The Normal World: The Theatrical Report

[nopersonality]

★½

1991 / director: Peter Faiman

Well... what can one say about a John Hughes movie such as this one? Let's start with: it's so by-the-numbers that as it plays, you not only can predict exactly what's going to happen next, but also instead of what happens next really affecting the characters or the story- you're too busy cataloging what other John Hughes family movies this happens in. This movie is at least 3 prior JH movies rolled into one: Curly Sue, Uncle Buck, and Planes Trains and Automobiles. You have: the spoiled brat with an uppity loner attitude and problems with their mother being schooled in hard-knocks by a "stand up" working class guy. That's Uncle Buck to a tee. Except- it's a boy instead of a girl. Then, the obligatory "homeless shelter" scene - and a thief tries to steal a protagonist's ring. And the snobby restaurant that won't let the homeless people inside. That's Curly Sue. And a road trip with unfortunate adventures between two guys who hate each other. Yeah- you know where this is going.

It would take me forever to go through the problems with this movie. I'll just save my breath and say: Curly Sue was a lot better.

Actually... breath was meant to be wasted, wasn't it? First of all- the kid is impossible to relate to. He's a spoiled brat. A genuine spoiled brat. He's got everything he needs and is still a loser. He doesn't make a definitive critical statement against the working class yet suddenly, we have a class war movie. Dutch the character doesn't even challenge Doyle on his stupid world "views," he just takes cheap shots at him all along the way. "You may have a brown belt but at least I can pay for my breakfast." What does that prove? What does Doyle's martial arts skills prove? This movie is a tug of war... but... the tugging is so stupid. Neither has a legitimate advantage over the other, yet we're supposed to believe this is a real fight between the two of them. A "battle of wits"... Crotch shots and bad jokes are the winners here and the audience all lose out.

Someone could make a whole sequel alone based on just what's wrong with Doyle in this movie. And when that's the set-up for your movie, the character who is directly opposed to him has got to be a more likable and reliable character. Dutch is smarter than Doyle when it comes to life lessons. Well, sometimes (the: giving him the keys to the car thing and not expecting him to steal it is pretty damn stupid). And he talks the talk, but can't walk the walk. When Doyle calls him a demented child... I beat him to it. All it took was one verse of "I'm So Lonesome, I Could Cry" and I said: okay... this guy is out of his mind. And not in the funny way. More in the impotent way. Like- he just can't be bothered to be sane. Yet, he's a successful businessman and can run a business named after him yet take nearly a week off to be homeless and broken down on the road, hitchhiking because he wants to teach this kid a lesson.

Then, we've got the emotional manipulation. You see... it works everytime. On the audience. As a way to make us see that we take our own lives for granted. And this is at the cost of the story. I can't quite stay invested in a movie with this little integrity. I am glad the black family ended up getting a new job. That feels good. And... somehow, I kind of believed that the kid made the transformation. Out of guilt, though. Not through maturity and personal growth. And the stuff with the real father is just so damn cliched, although they sure picked the perfect actor to be the jerk father. And bonding through sleaze? What is it about movies like this? I get that this period in filmmaking was a lot less politically correct. But, giving the kid playing cards with topless women, having him sleep and drool on a women's tits, and having him talk about being horny... that's the straw that broke my camel's back. What is this? A family comedy or a coming-of-age story? That's where things get stupid. Like, really stupid. The kind that make Buck Russell as a character look a thousand times wiser by comparison.

There are better ways to build a bond of friendship than this junk. But, to its credit, there are a few really good moments. Mostly the scenes at the homeless shelter. And the first 10 minutes are okay. And the ending's not too shabby either. A lot more gratifying than the scene where Buck beats up the kids' Birthday Party clown. But, give me Curly Sue (or Home Alone) over this any day.

[nopersonality]

Has This Ever Happened to You?


Meet the Parents
(2000 / director: Jay Roach)

★★★

If you lived the perfect life, like most characters do in movies like this, there's only one direction your elevator of chance is going to go: down. That's a given. Leading to a lot of scenes playing on the naivety that comes with this life of blissfully relaxed ease. One that only the most contemptible of audience members actually live (the kind who might drone on and on about the importance of "family," like the fact that you have one makes you a hero or something instead of just another brick in the wall- which is a lot closer to the truth). Greg and Pam, as well as Pam's entire family and friends, are boring fools. Until the moment the film requires them to clue someone else in on what the audience is thinking. Which I would hope is something like: "enough already." Well, Meet the Parents doesn't know the meaning of those words. And, I must admit I rarely admire that (though they all wanna-be, so very few can-be Airplane!). But on this occasion, I think all ends well. At least, when you compare this Stiller film's "everything's perfect, except" to the tripe Adam Sandler usually delivers.

Meet the Parents isn't exactly a great achievement because it's the classiest of the gross-out era romantic disaster comedies (although, when you see where this kind of thing ended up - Good Luck Chuck - the temptation is there to hail this a masterpiece). More like: it's a damn fine Hollywood comedy because the fact that it does outclass all its' competition (including, perhaps, the entire Austin Powers trilogy- though I have a lot of love for the first film) is just a bonus. This film is probably King in a line of what I like to call: "Terrorism Fantasies." It probably began with Home Alone (I say "probably" because I don't exactly have the same encyclopedic knowledge with other genres as I do with horror, so bear with) and was refined with another Chris Columbus flick, 1995's Nine Months. A Hollywood "Terrorism Fantasy" starts with something culturally sacred (holidays, family values, the judicial system) and invents a scenario whereby said institution or value is poked and prodded beyond recognition to the point where by the end, that elevator of chance has been blasted open and someone's dangling from the end of the last available iron rod, getting licked by the flames of Hell. Going... up?

Parents is granted the King-size crown in this category because, here: everyone gets burned. For, everyone in this story is truly culpable in the comedy crimes on display. Yes, that includes sweeter-than-pie Pam and way-too eager-to-please Greg. Why? Because anyone in Greg's position would have screamed "enough already!" before even half of the stuff that goes down here went down, and Pam apparently has never heard the song- "Stand by Your Man." She's inclined, in the film's most heart-wrenching (or... was that gas?) moment, to stick with the family. The most freakishly sheepish family of upper-middle class bozos ever assembled under one marriage movie tent. And, then... there's "Larry." Played by another King, this time- of the Middle-Aged Dildo's-in-Suits Club: James Rebhorn (I remember him vividly from Basic Instinct - small role as a police psychologist, though it still speaks volumes about his typical character - and Guarding Tess, you can see him on White Collar- he's a regular) (Pic'y). What a DICK! If I were merely present in the room when he said and gestured the things he did, I would sock him right in the eye.

This movie even follows the formula of other ultra-white family films where the women don't say much and the men are all pinheads. Which is another reason I say Pam is a bit responsible for Greg's utter humiliation- she sticks up for De Niro's father way too much. Can't she see how stupid her family is? Lacrosse camp? I know Stiller's brood aren't exactly Roseanne or anything, but his reaction to hearing that alone is telling. But to bring us back to pinheads- who's the King, baby? Owen Wilson. Though he's usually in on the joke (he's one of Wes Anderson's favorite actors), he is never as cool as he pretends to be. Or, more accurately: he's never cool at all. He is to this movie what Eric Stoltz was to Mad About You and (the actually cool) Wallace Langham was to NewsRadio. The Dime-Store Brad Pitt / Tom Cruise; a lean, classy, pretentious jock. A walking contradiction in terms using white-hipness to overcome his insecurities (probably from a skinny, dorky childhood). But, enough about that. You get me- the family are scum. With no societal value other than keeping upscale liquor shops in business. And could any scene have summed this up better: the flying shit scene? You'll note even Pam got caught in the spray. That's what she gets for not kicking Larry's ass for the "rounding second" comment.

What have I forgotten? Blythe Danner as a daffy mother who flutters around the place in flowing dresses and nicknames everything "poopy." No. Could it be the mentally handicapped airport staff? Especially the zombie-like flight attendant ("I'm sorry, sir, we're only boarding rows 9 and above right now"). Nah. I just wanted to mention them above and couldn't find a place to stick 'em in. Is the movie funny? Yes. But not because people watching this want to be any of the characters in any of these situations. That would actually make this movie like fighting a war or being in a burning building. Or on a hijacked airplane. And that wouldn't be any fun, would it?

