Only now does it occur to me... GLORY YEARS (1987)

Only now does it occur to me... that GLORY YEARS is an exercise in abject mediocrity. An HBO "five-part comedy-adventure series" following the Las Vegas-centric antics of three extremely mediocre dudes––played by George Dzundza (THE DEER HUNTER, BASIC INSTINCT), Archie Hahn (PHANTOM OF THE PARADISE, GREMLINS 2), and Full Moon's own Tim Thomerson (TRANCERS, DOLLMAN)––

who gamble away the alumni fund from their twenty-year high school reunion and thereby launch a full two and a half hours' worth of half-baked Vegas shenanigans in the proto-HANGOVER vein. It's stale, it's lame, and it's peppered with weird, washed-up 80s cameos, like Mamie Van Doren as a madam

and Engelbert Humperdinck, Al Bernstein, and Joyce Brothers as themselves:

It's what the people want

When I made a heartfelt plea for Tim Thomerson to have larger, non-Charles Band-related roles in my review of NEAR DARK a decade (!) ago, I didn't mean this.

He does his best

However, the only reason we're here today is the "Of Whitesnakes and Witchboards... a Tawny Kitaen Retrospective."

And I've got the rootin-tootin zebra print to prove it!

As Thomerson's girlfriend, "Melinda,"

Kitaen is on screen for about 1/3 of the film, sometimes chiding Thomerson for being a sleaze, sometimes enacting wacky con-woman/gambler antics, sometimes just going around in statement bows, as is her wont.

At the very least, GLORY YEARS continues to establish two major trends in the Tawny canon. One is statement bows (see also: WITCHBOARD and CRYSTAL HEART). The other is getting married to a dopey dick at the climax (see also: BACHELOR PARTY).

Though, as you can see here, Tawny has combined her interest in weddings with her interest in statement bows. It's truly one of the Tawniest tableaux imaginable.

Generally speaking, her character is underused. She does get to sink her teeth into some comedy bits and a few dramatic scenes, however, so I'm sorry to report that a film this mediocre contains the role which might actually afford her the most performative range since she was possessed by a Depression-era axe murderer in WITCHBOARD. At the very least, GLORY YEARS demonstrates that Tawny deserved to play a supporting role in one of the sprawling Robert Altman Americana-mosaics, like SHORT CUTS or H.E.A.L.T.H. or A WEDDING; I just get the sense that she would have been a perfect fit for such an endeavor.

There are a shocking amount of Beatles tracks and classic Oldies tunes on the soundtrack which demonstrate that it was made during the sweet spot for music licensing, apparently. (Or else HBO dumped way too much money into this mess.) We also get a young Chazz Palminteri (THE USUAL SUSPECTS, A BRONX TALE) as a mafia hitman:

And the inimitable "Tiny" Lister (EXTREME PREJUDICE, NO HOLDS BARRED) as a hired goon who gets to make some delightfully over-the-top acting choices.

In the end, I would warn you to skip GLORY YEARS, but it would be difficult enough to stumble upon it in the course of a normal existence that I don't think it even requires such a warning. Can we let the Tawny retrospective end on such a note of mediocrity? I think not: stay tuned.

Only now does it occur to me... SPECIES II

Only now does it occur to me...  that SPECIES II is not as bad as its reputation would suggest; it's not even as bad as it should be.  Take, for instance, this incredibly heartwarming scene between James Cromwell (L.A. CONFIDENTIAL, THE GREEN MILE, BABE) and Justin Lazard (FRESHMAN DORM).

Also of note:  It's directed by Peter Medak (THE CHANGELING, THE RULING CLASS), but you can't really tell.  And Michael Madsen makes a surprising return, but doesn't merely 'phone in' his performance...

in fact, he doesn't even mail it in– more accurately, he stuffs it into a bottle and flings it at the ocean in the 'general direction' of SPECIES II.  Which is fine, I guess.

