Film Review: CHRISTINE (1983, John Carpenter)

Stars: 4.5 of 5.
Running Time: 110 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Keith Gordon (THE LEGEND OF BILLIE JEAN, DRESSED TO KILL, director of THE CHOCOLATE WAR, WAKING THE DEAD), John Stockwell (MY SCIENCE PROJECT, TOP GUN), Harry Dean Stanton (PARIS TEXAS, WILD AT HEART), Alexandra Paul (BAYWATCH, DRAGNET '87), Robert Prosky (GREMLINS 2, LAST ACTION HERO), Kelly Preston (JERRY MAGUIRE, TWINS), Roberts Blossom (CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE THIRD KIND, FLASHPOINT). Original music by John Carpenter and Alan Howarth. Special effects supervised by Roy Arbogast (RETURN OF THE JEDI, THEY LIVE, JAWS 2). Stunt coordinated by Terry Leonard (CONAN THE BARBARIAN, COBRA). Written by Bill Phillips (FIRE WITH FIRE, EL DIABLO), and based on the novel by Stephen King.
Tag-line: "Seductive. Passionate. Possessive. Say hello to Christine...Your Girlfriend, The Car."
Best one-liner: "No shitter ever came between me and Christine!"

I didn't like CHRISTINE very much the first time I saw it. I think I expected either mind-blowing gore and stomach-churning tension á la THE THING or balls-out fun and Americana smart-alecks á la BIG TROUBLE IN LITTLE CHINA, and so I was left a little disappointed. However, I've found that my appreciation for it increases exponentially with each viewing, and now I'd have no problem whatsoever referring to it as an upper-tier Carpenter.

A much-hyped collaboration between two titans of modern horror, Stephen King and John Carpenter, CHRISTINE plays well to some of their respective fascinations: King's being the turbulence of adolescence heightened by runaway supernatural evil (see also: CARRIE) and Carpy's being an obsession with 50's nostalgia and the feeling of being born in the wrong time (see also: WAITING OUT THE EIGHTIES). The story of a murderous '57 Plymouth Fury and the strange hold it takes over the personality of a 70's teenage outcast, CHRISTINE is equal parts thriller, chiller, and a freaky coming-of-age. Here's ten reasons I think it's quite a plum in Carpenter's oeuvre:

#1. The soundtrack (and occasional lack thereof). Right off the bat, Carpenter lets us know it's not exactly business as usual: despite the familiar Albertus font, the film opens not with the familiar strains of a synthesized Carpy score, but the malevolent idling of an engine. Later, we get some Carpy-penned tension-building tracks, but the majority of the soundtrack is made up of classic, early Rock n' Roll tracks (which take on an even greater significance when the demon-car Christine begins to use their lyrics to communicate!). Carpenter also beautifully illustrates the decline of American culture as Buddy Holly's original "Not Fade Away" literally fades away into Tanya Tucker's 70's-tastic (and fairly abhorrant) version. Including Bonnie Raitt's reinterpretation of Del Shannon's "Runaway" achieves the same purpose: groundbreaking, sincere work gives way to glossy, poppy, overproduced nonsense. (And I don't mean especially to pick on Tanya and Bonnie, because the state of mainstream artistic expression has only worsened since!)

#2. Robert Prosky. One of the great character actors, his irascible (and frequently improvised) Old Man Darnell can do no wrong as far as I'm concerned.

"That's the last time you run that mechanical asshole in here without an exhaust hose," he gripes while chewing on that old man cud that all grizzled garage owners apparently chew on. "Don't think you got the gold key to the crapper-nobody takes advantage of me!" He's great.

#3. Use of the word "shitter." Sometimes Stephen King goes a little over the top with the stylized patois, but every once in a while, a term pops up that truly warms my heart. Like when Keith Gordon squeals "Don't touch her... SHITTER!" Or when Roberts Blossom (any relation to Buck Flower?) malevolently intones "You don't know half as much as you think you do...SHITTER!" I could go on.