[nopersonality]

Wish I'd Taken Pictures, or, Cut It in Half and Call It Regrets


Jawbreaker
(1999 / director: Darren Stein)

★★

As director Stein says on Columbia-TriStar's DVD audio commentary, this was originally going to be a horror film. As a teen comedy, he also says every major studio in Hollywood passed on it when the script was going around. In fact, Columbia didn't distribute the film, only the disc. The somewhat troubled TriStar did. As it stands, Jawbreaker reeks of being an inferior Heathers clone. But just thinking of it as a horror film, the possibilities are endless! In fact, a friend of Stein's 10 years later bit the bullet and did what Stein was unable to with All About Evil, which Stein produced (link'y). As a matter of fact, one of the best compliments anyone could give the film is it actually did a better job of making Judy Greer a more believable Carrie before and after transformation than MGM did with Emily Bergl in their own sequel, The Rage, which came the same year. Jawbreaker suggests piranha-like behavior and some truly hardcore diva / bitch antics and yet lacks everything it really needs. It has no bite, it just has yacking girls and some "naughty" language. It has a lot of colors and shiny surfaces but fails to register as any kind of real fantasy. We see characters interrupted in would-be dreamy sleep and wrenched from their nightmares before we see anything grotesque enough to warrant their screaming or gasps. The girls treat meetings with Pam Grier's fierce black detective as a kind-of confessional and nothing very dark is revealed. And, while it's still frighteningly better than most new-millennium teen product (film and television), it could easily be blamed for joining the clique of movies and TV that lowered mainstream standards in all areas.

None of this is to say that Stein didn't take proper care of the film in certain areas. Casting is fantastic. Grier doesn't exactly fit, but her scenes with Carol Kane have some serious potential. The "Flawless Four" are all highly capable teen-film actors (and it's worth mentioning that even if none of them are given enough to do, that at least Greer, for example, got a better deal here than she did as a pathetic office assistant in the Mel Gibson vehicle, What Women Want, the next year). Another thing the film deserves credit for is a truly impressive soundtrack. Though it's full of covers ("Heartbreaker," "She Bop") and 80's references ("I Think We're Alone Now," "Rock You Like a Hurricane"), points for raunchy quality (especially Shampoo - whom you may remember from the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers movie soundtrack, and... this is cute: Howie Beno featuring "Cruella DeVille") and the dreamy score by Stephen Endelman. Then, as anyone can tell from the trailer, it's a stylistic orgy along the lines of a Gregg Araki film. Of course, that comparison is also the total death-knell of Jawbreaker because it makes Stein himself look like, as Steve said, a copy of a copy. The difference is that Araki's films borrow but they are also completely unique and startingly original. None of them are copies. And this is why it's such a tragedy that Jawbreaker wasn't a horror film. Instead, it plays like the director promoting his visual talents. Which will leave most viewers comparing this to a music video. It's too shallow to register as subversive or a satire. It's kind of like an R-rated TV show, despite the cinematic gifts of the cast (a great amount of whom moved on to or came from television).

In the end, it has its' moments. It has some of the right pieces to be something great. But just can't get itself together to be one thing that really works.

[nopersonality]

Bedtime Story


Splendor
(1999 / director: Gregg Araki)

★★★

Araki films are never social studies as much as realistic fantasies. Oh, the characters talk in hyper-hipspeak with mouthfuls of futuristic trendy dialogue. Granted. But the emotion is always heart-felt and actions never come without consequences. The world may be a dream but the people are awake. And no one is ever able to get everything they want. Well, if you had made films where your heroes picked up psychotic, murderous hitchhikers, lost their lovers to the alien butterfly effect, or failed to come to terms with contracting AIDS- wouldn't you be in the mood for something more optimistic? Well, let me spoil this one for you- it's a happy ending. In fact, it's a happy movie. With a little plastic edginess and more than a few awkward conversations. This time, Araki's fantasy is just-that. About a person dating two men separately and thinking it'd be fun for all three to date as a group. When the men grow more comfortable with each other, they all fall in love. Leading to more than just them in bed on either side of her. Not much more, but probably enough to warrant calling the film "Splendor" rather than "Fetish." For example, each man has a personality stereotype- the first two being from the same sort-of bum class. Leading the Veronica character to bounce onto yet a third, from a sort of royalty class. Is he going to end up in bed with them? No. Fun question to ask. But the answer is obvious.

Also obvious is that the third guy doesn't stand a chance of sticking around. He shoots himself in the foot, so to speak, by commenting on her dining grace while she shovels triangular chips into her mouth. Sweetie, she's pregnant. Let her eat in peace. But what would a fantasy like this be without a perfect escape? If she has any doubts about the threesome couple she's a member of, she can hop a first class ticket to any exotic destination she can imagine with a devoted Prince Charming who has the most electric, oceanic, improbable blue eyes ever created. They're fake, of course. Contacts. And they're likely adept at zapping insects, but they don't sparkle. Maybe if they did, he'd have a chance. Or maybe if he weren't so intense. Despite his self-indulgent psych session talking about himself on their first date, he then transforms completely into a human camera. Always entirely focused on her, with rifle scope scanners piercing her soul. She doesn't seem to notice this, though. Even without the lazer eyes, he's quite cute. Charming? Maybe not. But his financial independence, while her legitimate boyfriends continue to mooch off her- even as she becomes pregnant and needs reassurance, definitely makes "Bachelor #3" the knight in shining armor of the film. There's not enough room for two sword-wielding, grass hut-wig wearing gentlemen to assume the Prince role and Boyfriend #1 has his own costume and props.

Which brings us back to "Fetish." Honey, you knew I wasn't done with that one yet. If Araki is using Veronica as a vehicle for his own personal fantasy, you can't deny the movie's mind knows how to tease. The one scene where the two boyfrends actually makeout should be a highlight. But it's not the only one. A black and white boxing match with the fellas (to symbolize their anger with the situation and not getting along at first), ala- Raging Bull, which repeats a few times over the course, has all the right angles and textures of faces and gloves. Sadly, I haven't found a gay porn yet that understands the value of this fetish. There's as much or more satisfaction to be gotten here than anywhere on a more private adults' market. Most importantly, for respectable cinema's sake, the story finds an emotional arch to connect the two men on. Other than the fact that Matt Keeslar's killer-bod bleach-blond drummer, Zed, is Beavis to Johnathon Schaech's tall(?), dark, and devastating black-haired, big-vocabulary'd writer's Butthead, Abel. They both have the hugest hearts, which are roomy enough to take care of each other's needs when Veronica splits for a vacation with Eric Mabius's (who, after checking with Google Images, I learned, has his own buff, muscled bod lying in wait underneath all his swanky suits) lean, facial-haired "grown-up," Ernest. Abel wants to act tough through her absense but holds Zed when he weeps.

The concept is wired to seem farfetched. But a world where everything has come out the other end of a rainbow cloud doesn't need to be concerned with true realism. Speaking of which, is this movie a sexual Wizard of Oz? Veronica travels far (or wide, your pick) and experiments with leaving her domestic existence for a miracle man who has powers she never dreamed of. But in the end, she learns that there's no place like home. If so, then the movie combines the crabby apple trees and the Wicked Witch together into a pair of snot-nosed, smack-talking bitchy co-workers of Veronica's. The meanest element of the movie, since the fantasy comes taglined with (as she says herself), "the rules everyone else lived by didn't apply to us." She probably would have ignored the gossip if she weren't pregnant. The boys did (Abel: "people can call us deviant freaks, I don't care"). Most far-fetched thing in the movie? But, the baby in the film poses a little social commentary. Not only will it have 2 daddies (satisfying progressive-family requirements), but it also has a mommy, makes the guys grow up (a little), and proves that nobody wants to help a woman with the hard work of raising a baby unless they're a father. That nugget of wisdom shines through the film's visual gloss and rings heads above the dreamy ethereal pop / techno-lite soundtrack. None of the members of this threesome couple will get maried to each other. But Veronica's baby couldn't be luckier.

