Collision Course

Price: 75 centz
Year: 1989 (shot in 1986)
Length: 100 minutes
Director: Lewis Teague
Cast: Pat Morita, Jay Leno, Chris Sarandon, Tom Noonan, Randall "Tex" Cobb, Ernie Hudson, Soon-Teck Oh, Mike Starr

The precise moment that I knew I would love this movie forever came during the opening credits, before a single line was spoken or even a single character spotted on screen: a camera opens steadily on the fender of a speeding muscle car, a saxophone squeals relentlessly as an equally relentless synth line tries to catch up, and the text "Starring Chris Sarandon" appears in big, metallic letters as the camera pulls up and away from the fender to reveal the skyline of an urban wasteland we later learn is Detroit. I giggled ecstatically and started taking notes from which I will try to relate why this forgotten career footnote is perhaps the most important movie I have ever blogged about. And that's motherfucking important.

In any other movie, the sax-fender-Mr. Sarandon trio would be the sort of pinnacle that the rest of the movie hopelessly flounders behind while the viewer impatiently twiddles his or her thumbs while texting their weedman (or weedwoman) every 17 minutes asking if now is a good time or not, but no, Collision Course just takes that opening as a dare for greater glory that it keeps ramping up until the very last frame, which is the most poignant still image this side of both Truffaut and Verbinski.

This is a film that embodies all the tensions that made the 1980's so much fun: xenophobia against the wily Japanese and their intrepid electronics, disturbingly glib treatment of rationalized police corruption and brutality, the effects of white flight on formerly vibrant urban centers, and, of course, the immortal pairing of bushy mustaches and bazookas. To say that this is nothing but a merely a proto-Rush Hour is to do a great disservice to the subtle moments that really make Collision Course thrive, some of which I will recount in list form below.

1. Chris Sarandon's goons are played by Tom "Evil Drug Cult Leader Guy in Robocop 2" Noonan and Randall "Tex" Cobb of "some say I'm part hound dog" fame. Also, Sarandon wears a suit that looks like it's made of dollar bills at one point. Also, his mustache is a dead ringer for John Oates. Crucial.

2. The synth and sax score takes on decidedly Eastern flavors every time as Asian character is onscreen! It really helps keep everyone's race and ethnicity clear!

3. Pat Morita tries to escape from a hotel by placing a garment bag over his body and running, eventually being foiled by the dastardly tactics of a revolving door.

4. At one point, Jay Leno waves a gun in some guy's face and says "Hey Hey We're the Monkees" for reasons never clarified.

5. The main plot concerns a prototype for a supercar that will revolutionize the car industry for some reason that Detroit is trying to steal from the Japanese. The guy who owns the evil American car company trying to rip off the Japanese is named Darrett Jarrett. That's D-A-Double-R-E-Double-T J-A-Double-R-E-Double-T. He resembles the glistening whiteness of deposed former governor Gray Davis, right down to the bureaucratic incompetence and halting speech patterns. Remarkably prescient on the filmmaker's part, if I don't say so myself.

6. From Pat Morita's sensitive portrayal of a Japanese cop we learn the important lessons that Asians both respect their elders and are unfamiliar with the concept of door bells. I found this very helpful and hope to apply it to my own travels in the land of the wise bearded sage. Thanks for the heads up COLLISION COURSE!

7. At some point, someone yells "KARATE THIS!", which I personally think would have been a better title for the movie, but so it goes . . .

8. Pat Morita gets down on a dancefloor.

9. Also, apparently Asian cars are cheap and shoddily put together whereas American cars are sturdy and resilient. I'll make a note of it next time I'm buying. Thanks!

10. 8 mile is a real place where crime happens and stuff. Now I respect that Eminem even more than I did when he made that song about fucking and/or killing his mom.

And that's just ten of 'em!

I could relate so many more, but then I'd just be ruining all the fun for you. Apparently, Jay Leno disowns this movie, but he's a shit head these days anyway.

But really all you need to know is that at one point, Pat Morita reenacts Chuck Norris' immortal windshield kick-thru from GOOD GUYS WEAR BLACK and it is breathtaking. He over comes the prejudices placed before him to steal back that Japanese super car prototype and save Japanese industry and for that, I am eternally grateful!

Lilli Marleen

Price: free (it came with a $160,000 education, however)
Year: 1981
Run time: 120 minutes
Director: Rainer Werner Fassbinder
Cast: Hannah Schygulla, Giancarlo Giannini, Christine Kaufmann, Udo Kier

Although there aren't really any rules that we've made about it, on this blog I generally try to stay away from RWF and other cannonized, and arguably overrated, directors of European art cinema. Its not that I don't enjoy these movies. Many of them are worth every bit of the hype, and many of them... not so much. If it isn't obvious, I write about movies like Gold Diggers, and Out of the Wilderness because they are seldom given a critical treatment of any sort beyond the time surrounding their release, while movies by the Rainer Werners, and the Werners, and the Jean Lucs of this world are continuously written about, and will likely continue to be written about long after I am gone (if the world still exists!). However, to mix it up a little bit, I've decided to give in to Fassbinder's Lilli Marleen, a film I really loved, that I was lucky enough to find in a box of movies that were being given away for free in my department's building.
While I'm no Fassbinder fanatic, there are moments when his aesthetic really appeals to me. When he's restaging Sirk films as a venue to talk about otherness and old age, I don't really feel it. I'm more a fan of highly aestheticized, glossy fever dreams, many of which Hannah Schygulla stars in. This preference stems more from my doubts in RWF's ability to tell a convincing story about people of color or old women than from my preference for "sexy" looking films. Not that I don't like "sexy" looking films... In any event, Lilli Marleen is full of glamour, and it uses this in a most productive way.

Like one of my favorite films (Bob Fosse's Cabaret), Lilli Marleen tells the story of a female singer during the third reich. Like Sally Bowles, Willie starts as a torch singer in a night club, who is nice to look at, but not exceptionally talented. An immigration issue keeps her away from her lover Robert (Giannini), whom she lived with in Switzerland, so she gets work at a cabaret in Munich. By the sheer force of luck, she is able to wrap her voice around the "Lilli Marleen" song for which this film is named. The song, which is a narrative about love and war, enchants everyone who hears it. When she does a recorded version, it becomes a national sensation. Soon Willie and her star struck pianist are invited to stay at Hitler's mansion. Before she knows it, Willie has become a poster girl for the third reich.
Meanwhile, Willie and Robert (who is a jew) pine away fro eachother in seperate countries. Robert eventually marries a beautiful Jewish woman, but his love for Willie plagues that marriage, as he can never really let it go. Although in the time they are estranged Willie is too sought after to have much time for pining, they scenes when they (briefly) reunite show that she too is not past that love. It is her devotion to Robert, in fact, that leads her fall from grace in the eyes of the SS.

One of my favorite aspects of this film is that it gives the characters humanity, despite their support of the Nazis. It does this without condoning the Nazis (and in fact, as a whole condemns them). When looking back at that time, it is important to remember how normalized it must have been in German society to support the ruling party. Like in any state, more informed citizens probably dissented, while the lesser informed probably supported the ruling party, or were indifferent. Those supporters perhaps were swept up in the ideology so much, to an extent that it was the climate, rather than their own evilness that allowed them to support the nazis. Willie falls into this category. She irresponsibly puts on an identity, without much thought or care to its implications.