#4. Christine's self repair. Sure, the key principal at hand here is running the film backwards, but even the 80's SFX-naysayers must admit that the end result is astounding.



And just think of how shitty it'd look with CGI. I'm sure a remake will be in the works shortly, as the powers that be continue to mine Carpenter's back catalogue– it makes my skin crawl.

#5. The choking scene. Carpenter illustrates a supernatural event (a car consciously trapping a girl inside as she chokes on some food) through the simplest terms (extremely bright light)...and it works!




#6. Photographing Christine as though she's Michael Myers from HALLOWEEN.


And it occurs to me that those early scenes in HALLOWEEN on Michael driving around and stalking the girls likely later served as Carpenter's 'audition' for CHRISTINE! (And see the opening sequence of HALLOWEEN III for the aftershocks.) Also, the sudden lighting of piercing headlamps in the darkness makes for a great and unexpected horror motif!

#7. Carpy's meditations on the relationships between humans and machines.

Carpenter takes a different, less fleshy approach than, say, Cronenberg, but he's got a lot to say about the feelings which we ascribe to our objects. At what point does a car merit a gender? At which point does Christine emerge as a character beneath the indifferent chrome and candy apple? Is it when she's wounded- when that gaping maw of gnarled pipes and twisted metal resembles a mouth?

Regardless, there's an excellent moment when, after a demonstration of Christine's sentience, a porch light flips on suddenly in the darkness. We're in a state of mind which believes immediately somehow that the light may be 'alive,' yet it quickly sinks in that a person (soon revealed to be a parent) has turned on the light in response to a teenage argument. But it demonstrates perfectly that odd disconnect between identifying machines and the people who operate them.

#8. Harry Dean Stanton. Sure, his part's not that big. Sure, he's been better used elsewhere. But when Harry Dean Stanton shows up, I stand to attention and salute.

It does make me kind of sad that Harry Dean and Carpenter only collaborated twice, though––can you imagine him as one of the crew in THE THING? Or as a resistance member in THEY LIVE? The mind reels.

#9. I love it when high-schoolers are ambiguously middle-aged. It's like it was a prerequisite to have at least a couple in every teen movie.


#10. Keith Gordon. Sometimes I can't quite tell if an actor is terrible or brilliant, but I enjoy their performance all the same. His character begins as a nerd that's excited about Scrabble and can't even open his own locker,

but transforms into a psychotic, car-obsessed 70's greaser prone to Pesci-esque explosions of emotion. Occasionally he enters the realm of "Hoo boy, that's over the top," but that's really such a fine line that perhaps it's not for me to say.

What is for me to say? Well, how about a toast– "Death to all SHITTERS of 1979!"

-Sean Gill

Film Review: THE LOVELESS (1982, Kathryn Bigelow & Monty Montgomery)

Stars: 4 of 5.
Running Time: 85 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Starring WILLEM DAFOE. Marin Kanter (LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE FABULOUS STAINS), J. Don Ferguson (FREEJACK, MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE), Robert Gordon (who also did the soundtrack, as well as contributing songs to BEETLEJUICE and NATURAL BORN KILLERS). Additional music by John Lurie.
Tag-line: "Sworn to Fun...Loyal to None!!!"
Best one-liner: "You never can tell on a day like this- things could be goin' jake one minute, then, presto- before you know it, you're history."

Two of my favorite actors made their leading man debuts in 1982 biker flicks: Ed Harris in KNIGHTRIDERS and Willem Dafoe in THE LOVELESS. Both films depict a counterculture distorted by the 80's- wistful nostalgia tempered by a heavy dose of “cusp of Reagan” fatalism. A loose retelling of the star-making WILD ONE, Brando has been succeeded by a lean, mean, and leather-clad Dafoe.

At this age (26) he's even more angular, skull-like, and serpentine than usual, but he's no villain- he's simply a jaded instrument: a country-drawlin' extension of his bike, casually "goin' to hell in a breadbasket."

