Only now does it occur to me... KAMIKAZE 1989 (1982)

Only now does it occur to me... that I would ever see German auteur Rainer Werner Fassbinder (BERLIN ALEXANDERPLATZ, THE MARRIAGE OF MARIA BRAUN) running around in a leopard-print suit (well, lurching around, rather) and solving crimes as a hardboiled detective in somebody else's (Wolf Gremm's) queer cyberpunk thriller.

It bears mentioning that Fassbinder died at 37 of a drug overdose, little more than a month before this film was released (and at Wolf Gremm's apartment). One can tell watching this film that he is near death; he stumbles around in a daze, punctuated by episodes of rage and childlike impotence; generally, he's as corpulent and unhealthy-looking as Orson Welles in TOUCH OF EVIL.

It's been years since he could pull off the mesh-shirt/kimono combo

I have a lot of personally complicated feelings about Fassbinder and his death––in the sanitized, arthouse-fan-service version, he's a mad genius/enfant terrible who worked himself to death by making three to four feature films a year and who picked up a drug habit because it allowed him to make even more films. In this narrative, he's the living embodiment of the Lao Tzu quote about "the flame that burns twice as bright" burning half as long. In the version supported by those who knew him personally, he was more like something between a schoolyard bully, an angry toddler, and a cult leader, abusing the actors in his troupe and the people close to him with sadistic abandon. For me, this does not diminish the quality of his incredible films, but forces me to reckon with his personality whenever I engage with those films. It also makes me wonder if, here, at the end, his character invades the personal space of everyone around him because he is directed to, or if he is just being a dick.

Does he throw tantrums––like smashing the buttons on apartment buzzers––because it is a character trait of "Polizeileutnant Jansen," or a character trait of Fassbinder himself?


Seriously, like 10% of this movie is him furiously smashing buttons:

There's a rogue's gallery of Fassbinder regulars throughout, including Günther Kaufmann (WHITY, IN A YEAR WITH THIRTEEN MOONS) and Brigitte Mira (ALI: FEAR EATS THE SOUL, MOTHER KÜSTERS GOES TO HEAVEN):

and the whole thing functions mostly as an insane New-Wave fashion show (which is something I would never complain about):


Just another day at the office



Yep, that's Franco Nero 



Yep, that's a Superman phone



Yep, that's a modified football jersey on a futuristic housewife wearing New Wave swimwear


Yep, that guy is just carrying around a broken toilet

On the whole, it's as if BLADE RUNNER were a queer German art film channeling THE APPLE:

I'm pretty sure the nurse behind this man is wearing a giant BIM mark

except with a dreamy electronic score by Tangerine Dream's own Edgar Froese instead of sci-fi disco, but that's neither here nor there. Perhaps appropriately, the film ends with Fassbinder humping an image of Neil Armstrong and touching himself while listening to the audio of Nixon debriefing Armstrong after the moon landing.

This is literally how the movie ends, and it's Fassbinder's (unknowing?) ultimate farewell to the world of film.

Somehow, it seems appropriate: masturbatory, strange, histrionic, and sad.

Film Review: NEAR DARK (1987, Kathryn Bigelow)

Stars: 4 of 5.
Running Time: 94 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Directed by Kathryn Bigelow (THE LOVELESS, THE HURT LOCKER, POINT BREAK). Written by Bigelow and Eric Red (THE HITCHER, BODY PARTS). Music by Tangerine Dream. Starring Adrian Pasdar (SOLARBABIES, TOP GUN), Jenny Wright (PINK FLOYD'S THE WALL; I, MADMAN), Lance Henriksen (ALIENS, THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM), Bill Paxton (TRUE LIES, ALIENS), Tim Thomerson (DOLLMAN, TRANCERS), Joshua John Miller (TEEN WITCH, RIVER'S EDGE). Cinematography by Adam Greenberg (THE TERMINATOR, 10 TO MIDNIGHT, 3 MEN AND A BABY).
Tag-line: "Killing you would be easy, they'd rather terrify you...forever."
Best one-liner: "Caleb, those people back there, they wasn't normal. Normal folks, they don't spit out bullets when you shoot 'em, no sir." (Later paraphrased in FROM DUSK TILL DAWN.)