Like the rest of her countrymen, Willie is eventually maligned for her actions, or inactions. Her rise and downfall, is chaotic, glamorous, and altogether problematic. We enjoy the glamorous ride along with her, but can't help but criticize the place she carved out for herself.

On a purely aesthetic level, the film is visionary. Everything feels very set-like, in a way that compliments the way the story is told. The colors are evocative, and the images look like they could have been pulled from a Nazi Vogue. When the film portrays the violence on the battlefield, it provides a nauseating but enticing viewing experience that supports and contradicts the overall gloss of the film.

The movie stays away from many of the traps that such a film could fall into. For one thing, while it is implied that Willie interacts with Hitler on a fairly regular basis, he is not portrayed by an actor here. That would have been rather distracting and hokey. Also, the concentration camps are referred to, but not shown. Some might view this as irresponsible, but since the film is portraying members of German society who lacked real knowledge about the full atrocities of the SS, it frames the story well.

Overall, Lilli Marlene is a gorgeous, and thoughtful film. It exemplifies the mix of ideology and aesthetic grandiosity that make Fassbinder an important film maker.

Macon County Line

Price: 75 cents
Year: 1974
Length: 89 minutes
Director: Richard Compton
Cast: Alan Vint, Jesse Vint, Cheryl Waters, Max Baer, Geoffrey Lewis, Leif Garrett, Doodles Weaver, Joan Blackman

Macon County Line is the type of weird, shaggy, ramblingly ingratiating film that the 1970's found incredibly easy to shit out. Pitched somewhere between accidental art film and subtle exploitation picture, MCL deals with so many shades of gray in regards to its characters that it might as well be a Walker Evans photograph (because his pictures are old and in black and white and I couldn't think of a better metaphor on the fly, dig?).

It opens with our ostensible heroes , Chris and Wayne Dixon (played by real life siblings Alan and Jesse Vint respectively) doing a bunch of rascally shit like stealing money from hookers, ditching out on paying for meals, and destroying some police cars in the process. Eventually they pick up a female hitchhiker (Cheryl "100% Pure Love" Waters) and then they kind of amble about trying to get their car fixed or whatever.

The Substitute 4: Failure Is Not An Option

Price: 75 cents
Year: 2001
Length: Treat Williams
Director: Robert Radler
Cast: Treat Williams, Patrick Kilpatrick, Angie Everhart, Bill Nunn

It's always a Treat with Treat Williams! - me

A man can learn a lot about himself when slogging through the dollar bins for used blog fodder. For instance, I learned that I will purchase any film featuring "Always a" Treat Williams and any film that is a direct to video sequel to a not particularly well loved or remembered Tom Berenger vehicle. So now I own both The Substitute 3: Winner Takes All and The Substitute 4: Failure is Not an Option (Sniper sequels oddly MIA for now). For brevity and clarity, I will focus on the latter as I watched it sober this weekend compared to wasted 6 months ago por tres. Although I get giddier when stumbling across a Treat Williams vhs than Huell Howser does when finding a 19 year old can of kidney beans in a hermit's magic trash house, I can't really explain what it is about the guy that I fond so damn irresistible. It's probably some combination of my eternal love for THE PHANTOM, the time I stayed in a hotel room in Vegas with a picture of Treat and Cathy Moriarty on the wall, and the to the gut simplicity of his moniker. I can't help but be delighted by a man named Treat.

So it was with the great anticipation of a Christmas morn spent next to a fire at Coolio's egg-strewn house being lectured about right and wrong that I approached this film. I was giggly, caffeinated, and alert; open to all the Treats that awaited me, and, as always, Treat did not disappoint.

The Substitute sequels always find a way to shoehorn a professional mercenary into needing to pose as a teacher in order to murder some of his students for being up to (A) general drug dealing, gang banging, Jeff Gillooly-esque kneecappery, being in something awesomely called "The Kings of Destruction" (B) car-jacking, gang-banging, being in something unimaginatively called "The Brotherhood" (C) being on a football team, taking some frothing Benoit fantasia inducing steroids, ripping the tops of desks apart from the chair (D) being in the military, being Nazis, blowing up power plants, beheading old rich guys. Fortunately, D is the plot for The Substitute 4: Failure Is Not An Option and it makes for the least action filled, most nonsensical, strangely name actor filled (by Substitute standards) Substitute yet.

Before getting all Trick or Treaty on you, it bears mentioning that Patrick Kilpatrick is truly remarkable as a American military academy commandant at the realistically titled American Military Academy of the South, who has a poorly kept secret Nazi society called the Werewolves, who cleverly disguise themselves by wearing SS logos on their hats and armbands and denying the Holocaust to anyone within earshot. He constantly accuses Treat Williams of fostering "Multiculturalism" at his beloved academy and bragging about how a race war is totally gonna happen this time if he just blows up that billion dollar power plant that was funded entirely by money from black people apparently! (not making this up, I think!)

Treat is a lover and a fighter and he hates intolerance more than anything so he's on edge from the start about these Werewolf kids who keep trying to kill him and deny the Holocaust and what not. Good for Treat that former Stallone fiance and fading ginger sexpot Angie Everhart is also around to provide some nudity that otherwise the film would have been sorely lacking. She also takes a bullet for him at the end and it is very poignant. Also, good for Treat that Bill "Radio Raheem" Nunn is around to act all crazy like and give him guns when he needs them and kill some racists, too, because as a black man, his righteous anger against the skinheads is more crowd cheeringly deserved. But really, at the end of the day, this is a movie that belongs to the Treat and he does not disappoint.

Treat spins and kicks and flips bad guys over his back like cabbage. He spits and kisses and dances his way into our hearts during the torrid and truncated Campus Dance scene. But most of all, the way he bravely follows the Werewolves on their mission to blow up the power plant, then stands around doing nothing, waiting till after the power plant explodes to start kicking everyone's butt after they get back to campus, really seals the deal. Ultimately, The Substitute series is about the titular character teaching his students important life lessons with his feet and fists and IF he had stopped them and killed them off campus, his point would not have been so pointed. Only at a school can the most righteous teaching of death be solidly administered. Only at a school can the flimsy gimmick of a mercenary stopping crime tie back into the title of the series. Life lessons can be taught at school, but no one is better at offering death lessons than my man Treat Williams as Karl Thomasson in The Substitute 2 : School's Out, The Substitute 3 : Winner Takes All, and The Substitute 4: Failure Is Not An Option. Thank you, Treat Williams, for teaching us about death and teaching . . . again.

Also:

The Man Can Sing! (and not just that Hair shit)



He simply cannot be any Treatier!

Can't Hardly Wait!

