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.
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.
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?
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?
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.
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!
Mostly write about crap movies I have lying around so it's a lot of dollar bin fare and way way too many VHS tapes. But there are no rules! I could write about music or video games, ya never know.
