Television Review: WILD PALMS (1993, Kathryn Bigelow, Keith Gordon, Peter Hewitt, & Phil Joanou)

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!"

WILD PALMS 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. WILD PALMS is some of the boldest, most expressionistic work television has ever offered and I must wholeheartedly recommend it.


-Sean Gill

PSYCHO SPACE LABORATORY tonight at the Bowery Poetry Club!

NYers, if you wanna tell the Oscars to take a long walk off a short pier (because we live in a world where ALICE IN WONDERLAND was nominated for three awards and THE GHOST WRITER was completely snubbed) and instead dive headfirst into some 60's Sci-Fi insanity, then swing by the Bowery Poetry Club tonight at 9:30. Cost is ten dollars, and all the details are available HERE.

THE TRAGEDY OF MARIA MACABRE appearing March 2nd at Dixon Place!

For you New Yorkers, this Wednesday will mark the full-length theatrical premiere of Rachel Klein's THE TRAGEDY OF MARIA MACABRE, a morbid fantasia of movement and dance. Rachel conceived, directed, choreographed, and costumed the piece, and I helped co-write the scenario, did the sound design, and last year I made a short film adaptation. It also features original music from Borut Krzisnik (THE TULSE LUPER SUITCASES) and stage management by Marina Steinberg. It stars Abigail Hawk (CBS' BLUE BLOODS), Michael Porsche (LA ENFERMA), Elizabeth Stewart (AENIGMA), Preston Burger (GO-GO KILLERS!), Danielle Marie Fusco (STAGE BLOOD IS NEVER ENOUGH), Freddy Mancilla (GO-GO KILLERS!), Megan O'Connor (STAGE BLOOD IS NEVER ENOUGH), Brian Rubiano (GO-GO KILLERS!), and Eric Schmalenberger (THE VOLUPTUOUS HORROR OF KAREN BLACK).

The plot is as follows: Upon dying, Maria Macabre is not granted eternal slumber, but instead a whirling, kaleidoscopic carnival of horrors: a morbid funhouse where humanity is stripped away and a permanent place in the gruesome chorus line is all but assured. Flavorpill calls Rachel "a mistress of the macabre" and BeaconPass calls it "darkly glamorous" and proposes that "rarely do you get to witness someone else’s nightmares — and rarely are they so vivid." See also: Backstage Pass with Lia Chang, New York Cool, Time Out New York, and the Village Voice.

WHO: You.
WHAT: THE TRAGEDY OF MARIA MACABRE at Dixon Place.
WHEN: Wednesday, March 2nd at 7:30 P.M.
WHERE: Dixon Place- 161A Chrystie Street. Manhattan, NY.
HOW MUCH: 15 dollars.

Also, this Sunday, a few of my short plays are going up at the Bowery Poetry club as part of a residency- the information is available HERE.

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

MUSTACHE PARTY screening tonight at Big Vision Empty Wallet

WHO: You.
WHAT: My film MUSTACHE PARTY screening at Big Vision Empty Wallet, presented by Industry Power Play-NYC Film Events.
WHEN: Starts at 7PM, but screenings won't begin until 8:45PM.
WHERE: Bar 13. 35 East 13th Street, Manhattan, NY.
HOW MUCH: $7 online; $10 at the door.

Television Review: BAD RONALD (1974, Buzz Kulik)

Stars: 4 of 5.
Running Time: 74 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Scott Jacoby (THE ANDERSON TAPES, THE LITTLE GIRL WHO LIVES DOWN THE LANE), Dabney Coleman (CLOAK & DAGGER, NINE TO FIVE), Pippa Scott (THE SEARCHERS, AUNTIE MAME), Kim Hunter (PLANET OF THE APES, A STREETCAR NAMED DESIRE), Linda Watkins (THE PARENT TRAP, FROM HELL IT CAME), John Larch (DIRTY HARRY, PLAY MISTY FOR ME), John Fiedler (SHARKY'S MACHINE, the voice of Piglet). Music by Fred Karlin (WESTWORLD, THE STERILE CUCKOO). Adapted by Andrew Peter Marin (HOG WILD, BLACK MARKET BABY) from the novel by John Holbrook Vance (THE LAST CASTLE, THE DREAM MASTER). Directed by Buzz Kulik (BRIAN'S SONG, 9 episodes of THE TWILIGHT ZONE including "A Game of Pool" and "A Hundred Yards Over the Rim"). Produced by Lee Rich (THE WALTONS, DON'T BE AFRAID OF THE DARK, DYING ROOM ONLY, THE STRANGER WITHIN).
Tag-line: None.
Best one-liner: "I'm Prince Norbert, I know everything!"