Price: $1
Year:1998
Run Time: 100 min
Director:Harry Elfont, Deborah Kaplan
Cast: J Lo Hewitt, Ethan Embry, Charlie Korsmo, Lauren Ambrose, Seth Green, Peter Facinelli, Freddy Rodriguez, Jamie Pressly, Melissa Joan Hart


The late nineties were a great era for pop compilations. Sure you may not have had Jock Jams, Now (that's what I call music), or any of the MTV buzz bin disks, but if you were a young teen at that time, you were exposed to such compilations whether you liked it or not.

The truth is, you probably liked it, at least on some level. All of those compilations I just named had at least one song on them that would appeal to any given kid. Even if you were a defensive disavower of all things pop at that point, I'd suspect a slight smile still comes across your face when you hear "I Like to Move it Move It".

Can't Hardly Wait is essentially a visual representation of a pop comp. It skates over the surface of nineties teen existence in a way that is ridiculously affable. It touches on much, but explores very little. As a result, the scenarios and characters we see are all vaguely relatable, but cartoonish enough to distance from our own personal experience. We enjoy the spectacle of the teenage experience, but are never subjected to the cringe inducing honesty of say, Freaks and Geeks.

What sets Can't Hardly Wait! apart from aforementioned short lived, but exceptional series, is that you don't have to have been a freak or geek to relate to it. There's a cursory overview of all high school experiences in there somewhere. To link it back to the beggining of this post, Can't Hardly Wait! is a compilation of John Hughes Greatest hits, with a few Cameron Crowe tracks thrown in to appeal to niche consumers.

Besides J Lo Hewitts unseen boobs (which apparently sum up the whole of her sex appeal), there is no tension beneath the surface here, but that's ok. This movie offers kick-ass moments like this:

Heller in Pink Tights

Price: $3.98 on DVD (DVD cherry officially popped re this blog)
Year: 1960
Run Time: 100 min
Director: George Cukor
Cast: Sophia Loren, ANthony Quinn. Ramon Novarro, Steve Forrest

Sophia in Technicolor would perhaps be a more appropriate title for this film, as those two elements really steal the show here. This is viewed as being a lesser work by master director Cukor. While I'm not about to start a campaign for a mass critical re-evaluation of the movie, I will say that every shot is so beautiful that you could fucking eat it. Art direction wise, think Wes Anderson+ Moulin Rouge + Suspiria+ FIstful of Dollars- most of MR's overblown acting (most, not all)- the irritating bourgeois male malaise of WA (but not minus WA's problematic portrayal of non-whites). Narrative content wise, there is nothing too spectacular. Its a basic story of a femme fatale actress named Angela Rossini (loren) who seduces her way through the old west. Her romance with the dependably affable Healy (Quinn) is threatened by the advances of Mabry, a devestatingly handsome gunslinger (Forrest). This love triangle plays out as the theater company, with Mabry in tow, races away from the debt they left in Cheyenne, trying to escape a murderous Indian tribe along the way (ah, Hollywood).

In this tale that relies strongly on to-be-looked-at-ness, Sophia Loren is the perfect star.


Her presence is truly iconic, and no matter whom you prefer to go to bed with, you will not be able to take your eyes off of her in this film. In an early scene at the theater in Cheyenne (a set which bursts with color) Loren peers through a window with wooden curtains that have a nude women painted on them. This short frame is a one-two punch of feminine spectacle. Her and Mabry eye each others' lower halves in this carnivalesque atmosphere, creating the sexual tension that will push much of the narrative forward. A unique and evocative interior space has been created here. When the narrative moves to the dessert, the open landscapes and mountains and canyons are treated with just as much visual care. The colors and the shapes of the landscape pop out and assault the eye with their beauty. The most heightened moment of this is when the Indians capture the theater company's coach, and set it on fire. The mountains of brightly colored costumes consumed by flames, paired with the blue sky and the gray smoke makes for a compelling spectacle.

Compelling spectacle certainly overtakes compelling storyline here. However, Ms. Loren plays an interesting character here. Although her most prominent quality is her beauty, she sets most of the narrative of the movie into action. She is a much more central force than any of the men in the film. I'm not sure if I'd say this is a feminist film, but what it certainly does do is wear the notion of female spectacle on its sleeve. Angela Rossini, and the other young girl in the company, make money after each performance by parading around the saloon in pretty dresses, selling stylized photographs of themselves. They are able to get the undivided attention of the saloon patrons. WHile the other woman (Della, played by Margaret O'Brien) is a pretty flat character, Angela is what I'd call a powerful spectacle.

Actually, that's what I'd call the whole film.

Star Trek V: The Final Frontier

Price: 75 cents
Year: 1989
Length: 107 minutes
Director: Will.i.am. Shatner
Cast: William Shatner, Leonard Nimoy, DeForest Kelley, James Doohan, George Takei, Nichelle Nichols, Waltner Koenig, David Warner, Lawrence Luckinbill





Star Trek or Star Wars?

A Personal History:
1983-1999: Star Wars
1999-2004: Apathetic
2005-Present: Star Trek.

The nu-trilogy and the rise of G4 and Spike's constant rotation of TNG reruns pretty much sums up that whole equation as I imagine/hope it has for at least a few other undiscerning nards out there.

So . . .

Maybe it has something to do with me being a nu-jack Star Trek acolyte and a lover of trash and camp and overblown ego trips, but everything you've heard about this movie is wrong. Old-school Star Trek nerds are mirthless bonerheads for denying this movie's majesty for so long. It's probably the quintessential Star Trek dollar video. Although copies of ST: The Motion Picture and Star Trek: Generations are much more plentiful, this one embodies all the glorious misguidedness that marks a truly noteworthy and remarkable dollar vid. For a TV show whose whole reputation and success is indelibly linked to camp, it is downright unfathomable how the campiest Star Trek film ever "shat" out is also the most hated.

First of all, it was directed by William Shatner from a story he himself wrote with the help of only two (!) other credited screenwriters, so it has vision going for it in spades. His turn in the director seat is also invariably a result of the ego-wounding success that Leonard Nimoy had at the helm of both the muted Star Trek III: The Search for Spock and the worldwide smash eco-comedy Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home (still the highest-grossing Star Trek movie). One can easily imagine Shatner refusing to make another Star Trek movie unless they let him try his hand at directing the next one himself after all if a plebe like Nimoy could bang a couple out of the park how about letting ol' Shatface swing, hell he even directed 8 wholed episodes of TJ Hooker beforelike. I want to hug those poor subsequently unemployed studioheads for giving me my turkey early this year.

So it opens with some obvious Star Wars knock offs of the sand people and the mos eisley cantina with this brah that turns of to totally be spock's half brah neverbefore mentioned and never mentioned again. Also Capt. Kirk is apparently into free climbing cause he is doing some of that in Yosemite at the beginning and Spock has sweet rocket shoes that saves his life and they all sit around the campfire singing row row row your boat and eating beans and dranking whiskey and making obvious fart jokes. These scenes are great.

Then Spock's brother gets up to some bullshit and eventually it turns out to be a search for God in the middle of the universe who turns out just to be some random dude with a couple deep purple rekkids and a psychedelic face projector. In between, Sulu and Chekov get erotically lost in the (metaphoric?) forest of their own desires and only through sexual exploration and brainwashing are they able to escape. As a result, they spend most of the movie working against the core groop of Shat, Nim, and BoneThugs. Scotty hits his head on something at one point and does a three stooges quality pratfall. There is also an obviously tacked on plot involving some billy zanily misguided Klingons who stop what they are doing when firmly told to stop by an old guy.

