A Better Class of Criminal

As far as THE DARK KNIGHT goes, I may as well start with the actor everyone has been talking about lately: Nestor Carbonell. Why is the Mayor of Gotham City wearing eyeliner? What’s up with that? Doesn't anyone else find it distracting? Checking out Google I see other people asking about this very subject, not only for this film but also for roles like Carbonell’s recurring character on LOST. I don’t remember ever noticing this on the show, but maybe the big screen caused it to stick out to me this time. Oddly, I’m pretty sure I saw the guy the other week at a bagel place over on Larchmont. Presuming it was him, he looked pretty normal.


This distraction aside, I have very few problems with THE DARK KNIGHT. Yes, the whole thing is very big, dense and long that I’m kind of glad that I saw it early in the day on Saturday (as always, I'm lucky to have the Vista nearby) as opposed to late at night. But even though I feel like I’ve been so bombarded with this movie that it’s going to take some time before I can really sort out how I feel about it and all I can offer now are a few brief initial thoughts. Suffice it to say that as big as it is, the movie is fully satisfying in ways that go beyond spectacle.

It occurs to me that this is set in even less of a dystopian-science fiction world than BATMAN BEGINS was. There’s next to no inkling of the grime and filth seen there, the “depression” that the Katie Holmes-version of Rachel Dawes spoke of. And if that massive subway system which played such a key role in that film is ever seen here, I must have missed it. Instead, we get what feels like an brightly gleaming Gotham, looking more like the Chicago it was filmed in this time, with many extremely wide views outside windows to make it all seem ultra-larger than life. This is just as stylized, of course—hell, HEAT, obviously a big influence here, is pretty stylized as well. But it signifies to me how much Christopher Nolan was trying to solidify the tone and wipe out anything that could veer into the realm of fantasy. Even the effects are staged and shot as if they were done live on set—certainly some of this stuff was achieved digitally but I’m not always sure exactly what. And while after the first act of BEGINS, which I love, the rest of the film always feels slightly off in a way that’s hard for me to pin down, like maybe in the way it’s paced. But as long as THE DARK KNIGHT is and even if maybe some stuff could have been trimmed, I don’t feel that way this time. There are some points of basic confusion, especially in the action near the beginning and Nolan does the trick of cross-cutting from various locales, building up to a Big Event a few too many times, but nothing that bothers me too much. I didn’t even always mind the staging of the action, something some people seem to have a problem with. In all honesty, there were points where I was pleasantly surprised how well I was able to follow the geography of certain action scenes. If anything somewhat negative occurs to me, it's the undeniably chilly feel Nolan brings to it, just like each of his other films, almost as if the film were being directed by a Vulcan. How much this really matters, considering what he is going for with the film, is open to debate.


So yes, it’s better than BATMAN BEGINS. Hell, it’s possible I can’t think of many comic book movies that I might prefer over it, outside of the first SUPERMAN and DANGER: DIABOLIK. I hate the idea of comparing it to the two Burton films. BATMAN RETURNS has, after all, aged especially well and even if the story becomes so top-heavy that it can’t sustain all the elements, at its best it is so potent that I feel like it’s been underrated through the years. At the least, the various ways it is allowed to be more of a pure Tim Burton film makes it better than the 1989 film.


Nolan’s obvious interest in his actors continues and I was particularly struck by how Gary Oldman is putting together such a memorable portrayal of James Gordon as this saga continues. Fifteen years ago, I don’t think anyone ever imagined that one of the best roles of this actor’s career would have been such a decent, upstanding person. I always like Christian Bale but did find his Batman voice this time distracting in ways that it wasn’t in the first film. I half expected him to ask Alfred for some hot tea with lemon, but no dice. It feels like Michael Caine has less screen time this entry, but at least he’s allowed to make every moment he gets count—I especially like his speech about Burma. Aaron Eckhart does a terrific job as Harvey Dent, making him an interesting contrast with Bruce Wayne, taking what is again someone who seems merely decent and honorable and bringing to it an array of shadings. Eckhart deserves much more attention for his performance than he’s getting. Points to William Fichtner for his role during the opening heist sequence, which has to be a nod to HEAT.


Unlike a lot of people out there, I didn’t particularly want to go see THE DARK KNIGHT again right away after seeing it. To me, the movie feels too exhausting to do that and I wanted it to simmer in my head for a few days. By now, I’m at the point where I’m looking forward to that second viewing. But just from that one time it seems so superior that it puts all the other would-be blockbusters of this summer to shame. I can imagine a headline in The Onion reading “Studios Mad at Warner Bros. for Making Good Summer Movie”. Just because it’s the summer, just because it involves superheroes, doesn’t mean that these films shouldn’t be given to the best filmmakers possible, the ones who want to raise the bar higher than we once thought possible. That’s the triumph of THE DARK KNIGHT. Heath Ledger’s pretty good in it, too.

Virtue Has Everything To Do With It

The American Cinematheque has been running a Blake Edwards series at the Aero in Santa Monica which is very nice and all, but I haven’t gone to any of them mostly because I’ve already seen what they’re showing in theaters too many times already. Sadly, his 1979 classic “10” is not among the selections which is too bad since, for all the times I’ve watched it on DVD, I’ve never seen a 35mm print of the film. So I did the only thing I could do, which was watch my DVD again.


