Only now does it occur to me... THE LAST AMERICAN VIRGIN (1982)

Only now does it occur to me... that this seems like something of an appropriate week to reckon with a film like THE LAST AMERICAN VIRGIN (1982), an early Cannon Film attempt at teenage relevance and an '80s update of director Boaz Davidson's own 1950s-set Israeli coming-of-age film, LEMON POPSICLE (1978).

Half of the film feels predictably culled from the brainless sex-comedy genre, films like PORKY'S, REVENGE OF THE NERDS, or JOYSTICKS––



Needless to say, the '80s rule of pools is in effect––which is to say that if there is a pool present, a character will be pushed into it, flailing, in a zany comic moment

––whereas the second half feels like it could be at home in an artistic coming-of-age picture by the likes of Catherine Breillat, Lasse Hallström, or Maurice Pialat.

The suburbo-angst is tangible

Like FAST TIMES AT RIDGEMONT HIGH (which was released in August 1982, two weeks after this film's July premiere), it presents a toxic, often alienating, and generally bewildering teenage wasteland; a minefield of harsh, unavoidable truths about the human condition; a labyrinth of pain and nascent sexuality fired willy-nilly in all directions, like a tommy gun.

Of course, a Cannon sex comedy can't be on the right side of history all the time, so there are several cringe-inducing scenarios, like PORKY'S-style locker room peeping, a dick-measuring contest set to Devo's "Whip It," or a bizarre sequence of group sex with a Latina housewife that plays on the surface as "weird and sort of racist," or very generously, perhaps, as a satire on the absurdity of teen sex comedies of the era? (Probably not.) At least the scene where our horndog protagonists visit a prostitute plays out in a manner that's bleak, melancholy, and broken, like a tableau out of Tennessee Williams or Flannery O'Connor.

Conversely, this could be a scene from BARFLY

As with any '80s film whose major focus is its protagonists attempting to "get laid," there's going to be a poisonous strain of male entitlement running throughout,

And a lot of popped collars

but THE LAST AMERICAN VIRGIN actually makes an attempt to grapple earnestly with the consequences. It's partly owed to Tel Aviv's own Boaz Davidson (SALSA, GOING BANANAS), who lends the film a peculiar sort of Eurotrash/Euro-arthouse-quality where there can be wild tonal shifts, often within the same scene, of silly Hollywood artifice giving way to Neo-realistic emotion and moral ambiguity.


While FAST TIMES tackles similarly weighty subjects, this is the only '80s film I can think of who dedicates the stretch ordinarily reserved for a makeover or training montage to a sequence where a young woman undergoes an abortion while another boy (who did not impregnate her) scrambles to pawn his belongings to pay for it.



Especially remarkable is that the woman's point-of-view is not only considered in this sequence, but that it's central––the viewer has a real sense of the emotional and physical drain the dark and ethically ambiguous shadows of the adult world have cast on her life and the lives of those around her.


Of course, this happens in a film where a group of guys get pubic lice and the subsequent, incessant scratching is played for yucks. Well, that's Cannon Films for you––for better or worse. Nonetheless, it feels morally superior to a few of the options at an American multiplex in July of 1982. While you could indeed catch BLADE RUNNER or John Carpenter's THE THING, it's perhaps more likely that a boneheaded teenager would go see ZAPPED!, a film where Scott Baio uses telekinesis to rip the clothing off of his female classmates.




[Side note: Probably the first thing the viewer will notice about THE LAST AMERICAN VIRGIN is the soundtrack, which would cost more than the entire film's budget today. It's shocking how much 1982 radio they manage to cram in here, with hit songs by Journey, The Police, Tommy Tutone, Blondie, U2, Devo, Oingo Boingo, The Cars, The Human League, Blondie, The Waitresses, REO Speedwagon, KC and the Sunshine Band, and Quincy Jones, to name a few.

It's also worth mentioning that TWIN PEAKS' Kimmy Robertson also turns in a delightful comic supporting performance:

She's always been underutilized (do we blame SPEED 2: CRUISE CONTROL?––technically she played the title character, as "Liza, Cruise Control/Cruise Director"), and hopefully the revived TWIN PEAKS will get her some more work.]

Film Review: THE BAD LIEUTENANT: PORT OF CALL NEW ORLEANS (2009, Werner Herzog)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: 121 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Nicolas Cage, Eva Mendes, Brad Dourif, Michael Shannon, Xzibit, Irma P. Hall, Fairuza Balk, Val Kilmer, Jennifer Coolidge, Shea Whigham.
Tag-line: "The only criminal he can't catch is himself."
Best exchange: "Shoot him again." –"What for?" "His soul is still dancing!"

"I'll kill all of you... to THE BREAK OF DAWN!" PORT OF CALL NEW ORLEANS is a 'remake' of BAD LIEUTENANT in the sense that WILD AT HEART is a remake of THE WIZARD OF OZ: both pairings are ingenious masterworks (cut from entirely different cloths) that really have little to do with one another, save for some superficial and thematic elements. So despite being a tremendous admirer of Ferrara's film, Herzog's does not in any way inspire the "die in hell" (to quote Ferrara's opinion of this reimagining) bile I would reserve for, say, if "McG" were to reboot it.


Nic Cage is THE BAD LIEUTENANT, and while he doesn't deliver a performance quite as soul (or genital)-baring as Keitel did, it's probably his best role in 20 years. Instead of phoning in more uninspired faux-craziness, Cage artfully develops a character from the ground up: I don't know if it indicates personal maturation on his part or the firm hand of Herzog, but I like it.