So yeah, it's mishmashy, but it's never boring, except when it is boring, but even when it's boring, it's boring in an interesting way so it stops being actually boring so quickly that you are never actually bored in the first place and, in fact, the boredom was kind of a thankful respite from the non-stop excitement anyway, so you (the audience) are always winning with William Shatner's Star Trek Five: The Final Frontier! Don't you wanna win? Sure, you do! So watch this movie already if you haven't yet and if you already have then you should watch it again and again until you like it as much as I do and if you've seen it already and liked it, then I guess you're cool with me, but you should probably check with the Shatman just to be sure. He may make you buy a TekWar book or something, but it'll be worth it cause that's still better than having to watch Boston Legal or some shit like that. Fuck Boston. That place and everything associated with it sucks (except (maybe) Mr. Boston and (definitely) the band Boston).

Amityville II: The Possession

Price: 75 cents (110 minutes of your life)
Year: 1982
Length: 110 minutes of spooky!
Director: Damiano Damiani
Cast: Burt Young, James Olson, Rutanya Alda, Diane Franklin, Jack Magner

This is an important film.

It is about what happens when you let the voices in your walkman convince you that sleeping with your hot sister was wrong and that you should kill all yr family members to appease the house you moved to or else it will shake around and move things to where they don't belong (like a blanket on a light fixture, what wants that?). If you do it with a shotgun, even better. If the creepy priest who also want(s(ed)) to bone yr h of a sis tries to reenact THE EXORCIST for the last half hour of the movie even better. This is what important films do.

It also helps if you look like Craig from Degrassi TNG animorphed with just a touch of latter day Wacko Jacko Coke Septum Erosion.

It also helps if you easily confuse the phrase testicles and tentacles.
But before we let the dirt in my teenage mustache coalesce into a serum of defeat, I must address the most important asspect of this great American movie . . . oh wait, i already talked about the incest themes . . . huh, that about does it for point of innarest in this one. Burt Young does some great acting with his cigar chomping scotch swilling inarticulation that certainly seems much more worthy of the TITle mumblecore than a bunch of ennui leaden movies about quirky hiptards feeling sorry for they selves. The way he beats his children and wife while simultaneously not spilling his drink or managing a single discernible human sound is the kind of acting often forgotten about in this post-John Ritter apocalypto of a filmy land. I wish he was in more movies. He was good in the rocky balboa movie, he was drunk a lot, and then i think he died or something, either way it was very very sad. I liked when he got a robot for his borthday in that one rockie movie. it made me smile. Happy Halloween!

White of the Eye

Price: 2 bucks
Year: 1987
Length: 113 minutes
Writer/Director: Donald Cammell
Music: Nick Mason of Pink Floyd and Some Dude from 10cc
Cast: David Keith, Cathy Moriarty, Alan Rosenberg, Art Evans, Danielle Smith, Alberta Watson

Wow.

Um.

Huh.

What a gloriously strange and haunting movie this one is. I can't really say I've ever seen a movie quite like it, although my inner Bill Zwecker makes me want to shortchange it with some "Zabriske Point meets Henry Portrait of a Serial Killer at a bar and Dario Argento follows them home" verbiage just to stick a nice plump ballpark frank in it.

Anyway, for me (and hopefully for you), the main reason to see this movie is that it is most likely the purest vision of a Donald Cammell movie that we are ever going to be given. This iconoclastic weirdo/genius famously suffered massive interference with his previous two movies, the druggy and strange and brilliant PERFORMANCE and the druggy and strange and somewhat less brilliant DEMON SEED. In fact, it is believed that his suicide was prompted by the massive studio interference in his fourth and final feature WILD SIDE (he blew his brains out and watched himself die slowly in a mirror over the course of the next 30 minutes). I guess something about only getting to make 4 movies over the course of 27 years and having 3 of them (but not WHITE OF THE EYE(!)) taken out of your hands and re-edited without your input must be very frustrating. So it goes . . .

Without being too specific . . .

This one is really super! The camerawork is all crazy! The music is spooky and trippy! The acting's great (especially David Keith)! The desert locations are evocative! The ending doesn't really make any sense, but who cares! It's hallucinatory! It's ambiguous! It all ends with a biiiiiig explosion! It's massively fucked up! David Keith sings George Jones! Alan Rosenberg sings Hot Chocolate! Danielle Smith kinda reminds me of Linda Manz!

In conclusion, see this movie. I'm still not actually sure that it's any good, but I've been debating that in my head all day and isn't that always better than knowing exactly how you feel about a movie. The ending is really over the top and contains at least one thing that in any other movie would elicit groans and disappointment; but given how the rest of this movie is so on point, it had me thinking that the problem lay with me and that I just needed to watch it again to figure it all out. Fuck it, I'm calling this one a masterpiece. I'm still not entirely sure why though. Maybe you can help me with that?

Here's a weird youtube video of the opening murder coupled with some footage cribbed from a documentary about Cammell that the IFC aired a few years back.



Get a shot of my pool in the back . . .

Singles

Price: $2
Run Time: 99 min
Year: 1992
Director: Cameron Crowe
Cast: Campbell Scott, Bridget Fonda, Matt Dillon, Kyra Sedgwick, Bill Pullman, Eddie Vedder, Stone Gossard, Jeremy Piven, Eric Stolz

For a large portion of my life, people have been telling me that I should really see this movie, and that I would absolutely love it. "Its sooo you" these (mostly former) friends of mine would say as they grabbed my arm with enthusiasm. Although I did not see it until a little over a week ago, it has been on my internal Netflix queue since high school.

Now that I've at last seen the movie, I'm retro-actively insulted. Fuck all those people who told me I would love Singles! Damn them to heck. I mean, if they thought Singles was "sooo me" then they were never my real friends at all.

Ok... so now I'm getting a bit defensive. Let's examine why...

While the judgement of these people who I used to know could very well be questionable, they had a point in recommending Singles to 15 year-old me. Singles is a mess of a film that caters to the mentality of a self-absorbed child who has no sense of the world outside of themselves. I mean, we were all fifteen once, but not all of us wore knee high Doc Martens.

Moving on...

...and there is so much to move on to. So many points of attack. Let's focus on the characters for now.

The four central characters in the movie are Janet (Fonda), Steve (Scott), Linda (Sedgwick), and Cliff (Dillon). There's also some red headed woman who makes a video for a dating service. Nobody cool plays her. Steve is likely the voice of Cameron Crowe in the movie. For all intents and purposes, he is a homeless woman's Lloyd Dobler. He is a whiny, lonely yuppy, who only hang out with this "totally awesome grunge crowd" because he wears band t-shirts. When he is not complaining about his ex-girlfriend, he is trying to design a train that will save the world and eliminate cars. He finds his soul mate in Linda, who is played by everyone's favorite chihuahua/cocker spaniel mix. She is a great match for emo wombat Steve. They are the ultimate whiny white couple who dabble in scenesterdom. Linda even has a nifty garage door opener.