“10” is of course mainly remembered today for the iconic appearance of Bo Derek, even if she is in it for barely fifteen minutes. Dudley Moore plays George Webber, “well-known composer, playwright and winner of four Academy Awards” who, feeling adrift at the onset of middle age as he reaches his 42nd birthday, is struck by the sight of the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen (Bo Derek, of course) on the way to her wedding. As his relationship with famous singer Samantha Taylor (Julie Andrews) quickly begins to fall apart, he finds himself doing anything he can to track down this new bride, who he dubs “an eleven” out of a scale from one to ten. I can remember watching it on video years ago, long after it had already been a huge hit and thinking it was funny, but maybe a little hollow. So it’s a surprise how it’s become such a favorite of mine over the years. I watch it once or twice a year and am forced to admit that some elements from in there have turned up in a few scripts I’ve written over the years. It is funny, at times hysterically so, but it never goes too far off compass that it forgets about the maturity of its characters, which is really the reason for the film in the first place. There’s an element to it which feels like that Blake Edwards fantasy of Los Angeles, with creative types who mostly live in Malibu and Beverly Hills and tunes by Henry Mancini wafting out of every nearby speaker. It has an elegance to it which feels sadly lost in comedies today.


The script by Edwards is extremely tight, especially in the first half, which allows us to follow Dudley Moore’s character George Webber as he makes the decisions he needs to make to track down this perfect ten he has spotted, at times giving us the credit to figure out what he’s doing as he’s in the process of doing it. He never states outright what he’s doing, partly because his obsession is something he can’t rationally put into words. Being a neurotic writer, I’ve of course never experienced anything like this. The psychiatrist played by John Hancock he sees just makes him frustrated, his gay best friend and lyricist Robert Webber seems to be living a life of pre-AIDS luxury and with nothing but Bo Derek on his mind he can’t tell current love Julie Andrews what’s bothering him, choosing to get into arguments instead. Hancock and Webber’s characters clearly know what’s going on with him, even without knowing the specifics, but that does him no good. He can only find it out for himself.


The film may be dated but at least it’s become dated in an interesting way. Even though there’s the occasional reference to things like watching Dinah Shore, the lead characters really do seem to be part of a different world than the one we know. It’s not just they’re rich people in Blake Edwards’ version of 1979 Southern California but that their points of reference and colloquialisms are simply of a different mindset. Of course, the movie and even the characters are aware of that, with George Webber being a composer of what Bo Derek’s Jenny calls “elevator music” and his own drunken musings about his dislike of “Why Don’t We Do It In The Road”. Though Edwards must have written the script from some sort of experience of his own, I’ve long figured that there had to be a certain amount of Henry Mancini in the character as well.

The first hour is, to me, extremely well-paced and consistently hysterical, with the round-robin from George’s house to the orgy across the way and back again particularly good. After this, the movie settles down slightly once George takes off for Mexico. This feels correct for the more laid-back vibe of such a resort yet is still feels like there’s not a wasted minute as the lead character finally takes some serious action. As he plays his new composition with Bo Derek running through his head, it’s a touching moment of the character trying to express something he can’t possibly say to anyone around him. It’s to the film’s credit that it never makes Bo Derek’s character a simple airhead or even unlikable. She’s educated, but has no real idea of the world around her and while she may be naive in a way that George can never relate to, she is at least given the intelligence to express her own point of view. She doesn’t know what George is talking about (“That’s your problem”) but the final time we see her indicates to me that someday she will. If Bo Derek had gone on to become a real actress and Edwards were still working, she would be an interesting character to revisit thirty years later. Interestingly, I found myself reminded of “10” earlier this year when I went to see FORGETTING SARAH MARSHALL, another film about a Hollywood composer who when going through romantic troubles takes off for a tropical resort and makes certain decisions about his life there. That film may play better in today’s world but since it doesn’t try to confront any genuine pain it never feels like it comes close to being about actual relatable emotions. And it’s nowhere near as funny.


Dudley Moore, famously a last minute replacement for George Segal, is still amazing in the lead role and is the sort of comic actor who can perform outlandish physical bits, like that huge fall down the hill, without ever crossing the line into seeming idiotic. Julie Andrews, in her first film role since Edwards’ THE TAMARIND SEED in 1974, is essentially playing a Julie Andrews-type. She’s presumably representing whatever she was for Blake in their own relationship and she deserves some sort of credit for being okay with how the film sometimes does a hard cut from a beautiful object of desire like Bo Derek to herself, looking as virginal as Julie Andrews ever does. Bo Derek looks as perfect as she is supposed to be and even if she was strikingly shot and carefully directed by Edwards in every single line reading, which I could believe, it certainly works. There’s also a terrific supporting cast in here which no one ever seems to remember—Dee Wallace as the woman who can’t seem to attract any men is instantly likable and sympathetic, yet still slightly needy in a way that seems like a believable turnoff. Brian Dennehy is one of the great bartenders in all of film—it should be mentioned here that “10” has to be one of the great drinking movies of all time. He and Moore play their scenes together beautifully. The unsung Don Calfa is very funny as George’s neighbor across the canyon and a pre-FLASH GORDON Sam J. Jones is pretty funny as Jenny’s husband, even with next to no dialogue. I’ve always figured that Edwards directed him to be as wide-eyed as literally possible in every single shot.


Along with my fondness for the film I also like Henry Mancini’s score very much. The soft track “Something for Jenny”, heard as Moore and Derek sit down for their first conversation is a particular favorite. Unless I’m mistaken, “Nothing to Lose”, featured in THE PARTY, can be heard in this film’s opening party as well. It remains entertaining, and even if this film about people dealing with how they are becoming obsolete is itself becoming obsolete, that doesn’t make me like it any less. For me, “10” does what the great films do, including the great comedies, which is to change and grow as I return to it over the years. I think I like it more every time I see it.


About ninety minutes after viewing this time to write this, my friend called me and said, “They’re remaking “10”!” “But I just watched it!” I exclaimed. It was announced it Variety. There’s not any point in getting worked up over it and I’m not going to bother asking how much this is related to the release of FORGETTING SARAH MARSHALL and maybe even last year’s lousy redo of THE HEARTBREAK KID, but I have very few expectations that such a remake will even attempt to get near the heart of the comic anguish that the original goes for. It won’t have Dudley Moore, it won’t have Bo Derek and most importantly, it won’t be written and directed by Blake Edwards. Simply put, it doesn’t have a chance.

