R.I.P., Rutger Hauer

"All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain." Oh, man. What can I say about Rutger Hauer's death at 75? One of the greatest actors of his––or any––generation, he brought operatic dimension, emotional intimacy, and a kind of unsettling perfection to his greatest films (BLADE RUNNER, SOLDIER OF ORANGE, FLESH + BLOOD, TURKISH DELIGHT), an elevating sense of fun to his silliest work (THE TENTH KINGDOM, BLIND FURY, PAST MIDNIGHT, WEDLOCK, BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER, his appearances in mindbending Guinness advertisements),  and something unexpected, strange, and considered to his lesser films (Hallmark's THE POSEIDON ADVENTURE, BLEEDERS, DRACULA 3D, THE OSTERMAN WEEKEND), even when he was subtly conveying that the film in question did not deserve his talents. He probably deserved an Oscar for THE HITCHER. And SURVIVING THE GAME. And hell, maybe THE BLOOD OF HEROES. R.I.P., Rutger––and thank you for the work you left behind.

 
Rutger offers Ice-T a few of life's finer things before the deluge in SURVIVING THE GAME.


FLESH + BLOOD: "Rutger Hauer simmers and scowls––a calculating, towheaded, serpentine fiend, and murderer who might be the closest thing we've got to a 'hero.'"


A joy ride in BLIND FURY: "There's a hell of a lot of lip-pursing and brow-raising and eye-squinting, but instead of coming across as over-the-top, it's simply a means for Hauer to externalize our key suspension of disbelief– that a blind man can achieve near-supernatural feats of swordplay." 

THE HITCHER: "Now, apparently, C. Thomas became extremely afraid of Rutger Hauer for real during the shooting of this film. It's not hard to see why. Hauer transforms every interaction between himself and Howell into a theoretical hotbed of sadism, savagery, and primal sexual desires. Every time Hauer is near, you can tell that he's intently thinking about kissing C. Thomas, then maybe about snapping his neck afterward. Hauer is so deeply entrenched in the character, that he knows which buttons to press to make C. Thomas actually uncomfortable. C. Thomas knows that a hateful yet passionate kiss is not is the script, but when somebody as absolutely committed as Rutger is around, da script don't mean shit."


THE 10TH KINGDOM: "Sure, he could've phoned this in (like he did in Hallmark's TV remake of THE POSEIDON ADVENTURE), but by gum, he's givin' it his all.  It's like THE HITCHER infiltrated the Disney universe– this is what I'm talkin' about!"

Interview with Sean Gill in Pleiades

Pleiades, the literary journal at the University of Central Missouri (that recently published my prize-winning short story "The Statement of [REDACTED], Revised") has interviewed me for their website, and you can read the whole exchange here.

Film Review: DREAMSCAPE (1984, Joseph Ruben)

Stars: 4 of 5.

Running Time: 99 minutes.

Notable Cast or Crew: Dennis Quaid (ENEMY MINE, INNERSPACE), Kate Capshaw (INDIANA JONES AND THE TEMPLE OF DOOM, SPACECAMP), Max von Sydow (THE SEVENTH SEAL, MINORITY REPORT), Christopher Plummer (THE SOUND OF MUSIC, A BEAUTIFUL MIND), George Wendt (CHEERS, HOUSE), David Patrick Kelly (COMMANDO, THE CROW, TWIN PEAKS, THE WARRIORS), Peter Jason (THEY LIVE, PRINCE OF DARKNESS), Chris Mulkey (TWIN PEAKS, QUIET COOL), Eddie Albert (ROMAN HOLIDAY, THE HEARTBREAK KID). Music by Maurice Jarre (LAWRENCE OF ARABIA, THE CELEBRITY GUIDE TO WINE). Casting by Johanna Ray (TWIN PEAKS, MULHOLLAND DR., KILL BILL, SHOWGIRLS, COOL AS ICE, BLUE VELVET). Special makeup effects by Craig Reardon (THE GOONIES, DICK TRACY, POLTERGEIST). Special effects by John Eggett (NIGHT OF THE COMET, THE PIRATE MOVIE), Jim Doyle (A NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET, BREAKIN' 2: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO), and Jim Aupperle (THE THING, ROBOCOP 2, BEETLEJUICE). Directed by Joseph Ruben (THE STEPFATHER, SLEEPING WITH THE ENEMY). Written by Ruben, David Loughery (PASSENGER 57, STAR TREK V: THE FINAL FRONTIER), and Chuck Russell (NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET III: DREAM WARRIORS, THE BLOB '88).