In my continuing series seeking to explore the completely whacked-out tradition of 1970's made-for-television horror movies (DON'T BE AFRAID OF THE DARK, TRILOGY OF TERROR, et al.), may I submit, for your consideration: BAD RONALD. Possessing what is quite possibly one of the most bizarre plotlines of all time (surely the most bizarre to play on ABC on a Saturday afternoon), BAD RONALD is a hotbed of adolescent psychosexual tension, unsettling voyeurism, and general eyebrow-raising lunacy. I won't reveal the plot's entirety by any means, but allow me to provide a brief introduction so that you have some inkling as to what the hell I'm talking about.

BAD RONALD is a real 'cut to the chase' kind of movie. It sets up its characters, lays out a murder, lays out a coverup, and commences with some bona fide insanity, and all by the twelve minute mark! Ronald (a very proto-Matthew Modine-ish Scott Jacoby) and his creepy mother (a delightfully crazed Kim Hunter) lead an eerily, uh, idyllic existence. His mother dotes on him, feeds him chocolate cakes, and insists that he grow up to become a doctor to cure her because she has some kind of debilitating medical condition, possibly involving a gall bladder.


Ronald wants only to please his mother, but he also has artistic aspirations, most of which involve a Medieval fantasy world called 'Atranta.' Wanting to branch out with his social life (i.e., away from his mom), Ronald makes romantic overtures toward the jock-luvin' neighbor girl. Said overtures are rebuffed, and as if to put salt in the wound, her seven-year old sister taunts dear Ronald (not yet 'Bad' Ronald), who promptly engages in a "Say you're sorry!" shoving match, grabs her head, and smashes it into a rock. It's an oddly unsettling death scene with no gore whatsoever...they don't make 'em like this any more.


But it was just an accident!...kind of.

He decides to bury her (!), and then confesses all to his mother, whose only natural response is to wall him inside the first-floor bathroom so he can lay low for a while (!!).

This roomy, Victorian first-floor bathroom is transformed into living quarters...

...hidden beneath a fresh slapping down of wallpaper...

...and accessible via a secret entrance in the pantry.

I think this taps into a childish, 'clubhouse' fascination- what kid wouldn't want to have an entirely secret chamber to call their own, from which they could come and go as they pleased? It's got that secretive thrill to it, too- like how kids connect with FROM THE MIXED-UP FILES OF MRS. BASIL E. FRANKWEILER, because who wouldn't want to spend the night alone in a cavernous, empty museum? Of course, in BAD RONALD, it's tempered with all this weird, brutish sexual energy, but the concept of the secret room was probably a big enough hook to get the kiddie viewers initially engaged (...and ultimately freaked out). I like it.

Anyway, because he suddenly and mysteriously has disappeared, he's the cops number one suspect, a fact which doesn't seem to bother his mother, who promptly dies after a gall bladder operation (!!!). Alone, and living inside the walls, what's an unhinged kid to do? Soon, a new family (led by patriarch Dabney Coleman, matriarch Pippa Scott, and three young lasses) has moved in...and then the real shenanigans can begin!

And bear in mind that at this point, we're only thirty minutes into the movie. Who knows what depravities await you as we journey deep into the maelstrom and beyond with our petulant host, BAD RONALD...

...So- without rehashing any more of the plot- allow me to recommend six quick additional reasons why you ought to check out BAD RONALD:

#1. Dabney Coleman furiously doing some sit-ups and then, while still on the floor, snagging a beer and taking a hearty swig.

I like your style, Dabs. You don't mind if I call you Dabs, right?

#2. The sprawling, quasi-surrealist paintings that Ronald sketches on the walls while in his lair.

Which leads me to...

#3. ....the ridiculous graffiti in said lair!

The camera doesn't linger on this particular section for long, but I feel as if it was drawn by excitable P.A.s on their lunch break: a broken heart...crossed out!, a compass sign with an 'R' in the center for 'R'onald, a depiction of Ronald's glasses, "Mother! Mother!," "See no Evil," "Ha! Ha! Ha!," "Help!," etc. etc. Truly a portrait of a psyche... in chaos!

#4. May I present to you, Linda Watkins, the original fuckin' nosy neighbor, the recockulous Mrs. Schumacher. She'll be here all week, ladies and gentlemen.

The role requires no dialogue, but does require some ludicrous eyebrow action and incredulous looks. I'd be lying if I said this wasn't my favorite element of the movie.

#5. Prescient presidential references? There's a character named Jimmy Carter in a movie called BAD RONALD (Reagan?) a full six years before the 1980 presidential election and two years before '76. Coincidence? Or can BAD RONALD predict the future?

#6. Strange face touching. As we saw above, Ronald contorts, quite unnervingly, the face of his young victim before she dies, something which we see his mother do to him as well.

Are we to imagine he learned it from his mother, and as he torments young female victims, he has motherly (á la PSYCHO) inclinations?