A Mellow Mass Hysteria

I have fond memories of seeing A NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET 3: DREAM WARRIORS and FRIGHT NIGHT in the theater, both coming pretty early in my own interest in horror films. WARRIORS was the first ELM STREET I saw theatrically—I suspect that my have been the case for a lot of kids at the time—and I wouldn’t have seen FRIGHT NIGHT at all if it hadn’t been for my dad, of all people, recommending it after going himself. Having grown up in the 80s, there are plenty of movies from that decade which make me want to jump out the nearest window if I catch twenty seconds on TBS but these two have held up pretty well and my fondness for them remains. I guess Diablo Cody likes them too since she programmed the pair for her series at the New Beverly and with a few very special guests announced, there was no way I was going to miss it. THE DARK KNIGHT could wait. Both films were preceded by various trailers for horror films from back in the day, some that I never need to remember (that would be DR. GIGGLES) but fortunately we were also shown that great MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE trailer featuring director Stephen King pointing at us saying, “I’m gonna scare the hell out of you!” And we all know how that turned out.


DREAM WARRIORS was of course the movie that burst the NIGHTMARE series into the mainstream, moving away from the hard-nosed scares of the first film, justly forgetting the second movie entirely and bringing in a more fantastical approach to the nightmares. This isn’t a bad thing, but sometimes you revisit an older film you remember and are surprised at how slow it sometimes moves. That is very much the case here. Fortunately, this does allow us to get to know some of the characters more than we otherwise would. It’s hard to imagine that a genre film would ever allow a plot point like teen suicide, even if it is minor, to be used today. And even though the teen characters are all obvious Freddy fodder, the sensitive way they are presented, comic relief aside, makes them more likable than the cardboard caricatures who populate the later sequels and it’s still kind of a bummer when a few of them are killed off. If the film has a flaw it’s that the script can’t seem to make up its mind if the lead character is Patricia Arquette’s Kristen, Craig Wasson’s sympathetic doctor or the returning Heather Langenkamp’s Nancy. It’s not a deal breaker but it does make it feel like finished film isn’t as tight and focused as it could be. Wasson, who doesn’t seem at all different from his BODY DOUBLE character—not that it bothers me and more on that in a minute—is immediately likable while Langenkamp, it has to be said, isn’t much of an actress and the wardrobe she’s given to presumably make her look older than she really is just comes off as awkward. Fortunately, the kids (some of whom she’s probably the same age as) pick up some of the slack, especially Arquette in her first film and Jennifer Rubin, who I’ve always had a fondness for, also in her debut as tough chick Taryn. Laurence Fishburne, still credited as ‘Larry’ and billed third, manages to make something out of his nothing role as Max the orderly and John Saxon, reprising his role as Nancy’s father in an extended cameo, pretty much kills in his brief screen time. And yeah, there’s the Dokken song over the end credits and I could hear people singing along with the lyrics. At least, I’m pretty sure that wasn’t just me.


The post-film Q&A was with co-writer Frank Darabont and, unannounced but very welcome, co-writer and director Chuck Russell. The two men, laughing as in disbelief about being asked about this movie but clearly loving every minute of it, talked about how they rewrote the script together up in Big Bear in eleven days, with Russell suffering from a 104 degree temperature part of the time. Apparently during this fever Russell came up with the famous line, “The bastard son of a hundred maniacs,” with Darabont figuring that it was either the best or worst line anybody had ever written. Of course, it was a little of both. Russell also seemed to agree with the slow pace, saying he felt he could easily cut it down to eighty minutes. He may be right but even if the film may not be the best of the series, for me it’s the most endearing. Easily the best part of the session was the revelation that the Edgar Allen Poe quote which opens the film—“Sleep. Those little slices of death. How I loathe them.”—is complete bullshit. Chuck Russell made it up. Sadly, I didn’t get to ask my own question about the movie, which was the story behind Craig Wasson briefly being buried alive, an odd little BODY DOUBLE homage which happens during the climax.


FRIGHT NIGHT may be a slick studio film in comparison, but it’s a pretty modest studio film, with much of it taking place on a street that is an obvious backlot with a cast that consists of a mere handful of characters. Maybe it’s part of this modest, yet focused, scope that allows it to hold up extremely well, with a tight script and the line between comedy and horror correctly balanced. William Ragsdale and Amanda Bearse are sort of the Zach Galligan-Phoebe Cates equivalents, both likable while letting the others have the showier roles. Chris Sarandon is so good as Jerry Dandridge that it’s surprising that he didn’t appear in more things even at the time. When he offers to give Ragsdale “something I don’t have—a choice” it’s a nice inkling of depth which automatically keeps him from being just a one-note bad guy. Maybe this was just the great role in the 80s he was meant to have. Roddy McDowall and Stephen Geoffreys are both extremely memorable in their roles which seem designed to be scene-stealers and the movie fortunately never lets them be simply comic relief. I suppose I’m thinking of the one big scene the two have together late in the film and it’s that sort of odd emotional touch which is probably one of the reasons the film has always resonated for some people, making it more than just a horror-comedy. And the exciting climax, from the fantastic effects work to moments like McDowall expectantly proclaiming “You’re out of time,” seems to do everything right which is refreshing after seeing so many finales that make me want to zone out. It’s a terrific movie.