I'm sure a fair amount of you have seen NEAR DARK. For those who haven't, it's a two-fisted, shit-kickin' vampire Western that sort of combines all of my favorite things about THE LOST BOYS, Carpenter's VAMPIRES, and POINT BREAK. It slits your throat with a sharpened spur, sears your skin, and explodes in a grotesque display of vampiric immolation. Now, with that in mind, take a gander at the DVD re-release cover:

Sweet God- my worst fears realized- NEAR DARK appropriated by the lily-livered aficionados of TWILIGHT, CGI, and unbridled airbrushing! But it doesn't matter– here's nine reasons why, even if it's remade and/or commandeered by these knuckleheads, NEAR DARK will still live on as an 80's genre classic:

#1. The vampires' mode of travel: a beat-up, nasty old Recreational Vehicle.

There's no sugar-coating their nomadic, hand-to-fang, poverty-stricken existence. They cruise around in a pedophile-mobile with blacked-out windows cause they've got no other choice. No Gothic mansions, no Ann Ricey-TWILIGHTY-romanticized shenanigans- it's a daily struggle for survival that's closer to Buñuel's LAND WITHOUT BREAD or Marc Singer's DARK DAYS than some TRUE BLOOD wankfest. And the RV says it all.

#2. Hey, look, it's a James LeGros cameo!

If you can't appreciate the simple joy of an unexpected LeGros appearance, maybe you don't deserve to enjoy NEAR DARK. And Bigelow even spares him in the midst of a vampire rampage, thus continuing to prove my theory that anybody and everybody worth their salt has a soft spot for LeGros.

#3. The Tangerine Dream score. While on the whole it's not one of their very best scores (like their work on THIEF, FLASHPOINT, or THE PARK IS MINE), certain tracks- like "Bus Station"- possess a certain, fleeting atmospheric quality, like an entrancing invitation to a dangerous fairy-tale world. In short, it's the kind of music that, even though it's looping endlessly on the DVD menu, oddly, it doesn't bother you. In fact, you're looking for an excuse not to start the movie, cause you'd kind of like to listen to Tangerine Dream for just a little longer if ya don't mind.

#4. Tim Thomerson. Undervalued. Underused. Under-recognized.

And here in the kind of mainstream, stalwart, square-jawed, all-American farmer role he should have been booking more often. He's likeable, believable, and deserves to be a household name. And not just in Charles Band's household. Perhaps I exaggerate, but come on, let's hear it for Thomerson.

#5. Bill Paxton is loopier than a corkscrew.

I think that the critical acclaim for a show such as BIG LOVE has made the world, to some
extent, forget that Paxton made his name as one of the zaniest hombres this side of the Marx Brothers.

"I hate 'em when they ain't been shaved!" he laments (as he slurps the blood from an unkempt, hirsute biker). He dances, he prances, he lacerates necks with a sharpened spur. He blows air kisses, blows people away with a six-gun, and shouts "Bullseye!" afterwards. Why a vampire would need to resort to firearms is anybody's guess, but Paxton makes it so you don't really care so long as he keeps twirlin' em and verbalizin' his smart-assed remarks.

Something to ponder: are these the same pleather pants that reappear in BOXING HELENA?

"Finger-lickin' good!" he declares after a particularly fiendish bout of blood-drinking.

Bravo, Paxton. Bravo.

#6. Joshua John Miller. AKA 'The Creepy Kid from RIVER'S EDGE and TEEN WITCH. Other than David Bennent, I'm unsure I can think of anyone more qualified to play the role of 'irascible, centuries old vampire trapped in a child's body.'

#7. Adam Greenberg's cinematography.

Bigelow- via her then-paramour, James Cameron- had already got her hands on Paxton and Henriksen, so why not raid his DP, as well? Bigelow, originally a painter, has always been able to extract striking images from her cinematographers, and the magnificent visuals here are dusty, weather-beaten, and severe. And since I already mentioned that Bigelow was a painter, I'll also mention that her first studio was in an Off-Track Betting building. That's what NEAR DARK is, in a nutshell. Crude yet painterly visions transmitted directly from the scrap-paper and cigarette-butt strewn floors of an OTB. Print that in the paper.

#8. The way the vamps burn.

More like the spontaneous combustion of a back-alley wino than a poetic end to an aristocratic villain, the slow-motion searing and flaying of skin and the blackening of their shabby, smoldering rags makes for quite a memorable, mesmerizing visual despite the grotesquery, even though I'm not sure if grotesquery is, in fact, a real word.

#9. Lance Henriksen.