On the whole, it's more of the same but with less coherence and no Ben Kingsley:  laughable CGI, H.R. Giger-tentacle-skeleton-erotica, and made-for-Skinemax-level sci-fi horror.  Hooray!

Junta Juleil's Top 100: #55-51

55. WHITE HUNTER, BLACK HEART (1990, Clint Eastwood)

Overshadowed by the subsequent acclaim of UNFORGIVEN, WHITE HUNTER, BLACK HEART remains somewhat forgotten, but the film, for me, is cleary Clint's masterpiece. And it's as much "about" Clint (and his iconic tough guy status) as it is about John Huston. Clint is the Huston stand-in here (as "Wilson"), and the film loosely chronicles the making of THE AFRICAN QUEEN, when Huston collaborated with writer Pete Viertel (here, "Verril"), who also wrote WHITE HUNTER, BLACK HEART. It tackles some of the most difficult questions which all filmmakers, writers, and artists have, at one time or another, been forced to confront: How does one come to terms with the desire to live out one's own stories? How does one reconcile the multiple, fractured personae that grow out of this eternal, internal debate of thought vs. action? A lot of the greatest American filmmakers of the era (Huston, Fuller, Peckinpah, etc.) seemed to be chasing (and sometimes successfully, for what it's worth) that elusive macho persona. For 'Wilson,' however, the mouthing-off, the barfights, the drinking, the womanizing- it's never enough. He seeks adventures and experiences that raise the stakes exponentially, until it's putting lives at risk and coming face to tusk with the most powerful, unpredictable creatures on the planet. He becomes something of a pure force of Id, with 'Verril' (played exceptionally by Jeff Fahey) acting as his Ego, his conscience, and the only voice of reason amid the chaos. The film's not entirely a somber rumination, however- it has visceral action, witty exchanges, and thrilling visuals. It's highly enjoyable. But when it all comes down to it, the film's impact is something akin to long night of excess and libation- the exhilaration of endless possibility and unlimited hubris is taken down a notch by the punch in the guts of the morning after. Something lost, something gained.

54. DEEP RED (1975, Dario Argento)

I previously gave four reasons why DEEP RED is an enduring masterpiece, not just as a giallo, but as something that can stand shoulder to shoulder with the other magnum opuses that emerged from the cinema of the 70's. Here they are:
#1. The visuals. DEEP RED pops and astounds in a manner that puts other filmmakers to shame. Whether it be incredible camerawork that was only possible because they were shooting non-synch sound, magnificent closeups with precise tracking, or exquisite architecture framing the scenes, Argento hits every shot out of the ballpark. And even though it lacks the sustained lighting of SUSPIRIA, I still might name this as Argento's most beautiful film. Every lesson he learned from Bava is on display here, and it is visually breathtaking.
#2. GOBLIN. In their first collaboration with Dario, Goblin shines, crashing onto the scene as a combination of ELP, J.S. Bach, and 70's hardcore bass lines. They would later evolve into Italo Disco of similar weight, but here they are perfect. I think anyone would be ecstatic to have this stuff be their theme music.
#3. The banter. Daria Nicolodi and David Hemmings cultivate a genuinely amusing relationship, with arm-wrestling and awkward Italo-British tension. The fact that it's done with Hawksian zest reminds the viewer that all too often, banter is utter crap or detrimental to a story.
#4. The ornately crafted mystery. Argento keeps a flawless balance between the heroes, background characters, and the audience, with each knowing more and less than the others at any given time. Layers of mystery are peeled away visually (writing on a steam-covered mirror, a walled-in room, a buried mural) so that YOU discover the answers firsthand, along with the characters. And the icing on the cake is the fact that a crucial clue divulging the killer's identity is hidden in plain view at the start of the picture, and not unveiled at the end as a deus ex machina letdown. It holds you in its grasp until the final, absurdly abrupt moment... "You have been watching...DEEP RED."