As a contrast to Russell & Darabont, who remembered their film as a total blast, Tom Holland earnestly expressed how he always regarded FRIGHT NIGHT as an expression of his own love for the genre. The genesis of the film came from his own script for the 1984 CLOAK & DAGGER, a remake of THE WINDOW. Thinking about its relation to Cornell Woolrich’s REAR WINDOW Holland tried to develop a similar idea about someone living next door to a serial killer, but couldn’t crack the idea (“And then last year they made DISTUBIA,” he added. Good to know I’m not the only one who saw the FRIGHT NIGHT resemblance) until he hit upon the notion of instead doing it with a vampire—a story idea he still couldn’t solve, until he hit upon the concept of the Peter Vincent character. He was fortunate to have very little interference from Columbia, since they were mostly preoccupied with what was expected to be their big summer movie, PERFECT. When asked about Sarandon’s habit of eating apples in scenes, Holland said that it was a touch Sarandon came up with, also offering the rationale that the character was “cleaning his fangs”. As for Geoffreys, Holland said that all the lines were on the page, but everything Geoffreys did with them was the actor. Holland revealed that the late screenwriter Colin Higgins took part in a surprisingly long two-week rehearsal period (“We could have done it as a play,” said Holland) and tried to convince him to reign Geoffreys in. Happily, the director didn’t listen to that piece of advice. Holland stressed that he was constantly trying to add subtext to every scene, whether it be losing one’s virginity or the homoeroticism element and while it could be argued that trying to toss anything into the mix makes the movie feel a little all over the place, it does give it a lot of the meat that it has, one of the reasons it still plays pretty damn good today.


Only one of these two films, FRIGHT NIGHT, actually played during the summer, but the double bill was a nice reminder when summer movies seemed more fun and less like, well, ordeals. It’s a credit to the people involved that they are still so enjoyable. And it’s great that Diablo Cody recognizes this in them and was able to engineer such a terrific night. Maybe if I go again I’ll have to tell her this.

A Double Coffin For Double Deaths

The American Cinematheque ran Dario Argento’s 1971 giallo FOUR FLIES ON GREY VELVET a few years ago which was my first viewing of this impossible-to-see film. I was unimpressed. I can’t exactly remember my thoughts at the time but maybe the thriller element seemed a little too light in tone for my tastes. Why I thought this I couldn’t really say. Fortunately, I decided to give it another try at the Egyptian this past Saturday night as part of their Italian Grindhouse series and with this viewing I found myself thoroughly enjoying the movie. Go figure. I’m not sure why and I know it wasn’t my mood but this time it wound up clicking for me. Yes, I’ve taken a look at more giallos in the past few years but this film feels considerably different than many others so it can’t be due to an increased familiarity with the form. I suppose it’s possible that I just found myself more open to the uniquely idiosyncratic tone it projects throughout. Maybe you always need to remember to keep an open mind.


Roberto Tobias (Michael Brandon), a drummer in a rock band, begins to notice a strange man following him everywhere he goes. One night after a recording session he spots the man again and after he chases him down into an abandoned theater, a struggle between the two men results in the stranger being stabbed to death by his own switchblade. At this point he realizes he is being watched by a mysterious masked individual who has photographed the entire incident. Keeping the secret from his wife Nina (Mimsy Farmer), Roberto, who begins to experience a recurring nightmare about decapitation, soon finds himself terrorized by the masked stranger as people around him begin to turn up dead.


It’s certainly one of Argento’s most eccentric films, populated by an array of individuals who seem oddball even for him. It’s a strange character to have as a lead since his feelings about killing somebody, even accidentally, don’t extend much further than worrying whether the police will learn about what happened (some of this gets explained, some of it doesn't, but I'm delibertately avoiding spoilers). Many of the people on-camera come off as off-kilter, particularly the ones who seem to be continually invading Roberto and Nina’s swank pad for their endless parties, but few of them seem all that compelling. They’re just slightly sleazy in that good old seventies way. It’s how these bland characters are framed by Argento’s eye which makes them as interesting as they get to be. The strong stylization in the Techniscope imagery indicates a great deal of confidence on Argento’s part with this film, moreso than even his classic directorial debut THE BIRD WITH THE CRYSTAL PLUMAGE, which screened second (hey, I’d only seen it 27 times before so I stuck around to see that as well). PLUMAGE is more successful and has the stronger story of the two, but in that film Argento’s use of the camera still feels like its being developed. Here, the plot has its strong points, but is still a little hazily constructed at times—someone suggests to Roberto that he go see a private detective and he does…about twenty minutes later. Maybe more than any of his other films, it’s the extremely striking suspense sequences throughout which manage to attain a true sense of a nightmare in their essential illogic. At times they make extremely little rational sense but in the context of this film it somehow winds up making them more effective (I noticed that this isn’t the first time that an Argento character is seen sitting on a bench, observing daily life, only to soon meet a bad end). Frankly, some of these sections are so good that it really makes me wonder what I was thinking a few years ago. That being said, it is still at times a strange movie tonally. It’s hard for me not to wonder about the English dub job with at times a total-lack of any real ambient sound, extreme even for one of these dub jobs, only adding to the genuinely unusual feel. Is this intentional? Is there another version of the film in the world where the soundtrack is altered to the point where it could feel like a considerably different experience?


Part of the interest around FOUR FLIES has been its near-lack of availability. Released by Paramount here in the States and by others elsewhere in the world, the film has never been released on video (again, at least here in the states) and certainly isn’t available on DVD, at least not legally. The fact that this seems to be a worldwide issue makes me think there’s more than just disinterest on Paramount’s part going on, but that’s just guesswork. At the least, the fact that the print screened by the Egyptian contained a British rating certificate at the top indicates that maybe Paramount doesn’t even have any 35mm prints of the title readily available. Happily, there was a big crowd at the Egyptian for the screening and the amount of applause that was heard during the explanation for the film’s title (You know, the old last-image-a-person-sees-before-death-caught-in-their-retina trick. Makes sense to me) indicated to me that this was an audience of the faithful. Maybe not everyone there had seen it, but they knew what they were there to see.