Tag-line: "Alex Gardner has an extraordinary gift. The government wants it...The scientists want it... To keep it may cost him his life..."

Memorable Quote: "So, Jane, what you do here, in effect, is count boners."

In a familiar, darkened alley:

"It's been a while!"
–"Sure has. Whaddya got for me?"
"A riddle. What do you get when you combine David Lynch's casting director, the writer of NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET III, the makeup effects dude from DICK TRACY, and a villain who's a combination of Freddy Krueger and Revok from SCANNERS?"
–"If the VHS art you're clasping is any indication... an INDIANA JONES rip-off?"
"Yeah, I don't know why they did that. It's not really like INDIANA JONES at all, unless you consider Kate Capshaw's presence and a stop-motion snake monster to be the full Indy experience.

'Snakes with hands... why'd it have to be snakes with hands?'

Frankly, it's a paranoid science-fictional political thriller that's lot more like SCANNERS, THE FURY, or FIRESTARTER. You could even call it a proto-INCEPTION. Dennis Quaid plays a psychic on the run from the government. He's using his abilities to win big at the racetrack when he's hunted down by special agents Peter Jason

and Chris Mulkey."

–"Wow, that's some genuine '80s street cred right there! I'd watch that MIAMI VICE rip-off."
"You ain't seen nothin' yet. Quaid is then delivered unto Max von Sydow and Kate Capshaw, who are running a sleep research center. They believe that Dennis Quaid can use his psychic abilities to enter other people's dreams and heal their neuroses.

You will note this is not Willie Scott

They believe this because they already have a psychic who can enter dreams. And while you're busy in the shower, he's in your bedroom, wailing on your saxophone."
–"Uh... what?"

"And his name is...

D...

P...

...motherfuckin' K!  DPK! That's right, David Patrick Kelly!"
–"From TWIN PEAKS? From 'Warriors, come out and play-yee-yay?' You're the only person on Earth who calls him that."
"That's definitely not true."
–"But I do appreciate that levitating saxophone squeal. Looks like this movie's '80s trash element just went into overdrive."
"Ohhh yes. So Dennis Quaid agrees to work with the dream researchers after he gets over the spartan decor

'Who's your decorator, Darth Vader?'

and enjoys some serious dive bar pitchers with Max von Sydow."


–"Why doesn't Max von Sydow ever invite me out for beers? And what bar is that?"
"Supposedly it was called the Village Pub, was in Santa Monica, and has been closed down for a while. But I couldn't find a whole lot of information about it. Annnyway, with DPK comes the next phase of the film and the main plot: evil CIA spymaster Christopher Plummer hijacks the project in order to manipulate and assassinate the U.S. president... in his dreams... using DPK as a dream assassin!"

–"That's quite something. You're right, this kinda sounds like a higher-stakes version of INCEPTION. But didn't you say something earlier about... snake monsters?"
"I sure as shit did! This dream world's way more like Freddy Krueger's. Anything––and everything––can happen. You want snake monsters? We got that.

DR. CALIGARI by-way-of evil '80s funhouse?


DPK with.... Freddy Krueger fingers?

Rippin' out hearts like he's in INDIANA JONES AND THE TEMPLE OF DOOM?

Well, guess there's one more thing to connect it to INDIANA JONES.

Droppin' one-liners like he's James Bond?"

