Film Review: JAWS 3-D (1983, Joe Alves)

Stars: 2.5 of 5.
Running Time: 99 minutes.
Tag-line: "ALL NEW!  The third dimension is terror.  ALL NEW!"

Notable Cast or Crew: Dennis Quaid (THE RIGHT STUFF, THE BIG EASY, ENEMY MINE), Bess Armstrong (MY SO-CALLED LIFE, HIGH ROAD TO CHINA), Lou Gossett Jr. (AN OFFICER AND A GENTLEMAN, ENEMY MINE, IRON EAGLE), Lea Thompson (BACK TO THE FUTURE, CAROLINE IN THE CITY), John Putch (THE SURE THING, MEN AT WORK), Simon MacCorkindale (THE SWORD AND THE SORCERER, FALCON CREST).  Written by Carl Gottlieb (JAWS, THE JERK) and Richard Matheson (many episodes of THE TWILIGHT ZONE, THE INCREDIBLE SHRINKING MAN), Guerdon Trueblood (THE SAVAGE BEES, TARANTULAS: THE DEADLY CARGO), and Michael Kane (SMOKEY AND THE BANDIT II, SOUTHERN COMFORT).  Music by Alan Parker (WHAT'S EATING GILBERT GRAPE, AMERICAN GOTHIC) with "Shark Theme" by John Williams.

Best One-liner: "You're talkin' about some damn shark's MOTHER?!"

JAWS 3-D does not bode well from the outset.  Our first three-dimensional image, about one minute into the proceedings, is that of a decapitated, rotating, and still-jabbering fish head.  So this is how it's going to be, eh?

It was directed by first-and-last-time director Joe Alves, a former Spielberg production designer (JAWS, CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE THIRD KIND) who rather conspicuously never returned to the Spielberg fold post JAWS 3-D.

Loosely inspired by 1955's REVENGE OF THE CREATURE (whereupon the Creature from the Black Lagoon escapes and wreaks havoc on an aquarium), JAWS 3-D sees a baby Great White Shark wander into a Sea World and die in captivity, drawing the ire of its monstrously-sized mother who proceeds to wreak havoc on Sea World.  Obviously, Roy Scheider is not involved (he later said, "Mephistopheles... couldn't talk me into JAWS 3"), though Dennis Quaid and John Putch play his grown-up sons, the Brody boys.

I sorta think Putch (on the left) should've been Crispin Glover.

Amity (the Massachusetts locale of the first two films) gets a brief shout-out,

and occasionally Alan Parker weaves John Williams' iconic theme into his score,

but for the most part, this is a generic "shark attack" movie with as much to do with the first JAWS as ersatz Italian rip-offs like THE LAST SHARK.  Though ostensibly penned in collaboration by JAWS' original screenwriter Carl Gottlieb (who, it must be said, also wrote DOCTOR DETROIT) and Richard Matheson (mastermind novelist and screenwriter who brought us everything from the finest TWILIGHT ZONE episodes to books like I AM LEGEND, SOMEWHERE IN TIME, and WHAT DREAMS MAY COME), the original draft was supposedly butchered by uncredited script doctors and meddling studio execs.  Though many an author has made this claim after discovering a stinker on their hands, in this instance I'm inclined to believe them.

I also am somewhat puzzled by Sea World's wholehearted involvement, as they allow their park to host monster mayhem and severed limbs and assorted jaws-chompin'.  I suppose the Sea World employees are depicted as heroically selfless, and technically no patrons are eaten, but from my experience, it seems like some corporate lawyer would have tried to shut this down even if management okayed it.  There's plenty of shameless, promotional Sea World kitsch to go around, though:


We'll always have BLACKFISH, though.  (Seriously, you should watch BLACKFISH.)

I went into JAWS 3-D imagining that it would be tawdry, brutal, and nonstop shark-attackery, and on several occasions it lives up to this idea––for instance, when a formation of water skiers are victimized by Jaws, mid-show:





And this.  It can't all be this:
and while portions of the film (like the above) are pretty spectacular, much of it is comparatively lifeless, especially when it turns into a low-rent POSEIDON ADVENTURE mid-way through with a handful of patrons trapped in an underwater tunnel.