53. THE PIANO TEACHER (2001, Michael Haneke)

Hoo boy, we're gettin' into the rough stuff. A near-minimalist masterwork on the whacky things we want and the whacky things we only think we want. I shouldn't give too much away here, but it's the tale of an extremely, uh, committed masochist-pianist who's about to take things to a new and jaw-dropping level with her latest student. Oh, and she lives with her mom. Anyway, I suppose what I'm saying is that this ain't the movie you bring back over Christmas break to watch with the folks.
Isabelle Huppert, who's kind of the female Harvey Keitel when it comes to sheer, cuckoo devotion to the art of acting, delivers her finest, most subtle performance. (And, while obviously the Oscars are an exercise in senselessness which generally serve to only hasten the sweet union between head and wall, I have to point out that Renée Zellweger was nominated- for BRIDGET JONES' DIARY, no less- over Huppert that year, which infuriates me to such a degree that I may at any moment explode.)
Anyway, the less said, the better, but Michael Haneke's quotidian "horror" films (i.e., FUNNY GAMES, CACHÉ, BENNY'S VIDEO, et al.) are some of the best stuff around, and I highly recommend familiarizing yourself with his output if you haven't already.

52. THE BEGUILED (1971, Don Siegel)

It's difficult to single out one film from Don Siegel's exceptional oeuvre (DIRTY HARRY, THE SHOOTIST, CHARLEY VARRICK) and call it his 'masterwork,' but my gut reaction after viewing THE BEGUILED is to do just that. It's an atypical work, not merely for Action/Western icons Eastwood and Siegel, but for studio-financed American cinema as a whole. It's the sort of film that sticks with you for hours, days, and weeks… Based on a novel by Thomas Cullinan, it invokes the spirit and temperaments of Poe, Bierce, Hawthorne, and Capote, and the resulting film possesses a sort of 'Southern Gothic psychedelic existentialism.' It almost has the feel of SPIDER BABY combined with THE GOOD, THE BAD, & THE UGLY. As the Civil War rages, a small Confederate girls' school carries on with business (nearly) as usual, learning French and proper napkin etiquette even as cannons blast and patrols pass by. Their existence is interrupted by a wounded Union soldier, McB (Clint Eastwood), who isn't quite the saint that he pretends to be...of course, neither are they.
Stifling, hypnotic, even baroque, the film is presented from an omniscient perspective: different characters' thoughts, memories, and hypocrisies bleed into one another, like wreckage upon wreckage. You can blame it on the war or you can blame it on human nature, but no one- not even the sweetest, most innocent of little girls- emerges from this thing unscathed.Clint gets a chance to really ACT this time: it's not chewing on a cigarillo, gunning down dudes, or growling one-liners; the legendary Geraldine Page maintains a calm exterior which brilliantly belies her inner tumult; and Lalo Schifrin delivers his most mature, complex score (full of deep, echoey flutes, mournful oboes, and intricate harpiscords), and it perfectly complements the mood of the film. An eloquent meditation on survival, human folly, psychosexual longing, and race (and bookended by Clint singing, a cappella), THE BEGUILED is truly a masterpiece.

51. LE CERCLE ROUGE (1970, Jean-Pierre Melville)

Jean-Pierre Melville– he's sort of the gold standard for cinematic "cool," and he imbues his films (they're mostly somber gangster flicks) with an elegant detachment which has reverberated across the decades and influenced almost every crime film made in its wake. As far as Melville goes, LE CERCLE ROUGE is one of his absolute best. Beginning with an ersatz Buddha quote and ending in a maelstrom of, uh, melancholy, the red circle brings together a suave, mustachioed Alain Delon; a wild-eyed, badass Gian Maria Volonté (of Sergio Leone fame); and a dapper but glum alcholic Yves Montand, who suffers incredible, creepy-crawly marionette hallucinations during unfortunate bouts with the D.T.'s. Yes, this unlikely trio is brought together for a tremendous heist sequence which rivals the classic in Jules Dassin's RIFIFI, and they are investigated by cat-loving sad sack cop André Bourvil who pursues them across a cool blue, olive drab landscape occasionally punctuated by sharp bursts of red. It's got the bonds of Hawksian friendship tempered by French existential foreboding– and it has shaped the worldviews of filmmakers from John Woo to Quentin Tarantino. One of the greats.