Then there is Janet... oh Janet... How you remind us that Cameron Crowe has little respect and understanding for women, save Diane Court from Say Anything. Janet is a twenty-two year old barista who dresses all quirky-like (usually including some flannel), and hangs out with grunge rocker guys. Her boyfriend/obsession is Cliff. It is through this relationship that it becomes clear that Janet is a moron with no self-respect. Crowe's extreme misunderstanding of the "scenester girl who falls for emotionally distant musician types" is rather disappointing. Janet admits to starving herself for Cliff, and at one point goes to see about getting breast implants when he states an indifferent fondness for large boobs. I can tell you right now that this representation of the rocker/douche loving woman is ridiculous. A real-life Janet would justify and lamely excuse Cliff's mistreatment, instead of throwing down thousands of dollars for cosmetic surgery.

Or maybe I'm wrong. Matt Dillon is SUCH a babe in this movie.




And such an iconoclast.

To tell you the truth, Cliff is to a certain extent the only likable character. I mean, he's a jerk, but at least he's funny. While he certainly is every bit as pathetic as the other characters, he's pathetic and funny, as opposed to pathetic and insulting.

Its sad to think that Singles opened up the floodgates for all of those fun Gen X movies. Its even sadder that even Reality Bites is a better movie.

The truth is Cameron Crowe clearly had no perspective on this subculture.

Whatever...

For shits and giggles/ not a movie review

I'll be there opening day!

Out of the Wilderness

Price: $2
Year: 2004 (supposedly)
Run time: 98 minutes
Director: Steve Kroschel
Cast: Black Feather, David Carradine, Amy Wiegert

Pencils tap nervously on the board room table. Production has not even started yet, and the sour news seems to be rolling in by the hour. There was enough trouble when the Dakota Fanning-esque star quit after her involvement in a kiddie porn ring was revealed. When the homely daughter of one of the main financiers was brought in as a replacement it was no consolation prize. It seemed like things couldn't get any worse.

The meeting on this particular afternoon was prompted by a frantic phone call from the wife of the trainer who raised the bear cub that the central narrative of the film focused on. Black Beary, who was normally a sweet little fuzz ball, had an unexpected mood swing, and had clawed her husband to death. The first bottle of whiskey was opened before the phone was hung up.

After the initial shock, and after the 10th shot, calls were made to every animal trainer in the country. Success, of course, was limited. There wasn't a single bear, penguin, iguana, parrot, sugar glider, or bison available during the shoot dates. These were desperate times, and desperate times call for desperate measures.

Suddenly, Mr. Kroschel had an epiphany. Back at Evergreen State he'd had a buddy named Skunk. Skunk was the sort of fellow who nobody was particularly close to, but who one could always count on to be down for smoking weed. He wore no shirt well into the dead of winter, and always readily offered up his theories about the great beyond. Steve (Kroschel) would call Skunk up every couple of seasons to obtain psychedellic drugs. On the last one of these visits, Steve noticed that Skunk was raising what appeared to be a family of ravens. While these creatures had ruined Steve's 2CI trip by giving him ominous stares and reminding him of his imminent death, Skunk reassured him that they were part of a lucrative business venture, and that organizers of goth events often paid top dollar to have a flock of ravens skulking around their parties.

The producers did not share the enthusiasm of the goth night-life impresarios, but since time was of the essence, they deemed the idea a go. An hour later, Skunk swaggered into the conference room like an Iggy Pop for the new millenium with a Raven perched on his shoulder.

A handle of Jim Beam later, and half way through the week's weed supply, Out of the Wilderness was born.

Only an origin story such as this could have produced such an amazing film. The above might be false, but if that's the case, I'll only believe that something more ridiculous brought Out of the Wilderness into fruition.

While the cultural moment seems to have drifted away, the "child meets animal, and forms touching friendship" is one of the classic formats of family entertainment. To replace the cuddly puppies, bear cubs, and other friendly fuzz balls with an ominous black raven is a choice that nearly places Out of the Wilderness into the experimental film genre. The post-modern air of the piece is only exemplified by the disjointed voice over narration given by the Melissa character. She insists that Black Feather (the raven) is a purely benevolent creature who is exploited by humans, and constantly victimized. However, we are shown images of Black Feather drawing blood from people's wrists, causing car crashes, fires, explosions, endangering infants, and crippling humans. Rather than the picture Melissa paints, we are shown a raven who causes peril for nearly everyone who crosses his path, even those who are trying to help him. His love for shiny objects reveals that he is also an evil capitalist raven, whose greed causes him to endanger others. If Black Feather were human he'd be a robber baron.

Out of the Wilderness is still a true gem, perhaps despite itself. Those of us who get all hot and bothered over the accidental avant garde will eat it up. It might make a good double feature with Dario Argento's Opera ( another Raven centric film) and I can tell you from personal experience that it looks like Citizen Kane if you follow it up with Cameron Crowe's Singles.

Out of the Wilderness leaves me with one burning question: How much drugs must they have had to buy for David Carradine?

Money Pit

Price: $1
Year: 1986
Run time: 91 magic minutes
Director: Richard (not Walter) Benjamin
Cast: Tom Hanks (before he sucked), Shelly Long, Alexander Godunov, Joe Mantegna, Brian Backer, Maureen Stapleton

Like AJ McLean and the movie Truth or Dare?: A Critical Madness, I am forever haunted by the movie Money Pit. To some it is another forgettable 80s comedy, but to me it is a parable for the fragility of human life. Human beings are prone to decay like all organisms. As we grow old and continue to absorb heat are bodies move closer to entropy, and yet we continue to build dreams in a state of denial. These dreams will slip away, and soon our staircases will collapse. Then, our bath tubs will collapse and bring us to a lower level than even before.

Is advancement possible in such a scenario?

The answer is to grim to type.

So what role does love play in this downward spiral? Will it save us, or does it further our denial and detachment from the reality of our situation. It can truly be beautiful, but it eats away at you like all else, until one day you find out the person you love has gone to bed with one of Alan Rickman's numerous Die Hard henchmen. What then? What of this love you once held so dear?

Such are all the things that we believe will help us cope with the pain. Alcohol coarses down your throat like a shady construction that demolishes your home without making the promised repairs. Still, you'll go for another drink. In your state of inebriation, you gaze into your cup and think you see the answer, in the form of Shelly Long and Tom Hanks. They cling to each other in a a hopeless yuppy embrace. You feel yourself drifting further and further from the bliss they experience. You take a swig as a quick fix. When you look back at the liquid in your brite red party cup, all you see are your two red eyes, which look as vacant as WIlson the volley ball.

Its as if you are full of air, and a pin prick could make your head explode.

Would you care to test it out?


The truth is too hard right now. Liquid courage is meant with liquid fear, and instead of finding love tonight, the best you can hope for is an awkward one night stand with Alexander Godunov.

Could he be a God enough?