The bulk of the cast is a little too colorless, although Mimsy Farmer does have a genuinely interesting screen presence. Francine Racette as Cousin Dalia is pretty fetching as well (love that bathtub scene). But the most memorable performance in the film easily comes from Jean-Pierre Marielle as private detective Gianni Arrosio. Introduced to surprise the lead that the detective he’s hiring is a homosexual, Arrosio is a mincing stereotype (“You’re thinking that this fairy is going to jump on a chair and scream bloody murder if he sees a mouse”) who knows he’s a mincing stereotype. It’s one of the surprises of the film that the character, who tells our hero that out of 84 cases he hasn’t solved a single one, proves to be more capable than he lets on and in doing so turns out to be the most human individual in the entire film. It occurs to me that structurally the character might be inspired by the detective played by Walter Matthau in MIRAGE but in this film it feels like one of those occasional characters in Argento films who, in how the actor clearly does more with the part than what is on the page, turns into something genuinely unexpected. This might be one of the best examples of that.


What’s interesting is how maybe the last time I was turned off by some of the more comic elements of the film—the running gag with the mailman, the scenes with Roberto’s vagrant buddy “God” played by Bud Spencer—and true, some of these bits don’t work so well. But this time it occurred to me that FOUR FLIES may work best as a very dark comedy of manners, an examination of the near-impossibility of communicating with others, even those who are closest to you. The more I think about it, the movie seems very personal, possibly indicated in how much lead actor Brandon actually resembles Argento. I was struck by the black humor of the exposition scene set for no obvious reason at some sort of funeral convention with many different coffins on display. One salesman hawks a special one for two, saying that it’s “a double coffin for double deaths”. Within the eccentricities of the film I get the feeling that Argento is trying to ask if it’s really possible to know and connect with a person you want to love. The final moments set to that haunting Ennio Morricone music seem touching to me because of this notion, not because of how it affects the plot, but because of what it possibly says about the film’s director. The shocking method of how the final scene prolongs what is inevitable seems to acknowledge this impossibility. Ultimately, there’s nothing that can be done about those feelings and maybe that’s the film’s ultimate position on such relationships. Or maybe I’m just in a mood these days. Either way, I find myself thinking about this film, this badly dubbed, freakishly plotted Argento film from the seventies more than I ever thought I would when I walked into the Egyptian for this second viewing. There’s something great about that.


You have just read the Mr. Peel’s Sardine Liqueur review of FOUR FLIES ON GREY VELVET.

Invading Czechoslovakia

A number of years ago I worked on a DVD project related to a film produced by Ivan Reitman. The interviews conducted included one with Reitman associate Danny Goldberg and at one point he made a comment that they had been working on the film we were talking to him about “at the same time we were writing STRIPES.” At that point all I could think was, “I’m in the same room as one of the guys who wrote STRIPES?” For some reason, the moment had a particular effect on me. Danny Goldberg seemed like a great guy, a true mensch…and he wrote STRIPES. Some films just cause you to stop in your tracks that way.

Opening night of Diablo Cody’s Mondo Diablo festival at the New Beverly, where STRIPES was showing with Jason Reitman’s THANK YOU FOR SMOKING, kicked off in a rambling style. A few minutes late, Diablo made her introductions, told us there would be a Q&A after STRIPES (SMOKING was scheduled to run first), then after several comedy trailers from another time (WEEKEND AT BERNIE’S, COMING TO AMERICA, PARENHOOD and Reitman Sr.’s DAVE) THANK YOU FOR SMOKING began. About two minutes into the credits, the film stopped and we were informed that STRIPES really was going to run first. Fine with me, since that was the one I really wanted to see anyway. It was my first theatrical viewing of the film and the 35mm print looked beautiful.


STRIPES feels like the talents involved are still being developed. The narrative isn’t much to comment on, it peaks too soon and the whole thing feels choppy, as if it was cut to the laughs, which it probably was. None of that matters. STRIPES is still a hysterically funny movie, one of Bill Murray’s best “Bill Murray” performances and at its best remains scrappy, likable and never forgets how funny it’s supposed to be. Yes, the whole third act where they take the souped-up EM-50 Urban Assault Vehicle to invade Czechoslovakia is forgettable to the point that you almost forget about it while it’s happening, but you can’t help but feel good as the soldiers march off, singing “Doo Wah Diddy” one more time as the credits roll. Elmer Bernstein’s score, easily the best of all the ones he did for eighties comedies, adds to this likability a great deal and in many ways acts as the glue holding the film together more than anything.


Bill Murray really is a force of nature here and there’s no point in listing all his best moments in the film but his pep talk to his fellow soldiers (“We’re American soldiers. We’ve been kicking ass for 200 years—we’re ten and one!”), while obviously this film’s version of the “It just doesn’t matter!” speech from MEATBALLS, is right up there. Some of the other actors, like Harold Ramis and John Larroquette, still feel like they’re developing their comic styles but it’s consistently enjoyable to see Ramis amusing himself at the edges of the frame and Larroquette blurting out “Where the fuck’s my truck?” makes me laugh out loud. John Candy’s comic persona, in comparison, already feels fully formed and he gets laughs from his very first moment onscreen (“Stewardess, is there a movie on this flight?”) which is just the start of how much his presence makes the movie even funnier than it already is. Also managing to stick out in the large cast with a fully-drawn character is John Diehl as the idiot Cruiser, who gets some great bits with Candy. P.J. Soles and Sean Young may not be very believable as Military Police, but considering how cute they are, who cares. Ramis and Young have particularly good chemistry, making me think that someone should cast them as husband and wife in something now. Warren Oates, as Sgt. Hulka (“Lighten up, Francis”), is a great rock to have at the center of the movie and it’s to Reitman’s credit that he resisted making the character a simple cardboard bad guy. Dave Thomas and Joe Flaherty have cameos, a very young Timothy Busfield is “Soldier with mortar” and according to the credits Bill Paxton is in there somewhere as a soldier but I haven’t spotted him.