Coming up next... an ape funeral, a silent classic, and a shitload of dynamite!

Previously on the countdown:
#60-56
#65-61
#70-66
#75-71
#80-76
#85-81
#90-86
#95-91
#100-96
Runners-up Part 1
Runners-up Part 2

Television Review: SALEM'S LOT (1979, Tobe Hooper)

Stars: 3.4 of 5.
Running Time: 183 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: David Soul (Hutch on STARSKY & HUTCH), James Mason (NORTH BY NORTHWEST, BIGGER THAN LIFE, THUNDERBIRD Commercials), Lance Kerwin (OUTBREAK, ENEMY MINE), Bonnie Bedelia (DIE HARD, THE BOY WHO COULD FLY), Elisha Cook, Jr. (THE MALTESE FALCON, ROSEMARY'S BABY, THE KILLING), George Dzundza (THE DEER HUNTER, BASIC INSTINCT), Geoffrey Lewis (BRONCO BILLY, MAVERICK), Kenneth McMillan (DUNE, RUNAWAY TRAIN, CAT'S EYE), Fred Willard (BEST IN SHOW, D.C. FOLLIES), and a very special appearance by Reggie Nalder (THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH, THE BIRD WITH THE CRYSTAL PLUMAGE, THE MANCHURIAN CANDIDATE). Co-produced by Sterling Silliphant (THE POSEIDON ADVENTURE, OVER THE TOP, TELEFON). Music by Harry Sukman (Sam Fuller's FORTY GUNS, John Carpenter's SOMEONE'S WATCHING ME!). Based on the novel by Stephen King.
Tag-line: "The ultimate in terror!"
Best one-liner: "You'll enjoy Mr. Barlow. And he'll enjoy you."

The mixture of Stephen King and prime time TV has often been a volatile, unstable compound, burdened by sloppy storytelling, questionable acting, and low production value (IT, THE SHINING '97, THE STAND). Thankfully, SALEM'S LOT is one of the better adaptations, and while it never quite achieves the height of pulpy excitement or depth of existential dread from the novel, it's still a fine entry into the pantheon of well-made 70's TV horror movies. That being said, if King's concept intrigues you, read the novel first– many shocking elements lose their impact upon 'TV-safe' translation, and the piss is taken out of several key and supporting characters (particularly in the case of 'Father Callahan,' a character so close to King's heart that he revisited his story in the DARK TOWER series).

Father Callahan, sans piss.


SALEM'S LOT dares to ask the fateful question: "Are all small towns evil?" and answers it with a resounding... YES! Even before the onset of vampirism, the little hamlet is a hotbed of hatred, perversity, abuse, and that particularly human shortcoming of 'choosing to look the other way.' But then, two visitors: the first is the mysterious Mr. Straker (James Mason)- an antique dealer whose partner Mr. Barlow has yet to make an appearance, though strange, coffin-sized shipments have recently come in to town. The second is Ben Mears (David Soul),

a native son turned successful, metropolitan author who returns home to write a novel about a primordial evil he sensed in the town as a child. And then the peculiar happenings begin...

Tobe Hooper, having wowed viewers and churned their stomachs with THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE and EATEN ALIVE, secured the directorial reins, though at different points of development, George A. Romero and Larry Cohen were attached (and Cohen later directed a late 80's sequel!). Though the 'bigger budget/TV movie' feel seems like it could subvert Hooper's gritty, no-budget, cannibalistic terrors, he's still able to maintain his aesthetic and weave a few genuinely creepy moments throughout. One of his centerpieces is the "Marsten House," the vampire HQ and home to some sort of ancient, evil presence, the exact nature of which remains enigmatic even in the novel. In the movie, it was a $100,000 façade constructed over an existing house, and the result is effective, with shades of PSYCHO.

