Only now does it occur to me... MOTHER'S BOYS (1993)

Only now does it occur to me... that MOTHER'S BOYS (1993) deserves its place in the pantheon of scary-campy "diva gone mad" thrillers, a proud tradition stretching at least from 1964's STRAIT-JACKET to 2019's MA.

Picture it: KRAMER VS. KRAMER, THE STEPFATHER, and SLEEPING WITH THE ENEMY, mashed together and directed by John Waters as a Hitchcockian thriller... and starring Jamie Lee Curtis!

It must be noted that Jamie Lee, in a rare villainous turn, is decked out as if her style icons are Angelica Huston and Annette Bening in THE GRIFTERS: cool sunglasses, dyed blonde hair in a "sea anemone" cut, and the most wicked blazers this side of a Joan Crawford movie. I mean, look at how Queen JLC elevates the pedestrian act of grocery shopping:

JLC plays "Jude," a mother of three who abruptly left her husband (Peter Gallagher) and kids for reasons the screenplay judges as "um, I dunno... unknowable crazy-woman motivations maybe involving a traumatic childhood?" She didn't leave a note, at any rate.

In the three years since, Gallagher's "Robert"––a primo soap opera archetype, the stiff-upper-lip architect dad who's trying to repair his broken heart––has moved on and is dating Joanne Whalley (WILLOW, NAVY SEALS). She is styled like Jeanne Tripplehorn in the thrillers of this era and in no way deserves the inspired madness which is deposited on her doorstep.

You see, Jamie Lee Curtis shows up out of nowhere––and she wants her family back, her Gallagher back, and Joanne Whalley... dead!

She is willing to use raw sexual/elaborately violent schemes to get what she wants, and I must say that this movie truly has a Joe Eszterhas-ian (BASIC INSTINCT, SHOWGIRLS) understanding of human sensuality. 

There are so many ludicrous happenings in this movie that Dame Vanessa Redgrave (!)

is pushed down a flight of stairs by a her grandson

 ––we're talkin' two, full-body flips––

and it's only, like, the fifth most insane thing to happen in this movie.

What are some others, you might ask? I couldn't dream of giving them all away, but I will say that Jamie Lee gets a bathtub masturbation scene as campy as anything in THE PAPERBOY or the Angela Lansbury workout video.

A personal favorite is when she buys a bunch of sugary cereals for her estranged family (on that grocery trip where she looked so fabulous) and, before she can gift them to her children, she sees them out enjoying a nice dinner with Joanne Whalley (the horror!). She does what any sensible hag-horror-heroine would do and drives into the sunset, sob-steering while she flings entire bags of groceries onto the highway.

To me, this is as iconic as the bunny boiling in FATAL ATTRACTION, Bette Davis' outbursts in WHATEVER HAPPENED TO BABY JANE, and the car burning in WAITING TO EXHALE.

There's melodrama for days, and Jamie Lee does a tremendous job, really giving it 110%––

"I'M STILL THEIR FUCKING MOMMA!"

––even when the three screenwriters let it be known that they have the combined psychological maturity of an adolescent boy who caught a double feature of THE CRUSH and POISON IVY on late nite TV after his parents went to sleep. This all works in the movie's favor, I believe.

Oh man, there's a scene where Jamie Lee tries to show her son her c-section scar in a (seductive?) attempt to manipulate him into becoming THE BAD SEED/THE GOOD SON, so... MOTHER'S BOYS is not without its groaners, I suppose.

Ooh, and there's a very proto-FIGHT CLUB bit where Jamie Lee gets into a fight with herself in Joanne Whalley's office

to make it look like Joanne is the crazy one who attacked her. Nice!

The grand finale involves a beautifully absurd scenario wherein Joanne is tied up and put on trial by "Mother's Boys"

and Jamie Lee orchestrates a murder plot which involves cutting the brakes on someone's car and sending out the family dog to make them swerve to their doom

and it's all camp, beyond camp, and it brought many a smile to my lips.

There's a glossy "taking this seriously" workmanship to the direction by Yves Simoneau (BLIND TRUST, BURY MY HEART AT WOUNDED KNEE) and a solid supporting cast which includes the aforementioned Vanessa Redgrave as Jamie Lee's mom, John C. McGinley (THE ROCK, SCRUBS, SURVIVING THE GAME, OFFICE SPACE) as a hapless biology teacher

and Joss Ackland (THE APPLE, LETHAL WEAPON 2) as a slimy divorce lawyer.

But, as you would assume, the entire project rides on the commitment and charisma of one Jamie Lee Curtis

Check out those fish earrings, a WANDA reference?

who I've now decided is the hero of this picture and will be awarded full custody. MOTHER'S BOYS, ladies and gentlemen.

Film Review: SURVIVING THE GAME (1994, Ernest R. Dickerson)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: 96 minutes.
Tag-line: "Jack Mason knows he's going to die someday. But today he's not in the mood."
Notable Cast or Crew: Ice-T, Rutger Hauer, Gary Busey, F. Murray Abraham (AMADEUS), John C. McGinley (THE ROCK, SCRUBS), Charles S. Dutton (SE7EN, MENACE II SOCIETY, CAT'S EYE), William McNamara (OPERA, EXTREME JUSTICE, GLAM). Music by Stewart Copeland (Drummer for The Police, DEAD LIKE ME, WALL STREET). Directed by Ernest R. Dickerson (JUICE, the MASTERS OF HORROR episode THE V WORD with Michael Ironside). Written by Eric Bernt (ROMEO MUST DIE, HIGHLANDER: ENDGAME, THE HITCHER remake).
Best one-liner: "I like my meat RARE!" –"Try WELL-DONE, bitch!"