Without Shelly Winters and Gene Hackman, this is pretty pointless.  (Or without Rutger Hauer and Steve Guttenberg!)

That about sums it up.  But I don't want to leave you on a down note––on to my seven favorite things about JAWS 3-DEEEEEEE!

#7.  This man's t-shirt:

It says "LET A GARGOYLE SIT ON YOUR FACE."  While this probably refers to Gargoyle™ brand sunglasses (if true, what an ill-considered corporate slogan), I'm going to take it to mean something vaguely and frighteningly sexual, involving the 'ole "satanic sculpture salad-toss." 

#6.  This glorious and film-concluding freeze frame:

The celebratory dolphins have been clumsily matted in, so as to affect a third dimension.  It is plainly ridiculous, and I wholeheartedly approve.

#5.  This New Wave barmaid:

She's appears in more than one scene, but only once does she wear this wonderfully 1983 pink headbandin' ensemble.  If it weren't for the little things like this, the whole affair would feel very 70s.

#4.  Lea Thompson's sexy-crazy-eye.

In this, her feature film debut, she plays a character named "Bukowski" and is intended as a love interest for the younger Brody brother.  She appears in your typical 'bikini babe' scenes and she punctuates her performance with pervasive crazy-eye.  I applaud this acting choice as it lends a oddly dangerous tension to otherwise banal scenes of romance, though longed for a twist ending where there was in fact no shark at all, but Lea Thompson murdering everyone while wearing a shark costume.  This could have been the FRIDAY THE 13TH, PART 5: A NEW BEGINNING of the JAWS series.  Alas.

#3.  The 3-D.  I watched this in 2-D, but it's extremely apparent each time a three-dimensional effect is offered to the viewer.  It is not quite as nutty as FRIDAY THE 13TH PART III, with its flying severed eyeballs and yo-yos in da face, but it has the aforementioned fish heads, floating severed arms:

hypodermic needles squirting yellow liquid in our eye:

The golden shower you didn't know you needed.

and the coup de grâce of, quite literally, JAWS 3-D:

More on this in a moment.


#2.  The sad, long journey of Oscar-winner Lou Gossett, Jr.

Poor Lou Gossett, Jr.  He just wanted to enjoy a nice beverage and bask in the glory of his Academy Award for AN OFFICER AND A GENTLEMAN.  But I can see the future, Lou.  I'm looking into my crystal glass.  I see that you have an outrageous amount of acting ability, and yet I see...  I see four IRON EAGLES.  I see a FIREWALKER.  I see a straight-to-video LEFT BEHIND sequel.  Get out!  Escape JAWS 3-D before it's too late!!  Aieee!!!

The first time we see Lou, he's looking at a pyramid of water skiers through a pair of binoculars.


He lowers them, and we are privy to the following expression:

He knows.  He knows.  And it's too late.

In any event, Gossett is permitted to voice his disdain at one point, and using words from the script:

Don't talk to Lou Gossett about some damn shark's mother. 

You kept your dignity, Lou.  Hold your head high!  (Also, this film begins what should have been one of the great partnerships––Gossett and Quaid––who would wow us in '85 with the often overlooked sci-fi masterpiece, ENEMY MINE.)

#1.  The Sublime and Glorious Death of Jaws 3 (D).

'Nuff said.  Two and a half stars.  This may be controversial, but I say it's slightly better than JAWS 2, though not quite as delightfully nonsensical and trainwreck-worthy as JAWS 4: THE REVENGE.  Obviously, none of these sequels should be uttered within the same breath as their progenitor.

–Sean Gill

Only now does it occur to me... JAWS 2

Only now does it occur to me...  that the beauty of seeing a monster shark suddenly and mercilessly eat a helicopter almost forgives JAWS 2's general inclination for pissing on the original.

Yeah, JAWS 2 is not a good movie.  And while it marks the return of Chief Brody's rockin' hotpants,

the contractually obligated Roy Scheider crabbily sleepwalks his way through a movie that's nearly as soulless as a shark's black, beady eyes.

You look down in he dumps, Roy.  Smile, you sonofabitch!