Gaunt, heavily scarred, possessing a wicked rat-tail, and at one point explaining that he's a Civil War veteran ("I fought for the South. We lost."), Henriksen is, as always, scary good. "Your skin is as soft as a preacher's belly," he can be heard to declare with the sort of impassive malevolence that defines his performance. His character, Jesse Hooker, is a sort of 'bottom line' kinda guy. He's not evil per se (although, uh, it is insinuated that he set the Great Chicago Fire of 1871), he just happens to look out for number one in such a way that he leaves a trail of massacred innocents and general sleazy vampire wreckage in his wake, wherever he goes, whenever he goes. He also cheekily spits up the bullets he's been shot with and uses them to taunt his adversaries.

Lance Henriksen: certainly deserving a place in the vampire hall-of-fame.

Four stars.

-Sean Gill

Film Review: VISION QUEST (1985, Harold Becker)

Stars: 4 of 5.
Running Time: 105 minutes.
Tag-line: "All he needed was a lucky break. Then one day she moved in."
Notable Cast or Crew: Matthew Modine (FULL METAL JACKET, THE BLACKOUT), Linda Fiorentino (GOTCHA!, AFTER HOURS), Ronny Cox (ROBOCOP, TOTAL RECALL), Charles Hallahan (THE THING, FATAL BEAUTY), MADONNA (BODY OF EVIDENCE, DICK TRACY), Forest Whitaker (BIRD, GHOST DOG), Frank Jasper (FREEWAY MANIAC), J.C. Quinn (THE ABYSS, TURNER & HOOCH). Music (ostensibly) by Tangerine Dream. Screenplay by Darryl Ponicsan (novelist of THE LAST DETAIL and CINDERELLA LIBERTY).
Best one-liner: "SHUTE? Shute's a monster! A genuine geratoid! His own father has to use a livewire to keep him from fuckin' the fireplace!"

VISION QUEST is one of those unsung 80's workhorses- it's not flashy, it's not glitzy, it's not silly. And aside from a brief, refreshingly low-key early appearance by Madonna (her first movie role aside from a student film, A CERTAIN SACRIFICE, which she later tried to have banned), it's not populated with the biggest of stars or the slickest of production values. Shot on location in ramshackle diners, hotel kitchens, and sweaty high school gymnasiums in Spokane, Washington, it has a genuine, blue-collared determination to it. High school is not depicted as some nonstop keg party where the 'rents are on that everlasting "weekend getaway" and every teen has got a bedroom tricked out more elaborately than Pee-Wee's playhouse (a representation which I certainly enjoy in the proper context). Instead, it's filled with true-to-life characters who have to balance extracurriculars with thankless jobs and uncertain futures. On the surface, I suppose you could say that it's about wrestling. Generally, my feeling on sports movies is that if they don't involve soul-crushing performances by Stacy Keach & Susan Tyrrell (FAT CITY), dog skulls (THE BLOOD OF HEROES), pedestrian casualties (DEATH RACE 2000), or Sub-Zeros who become just plain zeros (THE RUNNING MAN), then they're going to be an uphill battle. But this isn't a sports movie. Not exactly. It's about the solitary, spiritual journey that every person must one day embark upon- that critical juncture when you must decide upon the answer to that weighty question- 'How to live?'

Based on Terry Davis' 1979 award-winning Young Adult novel (which was called "the truest novel about growing up since THE CATCHER IN THE RYE" by John Irving) and directed by the generally skillful Harold Becker (CITY HALL, TAPS, SEA OF LOVE...and MALICE), our story revolves around the eighteen year-old Louden Swain (Matthew Modine) and his desire to imbue his life with purpose by dropping twenty-some pounds and challenging Brian Shute, the menacing titan state wrestling champion. Along the way, he develops a sort of relationship with a New Jersey wandering artist (Linda Fiorentino, in her screen debut), who's on her way to San Francisco... and crashing at his house. The plot is deceptively simple, and though it lends itself to some rockin' montage sequences, it's a film very much in the mold of other slice-of-life quotidian storytellers like Vittorio de Sica or Satyajit Ray. And while that claim may seem (and may in fact be) ridiculous, VISION QUEST succeeds in getting you to take it seriously enough that the teased Jersey hair, the silver (astronaut?) track suit,

an odd athletic formation that involves purple jumpsuits & a raging circular movement, and even the presence of Madonna never distract you, never send you on a nostalgia tangent, never extract you from the pure, human drama.

The cast is excellent. Modine is committed, connected, and living the role. Fiorentino is taking that whole 'sexy deadpan' thing that she does and is running with it.