There's not much of a plot in the conventional sense: drifters congregate and they go their own ways. A ratchet torques a bolt as oil dribbles from an engine. A switchblade's spring pops and the blade snaps to attention. A truck stop woman hoofs it on a zebra-print carpet.


The rustic, fog-enshrouded American countryside is split by that asphalt ribbon of adventure, and here, it looks like something out of a storybook. It's co-directed by Monty Montgomery (who brought the dangerous Rockabilly vibe) and Kathryn Bigelow (who brought the immersive, visual flair).

Montgomery's contributions to cinema (particularly to David Lynch) have often gone unnoticed: a producer on WILD AT HEART and TWIN PEAKS and co-creator of HOTEL ROOM, Montgomery seems to have infused Lynch with a desire to leave ERASERHEAD's tenement and BLUE VELVET's suburbia behind- and hit the open road.

Dafoe driving his lady nowhere fast in THE LOVELESS.


Nic Cage driving his lady nowhere fast in WILD AT HEART.

The maudlin/macabre depiction of Route 66 culture, the dynamics of Sailor and Lula's relationship, the twangily ominous music, the presence of 'dark angel' Dafoe, and road-racin' Lynch heroes like James Hurley (TWIN PEAKS) and Pete Dayton (LOST HIGHWAY), in my opinion, simply would not exist without Montgomery’s influence.

Regardless, we get one of the best soundtracks in memory (from John Lurie to Little Richard to Eddy Dixon to The Diamonds to Brenda Lee), the requisite Dafoe asscheekage factor, eye-poking bullet bras, and it ends with a doleful crescendo of violence which provides the proper resonance. A vivid, haunting journey to nowhere…fast. Four stars.

-Sean Gill

Theater Review: A JOHN WATERS CHRISTMAS (2009, John Waters)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: Approx. 65 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: John Waters.
Best one-liner: "Let's talk about the Easter Bunny...I hate the fucker. What sex is the Easter Bunny? You know, you see the Easter Bunny in malls, not that many people do it. You can tell they don't even care, because they don't even clean the outfits, they have mold on them, they don't even send them to the cleaners. It's some poor woman, usually, another step backwards for feminism, because...the Easter Bunny is the ultimate bottom, really. And not a good bottom. Not a greedy bottom, not a bossy bottom, but an impotent, powerless bottom that no childhood hero could ever top. And Easter is an S&M holiday, anyway..."


I'm a Halloween guy. Thus, I'm pretty resistant to all things Christmas, and especially resistant to people who adore all things Christmas. My general stance on the holiday is that only Michael Ironside should be allowed to dress up as Santa and only Wham! should be allowed to release Christmas albums. (I would also permit Bruce Willis to release one, should he decide to revisit the whole RETURN OF BRUNO concept.) I suppose I also embrace the slew of action movies (TRANCERS, RENT-A-COP, LETHAL WEAPON, DIE HARD, KISS KISS BANG BANG, et al.) that use Christmas as a piffling backdrop for Gary Busey putting Mel Gibson in a headlock or Burt Reynolds using "Merry Christmas" as a one-liner or, shit, even William Powell drinking like forty-seven martinis and punching out his wife (ostensibly, in order to save her). Regardless, I shall now update my stance– John Waters is permitted to enjoy the holiday.

His kitschy selections of off-the-beaten-path carols (from Fat Daddy to Little Cindy to Alvin and the Chipmunks) have yielded a well-known compilation album entitled A JOHN WATERS CHRISTMAS. He has an accompanying monologue show as well, one that I had heard of, but had never been lucky enough to attend until this year. The man is endlessly entertaining and full of this lively, benevolently perverse energy- you can't help but to have a bemused grin on your face the instant he comes on stage- before he's even said anything. And as soon as he begins, hold on tight– he delivers a whirlwind of relentless anecdotes, wisecracks, ruminations, and obsessions- which, for me, rival (if not eclipse) canonical masters of the art form like Spalding Gray.