There are a few things to like, including an early Keith Gordon (CHRISTINE, ALL THAT JAZZ) performance and a nice John Williams score, but on the whole, with its lowered stakes, bland atmosphere, and lack of compelling characters (who we can really sink our teeth into), JAWS 2 begins to resemble a lesser slasher film– a series of aimless attacks on screaming victims– an effect that is amplified by the "disfigured killer," a shark puppet with a burned face doing a proto-Freddy Krueger impersonation.

Anchors aweigh... bitch!

So there you have it. 

2014 HALLOWEEN COUNTDOWN

1.  FROM DUSK TILL DAWN 2: TEXAS BLOOD MONEY (1999, Scott Spiegel)

2.  MARK OF THE VAMPIRE (1935, Tod Browning)

3.  FULL MOON HIGH (1981, Larry Cohen)

4.  EIGHT-LEGGED FREAKS (2002, Ellory Elkayem)

5.  MASTERS OF HORROR: WE ALL SCREAM FOR ICE CREAM (2007, Tom Holland)

6.  STEPHEN KING ON SONS OF ANARCHY (2010, Bill Gierhart)

7.  THE INITIATION (1984, Larry Stewart)
8.  MUTANTS (2008, Amir Valinia)
9. ...

Junta Juleil's Top 100: #85-81

85. INDIANA JONES AND THE LAST CRUSADE (1989, Steven Spielberg)

I really need to do a full-fledged review of this one of these days. Following two installments chock full of visual and choreographic mastery, Spielberg, Jeffrey Boam, and script doctor Tom Stoppard add something which would be inconceivable in a Republic serial: emotional resonance. The relationship between the Joneses (Ford and Connery as Jr. and Sr., that is) is a flawless synthesis of actor and role. This, of course, is steadily peppered with exquisite action sequences and visual gags- as if THE GREAT ESCAPE and THE GENERAL could somehow cohabitate on the same reel. This sort of film could easily fall flat, but under Spielberg's firm, unwavering hand, there's not a single note which rings false. There's so much to love here: the incredibly clever prologue (starring a vibrant River Phoenix) where it seems that every single event which molded Indy's life occurred on one summer's day in 1912, Indy's 20th Century motorcycle-jousting knight (and his father's phlegmatic reaction), the incredible stuntman's leap from galloping horse to hurtling tank, the breathless speedboat pursuit through labyrinthine canals, Connery and Elliott's silly secret handshake, the dour librarian with the world's noisiest stamp (in a touch worthy of Tati), or Connery slapped by a Nazi's leather glove and fiercely growling in retort- "It tellsh me that goose-schtepping morons such as yerschelf schould try RRREADING BOOKCHS inschtead of BAURNING THEM!" All of this is accompanied by John Williams' greatest score; and the payoffs- involving the three challenges and the reveal of the grail- have left an entire generation of adventure films stumbling and teetering in their wake.

84. CHARLEY VARRICK (1973, Don Siegel)

This movie has a finale which involves a '67 Chrysler Imperial versus a biplane. And no, that's not the only reason it cracked the Top 100. As I've said before, CHARLEY VARRICK is one of the best gritty, 70's, take-no-prisoners crime films populated with brutal, pistol-whippin', lady-slappin sons-of-bitchery. This movie isn't just cynical, it's amoral. Cutthroat. A lot of these flicks are like a punch in the guts– CHARLEY's a kick in the teeth! You could call it a series of clichés– it's "every-man-for-himself," "dog-eat-dog-eat-dog," "lookin'-out-for-numero-uno" etc., but Siegel takes it over the top to such a degree that we see (between the setpieces and the tough talk) the crumbling social structure, an America where calculated ruthlessness is a matter of survival, the ice-cold blood flowing through your veins a necessity. Walter Matthau is brilliantly inscrutable as our anti-anti-hero (usually the cop-killer is not the most pleasant character in a film). And Joe Don Baker's sadistic "Molly" is one of the great screen villains. Highest marks.

