to the gills with talented and eclectic performers. Frequently, it's a complete rip-off of the underrated, underseen FLASHPOINT (1984): from the Tangerine Dream-y score to the desert discovery of a mysterious body with a shitload of cash to Kurtwood Smith's monologue about how sedition, chaos, and crime are the lifeblood of the government (here delivered by Mickey Rourke)- it's really quite shameless. Regardless, Willem Dafoe plays a cop whose suburban New Mexican existence is so insipid that he decides to impersonate the dead man on a whim, kind of just to see what happens.

Dafoe, as directed by Roger Donaldson (COCKTAIL, SPECIES) is pretty restrained, but there are a few fantastic moments which creep through- mainly Dafoe's childlike excitement at going undercover. There's a whirlwind of excitable eyebrow action, and his cheerful naïveté ("I can be a Bob!") is truly something to behold.

This is the most exciting moment of his life. But the tables soon turn- he becomes a victim of clothes-slashing lesbians:

Willem Dafoe: brutalized by lesbians.

makes the acquaintance of slippery (uncredited) arms dealer John P. Ryan:

John P. Ryan: once again, underappreciated. See also: my review of FATAL BEAUTY.

begins a war of wills with intense FBI man Sam Jackson:

Hold on to your butts

and begins a whirling dance of death (on eggshells) with enigmatic malfeasant Rourke (who is always compelling, even when phoning it in- as is proved here):

Mickey Rourke: smug, because he thinks he just swindled the producers for a paycheck by 'phoning it in,' when in reality, he couldn't help but deliver an intricate, multi-faceted performance.

We've got some 90's neo-noir action with Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio ("You're not the kind of woman I'd expect to see in a rodeo." –"I'm not the kind of woman you'd expect." GROAAAAN); a healthy dollop of skeezy n' sleazy

M. Emmet Walsh in a bolo tie (is there any other kind?); and bit parts for everyone from Maura Tierney to Miguel Sandoval:

'Why does everyone forget that I was in JURASSIC PARK?'

to that guy (Royce P. Applegate) from the DIFF'RENT STROKES kidnapping episode ("I will kill your parents, Sam"). They even manage to work in a Dafoe shower scene which lends credence to my theory that Dafoe might actually be naked more often than Keitel.

Three (ensemble-cast) stars.

-Sean Gill