The dirtying of a young girl's mouth bears a weird psychosexual weight to it, too- it feels like a real Cronenberg flourish. You're thinking to yourself 'How can they show that on TV?!' and then, of course, you realize that it's not at all explicit in the 'by the book' sense. Perhaps this is more adequately fleshed out in the novel, which I'm more than tempted to check out. (Though it appears to be quite rare, as it's exorbitantly priced on the used book market- i.e., $50.00 or more for a mass market paperback!)

In the end, it's a strange, fever dream of film which may have been an inspiration to everyone from George A. Romero (MARTIN) to Wes Craven (THE PEOPLE UNDER THE STAIRS). Four censor-shirking stars!

-Sean Gill

Dario Argento, Rutger Hauer, 3-D, and Bram Stroker to collaborate

I kind of don't see how this could go wrong.

Psycho Space Laboratory at the Bowery Poetry Club!

As part of a new joint-residency called the "Psycho Space Laboratory" at the Bowery Poetry Club between Junta Juleil Theatricals (DREAMS OF THE CLOCKMAKER, AENIGMA), Rachel Klein Productions (THE TRAGEDY OF MARIA MACABRE, GO-GO KILLERS!), and Blue Box Productions (STICKY, ZEROPIA), we will be presenting a launch party/theatrical event paying homage largely to Science Fiction of the 1950's and 60's. From the press release:

"These three innovative companies have joined forces to bring to life an immersive world of entertainment, blending vintage pop culture with futuristic sci-fi—converting the bar at Bowery Poetry Club into a world of performance adventure. The 'Launch Party A-Go-Go!' features an space age story interwoven throughout an entire evening of performance art, dance, and performance art curation by Eric Schmalenberger (Banzai!, the Arch Collective, the Citizen’s band). Emcees Eric Schmalenberger and Miss Kristen Lee! Featuring the RKP Dancers! Elizabeth Stewart, Megan O'Connor, Michael Porsche, Preston Burger, Freddy Mancilla, Brian Rubiano, Scooter Pie, Robyn Nielsen, Rosabelle Selavy and Miss Kristen Lee; Short Plays by Libby Emmons and Sean Gill; Live Music by Jeffrey Marsh; Performances by Joe Stipek, Jake Thomas, Nancy Noto, and Jillaine Gill; and much more!"

The event takes place on February 27th, 2011 and begins at 9:30 P.M. It will be held at the Bowery Poetry Club- 308 Bowery in Manhattan, NY. Cost is $10 dollars.

Verhoeven and Motor City enthusiasts rejoice!

"Your move, Creep!" To those who have been following the drama in Detroit (a clash between disciples of Paul Verhoeven and the Dave Bing administration) it appears that, despite a rejection from city officials, a grassroots movement to build a statue honoring ROBOCOP has received the necessary funding. Perhaps it will stand tall beside the Rocky statue in Philadelphia, the 'Bronze Fonz' in Milwaukee, and the statue of Leatherface and Dennis Hopper, mid-chainsaw duel, that I hope exists somewhere in the backwoods of Texas.

Film Review: LITTLE WITCHES (1996, Jane Simpson)

Stars: 1 of 5.
Running Time: 90 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Mimi Rose, Jennifer Rubin (HELLRAISER, SCREAMERS), Sheeri Rappaport, Clea Duvall (THE FACULTY, GIRL INTERRUPTED), Jack Nance (ERASERHEAD, BARFLY), and Zelda Rubinstein (POLTERGIEST, TEEN WITCH).
Tag-line: "Forgive Me Father, For I Am Sin!"
Best one-liner: A girl exits the confessional: "What did she do?" –"What didn't she do!"

Even at 3:00 AM, under the shameful cover of darkness and sleep deprivation, LITTLE WITCHES was not a good idea. It's by Apix Entertainment, that bastion of low-budg skin flickery that brought us SCORNED and SCORNED 2, and let me tell you, these guys make Full Moon look like Janus Films.

A-pix? Like A-pics? Like "the first, superior film at a double feature?"

A hideously misguided, quasi-softcore rip-off of THE CRAFT, it's written by men but directed by a woman (Jane Simpson, sort of a latter-day Doris Wishman?). I often ill-advisedly brave these bottom of the barrel VHS classicks, but rarely do they result in such palpable discomfiture and near constant thumbings of the fast forward button. Why did I see this movie? Well, I saw David Lynch crony and lovable madman Jack Nance listed in the cast, I knew it featured eccentric horror legend and character actress extraordinaire Zelda Rubinstein, and, what can I say- I'm a sucker for a tag-line as ludicrous as "Forgive Me Father, For I Am Sin!" But the fact of the matter is that the quality index is skewed, and the film is absolutely lifeless. Even the "Oh my God naked Catholic schoolgirls!" demographic has got to be finding this duller than the most interminable and pandering of homilies. Which raises the point that perhaps it was created by Catholics, for wayward Catholics so that they'd find 'temptation,' as it were, to be more even more banal than the most torpid of masses.