Charles Hallahan is appropriately gruff and appropriately supportive as the Coach, and, as a side note, he worked alongside Madonna twice– with this and BODY OF EVIDENCE. Maybe she was a closet fan of THE THING and pulled a couple of strings? Speaking of Madonna, she shows up merely as a singer on stage at the Big Foot Tavern, singing "Crazy for You" and "The Gambler." Hoping to bank more on Madonna and less on the thoughtful storytelling, the studio marketed the film on more than a few occasions as CRAZY FOR YOU.

Madonna: not the focal point of VISION QUEST.

Annnyway, Ronny Cox, the icy corporate villain of ROBOCOP and TOTAL RECALL, plays against type as Modine's encouraging, working-class pop (!), and it's a joy to watch. J.C. Quinn is tearing it up as a ragged but kindly arm-wrestlin' co-worker of Modine's.

Forest Whitaker has a bit part as a lighthearted fellow wrestler who doesn't quite qualify as comic relief, but he's got a palpable joie de vivre and he'd work again with Modine some years later on Abel Ferrara's MARY.

The soundtrack is solid, though calling it a Tangerine Dream one is extremely misleading. They only show up a little over an hour in to offer some of their patented, tense 'fiercely pulsating montage music.' The rest of the soundtrack belongs to satisfying 80's rockers like Foreigner, Journey, Don Henley, Sammy Hagar, and Red Rider, whose classic rock radio standby "Lunatic Fringe" is used in such a way that it now makes one think of of Modine working out in a gym instead of Holocaust denying.

Along the way, there's nosebleeds, jealousy, road trips, fainting spells, and martial arts tips from a creepy dude in a hotel room. When it all comes down to it, it's the rare sports film where you actually care about who wins. And you care because you really have no idea which way it's going to go.


Hallahan is impressed by Modine's fortitude.

In all, it's a mature, muted look at the formative years. My one complaint is that a near-rape scene is forgiven too easily, but on the whole it deals with sexuality in such a frank, honest way that I have no choice but to admire it. As far as I can tell, it's become a cult hit with the 'high school wrestling' crowd, and that probably has more to do with a loving attention to every grapplin' detail than the rich, character-driven monologues, but I can live with that. Four stars.

-Sean Gill

Film Review: FLASHPOINT (1984, William Tannen)

Stars: 4.2 of 5.
Running Time: 94 minutes.
Tag-line: "A wrecked jeep.... A skeleton.... A rifle... $800,000 dollars in cash..."
Notable Cast or Crew: Treat Williams (DEAD HEAT, HAIR, PRINCE OF THE CITY), Kris Kristofferson (LONE STAR, BRING ME THE HEAD OF ALFREDO GARCIA, PAYBACK), Rip Torn (EXTREME PREJUDICE, WILD 90), Kurtwood Smith (ROBOCOP, RAMBO III, THAT 70's SHOW), Kevin Conway (The 90's OUTER LIMITS, F.I.S.T.), Miguel Ferrer (Albert on TWIN PEAKS, ROBOCOP), and Jean Smart (PROJECT X, DESIGNING WOMEN). Music by Tangerine Dream. Written by the underrated Dennis Shryack and Michael Butler (CODE OF SILENCE, PALE RIDER, FIFTY/FIFTY) and based on the novel by George La Foutaine, Sr.
Best exchange: "Like my Daddy always said, 'If you can't get out of it, get into it.'" –"I thought your daddy used to say, 'If you can't fix it, fuck it.'" "He said that, too."

FLASHPOINT is a little known 80's gem from director William Tannen (Chuck Norris' HERO AND THE TERROR and Larry Cohen's DEADLY ILLUSION- not to be confused with F/X 2: THE DEADLY ART OF ILLUSION), who manages to toe the odd line between the sensibilities of Sam Peckinpah and Oliver Stone. I'll be careful not to disclose too much about the plot itself, but suffice it to say that two border patrol agents make a discovery in the desert (see the tag-line) which may or may not bring with it some overwhelming repercussions.


Frequently touted only as a JFK conspiracy flick, the film has significantly less to do with the assassination's cover-up than it does with the powers of the (capital S) System encroaching on the rights of its unwilling subjects. It has an anti-technology slant, to be sure, but only so far as in it is against technology's hijacking by the powers that be for use as, shall we say, a blunt instrument (our heroes frequently feign walkie-talkie malfunction to fleetingly slow the System's bureaucratic juggernaut, which threatens to replace them with robotic sensors).