'Have a heart,' he says. [tosses heart]

–"This looks completely insane."
"I haven't even gotten to George Wendt yet."
–"What?! Norm?"
"He plays a Stephen King-style horror writer who has a host of conspiracy theories about the whole dream-assassin operation... and it turns out he's right. Naturally, we first meet him at Max von Sydow's favorite glorious dive."

–"Is George Wendt legally allowed to not be at a bar?"
"Hard to say. Also, did I mention that DPK has dreamworld laser nunchucks with morningstar handles?"



–"Okay, okay, goddamit! You got me! I'm sold."
"I knew that'd take you over the edge."
–"Why have I never seen this before? Why has the universe conspired to keep this film from me?"
"It's a cruel world, my friend, and rarely does it make sense. But I think it's going to be okay. You have a copy of DREAMSCAPE now."

Film Review: THE OUTSIDE MAN (1972, Jacques Doray)

Stars: 4 of 5.

Running Time: 105 minutes.

Notable Cast or Crew: Jean Louis Trintignant (THE CONFORMIST, AMOUR, Z, MY NIGHT AT MAUD'S, THE GREAT SILENCE), Ann-Margret (TOMMY, BYE BYE BIRDIE, GRUMPY OLD MEN), Roy Scheider (JAWS, ALL THAT JAZZ), Angie Dickinson (BIG BAD MAMA, THE KILLERS, DRESSED TO KILL), Georgia Engel ("Georgette" on THE MARY TYLER MOORE SHOW, THE CARE BEARS MOVIE), Umberto Orsini (THE DAMNED, LUDWIG), Ted de Corsia (THE KILLING, THE NAKED CITY), Jackie Earle Haley (THE BAD NEWS BEARS, LITTLE CHILDREN, WATCHMEN), Michel Constantin (LE TROU, LE DEUXIEME SOUFFLE), Alex Rocco ("Moe Green" in THE GODFATHER, DETROIT 9000, THE FRIENDS OF EDDIE COYLE), Talia Shire (THE GODFATHER, ROCKY). Music by Michael Legrand (SUMMER OF '42,   Co-written by Jean Claude Carrière (THE DISCREET CHARM OF THE BOURGEOISIE, BELLE DE JOUR). Cinematography by Silvano Ippoliti (CALIGULA, NAVAJO JOE, SUPER FUZZ) and Terry K. Meade (a camera operator on RIO BRAVO and THE LAST PICTURE SHOW).

Tag-line: "If you kill the most powerful man in organized crime, they've got the rest of your life to get you."

Memorable Quote:  "Paris?! You mean, Paris, France?"

Only now, on the Fourth of July, did it occur to me that I needed THE OUTSIDE MAN in my life. Picture it: a down n' dirty '70s Los Angeles crime flick directed by a Frenchman (Jacques Doray), with a screenplay co-written by surrealist master Jean Claude Carrière, and with the alienating, fatalistic atmosphere of LE SAMOURAI, THE MECHANIC, or DETOUR. You could even compare it to Camus' THE STRANGER or THE PLAGUE.

Our antihero is an "Outside Man," a French hitman (Jean-Louis Trintignant) who arrives in L.A. to kill a mobster. After performing the hit, he finds his passport has been stolen and he is relentlessly pursued by another hitman––the great Roy Scheider in a role that is essentially a jockish, dickish enigma.

(Obviously, Scheider nails it.)

Jean-Louis may be a hitman, but he's a Continental. He's an aesthete. He's on an existential journey. In the States, he's an Outside Man. He's awash, adrift in a consumerist wasteland of highway cloverleafs and frozen food and prefabricated homes and hot pavement and hazy skies. If Jean-Paul Sartre says, "hell is other people," then THE OUTSIDE MAN has a bolder, more nuanced thesis. It says hell is the Sunset Strip on a Wednesday night. Hell is kidnapping a mother-son duo played by Georgia Engel

and Jackie Earle Haley,

and, even though the Outside Man has the power and the gun, he's the true prisoner, eating TV dinners with them and watching STAR TREK reruns.  Hell is Jackie Earle Haley pouring ketchup all over the TV dinner's mockery of boeuf bourguignon.