83. PARIS, TEXAS (1984, Wim Wenders)

A work of tenderness, of mystery, of reassurance. Robby Müller shows us the vastness of the desert landscape; Harry Dean Stanton shows us the vastness of the human soul. The pacing may be slow, but it's the sort of film in which you can lose yourself, just as you would while traveling by foot through a wild expanse. Wenders has always been deliberate; fascinated by nostalgia, sentiment, music; the ways in which we try to find order, meaning, and respite in our lives. Harry Dean Stanton, Dean Stockwell, and Nastassja Kinski deliver moving, realistic portrayals; you get a sense of the spaces they inhabit, and those boundless spaces within their characters' minds. It's a movie through which you can roam, and maybe the epitome of Americana as represented on film (naturally, directed by a German).

82. CRASH (1996, David Cronenberg)

"They bury the dead so quickly; they should leave them lying around for months." I've written before that "the car itself is a conceptual hotbed of primordial fears and visceral desires: the stifling, claustrophobic space; constrictive belts and cold metal clasps; exhilarating accelerations and jolting stops– it's even the site of many a Baby Boomers' first sexual fumblings... and, oh yeah– the ever-present threat of death and shattered glass and crumpled metal and blood and fluid and bodies penetrated, torn, and ripped by the thundering collision of jagged steel and spongy tissue. We are surrounded by machines: they are part of us, and there is no escape. So we adapt, we integrate, we re-form ourselves like the maladjusted flesh sculptors we are. Howard Shore's dark, entrancing score sends metallic echoes and screeching guitar reverberations up from the pit of our deepest fears– it's as relentless and hypnotic as a highway cloverleaf. It taps into some primal fascination we don't quite have the vocabulary for– from watching bacteria mingle under a slide to pornography to, say, KOYAANISQATSI." Many great artists and writers wring truth from tracking the progress of the human mind; Cronenberg forces us to confront the progress of the body. It's ugly yet sterile, like a hideous medical tattoo. The performances are magnificent: the intensity of Elias Koteas, the smarm of James Spader, the commitment of Holly Hunter, or the gleefully misshapen Rosanna Arquette. And rarely is such a disturbing film so goddamned hilarious. Enjoy that car ride home, kiddies!

81. TOTAL RECALL (1990, Paul Verhoeven)

"If I am not me, den who da hell am I?" Now that is a fine question, sir, and perhaps the most eloquent philosophical inquiry posed to humanity since the days of Voltaire; maybe even since Montaigne. But maybe, just maybe, TOTAL RECALL is the future of human thought. Post-thought. "I've got to hand it to you, Cohagen – that's the best mindfuck yet." See what I mean? Short-attention-span philosophy with a satisfying payoff: the mindfuck. We don't have to fritter away hours flipping through the vellum of dusty tomes: that time is over. It had it's couple centuries in the sun, but now it can go the way of the Dodo. How 'bout instead– er, what was I talking about? I got over here some salacious photographs and a bunch of puns about Weiners. Er, wait– this is loosely based on a story by Philip K. Dick! How 'bout some Dick puns? How 'bout that instead?
This is what Paul Verhoeven means when he says he makes the movies that America deserves. TOTAL RECALL is completely fucken ridiculous, and meant to be enjoyed on many levels– as a latter-day Hitchcock sci-fi suspense thriller, as a quasi-Philip K. Dickian paranoid tract, as a joke on what passes for entertainment these silly days. I mean, he introduces a character, Benny, over and over and over again, just in case we've forgotten, in case we've been distracted by all the Martian mutants and gunplay and midget hookers. "Hey, it's Benny, remember me? Remember me?! IT'S BENNY!" Ah, a goddamned fun time if ever there was one. Also: Michael Ironside, in one of his finest, most startling performances; insane eye-bulging and rubbery Arnie faces; a sweeping Jerry Goldsmith score; and some of the most incredible special effects ever committed to celluloid. And, of course, I wrote this short story about what really happened behind the scenes. Pass the Labatt Maximum Ice!

Coming up next... Harvey Keitel gets naked– TWICE!

Previously on the countdown:
#90-86
#95-91
#100-96
Runners-up Part 1
Runners-up Part 2

Film Review: THE KILLERS (1964, Don Siegel)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: 93 minutes.
Tag-line: " There is more than one way to kill a man!"
Notable Cast or Crew: Lee Marvin, Clu Gulager, John Cassavetes, Angie Dickinson, Claude Akins, Norman Fell, Ronald Reagan, Seymour Cassel, Robert Phillips.
Best one-liner: "Lady, I haven't got the time."

