Showing posts with label David Webb Peoples. Show all posts
Showing posts with label David Webb Peoples. Show all posts

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Film Review: THE BLOOD OF HEROES (1989, David Webb Peoples)

Stars: 4 of 5.
Running Time: 90 minutes.
Tag-line: "When juggers play there is only one way to live - THE HARD WAY!"
Notable Cast or Crew: Rutger Hauer, Joan Chen, Vincent D'Onofrio, Delroy Lindo, Richard Norton (GYMKATA, dual roles in THE OCTAGON), Max Fairchild (MAD MAX 1 & 2), Anna Katarina (THE GAME, OMEGA DOOM). Written and directed by David Webb Peoples (BLADE RUNNER, LEVIATHAN, SOLDIER, LADYHAWKE, TWELVE MONKEYS, UNFORGIVEN, THE DAY AFTER TRINITY). Again, I really don't know why Peoples isn't a household name.
Best one-liner: " I don't like brutality. I like heroics. I like the blood of heroes."
AKA: SALUTE OF THE JUGGER. Right on!

Rutger Hauer, meet Joan Chen. Now a lot of people might know, say, that Rutger Hauer and somebody like Brion James have worked together four times, but the fact that he and TWIN PEAKS darling Joan Chen have appeared in four films together, ranging from 1989 (THE BLOOD OF HEROES) to 2010 (TONIGHT AT NOON) came to me as a bit of a shock. They're like the latter-day 20th Century Sci-Fi Hepburn and Tracy. Well, kind of. And that's not even the most puzzling facet of Mr. Hauer's career- that honor may well belong to his slideshow-esque appearance in the RAMBO III video game (1989) when he had nothing to do with any RAMBO film... Anyway, THE BLOOD OF HEROES:

"People no longer remembered the Golden Age of the 20th Century. They didn't remember the miraculous technology or the cruel wars that followed. They didn't remember when Juggers first played The Game or how it came to be played with a dog skull..."

Now, for being a movie which, even on DVD, has been given all the tender loving care of a faded, murky, full-screen battered VHS, THE BLOOD OF HEROES is shockingly classy. One of the first things to set it apart from its fourth-rate, MAD MAX-inspired brethren is an enchanting, mystical score by Todd Bokelheide (HEARTS OF DARKNESS: A FILMMAKER'S APOCALYPSE, BALLETS RUSSES). Kind of like post-civilization Bernard Herrmann, the work is punctuated by primal drums and creative, peculiar percussion. It's an epic, intriguing, and mysterious soundtrack, and that's just the sort of thing this film requires- it's easy for your skeptical mind to take the film seriously when, on some level, your gut already is.

Now the aesthetic here is definitely on the same page as MAD MAX- BEYOND THUNDERDOME (not to mention that it was filmed in Australia and features MAD MAX actors like Max Fairchild, and can I say 'Max' any more in this sentence?), and it's blood, sand, leather, corroded metal, and burlap sacks -to the max. Our story follows a team of impoverished Juggers as they fight their way through the rust belt bush leagues and on to the tournament of the 'Nine Cities'- the last vestige of wealth and culture- where bluebloods have hoarded supplies, amassed wealth, and buttressed their fortune with underground walls and towers to keep out the common rabble- unless, of course, they're prepared to compete at bloodsports for the richies' silk-stockinged amusement.

And, basically, in a barren, poverty-stricken world, Jugging is your only shot at upward mobility.

But the big question here, which I'm sure that you're finding yourself asking yourself is– WHAT IS JUGGING? Well, I'll tell you to the best of my ability. Okay. Two big dudes smack the shit out of each other with big hammer lookin' things- (think lacrosse sticks made from barbed wire?). Then a couple of other dudes whip razor chains at each other as more guys clobber each other with hooks and try to pin each other down. Then we got two diminutive running-back types (called 'qwiks') who pummel and thrash their way to the 'ball'- a dog skull- and then try to make it past each other and this chaotic shitstorm of hooks and chains and bludgeons and triumphantly thrust the dog skull onto a spike in the ground.

YAHHH

Then you win. Meanwhile, some jag-off is tossing stones against a gong or a piece of sheet metal, timing the whole thing.

The longer you last, the more impressive Juggers you are. Then the Juggers bond afterward. The winners get to keep the dog skull, and sometimes the hosting town buys them a round of drinks. No hard feelings. Everybody's gotta earn a living.

If you're a fan of these sorts of films like I clearly am, you can see that the possibilities for heroics, brutality, and sheer ridiculousness are sky high. This is my kind of sports movie.


More THE SEVENTH SEAL than THE KARATE KID, actually.