[nopersonality]

She's a Little Run-away


Naked Lunch
(1991 / director: David Cronenberg)

★★★

It takes a very serious, very skilled writer to do a review of this film. Someone with more skill than I have. In case you've never seen the film or been briefed on the unbelievably bizarre plot, it's one of those infamous shock films. A lot more sophisticated and less risque than Salò, far more intellectual than the retarded Cannibal Holocaust, and classier than Nekromantik. It was made by a major Hollywood studio, after all. But, the fact that 20th Century Fox put up the money for it and distributed it makes it all the more shocking. Like American Psycho after it, it comes from the world of literary controversy and a source many people considered to be pure trash. This movie is a very tricky experience. Because, though it deals with subjects that are among the most unpleasent I can think of, it has its' roots in a historical and now revered literary genre. A danger area for me- because I'm just not a critic of literature. I don't read poetry. Not even from famous gay authors, like the man who penned 1959's Naked Lunch, William Burroughs- who was-there for a lot of the historic meetings and discussions with other famous writers Allen Ginsberg and Jack Kerouac, both of whom it turns out were either gay or occasionally had sex with men. Burroughs wrote a lot of shocking and disgusting poetry and/or stories featuring boys being raped by insects, assholes that could talk, and people being disemboweled by speeding cars with graphic details of all of it (some of this, naturally, makes its' way into the film). He is also the main character here, in the form of his fictional protagonist- Bill Lee.

And so, since I'm not the right guy for the job, I'll make this short. Bill Lee / William Burroughs has nothing to say about being gay. He has a lot to say, however, about being a writer. And so, this film takes a freaky dip into the creative process by which "Bill Lee" wrote Naked Lunch the book, while so completely drugged up or drunk at every stage- that he had a bunch of little adventures along the way featuring a lot of talking bugs and mutants, tender liaisons with both women and men, murder- of course, and some sort of insane conspiracy involving factory importing and exporting of new kinds of funky drugs. It begins and ends with the murder of his wife, Joan, which he uses to prove to himself that he's a writer but which also brings him great pain. As does his decision to flee his friends and job as an exterminator by taking off to the middle Eastern "city" of Interzone. A small part autobiography and a whole lot of fiction, Naked Lunch is an especially phony document of anything related to homosexuality but remains compelling as a fresh take on drug addiction. Every scene with The Ref's Judy Davis (playing a pair of lovers Bill Lee has during the film), Alien's Ian Holm, Joseph Scorsiani / Scoren, and Cronenberg regular (since 1979's The Brood) Robert Silverman is magnificent. Holm plays a creepy rival writer who sort of takes an interest in Lee when he arrives with a trio of cute boys (the same as walking into a bullfight with a red cape or into a models' backstage dressing area with a pizza), Silverman is at his frantic, neck-tied best (outdoing all his other Cronenberg performances), and Davis steals the show. Which she always does anyway, but with the rest of this cast- that's one hell of a compliment.

It's silly to turn this article into: the cast are great, since there's so much more that went into the film. But it's the truth. Take out the bugs and the better-kept-in-books monologues and this is a wonderful film.

[nopersonality]

Marching to the Beat of a Different Drum


Without You I'm Nothing
(1990 / director: John Boskovich)

★★★½

What is reality? I think the purpose (and it's not a grand calling or anything) of a critic (no matter how few people their word might reach), same as a philosopher, is to always wonder and try to analyze what they see as they see it. Anyway, Without You I'm Nothing - though we see one woman perform music number after music number (along with jokes, stories, and the rest I'll get to before this is over) - is a film about cultural identity and trying to reach out to other people and thinking you're making a statement. Is it that serious? No, actually- the film is more a clever gag than anything else. Sarah Bernhard is a club singer and we watch her performing various songs and routines but, we're never sure if they're real or not. See- here's the thing: while she, a white, late-20's / early-30's Jewish woman, does these huge numbers about Christmas and sexual awakening and heartbreak, we also see a young black woman quietly living her life and when she's not performing at the club, we watch a young white woman (called "Shashanna" by the MC) doing burlesque strip tease numbers. We have to assume these things are real and the elaborate songs and documentary interviews with the performer's gay friend and manager could very well be unreal. At the end of the film, Sarah (or Sandra, as she is sometimes called during the movie) stops talking and singing altogether and does exactly what Shashanna is doing- takes off most of her clothes and just dances. At the end of this, her one and only strip number during the movie, the young black woman is the only one watching her in the audience. And she's writing something on the tablecloth: Fuck Sandra Bernhard. After we see this, the white woman is gone and we follow the black woman- as we have been in almost every scene prior.

This is not a mystery: "Sarah" is white but in her mind, she's black. When she looks in the mirror (as the black woman does in an early scene, while listening to NWA on her radio as she does her hair), she's black. Her band and most of her dancers and backup singers are black. The audiences are black. But we're watching a Jewish white woman dress in a real African / Mammy outfit and try to sing slave-soul. She also has a speech about Barbra Streisand, for which we get a lot of audience reaction. The audiences are politely stunned and quietly disinterested, but they hold their tongues. The critics who have given the movie better than average notices and praise have also been quick to take something away from this film- Sandra's performances are typically given to gay audiences who love her and whoop it up loudly. This film shows her being treated with a little more bitterness from everyone. In her mind, and only in her mind- she's a superstar and her tours are smashes. Which means she doesn't have to dance practically naked to a Prince song. But she does anyway and with no applause or flattering introduction from the MC. When we see the black woman write this message, it says that this is the "Sarah" inside hating the Sandra outside. The woman she wishes she were hating the woman she really is. Which is why this moment of truth says to me: she never had a "smash one-woman show" in New York. And maybe her dynamite black lover wasn't really black.

In real life, Sandra Bernhard was famous at the time for her wild friendship with Madonna (clearly who "Shashanna" is modeled after) and for being an edgy stand-up comic who talked about celebrities (this is well before Kathy Griffin became a new-millennium legend for doing her celebrity gossip routine) and who could really sing (as opposed to Roseanne, for example, Sandra also became a regular on that show for something like 3 seasons). Oh- and she's also famous for being completely out about her bisexuality. Her live shows are utterly hilarious and one-of-a-kind. Does that mean that this movie would have been better had it tried to do for Sandra what Truth or Dare did for Madonna? I don't think so- after all, Prince was already famous for real-life focused documentaries of his tours and performances. Why should Sandra play second-banana to anyone else's behind-the-scenes format when this movie really has something unique going for it? It seems like all the critics could do was focus on how infectious the real Sandra is. Yes, that would be great (there's only one huge laugh here: the Martika reference). But what the filmmakers here chose to do is highly relevant to our culture. It even translates, somewhat tragically, to what many people have to say now about Lady Gaga's persona: playing up to the already-converted fans. The American-flag scene in particular kind of slays every notion people have about being someone other than your true self. That everyone else will see you for who you really are- no matter where you go, what you wear, or who you surround yourself with. Anyway, Without You I'm Nothing is also a riveting style film with wonderful trademark-Sandra witticisms about "gentile" customs, the ultimate blonde woman every straight man wants, and relationships gone bad.

[nopersonality]

Adventure, or Something Like It


Here Come the Littles
(1985 / director: Bernard Deyriès)

★★

One of the most exciting things I remember from my childhood was the climactic ending to this film. As a kid, I was on the edge of my seat, biting my nails down to nothing, as the bulldozer draws ever closer to demolishing the poor Littles' home and crushing the family to death. Why- I even recorded this scene on my tape recorder and would carry it around with me. This actually tells you a lot about me. How I have always had a thing for taking movies apart and getting really into scenes, enjoying them separately from the full experience of a movie. Well, today I relived this childhood experience... And obviously, I think you can tell that I was very impressionable and I don't know what lead me to find anything in this film suspenseful. It's not. I actually even remembered for years the scary scene where the boy finally escapes the clutches of his evil, scheming Uncle only to be captured by him in his car (in a scene frighteningly reminiscent of The Goonies). Yeah- the scene ain't scary at all. But I thought it was.

The best way to describe the show is to say it's less charismatic than Inspector Gadget, but at times almost as pretty as Sailor Moon (there are some great shots of daylight breaking, the skyline, exteriors of both Henry's house and Augustus's). Yes, the animation is charming enough, with a good amount of thought into the appearences of objects to people if they were the size of rodents. But the whole thing feels like a lame tv series (which, of course, it was before spawning this movie). The story following poor little full-sized human Henry, caught up in the most boring parable of child abuse imaginable, who is incapable of registering emotion on his face thanks to the discrepancy between the would-be languid animation and spastic character action. Not that the story cares about either one. It seems most concerned with how it can top the previous scene's forehead-slap worthy ridiculousness: after trying to save Henry (although I've already forgotten how), the children Tom and Lucy get trapped in Augustus's house then the entire film becomes about escaping. But it's not going to be easy. Especially since the movie pulls out every and any random thing it can think of to throw a monkeywrench in their plans and stretch the proceedings out to feature length. Literally- think of an animal right now larger than a G.I. Joe figurine. Whether it flies or scatters about, you can count on it presenting a road block at some point.