Sure, there's scenes of Jack Nance taking confession and muttering "I want you to spend seven minutes contemplating the immensity of God,"

and that's all fine and good, but then it's followed by some sort of immensely awkward schoolgirl stripping sequence set to Mr. Jones and the Previous' "Who's Gonna Make it Rain?," a extended setpiece that's mechanical, graceless, and strangely corporate, despite the Troma-level budget.

The banality of sin?

Anyway, then Clea Duvall shows up and begins to really act in the midst of a lot of eyebrow-indicating and curious enunciations- apparently working under the assumption that she's appearing in an actual movie.

Zelda Rubinstein briefly materializes, phoning in the sort of mystical routine that had made her so well-known amongst genre enthusiasts. I mean, when Zelda Rubinstein (she who made an exceptionally sincere appearance in TEEN WITCH) is phoning it in, you've got some fundamental problems. (EDIT- pun not intentional.)

Long after I had lost all interest entirely and begun intermittently fast-forwarding, one image gave me pause: Jack Nance in fishing gear, as previously seen on TWIN PEAKS.

They even duplicate the gag where he keeps his bait and fishing materials in the kitchen (á la "There's a ffffffish in the perrrrrcolator.") I stuck around for his death scene (which included the line "Don't blaspheeeeeeeeme!"), but after that there was really no reason to stick around. I am a man of principals, however, so I fast-forwarded to the end, spying a sad-looking rubbery Satan, some naked black sabbath undulations, and an "Oh boy just when you thought it was over, gues what- it ain't!" ending. Whew. I don't know what I expected, but I guess I expected something slightly better than this. One star.

-Sean Gill

Film Review: ABOUT LAST NIGHT... (1986, Edward Zwick)

Stars: 2 of 5.
Running Time: 113 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: James Belushi (THE PRINCIPAL, WILD PALMS), Demi Moore (STRIPTEASE, ONE CRAZY SUMMER), Rob Lowe (WAYNE'S WORLD, ST. ELMO'S FIRE), Elizabeth Perkins (BIG, THE FLINTSTONES), Megan Mullally (RISKY BUSINESS, WILL & GRACE), Robin Thomas (SUMMER SCHOOL, AMITYVILLE: DOLLHOUSE).
Tag-line: "It's about men, women, choices, friendship, love, last night..."
Best one-liner:"You don't go here. You don't go there. You're about as much fun as a stick."

Alright, ABOUT LAST NIGHT..., I'll try and keep this brief. I've come to talk to you about last night. I watched you, and, to tell the truth, you weren't great. Allow me to clarify. If I was expecting 80's romantic fluff, say, like ST. ELMO'S FIRE (whose cast you stole!), I'd have been only mildly irked instead of actively pissed. See, the problem here is that you're "based on" a concise but complex play by David Mamet called SEXUAL PERVERSITY IN CHICAGO. This play was punctuated by sharply crude but masterfully constructed dialogue, and presented (in Mamet's words) "intimate relationships as minefields of buried fears and misunderstandings."

It's about misogyny, alienation, selfishness...in fact you could say it's about any number of things EXCEPT ten-minute 'moving in, having sex, and fixing up things around the apartment montages' set to sappy love ballads.


This movie changes and needlessly extends the play (it's almost 2 hours!) in ways that can only be described as offensive. Screenwriters Tim Kazurinsky and Denise DeClue- whose most notable works include THE CHEROKEE KID, a TV movie western starring Sinbad, and FOR KEEPS?, an unforgettable collaboration between Molly Ringwald and Pauly Shore- have taken it upon themselves to mess with and expand upon Mamet's dialogue, and, as a result, the remaining 'untampered Mamet' within stands out like Maria Callas at Karaoke night. The final ignominy, is, of course, a 'love conquers all' ending, which by the time it happens, seems just about par for the course. Seriously, at that point, you're just happy to have the movie be over. Mamet disavowed the film, and later said, "as a callow youth with hay sticking out of my ears, I sold both the play and the screenplay for about $12 and a mess of porridge." Alright, well, here's two stars: one for Chicago-actor extraordinaire James Belushi (the only madman in the cast who really understands Mamet's voice)

and the unedited Mamet dialogue that survived, and one for teaching 'ole Dave a valuable lesson about intellectual property.

Side note: Slightly more enjoyable if you pretend it's a prequel to STRIPTEASE.

Demi and Elizabeth Perkins discuss that whacky Congressman Dilbeck.

-Sean Gill