Rutger Hauer, as 'Sallow,' leads our heroic band of dust bowl gladiators.

He used to play in the Nine Cities, but now he's a washed-up P.O.S. with a bum eye, a bad attitude, and a lotta regrets. His squad includes 'Young Gar' (Vincent D'Onofrio), the screw-up kid with a heap of raw talent:

'Big Cimber' (Anna Katarina), a stern, ass-kickin' lady; 'Mbulu' (Delroy Lindo), the crusty veteran:

and Dog-Boy (Justin Monjo), the qwik. But when Dog-Boy is hideously injured, a local peasant gal who's short on brawn but long on moxie (played, naturally, by Joan Chen) steps into the ring.

Joan later said of THE BLOOD OF HEROES, “I loved that movie. It was a big departure for me. The part wasn’t written for an Asian woman. The part was actually written for a rugged, Amazonian-type woman. I am actually kind of short and small, but they changed it for me.”


Rutger Hauer: "I like scars."
Joan Chen: "..."


Rutger's up to his old tricks and exuding sheer forcefulness of presence- narrowing his eyes, pursing his lips nearly to the point of blowing homoerotic air-kisses,

and believably thumping the shit out of his opponents.

A head butt may be forthcoming.

Joan Chen takes a lickin' and keeps on tickin'. She even gets to bite some poor sap's ear off.

PFFT-TOOO!

But, on the whole, the proceedings are surprisingly low key, even restrained, and this actually works in the film's favor. The team heads to the Nine Cities, where there's fights, romance, old friends, grudges, fixers, cheaters, and creepy pasty rich people who get a little thrill out of licking Jugger blood. Richard Norton (GYMKATA, THE OCTAGON) even shows up as a shitkicker named 'Bone.'

Bone reporting for duty.

I'm not gonna reveal how it all turns out, but it gets downright Medieval. Its scope becomes smaller than you'd think, as well– it's not an epochal tale about freedom fighters toppling an evil regime, or however this story would usually be told- it's an intimate look at stoic gang of tough guys ('n gals) who kick some serious ass. Hell, I'll call it the best sport movie since THE RUNNING MAN. But then it just ends. Abruptly. The closing credits begin to roll over the final scene of the movie– what? What is this, a Chabrol film? Some cursory research turned up some answers- apparently, this is a somewhat truncated version. And somewhere out there exists a fourteen-minute longer version from Japan (called by fans, I shit you not, "THE GRAIL OF THE JUGGER") which fleshes out the denouement in a little more detail. Regardless, this is an excellent film, and one that I wholeheartedly recommend not only to futuristic bloodsport movie fans, but to Hauer/Chen aficionados, as well.

And to serious connoisseurs of whappin' and boppin'.

Four stars.

-Sean Gill

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Film Review: LEVIATHAN (1989, George P. Cosmatos)

Stars: 4 of 5.
Running Time: 98 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Written by David Webb Peoples (UNFORGIVEN, SOLDIER, BLADE RUNNER). Starring Peter Weller (BUCKAROO BANZAI, NAKED LUNCH, ROBOCOP), Ernie Hudson (THE SUBSTITUTE, GHOSTBUSTERS), Richard Crenna (RAMBO, UN FLIC), Amanda Pays (MAX HEADROOM), Daniel Stern (HOME ALONE, narrator on THE WONDER YEARS), Hector Elizando (PRETTY WOMAN, AMERICAN GIGOLO), Meg Foster (THEY LIVE, STEPFATHER II). Music by Jerry Goldsmith (CHINATOWN, ALIEN, RAMBO). Special effects by Stan Winston (PREDATOR, THE TERMINATOR, JURASSIC PARK).
Tag-line: "Welcome to your worst nightmare, welcome to Leviathan." (...Butt-horn?)
Best one-liner: "Say 'Ahhh,' motherfucker!"

"That's JUST great! You tellin' me we got a god damn Dracula in here with us?" Like its human-absorbing, hybrid fish-creature star, LEVIATHAN is a film built entirely from pre-existing components. Everything here, we've seen before, be it in THE THING or ALIEN or THE ABYSS. We've already seen Peter Weller (ROBOCOP) and Ernie Hudson (GHOSTBUSTERS) hoist gigantic futuristic weapons around.

Daniel Stern (HOME ALONE) opens soda cans with his mouth and is always talkin' about how much he'd like the female crew members to sit on his face. There's the British woman (Amanda Pays) who requires no character development, because her accent already tells us that she's a quick-witted expert of some kind. We got Richard Crenna (FIRST BLOOD) sitting in front of an ancient monitor, shaking his head at some statistics, EXACTLY like Wilford Brimley does in THE THING.


