Only now does it occur to me... BLOWN AWAY (1994)

Only now does it occur to me... I can show you what you need to know about Stephen Hopkins' BLOWN AWAY better than I can tell you. In short, it's a delirious slice of mid-90s madness, as if PATRIOT GAMES and SPEED were ground together into mélange of Jeff Bridges running in vain toward slo-mo explosions, the absolute worst Irish accents ever put to film, and a sensibility that screams "Bruckheimer," though no Bruckheimers were involved in this project. It was ahead of its time.

But first, a few clips, with very little context.

The first, I call: "Forest Whitaker Fails to Notice an Extremely Conspicuous Tommy Lee Jones."

Here, Forest is jogging up a Boston staircase and is so zoned out to the beautiful strains of U2 that he does not notice Tommy Lee Jones––in the busiest Jesus t-shirt ever worn––taping him with a camcorder from six inches away.

The second, I call: "Tommy Lee Jones Is Suspiciously Protective of His Crab Bag."


Here, he simultaneously creeps out and amuses Suzy Amis, who has never seen crab puppet theater performed on a public beach.

The final clip, I call: "Tommy Lee Jones Drunken Dance Mania."

While in some ways this is of a piece with "Ed Harris Dance Mania in CREEPSHOW," the intent is more along the lines of "Ted Levine/'Goodbye Horses' in SILENCE OF THE LAMBS." I have excised the footage of Jeff Bridges wandering around the cobwebb'd periphery of Jones' lair in this clip because it did not involve Tommy Lee Jones drunkenly rocking out to, yes, the exact same U2 song that Forest Whitaker was listening to in Clip #1.

I believe I have now informed you of all you need to know about BLOWN AWAY, and you may carry on.

Only now does it occur to me... BREAKING GLASS

Only now does it occur to me...  that a British indie punk movie from 1980 would have such a far-reaching influence on 80s Sci-Fi.

Before I explain what I mean, I must compliment BREAKING GLASS, a gritty "rise to the top" record industry film (in a similar vein as SLADE IN FLAME or LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE FABULOUS STAINS).  Mostly it's a platform for Hazel O'Connor to sing the shit out of a variety of legitimately amazing punk, New Wave, and post-punk music she's written for the occasion. 

But there's also the part where she (and the costume design team) inspire the entire aesthetic for 1982's TRON:

BREAKING GLASS.


TRON.

Then there's the small matter that for large chunks of the film, she's in white-face and New Wave eye makeup with a teased-out, electro-bob haircut:  the spitting image of Daryl Hannah's "Pris" from 1982's BLADE RUNNER:

Hazel hangs out with her band in BREAKING GLASS.


Daryl Hannah hangs out with her replicant buddies in BLADE RUNNER.


Hazel freaks out on stage in BREAKING GLASS.


Daryl freaks out on Harrison Ford in BLADE RUNNER.

Clearly, Ridley Scott saw this, and was taking notes.  And it may be a bit of a stretch, but in some scenes she even looks like Joanna Cassidy's "Zhora," another replicant from BLADE RUNNER:
 
 Hazel in her dressing room in BREAKING GLASS.

Joanna Cassidy in her dressing room in BLADE RUNNER.

Before you chalk it up to coincidence, allow me to present one final, bizarre detail– BREAKING GLASS prefigures BLADE RUNNER's use of the "weird, reflective, robotic pupil" effect.  In BLADE RUNNER, it's generally used to indicate when a person (or a creature) is a synthetic "replicant":

Tyrell's replicant owl.

Replicant Rutger Hauer.

In BREAKING GLASS, it's used by Hazel and her band as they impersonate robots on stage:

Inspiration can be found in the most unlikely of places– and I'm sure that Hazel and the makers of BREAKING GLASS had no idea that they would exert such a stylistic influence on two of the biggest sci-fi flicks of 1982– and furthermore, at the time, I'm sure no one could have guessed that those two films would establish such cultural staying power.  But here's hoping that BREAKING GLASS can muster a little staying power, too:  it's an invaluable document of New Wave-Punk realness, and seriously, it's rare for a film to have such ass-kicking original music, across the board.  A gushing recommendation, for sci-fi fans and punk rock enthusiasts alike!