The film was followed by a Q&A with Diablo Cody and Ivan Reitman, with Jason Reitman hanging out off to the side for no particular reason. Along with discussing the challenges of directing Bill Murray, Reitman Sr. talked about how the film began life as a Cheech & Chong vehicle, but their manager made ridiculous financial demands and Cheech apparently never knew about it until years later. Much of the drug humor written for that version survived in the form of Judge Reinhold’s stoner character, but a lot of what they shot for him wound up getting cut out. Most of the film, including all the European stuff, was shot in Kentucky with some additional photography in L.A. Reitman also acknowledged the film’s structural problem in that it really climaxes with the graduation ceremony and what follows isn’t as good as the first half. This was something they were aware of even while they were writing the screenplay and he said that based on this issue, for years afterward when in developing the scripts for his films, he would always allude to STRIPES in terms of trying to plot out the climax by saying “How are we going to invade Czechoslovakia?” I guess it’s this line of thinking that leads to Stay-Puft Marshmallow Men. Of course, the subject of the amount of casual topless nudity came up as well. For his part, Jason offered that his earliest memory is being on the scoring stage for the movie as Elmer Bernstein worked and pointed out something that actually occurred to me while watching the film, which was a very slight structural similarity to FULL METAL JACKET, then still six years in the future.

I didn’t stay for THANK YOU FOR SMOKING and I also didn’t try to go up to Diablo Cody but at one point I did find myself standing next to Edgar Wright and I brought up his recent VENOM commentary at the Trailers From Hell site (I could have mentioned fifty other things to Wright, but this was what came to mind. Hey, at least it was current). After talking about VENOM with him for a few minutes I ended by saying that SHAUN OF THE DEAD is the best film of the decade. He waved that off dismissively but, well, it is. I’ll probably wind up saying it if he find myself talking to him again. Which, considering how many times I’ve already seen Edgar Wright at the New Beverly, could be very soon. To quote a character from another well-known Ivan Reitman film, I love this town.

More Hate Than Love

By my count, THE LAST MISTRESS is the third Asia Argento film to get a release in U.S. theaters in 2008. As far as I’m concerned, that’s not nearly enough. Still, there is at least hope in that there looks like a few other titles stacked up waiting to possibly come out at some point. For now, at least, there is THE LAST MISTRESS and appropriately for a movie starring Asia Argento, it seems to be mostly about being fascinated by Asia Argento, in whatever form that fascination may occur. Being frightened by her, being obsessed by her. Either way, it has very little interest in taking its eyes off her.

Paris, 1835: Ryno de Marigny (newcomer Fu'ad Ait Aatou) is soon to marry wealthy Hermangarde (Roxane Mesquida). After a “final” visit with his mistress, the notorious Madame Vellini (Argento), the somewhat older, “illegitimate daughter of an Italian countess and a Spanish bullfighter” where he tells her they can never see her again, de Marigny is summoned by Hermangarde’s grandmother who insists on discussing the young man’s decade-long affair before she will give her blessing. Knowing what has been going on, she demands total honesty.


Shot and framed in a staid fashion, almost as if some of the compositions are derived from paintings, the passion in THE LAST MISTRESS comes not from its visuals—the colors are actually surprisingly flat at times. Instead, that passion comes from the animal-like ferocity of its female lead. At first de Marigny refers to Vellini as an “ugly mutt”. The ugly part is a reach, but there is something immediately unusual and well, maybe a little mutt-like, about her look and the age difference is apparent. He then realizes he has spoken with her nearby and when he sees the look of raw hatred she gives which resembles a look of a ferocity which might not be possible coming from anyone else on the planet…well, that’s it. There’s no going back. It’s a film about how there is no going back. And as it moves from that hate to a passion of another kind, which goes beyond calling it love or even simple lust, at one point involving the literal sucking of blood, it’s hard to imagine anyone else on the planet playing this role. “I hate anything feminine, except men,” she mentions at one point and this woman who smokes cigars and dares you to return her devastating gaze really is the male of the relationship, driving the desires of the more feminine Aattou. He’s boring, but even that seems appropriate. Anyone would be boring next to her anyway. The performances by Argento in this film and also in BOARDING GATE from a few months ago is the type of work usually frowned upon—they’re not about realism, they’re not about histrionics, they’re about the primal force she brings to them, which is purely sexual and purely cinematic. There’s no other actress these days who does that to such an extent.


The frankness of its sexuality, even down to how the older characters acknowledge it, set it apart from what you would expect from such a film, making it more honest than the typical ‘unrequited love’ path these sort of period pieces usually go down. That makes the time it is set in almost incidental, refreshingly so. And it correctly admits to the near-impossibility of these feelings ever reaching some form of closure. The other day I was driving through Silverlake and saw a certain someone I knew sitting at a café, laughing at something that was being said. It was one of those moments where all time seemed to stop and the only thing that meant anything in the universe was seeing her there. Even now, I can see how she looked as she was laughing. She didn’t know I was driving past. She didn’t know what I was thinking just then. She doesn’t know I’m writing this now. And there’s nothing I can do about that. There’s an unresolved element to the end of THE LAST MISTRESS which seems slightly unsatisfying. From experience, that seems entirely appropriate.

Mixing Business With Pleasure

You get used to some things, you wind up missing them when they’re gone. And I miss John Landis films. Within that nasty dark humor and DRAGNET-aesthetic of his visuals was always a unique comic tone, from NATIONAL LAMPOON’S ANIMAL HOUSE to SPIES LIKE US and also INTO THE NIGHT, maybe my favorite film of his. Even if he hasn’t had new films released in theaters for several years now, he’s certainly been active doing various things for TV as well as directing the terrific Don Rickles documentary MR. WARMTH. His last feature (“to date”, I’ll hopefully add) has been 1998’s SUSAN’S PLAN, a low-budget film which the director also scripted. Unfortunately, it wound up getting no theatrical release here in the States. It did eventually turn up on video as DYING TO GET RICH, a lousy title, especially since “Susan’s Plan” is actually spoken in dialogue a number of times. Short, slight and more than a little mean, it might not be accurate to call SUSAN’S PLAN a good movie. Maybe it’s not supposed to be. Maybe it’s not even a movie. Maybe it’s an anti-movie. At least it’s slightly unique.