Meet your replacement.

Orwell tells us "if [we] want a vision of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face - forever..."

Well, who's moving to prevent that? In FLASHPOINT, its guys like the 'Nam vet Kris Kristofferson, who'd ordinarily like nothing more than to remain beneath the System's radar:

the intrepid Treat Williams, who believes that inner righteousness will see the storm through:

and the irascible Rip Torn, a sheriff (much like his character in 1987's EXTREME PREJUDICE; he even says the line "The only thing worse than a politician is a child molester," which he would use again with élan) whose hillbilly aphorisms and preference for sour mash disguise a tremendous understanding of the sheer scope of the System's various wheels and gears.

Representing the System is the reptilian Kurtwood Smith, a flag-pin wearin' creep who literally thanks God every day for drugs, murder, and subversion- the general pretenses for said boot stamping.

That oily devil.

Tangerine Dream supplies one of their best, ethereally pulsating scores (on par with RISKY BUSINESS and THE PARK IS MINE!); there's excellent bit parts by Kevin Conway and an always-snarky Miguel Ferrer:

Miguel Ferrer prepares to unleash a blistering remark that will both delight and appall.

there's a certain amount of levity and buddy-bonding:

("Which one you want?" "-The mean one." "You're a sick man."), and it all adds up to an understated thriller that's well worth your while. It's not action-packed by any means, but the payoffs are well-earned and quite satisfying. I'd even say that the mood of the picture has resonated onward and has certainly influenced films such as WHITE SANDS and NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN. A touch over four stars.

-Sean Gill

Film Review: MIRACLE MILE (1988, Steve De Jarnatt)

Stars: 4 of 5.
Running Time: 87 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Anthony Edwards (ER, REVENGE OF THE NERDS), Mare Winningham (ST. ELMO'S FIRE, TURNER & HOOCH), Kurt Fuller (GHOSTBUSTERS II, Russell Finely in WAYNE'S WORLD), Eddie Bunker (RESERVOIR DOGS, RUNAWAY TRAIN), Robert DoQui (ROBOCOP, King George the Pimp in COFFY), O-Lan Jones (THE RIGHT STUFF, MARS ATTACKS!), John Agar (NIGHTBREED, CHISUM). Music by Tangerine Dream.
Tag-line: "You just found out that you have 24 hours to live. What are YOU going to do?" Hey, what is this, a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure?
Best one-liner: "There's lots of good actors in this town with insomnia and nothing better to do than stupid things like that..."

MIRACLE MILE, directed by Steve de Jarnatt (CHERRY 2000), is an exceptional example of the slow build. Obviously it helps that there's music by Tangerine Dream, whose 80's film work was typified by relentless, dark arpeggios hammering toward cathartic, explosive crescendos. This thunderous, soaring repetition was well-used in these scores: the rising tension as a 'Nam vet seizes Central Park in THE PARK IS MINE!, the mounting supernatural doom in THE KEEP, the countdown to the face-off with the school's biggest bully in THREE O'CLOCK HIGH- and it's perfect for MIRACLE MILE, a film built around the premise of (possibly) impending nuclear holocaust.

A chance phone call leads to a world spiraling out of control, and the result is somehow the exact median between AFTER HOURS (1985) and PANIC IN YEAR ZERO! (1962). Beautifully photographed by the often misused Dutch cinematographer Theo van de Sande (BODY PARTS, WAYNE'S WORLD), it's full of glossy colors that pop, striking visuals, and disorienting modern edifices: kind of Scorsese by way of Tati.



Anthony Edwards brings the proper sense of bookish urgency, but Mare Winningham just barely pulls off what she has to. There's excellent bit parts by Robert DoQui (COFFY, THE MAN) as an irascible, survivalist diner cook:

and Eddie Bunker (STRAIGHT TIME, RUNAWAY TRAIN) as a crabby nightwatchman (who even gets in an in-joke about his real-life prison time). (Side note: the Bunker role was evidently meant to be played by Jack 'ERASERHEAD' Nance, but he either couldn't or wouldn't get the time off from his own rent-a-cop gig!)

The film doesn't try to get political: we have no idea who, or what, is behind the supposedly imminent attack- instead, our enemy is the whirling, spinning clock; our struggle the one between sheer, sociopathic survival and being hellbent on saving the ones you love. An excellent film, and one that packs an unexpected punch. Four stars.

-Sean Gill