As if the set-up alone weren't frustrating- in moments of danger, characters can't help but crack one-liners or become inexplicably preoccupied with forced subplots. While the Little boy, Tom, is drowning in a tub of honey, pilot-"hero" Dinky only cares about reading. Oh, sure- the page he tears from the mean man's journal is important evidence that will lead to furthering the plot- but meanwhile, Tom is still drowning. The frantically-paced, yet endless-feeling (and at 72 minutes, that's an achievement!), Littles is fueled by tired cliches and boring characters who you won't care about (Dinky is by far the most annoying). Give me Alvin and the Chipmunks (or the Care Bears) any day! Although, better still for this kind of plot would be Disney's The Rescuers or Don Bluth's The Secret of Nimh and An American Tail.

[nopersonality]

Is There Pie in the Sky


The Big Lebowski
(1998 / director: Joel & Ethan Coen)

★★½

I routinely admit when I don't understand what the fuck is going on in a movie. And this one's got me baffled alright. It's either one pretty uninteresting love letter to the druggin' and boozin' mellow Katmandu set or a potentially fascinating wake-up call to this same bum class that the peace and love days are over. Either way, the Coen brothers are more interested in trying to do this as though films like Easy Rider and Last House on the Left never existed. And, in the meantime, I almost hate to do this because the guy I'm about to mention never turned in something as amazing as Fargo, but- Quentin Tarantino's done it better. Especially in the area of dialogue. This film might be about a pair of fairly inarticulate bums - which makes for extreme tedium in several segments - but these scenes go on and on like those dealing with the weakest element in Fargo: Mike Yanagita. And, Lebowski can only claim a few touches of the same cleverness this genius directing team exhibited in that '96 masterpiece. Mostly in the beginning scenes where "The Dude" pays for an already partially drank .69 cent milk carton with a check (is this the film's first sex joke?) and comes home only to wind up with his face in the toilet while a studly Asian gentleman pisses on his rug. Upon informing him and his white partner that they've got the wrong Lebowski, they insult him and he shoots back- "at least I'm house-broken!"

Now... that's clever. As is the moment where he answers Tara Reid's $1,000 offer to suck his cock with- "I'm just gonna go find a cash machine." In that trademark Dude fashion: laid-back, yet not so completely incapacitated that we don't catch it. And the ultimate cleverness comes in its' being delivered just long enough after her line for us to stop paying attention to him and start paying attention to the film's single biggest douchebag (oh yes, this film has several, but this one takes the cake)- Phillip Seymour Hoffman, an unfortunate indie hipster flick fixture. A guy who's made a career out of this sort of thing. But... not all the directors who hire him know that no matter what part he plays, he is still an irritating douchebag. This film barely recovers afterward with a wobbly John Goodman performance. What can I say? Great in Roseanne, but- this guy is no Sam Kinison. Sadly, I don't think he got that memo. The film fares slightly better with Road House's silver fox- Sam Elliot, who looks a lot better here than he did in that dusty actioner. The reason I'm actually talking this much about casting (which I often never do here) is because... the Coens really pulled a Tarantino on this one: they've got a serious crush on Road House. They didn't just jack one of that film's stars- but two! The other is the film's genuinely menacing villain, played by Ben Gazzara. Here... well, you can't help but go- "hey, that's the guy from Road House!" He's honestly about as effective as Goodman (another name you might have been surprised to see in this film), but gets it all done in one short, cursory scene.

Speaking of cursory... John Turturro is a flamboyant gay bowler (you can tell since he's dressed all in purple- like Prince, but he can bowl) with a dark past and a nasty ponytail wrapped in an ugly hairnet. Oh, and he claims he will "fuck" his competition. I think he also said "up the ass" but, we've seen Tarantino before. This is usually his kinda game: equate nothing interesting, heroic, outstandingly masculine, or pleasent with homosexuality. And... it's over. In a flash. Sorta like it never happened. Well, to the film's credit- nothing here is portrayed as sexually glamorous. At least John gets to be somewhat sensual. Bridges and Goodman couldn't be less attractive. Steve Buscemi has prettier hair than in Fargo but the same geeky walk. Peter Stormare is a kind of Mark Mothersbaugh knock-off, meets something best left (or better parodied) in Zoolander. And, I wouldn't touch him with a 10-foot pole (not true in Fargo). Julianne Moore as the older daughter (the film's only entertaining character) to Tara Reid's tarty step-mother and the movie's rat-bastard rich old fart (the wheelchair-bound Lebowski) is an arty ice queen. And... do I even need to say Phillip Seymour Hoffman isn't sexy? No, this film is all about: bowling, classic rock, looking up skirts, getting high, and... a few truly fun falling camera moves. Good times? Not really. More like bad times for all. Except that asshole cop who not only gets to deliver a toughguy speech but even gets revenge on someone who tries to blow them off with "I wasn't listening." It's guys like these and movies like this I think about when I'm holding a large kitchen knife and wondering just who was responsible for influencing The Devil's Rejects.

[nopersonality]

Good Things Happen to Bad People


Election
(1999 / director: Alexander Payne)

★★★½

I've seen a lot of high school movies - from teacher-stalking psycho-girl thrillers to accidental-death comedies to aliens have landed and want to take over the town disaster flicks - about people who are bitter because of other people. Usually, it focuses on the students and right away, you know exactly who are the poor kids, the outcasts, the rich snobs, and the jocks. And every time, it's the exception to the rule that is the most memorable, fascinating, original, and worthwhile movie. Am I building up to a description of this movie or a film of John Hughesian design? Nothing against the big JH, but he never envisioned a world where a film like this was possible. He always thought small. Internal, emotional, and trendy. This film is none of those things. Apart from casting fairly recognizable actors (the biggest surprise for me was Molly Hagan who I've caught in the odd, obscure horror film), this film is completely classic in all its' themes. Yet, it also knocks over a few tired movie conventions. While boys have always thought hot tubs, Mexico, and blowjobs were cool, girls want to see someone who stands up for herself and won't take anyone else's shit. Of course, now that we've established a theory... it's time to debunk it.

She's not our most independent female figure in the film, but Tracy Flick is by far the strongest. She can thank her unrelenting conniving...ness for that (as well as her pushy, "I'll live through you, I'll make you what I never was, if you're the best then maybe so am I" mother). And she isn't just an overachiever, she is the teenage embodiment of the "do anything, no matter what the cost, to come out on top" political wrecking ball. Her nemesis is the dopey Current Events / Civics teacher, Mr. McAllister, who reminds me of a couple of teachers I had growing up. The guys who had to be everybody's friend and would either steamroll you with their sensitivity while smiling and cracking jokes so you wouldn't scream something like "GET OFF OF ME!", or do the exact opposite: use you as the class fool, an example to everyone else of what in his definition wasn't a team player. I resented them both because it's only natural to distrust that which seems purely good-hearted to most. Experience has taught me not every kid can spot a phony. Both Tracy and the teacher distrust each other, though for different reasons. Her because he was best friends with another teacher whom she was having an affair with and had fired after she told the Principal he was coming onto her. Any rational person knows it takes two to tango and would be suspicious of a girl like that. Yet he has another reason: she's completely inhuman.

Which brings us back to bitterness. At the start of the film, she tries to convince us - the judgmental audience - that not only is McAllister jealous of her for having a more promising future, but that the teacher she had an affair with really wasn't a predatory scumbag. However, we can clearly see she's jealous of the school's hulking richboy football starjock Paul Metzler when he enters the race for Student Body President after Mr. McAllister talks him into it. She was the only one running for President and there's a reason for that: no one cares about it but her. Enter running mate #3- his adopted sister, Tammy. You see, there's a backstory between them and it involves a deeply personal betrayal that he's not aware of. The point I mean to make is that Tracy and McAllister are actually co-evil spiders weaving a tangled web and the Metzlers are incidental victims of their trap which grows to be far more complicated than, say, any school election would be under normal circumstances. To be fair, she started it and her mother pushed her into it. Meanwhile, it could also be said there are other evil towers in the film depending upon how you read the tyrannical Principal, Dr. Walt Hendricks, and McAllister's neighbor, Linda Novotny- wife of the teacher Tracy had fired for their affair.