Loosely- very loosely- based on the Ernest Hemingway short story of the same name, Don Siegel's THE KILLERS was the third filmic adaptation of the work (following in the footsteps of Robert Siodmak and Andrei Tarkovsky), and was intended to be the very first made-for-television movie. Due in part to wanton violence directed toward women, the blind, and the defenseless, THE KILLERS instead made its debut theatrically. Much lambasted by critics- at least in comparison to Siodmak's '46 version- I'm here to give you 16 reasons why THE KILLERS is one of my all-time favorite movies, and is the only one that I can think of where the father of American independent film punches out Ronald Reagan over the honor of the star of BIG BAD MAMA. So without further ado–

#1. Clu Gulager. Well, actually, a lot of these will be Clu Gulager-related, but I just wanted to get the main thrust out of the way. This is the movie that turned me into a bona fide Gulager fanatic.

After I first saw it, I ran screaming into the streets, singing the praises of Mr. Gulager to nearly anyone who would listen. I researched his career. I saw the mainstream stuff like RETURN OF THE LIVING DEAD, THE LAST PICTURE SHOW, THE HIDDEN, MCQ, and THE GAMBLER. I hunted down movies of his that exist only on VHS, from WONDERLAND COVE to HUNTER'S BLOOD to AMBUSH AT WACO: IN THE LINE OF DUTY. I checked out thirty or so of his guest appearances on television from AIRWOLF to MAGNUM, P.I. to IRONSIDE to KNIGHT RIDER to HAVE GUN, WILL TRAVEL to MURDER, SHE WROTE, where he played three different characters in three different episodes. I saw the Lázló Kovács-lensed short film that Clu directed which played at Cannes (A DAY WITH THE BOYS- presently available on the Criterion DVD of GEORGE WASHINGTON). I've awaited, with bated-breath, the decades-in-the-making Gulager family project FUCKING TULSA- AN EXCURSION INTO CRUELTY. In fact, all of you should read this piece about the Gulager clan (Clu, his wife Miram Byrd-Nethery (R.I.P.), his sons Tom and John, and daughter-in-law Diane Ayala) which first appeared in L.A. Weekly in 1997.

Anyway- back to the film at hand. As Lee, one of the eponymous 'Killers,' Clu cements his reputation as one of the premier character actors, his smarmy vicious calm etching him forever on the map of badasses in cinema. He's brutal, he's hilarious, and he's improvising up a storm. One could even say he's notable for being the only actor to hold his own aside Lee Marvin besides Gene Hackman in PRIME CUT, Mifune in HELL IN THE PACIFIC, and maybe that rocket launcher in DELTA FORCE. And so much of Gulager's business is happening in the background, drawing your attention in a should-have-been-star-making way, á la Steve McQueen's shenanigans in THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN.


Clu performs a blindness aptitude test on a visually impaired woman.


Clu swabs his dirty sunglasses with sweat from Norman Fell's dampened head.



Clu takes a swig of Claude Akins' third-rate hooch, then, in a dick move, looks for a place on the floor to spit it out. (In real life Clu was a teetotaler.)

More on Clu in a bit.

#2. Lee Marvin. A.K.A. The Terrifying Intimate Verbal Sadism of Lee Marvin.

Lee really knows how to get in your personal space. Not many actors do. In the contemporary era, Rutger Hauer and Jimmy Smits come to mind, and perhaps a few others, but I think this is a filmmaking technique/acting skill which has sadly gone by the wayside. He's not your garden-variety sadist. Somehow, Lee Marvin taps into that primal element– that basic human relationship between child and adult– and translates it in a manner which cements his status as an adult in a world that is somehow now solely populated by mere children. Take heed: perhaps if you do as he says, he will not dismantle your body with his bare hands.

LEE MARVIN MIGHT LICK YOUR EAR

Which kind of leads us to–

#3. The Shit-Eating Grins of Lee Marvin.