From THE MOST DANGEROUS GAME to HARD TARGET, there has been a majestic, rugged American tradition of making awesome movies about 'dudes hunting dudes.' Well, I'm here to tell you that SURVIVING THE GAME is one of the best- it's unrelenting, unhinged, unabashed, balls-out entertainment.

Rutger Hauer in a doo-rag hunting bandana... CAN YA BEAT THAT?

Former Spike Lee cinematographer and JUICE director Ernest R. Dickerson is at the helm, and the first act is a tale of inner-city desperation starring a heart-string-tugging Ice T (and his gargantuan homeless dreads) set to jazzy, oddly upbeat tunes by Stewart Copeland.

Recruited by the affably intense real-life manslaughterer Charles S. Dutton, Ice T quickly finds himself wrapped up in an illicit ring of blue-blooded, hobo-huntin' madmen.


Said madmen include a troubled, lunatic John C. McGinley (who's losing his shit before the hunt even begins!); a nefariously paternal F. Murray Abraham (I never thought I'd see Salieri head-butting Ice T:

his pansy son William McNamara (Argento's OPERA, GLAM); a fringe-jacketed, knife-slingin' Gary Busey ("Experience the animal within yourself!"); and douchey, goatee'd ringleader Rutger Hauer (he's the kind of guy who's clipping his nails and has got a bird on his shoulder while he's interviewing you).

Rutger Hauer carefully oversaw his character's grooming and coiffure- and made sure that it was accentuated for maximum douchiness.

As such, SURVIVING THE GAME becomes a masters course in acting. Watch the following scene, for example:

I'm blown away. Even Ice-T, who's not exactly a titan among thespians, becomes fully connected to the material when he's surrounded by this veritable phalanx of genius performers. Each moment, word, line, and gesture fascinates. Watch Busey's unwavering stare. Or Hauer's vague sense of morality in the way he expresses the sentiment that we should cherish each moment- it's his roundabout way of telling Ice-T that this meal is his last.

To Hauer's character, this is a kindness. It's the way that he does things- the imparting of a fleeting, final gift; a few of life's finer things before the deluge. Busey is less interested in the 'etiquette' of murder, but he's being honest in his own way, as well- "When you're eating the flesh from the pig... look into his little beady eyes. That way, you will be devouring his soul.”

Now, you don’t have to be a Busey scholar to realize that he made that shit up on the spot, but Busey's character is merely sharing his perspective on the nature of the hunt and each member's place in the world. As far as he is concerned, he was christened 'the predator' on his thirteenth birthday (more on that in a minute) and Ice-T has been christened as 'the prey,' perhaps merely by virtue of his homelessness. Each character has a chance to dip into their subconscious and speak in a kind of veiled candor, or a reptilian honesty, if there is such a thing. It is at once a confession and a deception. The hunt is separate from their life, yet the hunt is their life. Only now does F. Murray Abraham's character reveal his true nature to his son. In sharing this moment with him, they're closer to Ice-T than they are with their wives or children- he's a sacred object- a confessor- just as he is an object of hatred- the hunted. But note that in either implication, he remains an object, an instrument. Something less than human that still manages to flirt with the divine. "Doc, sometimes you even scare me." –"Good." In another movie, this could've been a throwaway scene, quickly hammered out by its makers so that we could get straight to the ACTION, ACTION, ACTION! But instead, it's paced more like a film from an earlier era: character development is not a chore to be hustled along on its way like a necessary evil, it begets suspense. It increases the intensity of the higher stakes which are yet to come. Watch THE WAGES OF FEAR, Kobayashi's HARA-KIRI, any and every film which Hawks made. They're full of scenes like this– intense characters putting out their feelers, discovering the nature of the enemy, determining who exactly they're up against. Fanatical men exuding control, careful to reveal some (but not the full extent) of their hand. Ultimately, if scenes of this nature are executed with honesty, concentration, and a sprinkling of élan, they can be equally as satisfying as the eventual payoffs.

As if it wasn't exceedingly clear already, Busey is out of his mind in this picture. I mean, he always is, but here the muzzle is OFF. Busey later delivers an utterly mind-blowing monologue about the day he killed his boyhood dog with his bare hands and became a man.

I'm astounded. In a different film, this could have won him an Oscar. I’m serious. Busey has tapped into some primitive, subterranean chamber of the soul where few dare to venture, and he has emerged with something both captivating and repulsive, muted and visceral, improvised and premeditated, brutish and calculating - and it's quite possibly the best staging of a monologue I've ever witnessed.

In fact, for a typical actioner, there are a LOT of monologues. And they’re good ones, too. Then things get loco- McGinley ends up infusing his character with pathos:

Ice T gets to make one of those ‘leaps of faith’ like in every survival movie, shreddin’ guitar solos accompany myriad beat-downs, Rutger Hauer gets to show off that Russian priest outfit he stole from the set of WEDLOCK:

and a shot of PHILADELPHIA appears with the subtitle “Seattle.”

Guess they thought no one’d notice? Wow.

Still, based on the caliber of performer and the well-paced, intricately unfolded narrative: five stars and my highest recommendation.

-Sean Gill