And, of course, there are other minor nippers in the film's raging sea of back-stabbing and spite. Such as Paul's girlfriend, Lisa, also Tammy's ex-best friend, who runs a mean and fierce campaign to get Paul the popularity vote. Or Tracy's hopelessly devoted slave, Eric, who just happens to be one of the final vote counters. Tracy at one point says, "there are a lot of subversive elements at Carver." And she's right... but that doesn't mean any of them give a rat's ass about the election. Really- no one does, the election comes to represent anything but the school's president of the student body job. As highlighted by Tammy's speech-of-a-generation which she delivers to a gratefully shocked assembly at the school's promotional rally: "Who cares about this stupid election? We all know it doesn't matter who gets elected president of Carver. Do you really think it's gonna change anything around here? Make one single person smarter or happier or nicer? The only person it does matter to is the one who gets elected; the same pathetic charade happens every year and everyone makes the same pathetic promises just so they can put it on their transcripts to get into college. So vote for me because I don't even want to go to college. And I don't care. And, as President, I won't do anything."

Freakishly, only one person makes it his great mission to ensure that everything runs correctly and that only the person with the most votes wins regardless of popularity, political know-how, or dirty tricks. He's not the only moral person involved in the process nor is he the only one who speaks the truth, but he's the only activist crusader. Making him a quite bizarre fit in the grand scheme. Well, that's enough from the story. It's no surprise that a film about bitter or ambitious characters in a high school setting in the 90's is going to be overcomplicated. But this film makes you relish that. It's a deliciously dark and twisted comedy that at times shines a light of intelligence and truth through the narrating characters' constant b.s. And moreover, even though all the characters use each other like robotic insects, they all have their human moments. Which isn't necessarily important but since everyone's always trying to justify their actions, it's a surprise that sometimes they have good cause. Election could have been a life-affirming, heart-warming story about a group of people whose lives are bettered by this experience. But, honestly... did you think most of your peers in high school or the teachers they sucked up to deserved a podium to make excuses for their sliminess from?

[nopersonality]

Wild Women Do


The Naked Truth
(1992 / director: Nico Mastorakis)

★★½

Thanks to "cable" and direct-to-video, films don't always have to be what they advertise by genre. Dramas don't have to be inherently sad because the filmmaking team can't afford all the big Hollywood actors (this was basically the beginning of the Lifetime movie). Action films don't have to blow you away, nor do thrillers have to have great special / visual effects - people come to expect the final products are cheaper. And comedies don't have to be funny. All these films, and more, were able to get by on something a good deal of those Hollywood films were starting to skimp on: T&A. After the grand arrival of HBO and Cinemax, there even birthed an entire genre of softcore T&A flicks. Sort of the return of the 60's Beach This-That-and-the-Other subgenre of teen films - only these were for really dumb college students. In fact, the whole movement reeked of 80's sex-comedy-itis. Which is probably why Porky's and Last American Virgin rank significantly higher on IMDb. Only everything took place in that golden wasteland of beach bums and cheesy houses the owners wanted to believe were mansions: California. And Bikini Babes were fully-employed, doing everything from washing your cars to rocking out in nightclubs to going undercover in the P.I. and F.B.I. fields. One of these films (Round Trip to Heaven) even starred two of this very board's moviestar-crushes: Corey Feldman (Steve's) and Zach Galligan (mine).

So, now that we've outlined the genre's formula, all that's left is to add the appropriate Hollywood influence and we're set. That's where this gets interesting. Not because The Naked Truth (an amusing title that knowingly announces both what it is and where it's coming from) is a combination of Z.A.Z.'s The Naked Gun mixed with Police Academy. But because it doesn't stop there. Naked Gun stuck to a plot and then would only go shortly astray for the purpose of a gag. The gags followed them wherever they went. This film is one big plot grab-bag, you never know what you're going to get. Instead of following the plot to a resolution after, for example, our Frank & Frank team latch onto a beauty pageant bus of international models, the movie conveniently drops it in favor of taking a long ride into the jungle and jumping out of a plane. Although the VHS cover leads us to believe this is a guys-in-drag comedy, that's merely one stop on the film's tour. Much of it (if not most) borrowing from TV as well as Hollywood movies. It features a truly staggering list of celebrity cameos: Lou Ferrigno (The Incredible Hulk), Erik Estrada (Chips), Yvonne De Carlo (The Munsters), Little Richard, Zsa Zsa Gabor, Bubba Smith (Police Academy), Herbert Edelman (The Golden Girls), Ted Lange (The Love Boat), Billy Barty, Shannon Tweed, John Vernon, and M. Emmet Walsh to name only about half.

Other than the film's equally mammoth length (103 minutes, and there's rumored to be an even longer version on a DVD reissue), the scope of gags, jokes, and puns on display is utterly impressive. Less so are the lead actors, geeky Robert Caso and Mel Gibson-esque Kevin Schon... as men, and before the drag plot sets in, anyway. It starts off sketchy as the film searches for a tone and settles on bad quirky, quasi-fourth wall dialogue. Thankfully, the film's barrage of cameos and cut-away scenes is already in full swing: Frank and Frank are LA-bound 29-31ish punks "looking to act" as a way to "write and direct in Hollywood" when they decide to lose their luggage, take women's suitcases instead, go to the bathroom, and witness the shooting murder of an FBI informant- all intentionally. So, it's a great coincidence that the one bag they manage to keep with them from the plane is the crucial evidence the informant had stowed under Frank's seat: a black book with all the recorded drug activity of Rupert Hess, the "ketchup tycoon" sponsoring the internationl beauty competition. Hence the reason the Franks go in drag (first to conceal their identity but then they adopt careers: "makeup and hair girls")- to spy on Hess and Bruno, his hired thug who shot Garcia (later changed to Gesundheim when it's revealed he was wearing a bulletproof vest) at the airport. As well as get a ringside seat to stare and leer at all the girls in bikinis and swimsuits.

But all that isn't nearly complicated enough, so the movie then decides to make them sidekicks in Misty's (an FBI agent posing as one of the models) mission to bring down Hess by exposing him in an undercover operation where Frank's "Ethel" tries to get him to spill his guts about his cocaine dealings on an overelaborate date featuring a wild helicopter ride, dining in a national park, and buying flowers from an armed mugger. Or by just hacking his computer (while he fools around with a 'decoy broad' in the bedroom) and pumping a drunken Bruno for confession in a sleazy strip joint. Are you counting the plots so far? Because I think we may have wandered in and out of about 6 different movies so far, and we haven't even gotten to the jungle scene yet. Hopefully, you get the picture: this is a busy movie. And, if absolutely none of it works, at least the movie tosses so much stuff at you that you won't be able to remember the last thing that made you groan in annoyance (for me- the feminism and "easy come, easy go" cracks represented my near-point of no return). I may not laugh at it anymore, but I still have to say "don't wrinkle my dress, bitch!" aloud when that line comes up. This is without question the most entertaining guys-in-drag movie I've ever seen. Mostly because the potential for awkward moments is drastically cut down due to this being a parody- it's not essential that anyone believe Caso and Schon make convincing women (they don't).

[nopersonality]

Self Help


The Perfect You
[aka- Crazy Little Thing]
(2001 / director: Matthew Miller)

★★

I've always had a strange, inexplicable attraction to romantic comedies. Well- when they used to be a lot more innocent, that is. Today, after X-many years of films like Bride Wars, The Ugly Truth, The Proposal, Because I Said So, The Break-Up, etc(.), all the charm has gone and the genre has become an intensely odious new-millennium concoction of the bubble-headed blonde idiot-chic of Legally Blonde and the intolerable gross-out of There's Something About Mary. And thanks to these remarkably screwed-up popcorn flicks, rather than becoming edgier - like The Farrelly Brothers must have hoped would be the result of their shitty 1998 experiment - the romantic comedy is now the most despised type of movie in all of cinema. The Perfect You is a surprisingly sweet, naive little deer in the headlights and doesn't seem aware of Legally Blonde barrelling right down its' path. Although there is one gag in particular that channels the Farrelly's (a predictable, forehead-smack worthy dildo "joke"), this movie is hopelessly stuck in the "good old days" of 90's Hollywood sophisticato - French Kiss, Sleepless in Seattle, and Forget Paris. Although, this is where the casting of Playboy-auctioned but Mtv-sold, boobalicious, bikini-clad sex symbol (and underrated physical comedienne) Jenny McCarthy would make anyone tilt their brow.