The creature even drains the blood supply! We've got a nefarious corporate master played by the evil chick from THEY LIVE.

And it's a cautionary tale: the chain of events (that causes slavering, mutating monsters to emerge) all starts with a practical joke and some purloined booze. Somehow that's even worse than the Jason movies, where sex begets death. Jokin' around equals death? Jeez! Cut us some slack!

Anyway, I don't think I've yet mentioned that I really enjoyed this movie. Like ACTION JACKSON or UNDER SIEGE, you don't really care that it's completely unoriginal. Plus our eel-man comes courtesy of FX master Stan Winston, and the screenplay's by David Webb Peoples (BLADE RUNNER, UNFORGIVEN, TWELVE MONKEYS), so clearly this isn't really catering to the least common denominator. And Weller is great.

Wearing a hot pink and blue trucker hat, he exudes layers of 'performance' (as an actor in the film, and pretending to be a 'tough as nails captain-type' for the benefit of his crew), and ends the film by punching a woman in the face. Only you can get away with that kinda thing, Pete. Four stars.

-Sean Gill

Thursday, August 27, 2009

Film Review: BLADE RUNNER (1982, Ridley Scott)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: 117 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Harrison Ford, Sean Young, Rutger Hauer, Daryl Hannah, M. Emmet Walsh (MISSING IN ACTION, BLOOD SIMPLE), Edward James Olmos, Joe Turkel (the Bartender in THE SHINING), James Hong (BIG TROUBLE IN LITTLE CHINA), Brion James (HOUSE III), William Sanderson (DEADWOOD), Joanna Cassidy (THE OUTFIT) . Cinematography by Jordan Cronenweth, music by Vangelis. Based on the novel DO ANDROIDS DREAM OF ELECTRIC SHEEP? by Philip K. Dick.
Tag-lines: "Man Has Made His Match... Now It's HIS Problem!" Wow.
Best one-liner: "Wake up, time to die!" (often and enthusiastically quoted by Abel Ferrara on his commentary track for THE DRILLER KILLER)
Schlitz Sign Sightings: 2

On a TV, BLADE RUNNER's an essential film; on the big screen, it's a revelation. From the ominous opening tones and expository scroll to the first shots of fireballs bursting forth from futuristic smokestacks, the viewer is immediately aware that they're about to embark on something enrapturing, exceedingly rare, and immaculately crafted.

Director Ridley Scott, cinematographer Jordan Cronenweth (ROLLING THUNDER, ALTERED STATES CUTTER'S WAY), special effects artist Douglas Trumbull (2001, CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE THIRD KIND), and production designer Lawrence G. Paull (BACK TO THE FUTURE) merge their talents to create a moody, jaw-dropping, futuristic atmosphere, the likes of which hadn't been seen since METROPOLIS and will likely be never seen again, so long as Hollywood clings to its CGI like a cured fool to his needless crutch.

Though not following his work to the letter, the film wonderfully replicates the Philip K. Dick 'aura'- a world of confusion, filth, wonderment, paranoia, disquiet, and mystery. A smoky Middle-Eastern nightclub with shades of PEPE LE MOKO; an icy laboratory where eyeballs are fashioned from bubbling, frigid vats; a dark, rain-soaked alley, intermittently lit by neon and the flashing headlamps of police spinners;

a sooty, decaying space, full of mannequins, robots, and incessantly chortling mechanical toys; a musty, shadowy, Frank Lloyd Wright-inspired apartment

where Harrison Ford's Deckard pours bottle after bottle of stinging hooch down his throat– the sheer creativity and perfect realization of these places leaves them etched upon your mind, long after the film has finished. Combined with an ethereal Vangelis score, one sits, transfixed and with mouth agape, as one might while experiencing one of the great cathedrals.

Violence is handled with firm-handed Dickian weight: visceral and distressing, full of shrieks and spasms and existential dread. The acting is superb: Sean Young's art deco naivete, Brion James' detached brutality, Rutger Hauer's unsettling perfection, James Hong's yammering hermit, Joe Turkel's thick-lensed mogul, Edward James Olmos' craggy visage, William Sanderson’s sweet gullibility,

Daryl Hannah's raccoon-eyed urchin, and M. Emmet Walsh’s oily countenance all function to develop a colorful landscape of characters, remaining true to Dick's wider vision. Ultimately, Scott possesses a complete confidence in his material, and never second-guesses, never concedes a point, never gives in to showcasing some 'flavor of the month,’ and consequently has created a languid, timeless work of art.

-Sean Gill