Denial, is naturally the best way to cope. Wake up every morning, go to work or school, and be sure to drink lots of green tea, since it is full of healthy antioxidants. You will still combust, but you'll feel better about it. You have the grand illusion of control. If you have any free time, watch the movie Money Pit, because it is hilarious, and was made before Tom Hanks was self important and bloated.



Also, who thinks Shelly Long needs to make a comeback?

Agent Cody Banks 2: Destination London

Price: 75 centz or yr dignity
Year: 2004
Length: 100 minz
Director: Kevin Allen
Cast: Frankie Muniz, Anthony Anderson, Daniel Roebuck, Keith David

For whatever ungodly reason, I was convinced by this set photo that I absolutely needed to see this movie. Annoying twat kicking Anthony Anderson in the chest while he's sporting some crazy afrikan garbo? I'm sold. I even spent damn near 30 minutes fucking around with the cracked vhs cassette for this one so that it would work even though the plastic was concaving in on the tape on the right side so that I could watch this with the quickness.

It's about right now that I should make a confession.

I have no discretion. Haven't for a few years now.

It happened all slow like at first, but now I am excited by anything I haven't seen, which has it's benefits when it's 2 AM and SLIVER is the only movie on rabbit ears (It's got a Baldwin? I'm sold). But when you go to Amoeba to refresh your flaccid vid collect and you swear to yourself that you will only buy say 24 videos this time and you even walk there (it's about 50 minutes on foot with a short train ride in the middle one direction) and you only take one trader joes's conserve a bag which you determined beforehand can only comfortably fit 28 videos max as safeguards against yourself AND AFTER ALL THIS, you find yourself staring at two baskets filled with 72 videos total that it takes you another 20 minutes to widdle down to 44, which is almost twice as many as you said you'd buy, but if you squeeze some in around the sides on the tj bag you can get like 34 in there and then you can fit the extra ten in a standard plastique bag so it's totally doable, right? Then you leave the store 44 videos deeper and realize shit I gotta walk like 3 miles before i get home and with all this shit. Then you're like fuck. And then you get home and realize one of these videos that you sweat and bled for is fucking Agent Cody Banks 2: Destination London with nary a Bynes or Duff in sight (we get some jabronie from S Club 7), well it's deep introspection what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-me time.

But anywhat,

Like most god-fearing mouthbreathers I have unfailing disdain for this Frankie Muniz arm welt. He's a spoiled twat for sure. I think he owned like 9 cars before he could even drive cause he just loOoOoOoOoOoVeS cars! His TV show suck'd (soulful wilt of cranston aside), but we win because he just gets uglier by the day, which when you started out 20% on the Hedo Turkoglu ugly stick beaten scale doesn't bode well for future desperate bar skank pick ups.

But yeah, this movie is boring, trite, tired, weezy (dontforgethefbaby) sequel that never should have been crap that bored me more than anything else has of late and, as previously expounded upon, I am an easy lay when it comes to these things. Usually its give me a taste and I'm gone, but this just had me nodding off to some jazz tunes, namean?

Actually take that back that "doesn't bode well for future desperate bar skank pick ups" comment, I've been sonned.

Knock Off

Price: 75 centz
Year: 1998
Length: 91 Mins
Director: Tsui Hark
Writer: Steven E. de Souza
Cast: Jean-Claude Van Damme, Rob Schneider, Lela Rochon, Paul Sorvino

This movie is so fucking great that not even Rob Schneider could ruin it.

Sit back and take a moment to think about what that might mean to you.

Think about how great a movie has to be for that sniveling little cunt the Schneid not to shit all over it with his cockfaced mugging and contorted whiny whine.

Can you visualize it?

Now take that movie that you have in your head, the one that is so glistening and moist that Schneider can't fuck it up, and multiply it by a thousand and you're still nowhere near the greatness that is KNOCK OFF.

If you don't like Jean-Claude Van Damme, you can repeat the exercise from above with his name in place of Schneid's, but then you would be making me sad because what has Jean-Claude ever done to you? He's so talented! He only wants to entertain you and make you happy!

From a young age, JCVD has always made me happy. Bloodsport was the most frequently shown movie on KTLA channel 5 back in the early 90s and I probably watched it 20 times. We used to reenact scenes from it at recess in the third grade. It was awesome. But as great as Bloodsport is, its self seriousness robs it of some of the power that JCVD would later become best known for: his oblivious ridiculousness.


Now as far as absurd Jean Claude moments go, the climax to SUDDEN DEATH seemed to be an insurmountable peak. Here JCVD plays a disgraced former fireman who, in attempt to save the Vice President and an arena full of spectators from being exploded by terrorists, somehow winds up playing goalie for the Pittsburgh Penguins during the closing moments of game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals.

However, only a year later, Junior College Venereal Disease would take matters of his own ludicrousness into his own paws of destiny when he crafted his definitive auteur piece, THE QUEST, which he wrote, directed, and stars in. Within the first 20 minutes of this surrealistic and elliptically strange genre piece, JCVD fights off a gang of attackers while dressed as a sad clown on stilts with much thanks to a gang of adorable cockney boot black orphans who he cares and provides for in an abandoned warehouse, then he winds up on a boat where he is enslaved and forced to fight in tournaments for his owners enjoyment before being sold to Roger Moore (playing himself) who takes him to some tournament in the middle of Asia where first prize is a 20 foot long dragon made out of like 3 tons of gold (shipping and handling not included with victory). Sample the final fight from it:



While THE QUEST has become recognized in some circles (the ones in my head) as a left-field masterpiece and possibly the purest distillation of the divine madness that is being Jean-Claude, KNOCK OFF is an unparalleled trip into the outer edges of aggro retardation that is undoubtedly JCVD's most insane, OTT, and patently AZN movie ever. Its sub-par reputation in this sad, joyless country of ours probably has most to do with the culture divide. In 1998, Americans weren't quite ready for a movie this gonzo. Hopefully, in a world beaten down by the RADD!! likes of CRANK, RUNNING SCARED, BAD BOYS II, and SHOOT EM UP, KNOCK OFF can get the second life it so richly demands.

If you are not convinced by the empty hyperbole and vague assertions that have so far passed for a compelling argument in favor of this film, a mere plot description will totaaly sway yr vote.

ahem

It is 1997 and Hong Kong is on the verge of being transferred over from British crown colony to Chinese sovereign and JCVD plays Marcus Ray, the owner of a counterfeit jeans company of questionable business practices. In other words, he is a sweatshop owner who makes Pumma sneakers and V-Six Jeans. He gets involved in some weirdness when it turns out that Russians (in 1997!) want to take over the world using nano bombs placed inside the buttons of Jean Claude's bootleg jeans. Jean-Claude senses that exploding jeans would be bad for business, especially considering that the CIA is trying to crack down on his exportations to the United States at the same time. Somehow, Paul Sorvino is involved as well and shit starts going bananas before the plot can begin to remotely resemble anything coherent. It is splendid!

Jean Claude tries to explain what is important in life with some boog suge assistance:



I would be remiss if I did not give a shout out to the two people who we can truly thank for the mind erasing greatness of KNOCK OFF, Tsui Hark and Steven E. de Souza. Tsui Hark made a bunch of sweet Hong Kong action movies like ONCE UPON A TIME IN CHINA and de Souza wrote DIE HARD, which is the best script for any action movie ever.