The story focuses on aging NYC culture-hipster Jimmy who is confused about how interested he is in sex just because it's been forever since he's had it- but who cares because he's almost more annoying in his relationships than the ridiculous women he dates. He's never been with a woman who was even remotely good for him, yet he's also keen on judging his friends for the women they date (until his best bud - smoking hot Josh Stamberg of later fame on Lifetime's Drop Dead Diva - sucks off a queeny hairdresser at the gym and suddenly realizes he's gay). Yeah, pretty much everyone here is a knucklehead in relationships (including in one oddly dead scene, where Jimmy runs into an old friend who expects him to be making a living off his writing, both the pretentious-hat wearing friend and his gal- who makes an ass out of herself without even saying a word). Sadly, since we know all of the advice they feed to the camera via-"please shut up already" narration is worthless, we're meant to find them and their "day in the life" misadventures clever or amusing while a light and breezy jazzy/bluesy soundtrack plays in the background. Thankfully, these montages are short and at least ambitious in that they're shot unlike your standard Hollywood montage- so I didn't immediately see them and go, "not this again."

For her humor and better-written dialogue, McCarthy's character comes off a little better. Even though women are typically the stars of these sorts of movies - Meg Ryan, Julia Roberts, Sandra Bullock - it's Jimmy the guy who comes off as the one we've heard it all from before (oh, and, if it's so easy for him to walk away from the waiter job he really doesn't like- why did he wait for a rude customer to use as an excuse to go out in a blaze of childish glory?). But she still isn't smart enough to know that all the (cute? hardly) losers she dates are losers. Oh, and... this is just not Jenny's kind of movie. She's basically miscast due to her blunt delivery which leaves no surprises (and predictable comedy is practically not comedy at all). But this is also a movie looking down several different alleys for something that works (and chooses a different direction for every other scene), so sometimes she's a great fit. Because of her skills with physical comedy, she's not as good at believable "nervous" laughter as she is at pointing at a guy and screaming "Whore! Whore! WHORE!" That's the movie's best moment, along with the last 8 or so minutes before the credits (and the kinda cringe-inducing hip-pop song; "I don't want Britney tonight" / "I've seen Buffy and she don't slay me") where Jenny dons a pair of thick-rimmed glasses and invites a man who's practically a stranger to come with her to her new place. Now, that's... a throwback.

[nopersonality]

I Don't Think We're in Vegas Anymore


Vegas in Space
(198? / director: Phillip R. Ford)

★★½

I've said it before and I'll say it again- Troma sure knows how to pick 'em. And this is one for the water cooler: Australian gay man comes to San Francisco, makes a bunch of friends, they have themed costume parties, and one of them gets turned into a movie. That's right, this movie (originally intended as a 30-minute short film just to get Aussie Doris Fish's name out there) is a fictional embellishment on a drag party with its' own over-the-top title. Taking most of its' ideas from Barbarella (the outfits, space travel, secret agent plotline, and various bizarre gadgets and contraptions) and The Rocky Horror Picture Show ("macho" men learning to let go, stage performing, more amusing gadgets, freakish hunt-and-peck death scene that sticks out like "The Big Lipped Alligator Moment"), it has a lot of charmingly cheap flash and one novel twist (that 90% of the cast are men dressed as women) to make it a would-be cult item. But I suspect the film never really caught on, certainly not on the level of something like Priscilla, Queen of the Desert or To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar (why? the world may never know). This could be due to Troma's ridiculous promotion and marketing ideas which probably turn plenty of people off. In fact, the DVD forces an intro with Troma president Lloyd Kaufman on the film when you press "Play" where he oggles and practically gropes two women on the street "assuming" they're men in drag.

It's an easy movie to not like. Not only is it so cheap that it looks like nobody making the movie gave a damn about special effects, acting quality, or sets (though the costume design and music couldn't have been more lovingly executed), but the entire film has a rather suffocating garishness to it that is almost as fever-inducing as its' mothership influence, Barbarella. However, thanks to the B-52's "Love Shack" look to the two female leads and the Pee Wee's Playhouse quality of some of the sets, there's a refreshing, childhood-like familiarity to the movie that rules over its' incoherent, inconsequential plot and characters. Oh, and the dialogue. It evolves quickly into queeny cattiness (the word of the day here is "tired") and, with the Queen Veneer character, some almost fascinating technical mumbo-jumbo. But it spooks for awhile with the threat of badly outdated man-speech stereotypes ("babe" is the most prevalent) that gladly fade away once the movie's 60's beach-party clones are surrounded by a bunch of wigged, high-heeled alfresco-mall shoppers insulting each other. The movie also has a bit of a point to it. Surprisingly, even though the references are so numerous it begns to feel like a creed, it's not about "glamour." Instead, it's much more a "when in Rome" film. The moment the "manly" crew take their female gender-reassignment pills, their inner-showgirl is revealed and they couldn't be more excited that they lost their "wieners."

I don't really think the acting quality can be faltered here since it works in-hand with the costumes. At least where the men are concerned. Better costume, more memorable performance. Perpetually green-faced (and Mommie Dearest-paraphrasing) Ginger Quest as the ruling Emperess of the film's "planet" Vegas, decked out in gear that makes her look a wannabe Grinch with huge mirrorball earrings and a silver headband that makes the actor look as though he's hiding signs of some deformity, is about the least memorable. Miss X, as fashion nazi Veneer, is the film's best actor by far while Tippi (the male actors were all credited by the drag names they had at the time), as popstar and crazed robo-terrorist Princess Angel, is the most engaging and magnetic character. Doris Fish - who never achieved star status, but did finally gain something of a cult fanbase and even went on a morning talk show in the 80's to discuss cross-dressing - may have been set free by dragging but he was more irresistable as a man. The female members of the cast are all fabulous. Especially Ramona Fischer, who is the instigator of the film's suspicious-staring contest. This reaches boiling point during the film's moment of undeniable brilliance (and, yes, it has its' own title), the "Bad Dream Sequence." I have to go on a bit about this one:

Princess Angel deliriously floats through her room (which uses a body's hanging leg dangling from the ceiling as decoration) to her vanity where she actually removes her face and puts on another. Suddenly, she and Fischer's Sheila character are transported into a hallucination sequence where Veneer is portrayed as a giant monster with sharp teeth who captures Sheila after she shrinks to doll-size and sends her to the film's dreaded (and kept offscreen until now) "Cotton Candy farm" (which recalls the inside of a puppet's stomach). Meanwhile, she has flashes of a terrified Emperess Nueva reminding her of her crew's mission to recapture the stolen supply of girlinium crystals (think: kryptonite) which when kept in-check act like a dam holding the dangerous natural forces from spilling over into the vacation resort center of the planet (the thriving business and tourism district responsible for raking in everyone's moola). Then, visions of sellers in the mall market appear (among them: Veneer and Doris Fish's character, Tracy) trying to pimp her various pills to make her feel great. Then, to cap it all off, Princess Angel re-appears, floating through an overcast blue-desert waste-land-scape (that looks similar to the one in the opening of Marilyn Manson's "Dope Show" music video... could this movie possibly have been an influence?) reprising her catchphrase "follow me, walk this way"- attempting to lead Sheila over a cliff to her death.

[nopersonality]

Land of Bunnies and Clams


Safe
(1995 / director: Todd Haynes)

★★

Don't get excited: no, that headline above is not meant to indicate that this is a Yellow Submarine-esque trip flick where we are taken to a colorful otherworld full of talking animals. Instead, we go back to the 80's by way of the 90's indie scene. And colorful though it is for awhile, this is a serious film about a serious subject. Therefore, it's in subtle-mode throughout. So subtle, in fact: good friggin' luck figuring out what it's even about. Hence my headline. See, the movie is either really tight-lipped (like a clam) about what characters we might choose to like or dislike or too scared (like a bunny) to just admit it aims to be a vicious satire of the embrace-your-disease movement. No, this movie doesn't have the guts to be vicious, so it slips on a sensitive kid-glove while at the same time really hammering you over the head with the movie's characters. Carol is our protagonist. She has an extraordinarily advanced case of a rare and seemingly untreatable illness / abnormality that makes her ultra-sensitive to chemicals and toxins in her environment. And she's incredibly frail. So much so that you can barely hear her speak or see her move from place to place. She's a tiny blip on the movie's radar. Meanwhile- her stepson reads "GANG VIOLENCE! BLOODY SHOOTINGS! DEATH! MISERY!" from his school report, the husband has several "I love you, but FUCK- what's wrong with you?" breakdowns (mostly passive but they still scream... something the movie refuses to say), her friends are all nails / big hair / "I heard" (she said this, he said that) / mega-rich and trendy stereotypes, and I haven't even gotten to the second half of the movie. Basically, the movie is trying to be very sly and invite people who are likely a mite bit pretentious to read these portrayals of people and events as sensitive- considering this was somewhat based on a true story.