Only now does it occur to me... HEAVEN'S GATE (1980)

Only now does it occur to me... that I'm not sure if a movie has ever been packed with as many beloved character actors as HEAVEN'S GATE, and I'll even include THE LONGEST DAY, COP LAND, THE EXPENDABLES, THE PLAYER, and MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS in consideration.

There's so much to say about HEAVEN'S GATE.  Probably too much.  From its tumultuous production that basically destroyed United Artists to its hideous reception to its latter-day critical re-evaluation to the Johnson County War on which it is based– one could fill a volume.  (And people have.)  In the end, I'd say it's an ambitious film which flirts with genius, is bogged down by poor pacing, but consistently holds the viewer spellbound with gorgeous Western imagery (courtesy of master cinematographer Vilmos Zsigmond) even when the narrative begins to dawdle. 

So set aside nearly four hours and give it a try– I'd say it's worth the time for the curious, the Western fan, the cinematography aficionado, or the character actor die-hard.  But more on that in a minute.  Then, see FINAL CUT: THE MAKING AND UNMAKING OF HEAVEN'S GATE (available in eight parts on YouTube here), and go ahead and read this interview with Cimino himself for a little taste of the outlandish (and possibly insane) creature who lurks beneath the surface of this genuinely talented and occasionally virtuosic director.

But for now, fasten your seatbelts, and prepare for a whirlwind tour of character actors, the sheer magnitude of whom may even give you whiplash: 

Coming up on the left here is Eastwood crony Geoffrey Lewis (10 TO MIDNIGHT, MIDNIGHT IN THE GARDEN OF GOOD AND EVIL, DOUBLE IMPACT, BRONCO BILLY, 'SALEM'S LOT, MAVERICK) looking like the live action mountain man version of "Pigpen" from peanuts.

Attached to Geoffrey Lewis is a hand.  And in that hand is a tongue.  And that tongue is attached to...

...Mickey Rourke?  

 

Lookin' pretty young there, Mickey!  Good show.

Down the road a spell is Terry O'Quinn (THE STEPFATHER, BLIND FURY, THE X-FILES, SILVER BULLET, THE ROCKETEER, "John Locke" on LOST)

He's got his hair still, and is playing a baseball-luvin' member of the U.S. Calvary.  In a strange tie-in with his character on LOST, he's got an injured leg and is carrying an important and mysterious "list" of names.

Continuing on with our journey, here's Richard Masur (IT, THE THING, LICENSE TO DRIVE, MR. BOOGEDY, RENT-A-COP, RISKY BUSINESS, MY GIRL)

chomping on a corn cob pipe, giving his all to his colorful brogue, and looking about as intense as he's ever looked (no small feat for a man generally typecast as "suburban dad").

Over on the right here, to the left of that presumably 19th Century malt liquor is edgy queen of French cinema Isabelle Huppert (THE PIANO TEACHER, AMOUR, I HEART HUCKABEE, COUP DE TORCHON, LA CEREMONIE, Hal Hartley's AMATEUR).

Up here behind the beard is Brad Dourif (CHILD'S PLAY, WISE BLOOD, ALIEN: RESURRECTION, DEADWOOD, THE TWO TOWERS, DUNE, ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO'S NEST, THE EXORCIST III, BLUE VELVET, GRIM PRAIRIE TALES)

and sure he doesn't have much to do, but it's a modern-day Western, so we had to have Brad Dourif in some kind of old-timey spectacles.  I think it should be written into the SAG paperwork.

Around the bend in the proto-pimp costume is Bronson heavy Paul Koslo (THE OMEGA MAN, VANISHING POINT, THE STONE KILLER, MR. MAJESTYK, CLEOPATRA JONES, FREEBIE AND THE BEAN, LOVE AND BULLETS).

Then, over in that train with the fur hat and the lip carpet is Sam Waterston (THE KILLING FIELDS, THE GREAT GATSBY, SERIAL MOM, LAW AND ORDER, CRIMES AND MISDEMEANORS, CAPRICORN ONE)

who finally gets to play a bad guy, and to great effect!