He recalls, as a child, how he wanted to sit on William Castle's lap instead of Santa Claus'; the juvenile thrill of breaking in and opening strangers' presents; his deviant zest for Alvin and the Chipmunks (including, but not limited to, him wearing Alvin's giant "A"-emblazoned hoody to a theater full of children attending a CHIPMUNKS screening); his extreme loathing of gift cards and the people who give them; his deep-rooted hatred of the Easter Bunny as a holiday mascot (see above); and his desire to have his own amusement park and freak show and 'abortion movie' film festival (he wants to wear costumes and shout out dialogue for 4 MONTHS, THREE WEEKS, AND 2 DAYS). He recounted fond memories of Divine; spoke of his hopes for a possibly upcoming HAIRSPRAY 2 and his own long-anticipated Christmas movie, FRUITCAKE; and made many obscure self-references to a crowd whom I doubt had even heard of, much less seen, films like MULTIPLE MANIACS or ROMAN CANDLES. In short, this thing is fantastic. (And I've hardly even scratched the surface.) Five stars.


The fact that John Waters is my new best bud did not cloud the judgment of this review.

-Sean Gill

Film Review: SLEEPWALKERS (1992, Mick Garris)

Stars: 3.2 of 5.
Running Time: 91 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Brian Krause (RETURN TO THE BLUE LAGOON), Mädchen Amick (TWIN PEAKS, MY OWN WORST ENEMY), Alice Krige (TWILIGHT OF THE ICE NYMPHS, BARFLY), Ron Perlman (HELLBOY, IN THE NAME OF THE ROSE), Glenn Shadix (HEATHERS, BEETLEJUICE), Mark Hamill (VILLAGE OF THE DAMNED, BODY BAGS). Cameos by Stephen King, Clive Barker, Tobe Hooper, Joe Dante, John Landis.
Tag-line: "They feast on your fear - and it's dinner time." That sounds about right.
Best one-liner: (stabs policeman in the ear with a pencil) "Cop-kabob!" Wowww.

Full of the silly, sloppy storytelling that typifies the collaborations between Mick Garris and Stephen King, SLEEPWALKERS still manages to be a pretty enjoyable experience. This thing is no SILVER BULLET or CREEPSHOW, but it's leaps and bounds above the (Garris) TV movies of THE STAND or THE SHINING. The plot is kind of a CAT PEOPLE/DRACULA mash-up involving incest, virgin sacrifice, morphing automobiles, powers of invisibility, and teenage romance. And we've got King taking that whole 50's Americana thing a bit too far, as always.


Gotta love the cat family portrait.

In the tradition of "General" from CAT'S EYE, we've got a damned likable housecat performance courtesy of "Sparks," who plays "Clovis."

"Sparks" is pretty solid, but he's nowhere near the thespian that "General" was in CAT'S EYE. I'm serious. Rewatch CAT'S EYE and tell me I'm wrong.


But the number one thing that makes this movie work is a little lady named Mädchen Amick (Shelly from TWIN PEAKS).

Her first appearance involves a really spazzy, impromptu, solo dance number worthy of Elaine Benes;

and, throughout the film, she exudes sheer pathos and an adorable magnetism. Generally, in a film of this kind, you couldn't give two shits about the damsel in distress- but here, Amick outshines both the colorful villains and bumpkin-style character actors- a true feat. There's bit parts by Ron Perlman (an a-hole state trooper), Mark Hamill (a stupefied cop),

Hamill + 'stache.

Glenn Shadix (a smug schoolteacher), and Stephen King (doing that whole yokel routine again).

Clive Barker doesn't have the heart to tell Stephen King that, though he's seen CREEPSHOW seven times, he's always fast-forwarded through the segment starring King as the plant-infected hillbilly.


Tobe Hooper comes face to face with what he might look like if he shaved the beard- and he's not sure he likes it.