But is the movie really all that sensitive? The DVD case and several critical snips I read online are the reason I decided I had to see this movie. Many people apparently regard it as a horror film. I took that seriously but no, it's not a horror film. Even though it could be seen as resembling Rosemary's Baby. Only a version of that film where Rosemary blindly accepts any advice given to her whether it's good or bad. Which brings me to the latter and larger half of the movie. The part where, again let's play the "were this a horror film" game, Rosemary's untrustworthy cult of Satan worshippers meet The Howling's colony of self-help freaks with their own terrifying philosophies on life. Here, Carol's family are encouraged to ditch her while she sits through a truly disturbing orientation session where the denizens of the wellness retreat sing a Kumbaya-type song after their fanatical "born again" leader preaches them to change their entire world-view to believe that negative influences in American life make people give in to diseases. Now, to be fair- there's obviously some truth to that. But hearing his ideas of what those influences are just screams: "Bogus!" to me. The attitude of Claire, another one of the Wrenwood retreat's founding members, in the next scene cements the "this is really wrong" vibe I was picking up. We find out upon meeting this character, Peter, that he had AIDS and so, he challenges sexual promiscuity (read: condemns being gay) and we see after the film's final hour of trying to help Carol actually get better that his methods are as self-defeating as his outlook. He, as most self-hating supporters of things like "Ex-Gay" Therapy are, a major douchebag. And here's why I point the "Phony!" finger at this movie- it tries to find a way to make him look genuine and caring. But it fails big time. The man is creepy and detestable. As the scene with him alone with Carol - when she asks to be moved to another cabin - proves.

Viewers like me are forced to blow the whistle for the movie in the case of a character like this. Yet it turns out, my reactions are not shared by the majority of people who saw this. They actually very much bought into the movie's sensitive side and felt the portrayals of its' characters from the freaks at Wrenwood to the doctors Carol goes to see who can't find anything wrong with her were complex and humane. Which begs me to ask: were we watching the same damn movie? These characters are obvious and what they do around and to Carol are certainly not humane. Although her women friends are all helpful and supportive (and so to a point is her - I'm pretty sure I read this right - horny and sexually unsatisfied husband: Candyman's Xander Berkeley), almost no one else is. Don't even get me started on the stepson. I'll just say he's the ultimate embodiment of the 'Hey, Ease Up on Him, He's Only 10; How Do You Expect Him to React?' cliche (that may be but that doesn't make him any more likable or empathetic). One of her doctors shouts at her when she finally has the backbone to tell him he's wrong (and, gee- his advice worked so well that she wound up in the hospital with red rashes the size of pancakes all over her face and neck), another doctor plain gives up on her when he comes to a conclusion he won't even share with her, and a third actually makes her go into convulsions on purpose to show that he knows how to- ultimately choosing this as a means to comfort her afterward: "we know how to turn it on and off, we just don't know how to make it go away." Yeah, you could have just told her that before you stuck her with a bunch of needles and drew more blood than the entire cast of Twilight. That's what I call sensitive too. Right? It's moments like these that really make me wonder how so many praises of this movie can conflict with one another.

What about this movie fascinates people? A lot of its' supporters cite Julianne Moore's performance even though this is the one and only piece of acting the movie tries to make subtle to go along with anything it might believe about the lifestyle of the rich folks like Carol and the people she surrounds herself with or the fanatical attitude of the folks at Wrenwood. Though I'm not any kind of expert on acting- I am a viewer. And I didn't buy a lot of her performance. Mainly, as I said before, she's too dang meak and frail. Which makes me pay a lot of attention to the way she coughs and wheezes. And I didn't believe it. Color me insensitive or obtuse if you will. I doubt what people responded to was its' playing with movie genres. Because not even The Howling with its' metaphors about the urges we keep inside us and won't release is this subtle. And that's why this isn't a horror film. Traditionally in that genre, the material and the reason why it's there actually link together. In this movie, they don't. Directors like Todd Haynes just live to open movies up to interpretation. That can only be a good thing. And my issue is far less with the movie itself and more with the people who praise it when I'm pretty sure they missed what I saw. Tragically, whatever everyone else is raving about has escaped me. In place of whatever great thrill it gives people, I get creative and, perhaps, overanalyze. But I think it's overanalyzing this movie that made people buy into this. Something they probably have to do to not see the movie as vicious. Which we only know it isn't 'cause Haynes is so darn nice and calm. I say this movie is boring and fucked up- a lot like his 1997 stab at the slasher genre, Office Killer (he co-wrote). Another movie I'll give you a prize for if you can figure out what the fuck was going on.

Lastly, I said in a previous paragraph that everyone at Wrenwood was a freak. I would like to retract that statement to excuse one character, the only one with real heart. Not Moore and surprisingly not Suspiria's Jessica Harper. Easily the best thing about the movie- Mary Carver (Arachnophobia) as the deeply pissed off wife of the man who is so sick he lives in an igloo. Until he dies, leaving this living space vacant. She's also probably the only character who was close to telling leader Peter that he was full of shit. For a movie about a woman suffering from a horrible ailment, I don't feel it really cared. Nor do I feel any of it related to me or anyone I knew. Even though the question of what caused it is asked (never answered, and no- that doesn't bother me) and comes down to what in everyone's daily lives makes us weak or sick. There's definitely an answer to that. Though the movie is too afraid to try and tackle it, it's only too eager to make Carol - already an easy target - suffer and continue making normal people we have to tolerate believable villains who are shown here taking advantage of a person's weakness to justify their own sick needs to feel they're in control. That right there would be the film's obvious connection to horror if we were allowed to see Peter and Claire as villains. But this movie apparently hates those kinds of labels, even though these characters fit into them so naturally. I want to pick Safe's bones like everyone else but I can't find any- this thing's a jellyfish all the way through.

[nopersonality]

Yes, Sir!


American Kickboxer 1
(1991 / director: Frans Nel)

★½

The male ego. If you're a male, you've got one. It's a sad, crippling defect of our species. At least it is in every action movie there has ever been. I'm not saying it only affects the protagonist. We know instinctively with these movies, the antagonists are infected with all kinds of ego. Not only is every male on a mission (either to avenge themselves or someone else, to save the little widows and/or orphans - this is a generic stand-in term for any social cause the hero could be fighting for, to party and/or get laid, or just let every mofo know you'd better not mess with him) but they often brag about it too. Because the action movie male ego produces a deep, unfounded sense of pride. His father made him tough, years of fooling around with other guys made him hard, and only a woman can make him soft. Think that sounds kinky? You should, it's a recurring theme throughout. Following that logic, and removing the often standard love-making scene between a man and a woman, we arrive at this direct-to-video martial arts' flick. Produced most likely as a "bloodsports" rip-off of the wildly popular American Ninja franchise and hoping to become one itself, American Kickboxer 1 (yes, that's the actual title on the film; talk about cocky) is a truly bizarre sports film.

Our main protagonist, B.J. (aging, lean stud John Barrett- almost 40 at the time of filming and looks it) is a cheater. In his opening bout against golden boy (read: ultra-clean boy scout, or: A-sexual martyr saint, or: voice of good sitting on your shoulder that you never listen to) Chad, the character who will go on to become his sidekick, B.J. (and yes, I only make the blow-job connection with that acronym in movies where the guys spend the majority of the running time shirtless or in shorts that proudly display their package) wins early with a deliberate and cowardly illegal elbow to the face. Way to get the audience to sympathize with you, buddy. He's the #1 superstar champion of the kickboxing world and it would seem he's just stressed out (otherwise we assume he got where he is by fighting fair) because he knows one day he will have to face Action Movie Villain - #1 rebel champion of the kickboxing world: flashy (he literally boxes in costumes with a skirt-flap attached and poses like an ice skater between rounds), rugged, foreign psycho, Denard (whose very name sends a quiver down the [fill in the blank] of every man in the kickboxing world) - in the ultimate match to decide whose fighting philosophy (read: lifestyle = B.J. has a woman and Denard is only seen playing with other boys, as you can see above he likes to get real up close and personal before they realize he's too into it and bolt) is the one that reigns supreme.