But KNOCK OFF is the best script for any movie ever, which is more impressive, so let's focus on that. Watch this scene of Van Damme beating the shit out of a sexy lady (she slaps Schneider around first at least) and come back to me:



Did you notice how easily Van Damme's clothes tore off the reveal his xxxey back? It's because they are knock offs. His clothes keep falling apart the whole movie because they are of poor quality (most notable are his Pumma sneakers melting when he is running with them in the scene that the pic up top is from). Brilliant! This film is hilariously self-aware without turning into a meta shit fest or aspiring to be anything more than a hilariously weird, violent distraction best consumed by sexually frustrated teenage boys and the visibly altered, which is probably why I like it so much!!!

Here's your reward for getting this far:

SOME DAMN FINE VAN DAMCING!!!





P.S. That last one is from Breakin'! That movie has a great soundtrack!

Truth or Dare?: A Critical Madness

Price:$1
Year:1986
Run time: 90 minutes
Director: Tim Ritter
Cast: John Brace (of the Burt Reynold's Playhouse), AJ McLean

As throngs of braced faced little girls and their acne plagued closeted gay boyfriends writhe around me in a blaze of Disney channel pre-eroticism, all I can think about is when the second encore is officially over, and I can go backstage to complete my one goal for the evening. The kids standing around me most likely want to go to the same place, although for very different reasons. These girls want to get as close to Nick Carter as possible, so that his glistening blond locks can blind them in person. I never got much into Nick Carter myself. He's a bit plain and chubby. Actually, I never really got into the Backstreet boys too much.

So then, what am I doing here?

The answer is sort of a complicated one. You see, I'm here exclusively to see AJ McLean, the group's "freak" who is at times even more stunning than dancing Shlitze. It isn't that I have any romantic notions regarding myself and AJ, although I do find his Moroder-esque looks to be quite compelling. What I want is to pick his brain about a little movie called Truth or Dare?: A Critical Madness.

When the show ends, I make the slow push to get back stage. My makeshift press pass evidently works. Mr Carter is immersed in a huge swath of people, mostly groupies and journalists. Howie, Kevin and Brian all seem to be pretty busy as well. Luckily, Mr McLean is only talking to one person rather passively, while trying to conceal a bottle of Cognac. I am able to walk right up to him.

He's pretty friendly, and visibly pretty drunk. He offers me a swig from his flask, and I take it. It seems as though he is flirting with me by the way he keeps eying my prosthetic limbs. While I am tempted by his interest, I have a goal and I have to stick to it.

"So," I ask him, " I saw this movie that you were in as a kid. Its called Truth or Dare."

"You mean the Madonna movie?" he nervously jests. "I wasn't in that one."

"But you were in another Truth or Dare, weren't you?"

He freezes up. Flirtation is replaced with cold sweat. He breathes deep, trying to regain composure.

"I was really young back then. I barely remember it."

"It must have been odd filming that wrist slitting scene."

He looks away.

"Why don't you do any promotion for that movie? I think a lot of people would really like it."

He is frozen like a statue, but I persist.

" You know, I think it would be great if the Backstreet boys covered the 'Critical Madness' song. Would you ever do something like that?"

AJ re-animates by violently snapping his fingers above his head. Before I can move onto the next question, a big man in a tight black shirt is lifting me up and physically removing me from the green room. I am out on the street faster than you can say "I dare you to rip your face off."

Truth or Dare?: A Critical madness is clearly the movie that AJ McLean does not want us to know about. His publicity machine was able to cover it up for awhile. It baffles me that he does not want to be associated with this low budget blood bath. My theory is that as AJ McLean grew up, in the years following his role as young Mike Strauber, his life eerily started to mirror that of the film's central character. Like Mike Strauber, I'd bet that Mr. Mclean has engaged in a killing spree resulting in dead punks, limbless mental patients, and little league players decapitated by chain saws. The publicity machine behind the Backstreet boys has prevented to American people from accessing this important knowledge.


There is a killer amongst us, and his name is AJ Mclean.


Or maybe he has not killed. Perhaps he just fantasizes about re-enacting the scenarios that the grown up version of his character participated in. He is ashamed of the "Critical Madness" within himself.

AJ, if you are reading this, I have a message for you:

There is absolutely no shame in starring in a Halloween rip of that involves machine guns. In fact, the machine guns are arguably an improvement. Also, any movie where a member of the Burt Reynold's playhouse plays the adult version of you is something to be proud of. AJ, don't run from the past.

If you take pride in this move, one day there will be a decent DVD to watch instead of a snow drenched VHS. This would make your fans happy, AJ.

And yeah, the Backstreet boys really should do a cover of "Critical Madness"

Red Planet

Price: 75 Cents
Year: 2000
Length: 106 mins
Director: Antony Hoffman
Cast: Val Kilmer, Tom Sizemore, Carrie Anne Moss, Benjamin Bratt, and TERENCE STAMP


5. riverrun, past Burt and Adam's, from swell of belly to bend

of sac, brings us by a commondius vomitus of refelchization back to

Howtfuc Kilmerstle and Environs.

A. I'll never forget that gesture, a combination wink and point and jizzture in his own direction that would crescendo into a hand on the back pushing you through the door and into the darkness of the back room, that symbolized what is most sensual and desired in this world . . . that Val Kilmer is going to fuck you. I'm not a prude, but when I was invited to a party at Val Kilmer's house I was expecting more than a string of episodic post- and pre- coital selection emergences from the man of the house (no JTT), but that was all I got. I counted ten sessions of Kilmerization that evening over the course of 2.5 hours and roughly 7 Heineken keg cans. So much for my first big celebrity bash, at least his house was nice, but who the fuck does Val think he is pulling these David Lee Roth paramour tricks in the '00's (decade looks like boobies). He didn't even talk to anyone, he'd just emerge from his sex dungeon in a pallid sweat while his most recent Valctim would rush out with a mixture of exhaustion and shame on her tear and mascara strewn face as Val would cast his discerning eye on the pickings at hand. There was no resistance, it was as if the ladies had all gotten the memo, Come to Val Kilmer's house and he will fuck you and make you cry.

4. A kitten under a floorboard is incapable of distracting me from what is most remarkable about this classic South Dakota money pit hot spot; for a low low price of 8 dollars, you, too, can see the actual car driven by Val Kilmer in the movie Thunderheart, lines form to the right, and oh yeah, that kitten, we got 40 more of em around here, can't get rid of em fast enough, heh heh heh.

3. You download it because well, you download every celebrity sex video, whether it is classic (pamntommy), tamenlame (ray-jandthatpotatoheadedindustrygroupie), poorly shot (greenparis), or imaginary (dakotafanning), but nothing could prepare you for this: a reputed sex addict clad in a black suit cavorting listlessly and continuously. You shut it off after only three skipped around and about minutes, sending it to the recycle bin along with your now useless genitals. Never again will I know happiness.