There's a slew of horror cameos (Barker, Hooper, Dante, etc.), an overload of really cheap 'loud noise' scare stingers, perhaps the first (and last?) Mr. Pibb product placement, and an avenging army of pissed off cats.

Then there's the one-liners. Yeah, there are a lot, and boy, are they bad:

"I don't think you're getting into the spirit of this- why don't you think of yourself... AS LUNCH!"

Where things start to get iffy.

Then there's, "People should learn to keep their hands to themselves...HERE'S YOURS!"

And finally, after a corn cob impaling: "No vegetables- no dessert... those are the rules."

That's not even a one-liner! Plus, he ATE his vegetables!

Ah, well. Three stars.

-Sean Gill


2009 Halloween Countdown OVERFLOW

1. [•REC] (2007, Jaume Balagueró & Paco Plaza)
2. THE MANITOU (1978, William Girdler)
3. SLEEPWALKERS (1992, Mick Garris)
4.
...

Film Review: THE BUDDY HOLLY STORY (1978, Steve Rash)

Stars: 4.5 of 5.
Running Time: 113 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Gary Busey, Charles Martin Smith, Don Stroud, Maria Richwine, Dick O'Neill.
Tag-lines: "Music never felt this good."

There was a time when Gary Busey wasn't completely bonkers, and there was also a time when biopics of musicians didn't have to be emotionally manipulative, needlessly glossy, and ultimately soulless. That time evidently was the late 70's, as, along with John Carpenter's ELVIS, I would place Steve Rash's THE BUDDY HOLLY STORY at the top of the heap. Filmed mostly in one or two takes and with the actors performing the music themselves, the film thusly possesses a sort of kitchen sink realism, an in-the-moment eccentricity, and an overall degree of connectedness that befits the music, the man, and the cultural movement. Busey, a musician himself, shows off his acting chops, his charismatic voice, and his toothy grin in a performance that's as likable as it is nuanced.



(And you have to love that Busey's Oscar nomination for this film ensures that he'll forever be invited to the ceremony despite being something of a persona non grata. No matter what mind-boggling red carpet antics he pulled the year before, Gary'll be there.)

This is pre-motorcycle wreck, pre-coke addiction, pre-'butt-horn' Busey. And yet he's still a littttle bit nutty, saying things like "Boolah boolah" and "I'll change my name to Chihuahua Garbanzo," which clearly strike the seasoned ear as Busey improvisations.

As the Crickets, Charles Martin Smith (Toad in AMERICAN GRAFFITI) and Don Stroud (COOGAN'S BLUFF, JOE KIDD) are excellent, alternating between sweet loyalty and overshadowed frustration. Ultimately, THE BUDDY HOLLY STORY succeeds as a sobering glimpse at the transience of the human condition AND as a feel-good success narrative. (Though, indeed, Buddy's tragic death can hang like a shroud over even the most light-hearted of moments.) The filmmakers choose the perfect point at which to end our story, however, and it carries all the weight it should, yet does not rub our faces in the tragedy, making for a picture which truly resonates beyond the closing credits. Four and a half stars.


-Sean Gill

Film Review: SILVER BULLET (1985, Daniel Attias)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Written by Stephen King, starring Corey Haim, Gary Busey, Terry O'Quinn, Everett McGill (TWIN PEAKS, HEARTBREAK RIDGE, THE PEOPLE UNDER THE STAIRS), Lawrence Tierney (DILLINGER, RESERVOIR DOGS), werewolf suit by Carlo Rambaldi, who did the SFX for E.T., Argento's DEEP RED, Fulci's LIZARD IN A WOMAN'S SKIN, and scores of other classics.
Tag-lines: "It started in May in a small town and every month after that whenever the moon is full... It came back..."
Best one-liner: "Holy jumped up bald-headed Jesus palomina. From him I'd expect it. Sometimes I think your common sense got paralysed along with your legs. But from you Jane? You're Miss Polly Practical!" (said by Gary Busey's 'Uncle Red.')