Hell is dive bar wine.

Is that Ripple?

Hell is hippie hitchhikers who wind up being closet Jesus-freaks. Hell is itchy wigs. Hell is denim jackets in the summer.

Hell is bus stations.

Hell is smoggy sunshine criss-crossed by power lines and palm trees. Hell is storm drains. Hell is living in a storm drain.

Hell is abandoned lots and crispy, brown, dead grass. Hell is diet Coca-Cola. Hell is this apartment building.

Hell is a gum-chewing Roy Scheider hiding in your shower with a gun. Hell is faux-wood paneling. Hell is that bedspread.

Hell is sun-tanning. Hell is shaving in a public restroom. Hell is using a communal razor in a public restroom. Hell is paying to use a communal razor in a public restroom.

Hell is drive-in theaters in the daytime.

Hell is that shade of orange. Hell is diner coffee that's been left in the pot overnight.

Hell is having nothing to do but watch TV in a shitty motel room. Hell is kidnap victims being saved by the police but first asking, "where are the television cameras?"

Hell is palm trees covered in garbage. Hell is abandoned boardwalks. Hell is getting a splinter from an abandoned boardwalk.

I guess we could just cut to the chase. We could say: "Hell is L.A." We could even say: "More like 'Hell-A,' amirite?" Hey, guys, I didn't say it, THE OUTSIDE MAN did.

The dual cinematographers––Silvano Ippoliti and Terry K. Meade––definitely present an L.A. that's of a piece with the L.A.s of Don Siegel's THE KILLERS or John Carpenter's THEY LIVE. There is a lot of nice, surreal imagery with a workmanlike finish, even if it's ugly as sin. After watching this film for an hour and forty-five minutes you feel like you've lived your entire life out of anonymous motel rooms with ceilings yellowed by cigarette smoke. You can't remember what air smells like without a soupçon of exhaust fume. You feel like you're in a parked car on a hundred-degree day without A/C: it's suffocating, and smacks of melted plastic.

On this existential journey, we meet a rogue's gallery of 1970s supporting players, including Umberto Orsini as the late mobster's sleazy son and Angie Dickinson as the mobster's wife (who's possibly making a move from père to fils, if you know what I mean).

They have a pool.

There's Alex Rocco (who seemed to have an entire career based on the fact he played "Moe Green" in THE GODFATHER) doing his mobster schtick

and Talia Shire (!)

This is before she moved to Philly to work at a pet store.

as a winsome mortuary attendant who's on screen for about twenty-five seconds. We have the aforementioned wholesome mother-son team of Georgia Engel and Jackie Earle Haley who seem to have stumbled in from a network sitcom (to great effect).

Finally, there's Ann-Margret as an exotic dancer who, through a series of unimportant events, essentially becomes the Outside Man's sidekick.

Here, Ann-Margret's never quite let "off the chain," so to speak, and thus we are denied an orgy of the amazing, over-the-top acting we know she's capable of (because we saw TOMMY). I'd say that, by and large, the performances (with the exception of Roy Scheider, who is permitted a streak of douchey élan)

are, by design, very static and stilted, almost Bressonian, indicative of the director's vision of America as a colorless, prefabricated consumerist wasteland. However, since we never see Europe in the film and are not afforded the contrast, it's sometimes hard to tell if it's "anti-American," or merely "anti-human."

Also, did I forget to mention that this is––in near-entirety––accompanied by whacka-whacka guitar licks throughout, worthy of a basement porno?

Anyhow, it all ends with a shootout at a church funeral, which definitely gives the whole production that nice post-Melville, pre-John Woo vibe.

I liked this quite a bit, even though I can understand the criticism I've heard, detailing it as a kind of dreary, lifeless slog. Which is kind of the point. Hey, it's all part of the Existentialist experience, man!  Four stars. (And happy existential Fourth of July!)