Over to the side there, you can see a Kris Kristofferson (PAT GARRETT AND BILLY THE KID, BRING ME THE HEAD OF ALFREDO GARCIA, CONVOY, FLASHPOINT, BIG-TOP PEE-WEE, BLADE, and star of CHRISTMAS IN CONNECTICUT, the only feature Arnold Schwarzenegger ever directed) in his natural habitat.

And wait– who's that in the shadows behind him?  Why, it's the film debut of Willem Dafoe (THE LOVELESS, WILD AT HEART, ANTICHRIST, SPIDERMAN, TO LIVE AND DIE IN L.A., THE LAST TEMPTATION OF CHRIST, EXISTENZ, BODY OF EVIDENCE, BOONDOCK SAINTS, THE ENGLISH PATIENT).  He's just an extra, but, hot damn!

Down the path a spell is none other than Jeff Bridges (TRON, THE BIG LEBOWSKI, CUTTER'S WAY, THE LAST PICTURE SHOW, KING KONG '76, STARMAN, THUNDERBOLT AND LIGHTFOOT).

He's got a great intensity here in a supporting role– and supposedly when production wrapped, one of the many "cabin" sets were up for grabs, so Bridges swooped in, disassembled it, and reconstructed it on his ranch property!

Over in this glen is Christopher Walken (THE DEER HUNTER, ANNIE HALL, KING OF NEW YORK, THE DEAD ZONE, A VIEW TO A KILL, MCBAIN, BATMAN RETURNS, WAYNE'S WORLD 2, NEW ROSE HOTEL, KANGAROO JACK)

and I'll yes indeed shut my big mouth, shitpoke!  Another fine Walken badass role.

And then right here, if he'll put down the flask long enough for you to get a clear look– is none other than John Hurt (THE ELEPHANT MAN, I CLAUDIUS, ALIEN, THE HIT, 1984, THE STORYTELLER, KING RALPH, DOGVILLE, MIDNIGHT EXPRESS, DEAD MAN, HELLBOY, TINKER TAILOR SOLDIER SPY '11)!

He delivers an eccentric performance, dripping with pathos.  Like every other John Hurt performance!  The man is never anything less than superlative.

Then, upon examining the end credits, I realized that one of my favorites, Tom Noonan (MANHUNTER, HEAT, THE MONSTER SQUAD, THE LAST ACTION HERO, ROBOCOP 2, THE HOUSE OF THE DEVIL, DAMAGES), was in the film as "Jake," and I didn't notice him!  To be fair, he may have been standing around the back with a beard and hat on, and I'm sure I would have seen him if I'd been looking in advance, but allow me to repeat this sentiment:  there were so many character actors that I missed Tom Noonan.

Whew!  I'm impressed.  I hope you've enjoyed this breakneck tour of character actors.  And perhaps in closing, it begs to be asked:  where the hell was Harry Dean Stanton?

Only now does it occur to me... WINTER KILLS

Only now does it occur to me...  that Sterling Hayden's beard could conquer the world.



Hell, I didn't even know he ever had a beard.

WINTER KILLS is a kinda lukewarm conspiracy thriller/comedy from the 1970s that's peppered with insane old Hollywood and character actor cameos.  But even in a film that has Junta Juleil faves like Jeff Bridges, John Huston, Anthony Perkins, Ralph Meeker, Elizabeth Taylor, Eli Wallach, Toshiro Mifune, Richard Boone, Dorothy Malone, and Joe Spinell, Sterling Hayden and his beard reign supreme.  He shows up (riding around with a complement of tanks), chases Jeff Bridges (who's in a car), exchanges some harsh words with him, gives him a 10 second head start, and then commences to fire shells at him as he zooms away.  The scene lasts under five minutes and doesn't really advance the plot, but damn, I loved it.  I can't truly recommend the film; despite being filled with these kinds of interesting curios and diversions, the sum is decidedly less than the parts.  Plus, it feels a little long.  Not Hayden's beard, that is– the film.  Hayden's beard is "just right."  Here, I'll let you look at it again as you leave:

Film Review: WILD BILL (1995, Walter Hill)

Stars: 2.7 of 5.
Running Time: 98 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Jeff Bridges (STARMAN, THUNDERBOLT AND LIGHTFOOT, CUTTER'S WAY), Ellen Barkin (THE ADVENTURES OF BUCKAROO BANZAI, DOWN BY LAW), John Hurt (I, CLAUDIUS; THE HIT), Diane Lane (THE COTTON CLUB, RUMBLE FISH), Keith Carradine (NASHVILLE, SOUTHERN COMFORT), David Arquette (THE OUTSIDERS TV series, SCREAM), Christina Applegate (DON'T TELL MOM THE BABYSITTER'S DEAD, MARS ATTACKS!), James Remar (48 HRS., QUIET COOL), Bruce Dern (THE GREAT GATSBY, SILENT RUNNING). Based on the book DEADWOOD by Peter Dexter and the play by Thomas Babe.
Tag-line: "Take a walk on the wild side."
Best one-liner: "You ought to know better than to touch another man's hat."

Where to begin, WILD BILL? Let's start with the good. I'm a Walter Hill fan. I'm a fan of most of the talented, eclectic cast whose members include the commanding and mustachioed Jeff Bridges, the eloquent John Hurt, the soothingly intense Keith Carradine, the mysterious and sultry Diane Lane, and the lovably psychotic James Remar. There's fast and furious, well-choreographed gunfights which recall the quick-drawin', squinty-eyed triumphs of Sergio Leone.

There's a scene where Wild Bill shoots a shot glass off the back of a hapless pooch while he aims backwards, through a mirror.

There's Keith Carradine (who later played perhaps filmdom's finest Wild Bill on HBO's DEADWOOD) as Buffalo Bill in a zany scene showcasing Wild Bill's legendarily awful acting in the money-grubbing play 'SCOUTS OF THE PLAINS.'

There's a genius scene depicting a geriactric-style gunfight between a wheelchair-using Bruce Dern...

...and a smart-assed Wild Bill, who's had himself tied to a chair to make it a fair fight.

In fact, Dern practically steals the movie playing this irascible, grizzled madman-

and it's a role that he's pretty much (BIG LOVE, MONSTER, THE ASTRONAUT FARMER) been playing ever since. (And to be fair, he was generally playing it before, too.)

We got John Hurt narrating and raising eyebrows and classin' up the joint

and even getting punched out by James Remar.

We got Remar bustin' in and and bellowing the rhetorical question, "A FIVE DOLLAR WHORE'S GONNA TELL ME ABOUT STREET TRASH?!" to a hooker played by...uh, Christina Applegate.

Wait, that must be a typo. Surely I meant to type 'Susan Tyrrell' or 'Candy Clark' or 'Grace Zabriskie'...but no such luck. It's not all peaches and cream, ladies and gentlemen. Christina Applegate is indeed in this movie, and though it pains me to say it, she's far from being the most absolutely, hair-raisingly loco element included in the film.

Now would probably be a good time to mention that WILD BILL is sort of structured like THE DOORS. We flash-forward and flash-back and wash out to events throughout Wild Bill's life, as if trapped in a interminable time warp, an ouroboros of violence and blood and dirt and whiskey. That's fine. It establishes the sense of violence that pervades Wild Bill's very being. But things start to get a little wonky as soon as we got drug trips and opium hallucinations and use of high-contrast black-and-white video art-lookin' sequences full of bizarre, Oliver Stone-style Native American mysticism


which, for all intents and purposes, are unwatchable until Diane Lane shows up, at which point they become only barely watchable.


All of this would be excusable if they were going the all-out arthouse route, but then we have pandering- I assume to the studio, but who knows– altering the historical record in a manner which can only be described as "thoroughly cockamamie." 'Colorado' Charlie Utter inexplicably becomes Charlie Prince (the John Hurt character). Jack McCall (Bill's assassin) is no longer a young, poker-luvin' douche who impulsively shot Bill in the back over a card game and a subsequent gesture of (quite possibly mocking) kindness. He's a young tuff (...played by David Arquette) avenging the honor of his mother, Susannah (Diane Lane), who has Bill at gunpoint about 3,000 times during the course of the movie but only acts on it during the finale.