B. now I understand why Carrie Anne-Moss was wearing a hat during that one scene when we all looked at one another and were like, at the same time, WHY THE FUCK IS SHE WEARING THAT HAT? It was because, with Val and Sizey sex addicting all over one another's priapistastic intourage's, one continually needed all the flying fluid protection that only a baseball hat with gold trim can provide (the trim prevents side spillage).

C. Kilm and Sizey pissing on the MARS side by side, slapping each other on the back, while howling with pleasure.

2. A consumptive paradox. In order to fully appreciate said film, one's alcohol/coughee consumption must attain such a high level that when coupled with the languid pacing and facile characterization of the film in question captivates the viewer into unconsciousness. You cannot win.

1. 2 seconds of redemption for a lifetime of sullied virtue and pants

Delta Force 2: Operation Stranglehold

Price: 75 cents
Year: 1990
Run Time: 110 Minutes
Director: Aaron Norris
A Globus Pearce Production
Starring Chuck Norris, Billy Drago, Mark Margolis, Begonia Plaza, John P. Ryan, Richard Jaeckel


When perusing dollar videos, there is no signifier of quality more important than the names "Menachem Golan" and/or "Yoram Globus." In the eighties when they ran Cannon Films together, they produced (as well as occasionally writing and directing) well over 100 of the most delirious, trashy, and illogical (predominantly) action films ever made. After kicking off the decade with his glittering disco mind control in 1994 slash biblical allegory masterwork THE APPLE, which is probably the greatest movie ever made, Golan (usually with Globus) continued to shit out gloriously sofa king we todd did action movies such as DEATH WISH III, COBRA, and BLOODSPORT. Although Golan-Globus produced legendary entries in the action careers of Sly Stallone, Charles Bronson, Dolph Lundgren, Jean-Claude Van Damme, Eric Roberts, and Michael Dudikoff, no collaboration was sustained for as long or as successfully as their teaming with future U.S. president Chuck Norris. From the first MISSING IN ACTION in 1984 through Cannon's last film before going bankrupt 1994's HELLBOUND, Norris and Golan-Globus produced a decade's worth of explosions and spin kicks that will long outlive their earthen chambers.

It also bears mentioning that for a class project in the 7th grade I wrote a commercial jingle for WALKER TEXAS RANGER whose lyrics consisted of "My name's Walker Texas Ranger / I hate people who kidnap kids / I don't shoot them / I just kick them / HIYA! / HIYA! / HIYA! / HIYA! / HIYA!"

Anyway, now that the deification/ironization of Chucky N. seems to have fully run it's roffly course and can only provide the metaphorical sand for our collective vagina, it's safe to go back to the products that created such a pop-cultural nuisance and this flick is top-shelf ground chuck (or you could also call it a good bottle of One Buck Chuck if wine metaphors are more your thing).

Despite Chuck Norris' top-billing and reputation, this movie belongs to two of his co-stars, the comedically evil, slippery, pee-wee-herman-esque pervasexual ooze of Billy Drago as Colombian Drug Kingpin Ramon Coto and the whiskey swilling, innocent villager mowing down insanity of John P. Ryan as General Taylor (catchphrase: "Always the hard way").

This exchange sums up Coto's evilness and General Taylor's sensitivity well:



Drago was a clutch utility villain for the Golan-Globus empire, who would later acheive nerd immortality as uber-villian John Bly on the late, lamented Bruce Campbell Fox series, The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr and for his acidic turn as The Dog Catcher in SOCCER DOG: THE MOVIE. In this movie, he overcompensates for his inability to remotely look Columbian by eating the rest of the cast like that big snake did to the train at the end of SNAKES ON A TRAIN.

All in all, it's a solid genre entry high on intentional laughs and malevolent absurdity, but with some nice scenes of Chuck scaling a mountain that were so pastoral I could almost hear the Popul Vuh. It's all pretty standard issue Golan-Globus fare, immensely enjoyable and re-watchable. I'll get into their sickness more with posts on OVER THE TOP, MURPHY'S LAW, and AMERICAN NINJA 2 (and maybe CYBORG) over the next couple of weeks. Here's a nice homo-erotic training scene to cap it off:

Fandango

Price: $2.99
Year: 1985
Run Time: 91 Minutes
Director: Kevin Reynolds
Cast: Kevin Costner, Judd Nelson, Sam Robards, Suzy Amis




The above clip might mislead you. Not entirely, however, and not as much as the back-of-box description on the beat up copy of this that I bought. It sounds like a basic bro-dude buddy movie, and although it is essentially that, it awkwardly jumps in and out of this genre. Visually, it kind've reminds me of what might have happened if Michelangelo Antonioni had remade animal house. I say this because of the expansive desert shots throughout, and the out of the blue ending.

The thing is, Fandango was most certainly not directed by Antonioni. It was directed by Kevin Reynolds, who also was behind the camera for a little movie called Waterworld. Another Kevin, who we shall refer to as Cos. Cos appears to be Kevin Reynold's muse, seeing as the pair made several movies together that were notable, although of questionable quality. These include Fandango, Waterworld, and Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves.

Like the Robin Hood that he went on to portray, Cos leads another group of Merry men in this film, who go by the ultra-snappy name "The Groovers". These "Groovers" appear to be some unofficial fraternity, residing in the same U-Texas Austin house, circa 1971. We are given a brief glimpse of life in this house, which alternates between homo-erotic group mooning, and anxiety about going to Viet Nam. As it turns out, all of the alpha Groovers, who consist of Cos, Nelson, Robards, and an anonymous fat guy, are drafted. Their natural impulse, of course, is to go on a road trip!

As they cruise through the wide open Texan spaces, Cos remains charismatic, in a sort've proto-Owen Wilson way, Nelson acts like a castrating douche, which makes you question why they are friends with him to begin with, Robards whines about his girlfriend, and the fat guy sits there not saying much and being less attractive than the other three (I mean, someone had to be ommitted from the cover, right?). Hijinks, of course are bound to happen, and zany players are obviously met. Some of my favorites are the Scott Baio-esque car mechanic (who is only notable for his appearance) and the groovy hippies who run the flight school. The most notable moment for the Groovers is when they are at this groovy flight school. Since none of them want to engage in coitus with Nelson, in order to relieve his anal retention, they make him get on a totally far out air plane and sky dive. When it turns out this his parachute is actually the Wanda-from-Big-Love-esque-hippy-woman's-laundry, the groovers have to stop grooving and find a way to signal to their less than groovy bro, leading to some moments of hilarious abandon. Things work out (although I wont say how), although the hippie pilot shows up in the rest of the movie for no apparent reason.

Actually, the whole rest of the movie seems to be for no apparent reason. Cos's dart board, and phsychedellic fantasy woman shows up as Robards's GF, and a Robards-esque character shows up who may or may not have been in the movie the whole time. The movie kind've just ends, and I'm not sure where I was lead. Since I was not under the influence of any far-out mind altering substances at the time of my viewing (save a bottle of beer), I'll have to claim that my mind was clear and that the movie was what was muddy. All the same, a little incoherence never hurt anybody. Don't let it steer you away from Fandango. After all, it is the Water World of bro-dude road trip movies. All it needs is Tina Majorino.

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