Susan Holland (Nastassja Kinski) convinces lover Sam Myers (Billy Zane) to arrange to have her ex-husband Paul (Adrian Paul) killed so she can collect the insurance. Sam hires two idiots (Rob Schneider and Michael Biehn) for the job which they naturally screw up—even though they shoot Paul several times, they somehow manage to not kill him. As Paul lies in the hospital recovering, Police Detective Scott (Bill Duke) begins to investigate the shooting. Also mixed up in the plot is hairdresser Betty (Lara Flynn Boyle) who most of the men in the movie are completely obsessed with, Sam’s ex-wife and boss Penny (Lisa Edelstein, dressed like she’s going to play the Hildy Johnson role in a HIS GIRL FRIDAY remake) who pieces together what’s going on and tough biker Bob (Dan Ackroyd) who is enlisted to take care of Paul once the shooting goes wrong.


It’s not much of a plot, which the movie makes little effort to disguise. The basic message of SUSAN’S PLAN is that everyone in the world is pretty much just a schmuck and whether working a normal job or arranging the intricacies of a murder plot, everyone still has to get through the daily grind of eating, drinking, screwing, money worries and dealings with minor bureaucracies. Set in Los Angeles with plenty of shots of Hollywood landmarks, about as much emphasis is placed on what food and drink characters order throughout as anything having to do with the plot. More importantly, the film continually pauses throughout the running time for dream sequences (and, occasionally, dreams within dreams) of various characters imagining the myriad of ways that Susan’s plan could go wrong. Part of this has to do with Landis employing Bunuel-type mindgames (probably inspired by THE DISCREET CHARM OF THE BOURGEOUISE). Of course, Landis’s own AN AMERICAN WEREWOLF IN LONDON made use of this method but in that case, the dreams were employed to emphasize the horror and paranoia the lead character was going though within the plot. In the case of SUSAN’S PLAN, the dreams ARE the entire plot to the point where it’s irrelevant to complain about them. You can’t say that they disguise the fact that there isn’t much of a story because, in many ways, they are the story. It’s hard not to wish that there was a little more going on storywise but maybe the minimalism is the point. Some of it is funny, especially the nit-picky nature of the dialogue (“Crucified. Like a deer caught in the headlights.”), some of it not so much (several fart jokes). Ultimately, it’s a nasty, little movie about nasty, little people with nothing redeeming about any of them but there is a strange sort of pureness about the whole thing. It’s almost as if, more than any other of his films, this encapsulates John Landis’s world view. Does he really like any of these people? Does he identify with them? Does he find them reprehensible? Does he think they’re no different from anyone else? Maybe the answer is all of the above.


Kinski honestly seems miscast to me—she just doesn’t seem like the sort of person who would engineer such a plot. Boyle, in the sexpot role that seems designed to “steal” the movie, feels too mannered. Fortunately, most of the other actors are very good, each hitting what feels like the right comic notes. Michael Biehn is a nice surprise in a different sort of role for him. Even Billy Zane, never anyone’s favorite actor, is very funny. Hell, even Rob Schneider is actually very good. Future Oscar nominee Thomas Haden Church, playing a doctor, gets a laugh at one point simply out of replying “What?” to a question someone asks him. Lisa Edelstein, my future wife, is extremely good as Sam’s ex, bringing a level of comic intelligence to her performance which feels so sharp that I wish that her character was the one the film focused on. Not that I have any extra interest in Lisa Edelstein or anything. Bill Duke plays the one voice of sanity in this world as the cop—actually kind of a familiar sort of character in the years after Frances McDormand in FARGO. He’s just about the toughest-looking guy in movies but here all he wants is to listen to more than a few seconds of “The Blue Danube” without getting a phone call interrupting those few second of peace. He never gets the chance. Since it’s a John Landis film, there are cameo appearances by a few directors, namely Randal Kleiser, Stuart Gordon, Adam Rifkin and (now familiar as an actor) Danny Huston. Unfortunately, “See You Next Wednesday” never turns up and in the one elevator scene the muzak heard is not “The Girl From Ipenema” but a Jake Steinfeld infomercial seems to be on every time a TV is seen. Jeff Morris, Bob of Bob’s Country Bunker in THE BLUES BROTHERS, has one short amusing scene with Ackroyd at Boardner’s in Hollywood explaining that his name is “Larry Cooper.” It ends quickly and has nothing to do with anything else we ever see. Which, come to think of it, kind of describes the entire film.


If anything can be said about SUSAN’S PLAN it’s that every frame feels like the work of John Landis, for better and also for worse, and I could believe that the process of making it was possibly somewhat freeing after being involved with so many big-budget studio comedies. In some ways it would probably be a good idea for more directors to make such a small film which was this much a distillation of that particular person’s mindset and filmic style. They might not all work—hell, I’m not sure SUSAN’S PLAN qualifies as a movie that “works”—but the results would at least be interesting.

When I started this blog I never thought that if I made it to 200 posts I was going to write about SUSAN’S PLAN. But it seemed as logical a choice as any to mark the occasion. Plus I kind of had to see it again this week. I’d rather not explain.

Abusing the Privilege

It was during the Fourth of July weekend twenty-five years ago that I was taken by my parents to my first R-rated film in the theater. Of course, we’d already had cable for a while which means that it wasn’t the first R-rated film I’d ever seen. Why it took them even longer to let me actually go to see one in the theater is a mystery that will probably never be solved. Meanwhile, at a multiplex somewhere right now I’m sure a kid in preschool is going to see WANTED. But anyway, the film I was taken to see at the late, lamented Scarsdale Plaza at that time was John Badham’s helicopter epic BLUE THUNDER. Remembering this anniversary caused me to take another look at the film. It never really seems to follow through on some of the serious themes it brings up but all things considered it hasn’t aged that badly.