Now, the historical McCall, most likely trying to save his own ass, claimed that Wild Bill had killed his brother and he was seeking revenge, but to tie it in with the Susannah Moore/Davis Tutt incident is not only kinda historically irresponsible, but it also works to the detriment of the story Hill is telling, unless he wanted the subject of his film to be a heavily fictionalized version of Jack McCall. Anyway, it doesn't really matter- the combining, editing, and altering of historical figures in cinema occurs with such frequency that it hardly bears ment–

CALAMITY

JANE

HOT

TUB

I like Ellen Barkin. Nobody can say that I don't like Ellen Barkin. I guess what I mean to say is that she doesn't quite look the part, or even come close to matching the original Calamity Jane's intensity or gender expression. Elements that I'm sure Barkin could have captured, and that Hill would later (in DEADWOOD) explore more faithfully. It does smack of "studio note," certainly.

 

 

Then again, I suppose that Jane's depiction is something that Hollywood has always struggled with––see also: Doris Day's CALAMITY JANE (1953).

But, let's end things on a positive note, shall we? Here's a clip I uploaded of James Remar, possibly worn down from multiple takes, giving Wild Bill's hat a hearty, dramatic thwack.

Film Review: FAT CITY (1972, John Huston)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: 100 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew:  Stacy Keach (ROADGAMES, ESCAPE FROM L.A., W., LUTHER), Jeff Bridges (TRON, CUTTER'S WAY), Candy Clark (THE MAN WHO FELL TO EARTH, AMERICAN GRAFFITI), Susan Tyrrell (BIG-TOP PEE WEE, FLESH + BLOOD, ROCKULA).  Based on the novel by Leonard Gardner.  Featuring the song "Help Me Make It Through the Night," by Kris Kristofferson.  Directed by John Huston (THE MALTESE FALCON, THE MISFITS, THE TREASURE OF THE SIERRA MADRE).
Tag-line: "The surprise hit of this year's Cannes Film Festival!"
Best one-liner:  "You can count on me!  You...can...count....on me!"

Once again I have been floored by the venerable Mr. Huston. FAT CITY doesn't present fights between formidable competitors; it presents wearied, battered husks of men who stumble and swipe at each other haphazardly...

I guess there was a dream at the end of the line once, but it now it's all so hazy they can't quite remember. And to say that it's better when they're not in the ring is to delude yourself: if it's not swigging hooch out of a brown paper bag while doing migrant work or (literally) beating your brains out on a jukebox, it's passing out at a dingy rat-trap in your tighty-whities, debating whether or not it's worth it to get out of bed. 

Stacy Keach is a washed-up fighter in a world without meaning. Huston strips him down to nothing- a tragic loser with a hare-lip- and from the nothingness, Keach creates a hopeful, vital man eternally numbed by booze and misfortune. This film is probably the most brilliant illustration of broken dreams and the "I'll do great things...tomorrow" mentality that I've ever seen. But this is not an exercise in building up characters just to bring them down- Huston languidly lays it out with nothing but humanity and pathos.

And I don't believe anyone has ever directed 'drunk' better than Huston (UNDER THE VOLCANO, THE MISFITS). None of this 'over the top' shit. 

These people seem LOADED for real, and they clash with the loudmouthed desperation and mutual self-destructiveness of flailing, blinded junkyard dogs.

 Susan Tyrrell delivers, without exaggeration, one of the finest performances in film. She's a sloppy drunk, a sad puppy, and a raving lunatic wrapped in one, trying to find the meaning of her wrecked life at the bottom of a bottle. 

Jeff Bridges and Candy Clark play the youngsters, about to take an unfortunate trip through the same meat-grinder.

 It's a vicious circle with no solution, short of a reinvention of what it means to be human. Bleak, grimy, and shockingly REAL.  One of the great films.

Five stars.

-Sean Gill

Side note:  It must be said that Aronofsky's THE WRESTLER would not and could not exist without FAT CITY.