Stephen King's best screenplay + a load of Italian names in the credits (De Laurentiis, Capone, Postiglione, Rambaldi, etc.) + Gary Busey (fresh off of the insanity of D.C. CAB) saying "I feel like a virgin on prom night"

+ Terry O'Quinn exuding way more pathos than is necessary + paralyzed Corey Haim in a hot rod wheelchair

+ a really intense priestly Everett McGill (TWIN PEAKS, HEARTBREAK RIDGE) + Lawrence Tierney wielding a ball bat named "The Peacemaker"


+ some good old New England mysticism + nearly as much eye trauma as a Fulci fick = serious, unarguable quality.

That's right, SILVER BULLET is top-notch 80's horror. And somehow, having a largely Italian crew is the best thing to even happen to a Stephen King adaptation. King movies fall flat on their faces when the delicate tonal balance (of scares, humor, corniness, weird speech patterns, Americana, etc.) is upset. And that balance is, unfortunately, VERY easily upset. THE SHINING succeeds because there's only one tone- impassive, emotionless, mind-numbing terror. CREEPSHOW succeeds because it's played only for E.C. Comics-style, blood-soaked laughs. SILVER BULLET has only one tone, too- and it's ITALIANO! The Italians bulldoze through the scary and cornball stuff alike, oblivious to the difference between them, but with a shit-ton of gleefully macabre enthusiasm. And it works!

Then they let Busey do his own thing, too, which is always a must. Busey plays lovable drunk 'Uncle Red,' a man as prone to heroics as he is to passing out in a driveway during a family function. And no one, least of all the script girl, can possibly predict what'll come out of his mouth next. He's on fire. And instead of it merely being a sideshow of insanity, it's perfect for the character, makes Uncle Red a true jewel in the crown of 80's horror flickery, and provides the true humanist core of the picture.

A textbook example of escapist entertainment at its best. Five stars.

-Sean Gill

Film Review: SWING SHIFT (1984, Jonathan Demme)

Stars: 4 of 5.
Running Time: 100 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Kurt Russell, Goldie Hawn, Ed Harris, Fred Ward, Christine Lahti, Holly Hunter, Charles Napier (perennial Demme bit player, BEYOND THE VALLEY OF THE DOLLS), Roger Corman cameo, uncredited writer Ron Nyswaner (THE PRINCE OF PENNSYLVANIA), and shot by Tak Fujimoto (THE SIXTH SENSE, FERRIS BUELLER'S DAY OFF, BADLANDS, DEATH RACE 2000).
Tag-lines: "When America marched off to war the women marched into the factory. From then on...nothing was the same."

A solid, Jonathan Demme-directed fusion of nostalgia picture and romantic melodrama that earns its fourth star from a likable, talented, all-star cast. It also presents one of the most impenetrable quandaries ever committed to celluloid, and the dilemma is this: in the battle for Goldie Hawn's heart, should we be rooting for Kurt Russell or Ed Harris? (Within the film, of course; in real life, it would be rather easy to answer.)

Ed and Goldie are married, war strikes, and Ed goes across the Pacific, leaving behind only a paper cut-out picture of himself in his sailor uniform. Then, Kurt Russell, that slick devil, is a jazz trumpeter and lead man at the plant where Goldie the Riveter starts working.

One thing leads to another, and we have the central story arc of this picture. (Which also marks the real-life start of the epic Goldie/Kurt romance.) When Ed returns from the front, rose in hand, only to find... well, it's devastating.

And Ed is brilliantly intense, yet well-tempered; never going too far into sad sack or overly enraged territory, even when he finds out his old lady is steppin' out with Captain Ron.

There's excellent supporting turns by Christine Lahti (Oscar-nominated for her role), Fred Ward (of Altman films, REMO WILLIAMS, and SOUTHERN COMFORT), and Holly Hunter (who is ridiculously good in one key scene where she receives some harrowing news). Four stars.


Side note: The DVD censors the notorious Ed Harris balls-flashing scene. I know everybody's really disappointed.

-Sean Gill