After a portentous title card (THE HARDWARE, WEAPONRY AND SURVEILLANCE SYSTEMS DEPICTED IN THIS FILM ARE REAL AND IN USE IN THE UNITED STATES TODAY.) setting us up for a serious examination of technology’s role in modern society we meet Frank Murphy (Roy Scheider) a police helicopter pilot in L.A. who is a bit of a loose cannon, continually monitoring his own sanity which is clearly connected to his own Vietnam flashbacks (Didn’t Clint Eastwood’s FIREFOX have a similar character trait for the lead?) After following him on a shift with new partner Richard Lymangood (Daniel Stern) where, after the pair spies on a young woman doing yoga in the nude--something I probably enjoyed back then but now just seems creepy--a routine call leads to an attack and ultimate murder of a prominent city councilwoman, Murphy is selected to pilot the prototype for Blue Thunder, a military-style super helicopter to be used for survailance and in case of terrorist activity (the then-upcoming ’84 Olympics are referred to). The military man in charge of Blue Thunder, Col. Cochrane (Malcolm McDowell) is actually Murphy’s old nemesis from the war (and I know that I hate when I have to deal with my old nemesis) and Murphy soon becomes suspicious what Blue Thunder’s real purpose may be.


BLUE THUNDER, screenplay credited to Dan O’Bannon and Don Jakoby, moves along at such a fast clip that it’s easy to forget that some of its issues are pretty much glossed over in favor of the helicopter stuff. Not that I’m complaining that much. Some of the aerial footage is genuinely dynamic and there’s some pretty good action too. However, it does seem like the movie is caught between the grittier, conspiracy-minded films of the 70s and the spectacular, throw-logic-out-the-window mindset of the eighties—the footage of helicopters flying through Century City in DIE HARD came to mind. The movie deals with racial relations, government conspiracy, post-traumatic stress disorder, even a mention of the Munich massacre (I’m sure that sailed over my head back then) and it blends a little uneasily with elements which, frankly, I suppose were designed to appeal to me at the time. There’s no other way to explain the amount of time spent on things like Candy Clark’s car chase antics, something it feels like the movie is ultimately more interested in than in clarifying the more serious elements of what the bad guys are up to. The amount of destruction which occurs in downtown L.A. is so huge that it’s hard to imagine that no one was killed in the climax but the film does its best to imply otherwise. Hey, if they say so. The Get-the-tape-to-the-media subplot feels left over from the PARALLAX-type paranoia of the 70s as well, but things definitely turn out better here than they did in BLOW OUT.


It’s also interesting as an L.A. movie, which some pretty amazing aerial photography of the city (especially when compared to similar stuff in HANCOCK which, well, doesn’t compare—why does a movie like that look so ugly in comparison?). The cinematography by the late, great John Alonzo uses a lot of colors available in the various dusk shots of the skyline whether they make sense or not. There’s a lot of detail seen throughout, making it enjoyable to figure out what part of the city they were flying over. I kept looking out to see if my own building would make an appearance, but no luck. Geography is a little wonky though—at one point Scheider and Stern are patrolling over Westwood (looks like MOMMIE DEAREST is playing) when they are called to an armed robbery at Circus Liquor in North Hollywood (address correctly given as Burbank and Vineland). I know they’re in a helicopter, but wasn’t anyone closer? The long gone Pickwick Drive-In also turns up (address incorrectly given as Riverside and Victory—how would it have ever fit there?) making me wish that a drive-in still existed in the valley.


It’s easy to imagine that Roy Scheider took on this role because of the character, not realizing at first just how much he would be overshadowed by the technology. But the fact that he always seems like a human being who can feel genuine pain makes him an ideal counterpoint. Because of this, Scheider almost manages to make us believe it at the end when he--well, I guess I shouldn't give it away. It's ridiculous, but it's still pretty cool. And is the final shot an intentional echo of the end of THE SEVEN-UPS? Either way, it's an ideal beat to end on. After everything that's happened, the actor has earned the way he takes back the frame in that final image. Warren Oates, who died before the movie was released, gets all the best lines, fully expressing how all this newfangled technology means dick to him. “You’re supposed to be stupid,” he tells Daniel Stern when the rookie tries to take the blame for something. “Don’t abuse the privilege.” Malcolm McDowell is pretty bad but in fairness it’s a pretty terribly written, thinly drawn bad guy role anyway. His one good moment comes when he has to radio in after a helicopter has gone down and dryly intones, “It seems we have a ship down somewhere in the Watts area.” Every now and then I got the feeling McDowell was trying to add little bits to amuse himself, but there’s only so much you can do with repeating “Catch ya later!” ad nauseum. Gee, what do you think the kiss-off at the end of the movie’s gonna be? On the other hand, you could probably find somebody who hasn’t seen this movie for twenty years and I’ll bet “Catch ya later!” might be the only thing they remember, so there’s something to be said for that. Daniel Stern has the Daniel Stern role as Scheider’s gawky partner, Candy Clark is Scheider’s on-off girlfriend who at least gets something to do and Joe Santos plays another helicopter cop, maybe to try and convince us that we’re actually watching an episode of THE ROCKFORD FILES.

Ultimately, the movie seems to exist for the thrill of the helicopter chases so while I could complain that the more serious elements wind up half-baked there’s no denying how much the action is pretty damn cool--it's well-staged, well-cut and does all the right things to make this an ideal popcorn movie. Those are actual helicopters flying over L.A. and even if there is some use of miniatures it all works just great. The movie resists extensive comment partly because it ultimately becomes more about the hardware than what that hardware represents. But there are far, far worse things in this world than a genuinely exciting movie with helicopter battles. That sort of thing worked for me as a kid and it still works for me now.

“Catch ya later…”