The interior is spot-on as well, with nice Hooper touches like taxidermy installations, walls of damp and dessicated wood, and a floor covered in- I don't know... rodent bones?

Some have said that Hooper was distancing himself from THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE by making this film, but, at least while we're in the Marsten house, at any moment I half-expect Leatherface to burst through one of the walls with his chainsaw, voice raised to the heavens in that unnerving, childish squeal!

Also, the infamous "window" scene, whose content or context I shall not reveal here, lives up quite wonderfully to its reputation of scarring teevee-watching kiddies for life!

–and it does it all with a fog machine and some wires: a far cry from today's overproduced, CGI-drenched terror tales.

There are some really nice character actor roles in here, too–
We've got noir legend Elisha Cook, Jr. as a hobo wine-swigging (wait, did he buy that from James Mason?), wide-eyed vagrant, who, in a piece of gag-casting, has an old flame played by Marie Windsor, his evil harpy wife from THE KILLING!,

Elisha Cook + Thunderbird ≥ Elisha Cook + Humphrey Bogart.

George Dzundza makes a psychotic appearance as a shotgun-toting, beer-swilling, cuckolded hubby who exudes Menace with a capital 'M,'

Eastwood fave Geoffrey Lewis plays a severe, deadpan grave digger who undergoes some...unnerving (and particularly well-acted) transformations throughout,

an extremely young Bonnie Bedelia brings more to the table than expected as the Female Romantic Lead,

a fast-talkin' Fred Willard plays a delightfully skeezy real estate-man (any connection with Renfield ends there) who wears some rockin' 70's plaid suits (and he's not just "zany Willard" here, either, he delivers a powerful performance in a scene with Dzundza where he plays to the barrel of a gun),


and finally, as the piéce de résistance, Reggie Nadler (the assassin from THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH '56) is reimagined as Nosferatu for his role as the demonic Mr. Barlow. He doesn't get a lot of screen time, but, as you can see, he certainly makes up for it in makeup and intensity.

(It must also be noted that this depiction of Barlow is completely different than in the novel, but frankly, I don't care.)

Alright, I guess that's it. I don't think I forgot anyone–

HMMMMMM?

Oh, sweet God- James Mason!

Hmmph...

Don't look at me with those judgmental eyebrows- it's too much to bear!

I'm not gonna lie. James Mason is my favorite part about this movie. Nobody does "SMUG CONDESCENSION" like James Mason. He floats in and out of the film, bending the citizenry to his will, killing children, and selling antiques at exorbitant prices.

You believe wholeheartedly that he views Salem's Lot simply as a village of trifling insects to be exploited for his nefarious purposes. And it's James Mason. I mean, if you're not kind of rooting for him, then maybe you shouldn't be watching this movie anyway.

JAMES MASON WILL SHUT YOU DOWN

Nothing holds a candle to the scene where he manhandles the Neanderthal police chief while being questioned about a murder that he did in fact commit. The police have confiscated one of his suits because it resembles a piece of fabric that was left behind at the murder scene. Smug condescension carries the day as Mason demands that the police not only return his suit in a timely fashion, but that they have it professionally cleaned before they do so. Then the following exchange takes place:

JAMES MASON: Ciao, Constable.
POLICE CHIEF: Chow?
JAMES MASON: Ciao. It's a familiar Italian expression meaning goodbye.
POLICE CHIEF: I didn't know you were Italian.
JAMES MASON: I'm not. The word is.

Then he winks, not once– not twice– but three times, in a coup de grâce of Herculean snobbery.


Bravo, Mr. Mason. Your senseless, bloodthirsty war on small town America will be long remembered- you've given patronizing elitists everywhere something to strive for, and truly you've won SALEM'S LOT: THE MINI-SERIES a special place in my heart. Keep on winkin'!

About three and a half stars.

-Sean Gill