The story hits an interestingly inconsequential speed-bump when B.J. is checked off the competition list after he accidentally kills a man during a drunken altercation with Denard at a party. Who was he? A random stunt guy cast as "Concerned" (Sanctimonious) Partygoer. Was he a friend of B.J.'s? Chad's? The promoters? Does it matter; the way he repeatedly pushes himself between the men (two famous martial artists with punches known to put guys in the hospital) and refuses to take a hint- I would have knocked him around myself (though, ya might want to choose a smarter spot to hit him in rather than the neck). B.J. stands trial (and awful drama follows; with the exception of prettyboy beefcake Chad's lovingly heartfelt testimony - this coming from a guy who only knows B.J. from losing a match over a nasty illegal move to him, so where the boundless loyalty comes from is anyone's guess - this section of the movie is entirely useless), is found guilty, and goes to prison for 10 months. The movie doesn't really want to see that, though, so we cut to 10 Months Later to see B.J. lounge around the house in nothing but his briefs (as you can imagine- I like the occasional deviation in this movie's train of thought). I mean, to see B.J. toy with some other potentially irrelevant plot elements.

Let's count and see which of the plot points this movie throws at us stick and which ones slide down and/or out-of-view completely. One: alcoholism. B.J.'s a drinker. Not so unbelievable what with his habit of cheating and being such an uncontrollable hothead and all. But he's only shown drunk during one party, and though he also drinks while dining at restaurants or watching television- he usually just works out or broods intensely / meditates (same thing in an action movie about the failure of pacifism) without a glass in his hand. This one's a slider. Two: suspicion of infidelity. The plot really kicks into gear when B.J. - still the man everyone regards as the #1 champ (to the fist-clenching, teeth-gnashing outrage of Denard) since it wasn't a fighter who took his title away - agrees to personally train Chad who is taking on Denard in an upcoming fight. Neither one has let the illegal elbow move go even though Chad immediately went limp about it and decided not to hold a personal grudge. Why that is, again, is anyone's guess. He offers B.J. the position of trainer when B.J. stops by the gym to thank Chad for defending him so passionately at the trial. The beginning of a beautiful friendship? Not when B.J. finds out his girlfriend seems to know Chad from somewhere. Where is that? "Around." This one's a slider since she never comes up in conversation between the guys, B.J. has other issues with Chad, and Chad still hasn't revealed why he's been clinging onto B.J. I'm intrigued...

Third: Chad-vs-B.J. The movie's main conflict is B.J.'s fight against... himself. Since being removed from the competition circuit, Chad proved himself the "golden boy." A fair fighter with a clean reputation and an outstanding record. This of course doesn't clash with B.J. since he's somewhere in between Chad and Denard. He's still the crowd favorite because he has the best skills not because he was ever really a bad boy or the nice guy. Does this bother Chad? Is that why he's such a B.J. fanboy? After more unbelievably over-the-top drama in the plot commences, it's time for the big confrontation. Chad is finally going to sock it to B.J. (and tell all of us why he won't get out of his face): "you're feeling sorry for yourself." That's right... it's a motivational speech. Chad's hot and heavy battle against B.J., who fought him tooth and nail at every turn, hasn't resulted in a much deserved ass-kicking nor has it been for Chad to prove anything to himself... it's been to get B.J. back in the game. Either because he only entered B.J.'s life because he fantasized about becoming his trainer, or because he knows B.J. is the only guy who can beat Denard and wants to live vicariously through B.J.'s victory. Chad is not a competiton obstacle (as his pathetic televised destruction at the hands of Denard proved), he's- The Heavenly Kid.

Fourth: what would a set-up like this be without another antagonistic, instigating factor? You've got Chad the saint who's a drama king. Short-fused B.J. who has to swallow his pride after losing his title and suffering other humiliating set-backs which force him to walk away from "everything" (yeah, there are music montages to accompany this section of the movie). And at his lowest point, who's there to comfort him but his only true friend- Chad, who must confront and force B.J. to admit his deep dark secret... he's afraid of losing. Then we've got Denard- the big bad bully who, according to Chad, is just talking tough. Also following B.J. around, staring him down and daring him to make the first move. And sitting back, watching this all unfold is the almost fearless Willard, a sports writer getting his jollies cheering B.J. and Denard on to fight. Anytime, anywhere. He's even willing to print gossip and twisted truths just to drive the boys into a rage, as well as visiting Chad to manipulate him into spicing things up. This set-up couldn't be kinkier. I mean, it's the strangest kind of contest for a martial arts movie. Denard is the prize and until we learn that Chad only wants B.J., both men are in competiton against each other to win him. You could say it's a movie about fixing a man's wounded pride. But then, how do you explain all this additional - and very leading - subtext?

I suppose I should tell you whether it's a good or bad movie. If you can accept it at face value, it's bland and not very exciting. Dig underneath a little and you'll probably feel how I feel: if B.J. insisted on having a girlfriend, maybe Chad and Denard should have gotten a room.

[nopersonality]

Temporary Sanity


Scrooged
(1988 / director: Richard Donner)

★★

There could be any number of reasons why this is true- when I watch Scrooged, I usually think of Tales from the Crypt. Well, put that HBO series and Tim Burton's Batman in a blender and you'd be surprised how much what comes out looks like this. And though this came out the year before both, and though it is sometimes as fun and sometimes as brilliant as either, I'm not quite sure this film knew exactly what it was doing or what it wanted to be. I know that's a lot like what the Ghost of Christmas Past character (by the way, true story: for the majority of my life, I actually believed that actor David Johansen - aka; Buster Poindexter of "Hot Hot Hot" fame, and of course he was the lead singer of The New York Dolls - was the voice of Sebastien in The Little Mermaid) says to Bill Murray but it's true. See (and I'm going to put this as schmalt-ily as the movie would)... this movie would seem to be about an irrevocably mean person's change of heart and the new and improved nice guy they turn out to be. Yeah; well, that's a boring story and we've seen it a thousand times before. Even in 1988 (though since, it's been like a joke for subsequent re-tellings of this story to cast celebrities in the Scrooge role who the audience / viewer sitting at home would view as perhaps needing a hellish "this is your life, schmuck" intervention).

So, what does this Scrooge do that the others won't? It not only casts genius comic actor Bill Murray rather than a dramatic heavy but also proves that all of his prior performances were actually restrained. The first 30-45 minutes here are the pure definition of heavy-handed (for example: when his character, Frank Cross, fires a man on Christmas and his secretary in shocked disbelief with wide eyes and mouth replies- "but it's Christmas!!", you'll be on his side). But there's no denying it is fun to watch Murray go all the way. He puts his stamp on the boss from hell / heartless executive stereotype forever. This however turns out to be bad news as much as it is good. He's so entertaining as a nasty jerk that it's going to take the transformation of a lifetime, and one that brings substantial, meaty drama to the table, to make us even believe that he's changed at all. Groundhog Day actually had this, whereas Scrooged has... Bill Murray yelling a lot, drinking quite a bit, being cynical to the core of his jet-black heart even as he reaches the story's ultimate point of no return: get nice or die, and then suffer a complete and total mental breakdown (though it's all in-character) as Police Academy's Bobcat Goldthwait becomes a much more interesting disaster.

The film's huge problem lies in its attitude and its portrayals of kindness and... we can't call Murray's character evil by any means. And it's more than selfishness. I guess we'll have to call it meanness. With the exception of a few truly uplifting moments of heart coming from Starman's Karen Allen, everything that is "nice" in this movie is so cloying and saccharine that you'll start to feel queasy as you notice the movie begin taking itself more and more seriously. Visually, this results in some fantastic and gripping imagery such as Frank's cremation ceremony in a dark room filled with clouds of grayish-white fog billowing from the floor (a truly freaky sight!) and especially Allen's transformation into an ultra-fancy, tea-society ice-queen bitch with face coated in thick, pale white vampire makeup. Combine that with images of ghosts the size of giants with skeleton hands bigger than Murray's head, ghosts in the form of homicidal rotting corpses, a blood-red moon, Goldthwait's shotgun rampage, and a spritey ballerina Carol Kane with a zombie's complection hitting people with toasters- you have a movie with the right level of darkness to be fascinating. But to make the audience truly want a change from this, you have to do a lot better than this movie's ending. 12 or more minutes of Bill (his character on live television) talking to the camera and saying nothing interesting, funny, or heartfelt at all. Worse yet is his captive audience buying the whole thing.