Shuffling around in oversized suits with an AGUIRRE style slouch and his .44 tucked in the front of his pants, Cage is a groggy force of cracked-out nature.

His highs and lows alike are extraordinarily compelling, and oddly believable– though I suppose Herzog also made us believe that an army of dwarves was hellbent on wrecking the world's aesthetics (EVEN DWARVES STARTED SMALL) or that a small German village could lie in a state of constant hypnosis (HEART OF GLASS). The supporting cast is more than up for the ridiculous challenge: Eva Mendes as his long-suffering, crack-addled hooker girlfriend; Brad Dourif as a ponytailed, fretful bookie;

Val Kilmer as the haggard, ludicrous 'Worse Lieutenant;'

Fairuza Balk as a smokin' babe cop (words I never thought would pass through my lips); Michael Shannon as a stiff, shifty property room bureaucrat; Xzibit as the lively kingpin 'Big Fate;' and Jennifer Coolidge as a moralizing Stepmom who's always wasted... (on beer).

Things begin rather routinely (courtesy of L.A. LAW writer William Finkelstein), but quickly transmogrify into truly Herzogian madness- an alligator's wild-eyed lament over a roadkill'd lover; long-buried silver spoons that may or may not be pirate treasure; the best use of "OH YEAH" since Yello:

"Oh, yeah."

and the most egregious eyebrow indicating since KUFFS:


Herzog isn't afraid to ask the tough questions, either. Questions like, "Do fish dream?" "Did you remember to destroy all copies of the property voucher?" "Doesn't everyone have a lucky crack pipe?"

"What are these iguanas doing on my coffee table?"


and "Should we shoot him again?" And, of course, the answer to that last one is "Yes...because his soul is still [break]dancing."


This movie IS Nic Cage, hiding behind your bedroom door, shaving himself with a portable electric razor, unplugging your oxygen tank, plugging it back in, and screaming "It's people like you that fucked up this country!"

But at the same time, it's Herzog, crouched behind us, softly whispering his peculiar- yet soothing- maxims about the human condition into our ears. Sure, we've heard them many times over, and they're a little ludicrous if you start to really think about them, but damn– you've got to admit that, even at his whackiest, the man knows what the hell he's talking about. Five stars.

-Sean Gill

Side note: It must be said that the presence of breakdancing could be the influence of Executive Producer Boaz Davidson- a frequent Golan/Globus collaborator and director of GOING BANANAS and SALSA. I'm just happy that we can finally connect the dots between Werner Herzog and Cannon Films.

Additional side note: Cage's use of a .44 Magnum (Dirty Harry's gun) sort of leads me to believe that his off-kilter, in character appreciation of DIRTY HARRY in JULIEN DONKEY-BOY was, in fact, sincere! (Though of course, this is the man who has always said he'd prefer watching a kung fu film over one by Godard.)

Last side note: And, yes, this movie is actually called THE Bad Lieutenant, according to the main titles, which say "THE BAD LIEUTENANT: PORT OF CALL NEW ORLEANS," and then immediately let you know what city it's going to be taking place in with a new title, "NEW ORLEANS," in case there was any confusion. Ah, Herzog, how I love thee.

Film Review: SALSA (1988, Boaz Davidson)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: 98 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Robby Rosa!
Tag-lines: "The Dirtiest Dancing Of Them All!"
Best one-liner: "Don't call me puta, cabrón!"

"You are the frame and I am the picture! Got it? Now let's dance!" Strap yourselves in folks, cause this is gonna be a bumpy night. Speaking of ALL ABOUT EVE, SALSA is so tinged with tight pantsed, big haired, sweaty, half-naked excess, that it makes that film look manlier than THE DIRTY DOZEN.

And our hero, (Menudo's own) Robby Rosa, makes Wham! seem straighter than, say, Robert Mitchum.

In the first 5 minutes, we have dance sequence with fan-blown hair, semi-nude men humping cars, well-oiled back-up dancers, spit-takes, and muscular dudes thrusting their crotches; a gratuitous shower scene that ends in a homoerotic reimagining of RISKY BUSINESS; and then, after all of that, we cut to MORE dancing, and this is just the first 5 minutes!

Later, tight jeans are spanked, a 'straight' man gives a belt to his best friend as a gift, a guy seduces a woman with the erotic power of a disco ball, a woman does a bullfight dance with a dude on a motorcycle, the line "I liked it mucho" is uttered, the dancing note "Open your legs....deeper!" is given (and taken!), there's cameos by Tito Puente and Michael Sembello (singer of "Maniac"), and all of this may or may not end with an endlessly pulsating group hug.


"MUCHO MONEY!"

This is the sort of thing that Cannon Films was churning out in the 80's and early 90's (RAPPIN', BREAKIN', LAMBADA, THE APPLE, etc.), and this is why they were basically the greatest purveyor of popular culture to ever exist.

Alternate forms of percussion were a key visual trope in the films of Golan and Globus.

The plots were slight, the denouements were uplifting, the dancers were sweaty, and the music was rockin'. Golan and Globus, Cannon Films' Israeli handlers, continually navigated assorted genres and varied cultures, creating art that was simultaneously offensive, hilarious, and genuinely well-constructed. These guys basically went back to Israel circa 1994, and took with them the magical 80's aura that had enveloped lower-grade American cinema for the last decade. Look at the crap that came in their wake. Five stars. Here's to you, Menahem and Yoram (and Boaz)!

-Sean Gill