He is one of the few purveyors of shit-eating grins that doesn't draw one's ire. Generally, a shit-eating grin elicits contempt from an audience. Lee's shit-eating grins elicit a certain degree of respect and a great deal of fright. And speaking of grins–

#4. The way that ex-NFL player Bob Phillips clenches his teeth whenever he's doing something violent.


Is it intentional? Your guess is as good as mine. "Oh, he's doing it as he commits crimes so that his victims will not recognize him," you say. Well, no- because in the first photograph, he's in private- in the company of thieves, if you will. But it doesn't really matter. Suffice it to say- I like it.

#5. The bored, perpetually droning racetrack announcer. He just goes on and on. I guess it's background chatter for the whole scene and was probably designed as the 'glue' which holds together disconnected shots of stock footage, but it's so dull, ambling, and emotionless that it becomes... comedy gold.

Yes, we've got some great cars out here today. Some great cars. Great cars.

#6. The most simplistic heist map in film history. 'We'll go over it again– and again!" snarls Reagan, but when we finally see the map, it's this beaut:

As a side note on the heist– it involves setting up a detour for an armored truck, hiding the detour after it takes the isolated country road, passing the truck on said road, and meeting up with a faked car wreck further on down which makes the armored truck stop so that it can be easily robbed. A key plot element involves racer Johnny North (John Cassavetes) recruited as the driver, because only he can drive fast enough to pass the truck on the bumpy path . But I ask– why does it have to pass the truck? Isn't the staged wreck on the secluded route enough? Nevermind– this is getting too complicated. Let's go over it again. May I refer you to the map above?

#7. Rear-projection Go-Kart Madness! This one kinda speaks for itself.



#8. The hilarious dynamic between Gulager and Marvin. Their colorless banter– "I always liked Miami." –"Yeah, it's a nice place." The fact that Gulager is a hand-gripper-squeezin', push-up doin', carrot-juice swiggin', milk-quaffin' health nut and that Marvin is a heavy boozin', darkly broodin', shirt starchin' hardass. They don't have a whole lot going on in their lives. Being a hit man's not exactly for enterprising, visionary-types. But you believe that Gulager enjoys his work and that Marvin is tired. And that's all you need to believe.


#9. Claude Akins, who proves himself yet again to be one hell of an actor, finishes his sob story. Real fuckin' tears stream down his grimy, disconsolate grease-monkey's face.


And the camera tracks out to reveal:

Gulager and Marvin: bored as shit.

#10. The fusion of artsy, 60's cinematography and a world of stock, prefabricated sets. It's an odd juxtaposition, and for the most part, the film looks like ubiquitous 60's American studio TV work. But every once in a while, DP Richard L. Rawlings (DYNASTY, CHARLIE'S ANGELS) pulls out something worthy of Antonioni. Did Siegel set up these shots himself?


#11. A bit, wordless role by John Cassavetes crony Seymour Cassel (possibly best known now for his work with Wes Anderson).


#12. During the 'ole steam room torture' scene, Clu concludes things by stating the classic, groan-inducing one-liner, "Then there's no sweat, Mickey."


#13. The way Lee Marvin says "YOU WAIT!" Just wait for it, and you'll see what I mean.

#14. Ronald Reagan Eyebrow Action. The man is throwing around more eyebrows than Nicholson and Slater combined. It's all he does. Each eyebrow toss is worth a thousand words. Every single one of them is gold.





These freeze frames likely represent about 5% of the actual eyebrow action that Reagan delivers. He even raises some brow carpet at Gulager, as he pretends to crash cars on Reagan's scale model of a real estate development.


He should've been a school principal.

#15. The big punch out scene which I referenced earlier. It's probably the most premeditated slap I've ever seen. Angie Dickinson is going on about how she'd prefer to stick around near Cassavetes. "I like it here," she says. Reagan arches an eyebrow, exchanges a look with his buddies and announces, "Well, I can change that in a hurry!" He stands, winds up, and delivers a slap so hearty that I hit 'instant replay' at least half a dozen times.


But it's not over– Cassavetes gets into the fray, stage-punching Reagan, who, in the few moments prior to getting ghost-hit contorts his face into something resembling a background character from L'IL ABNER or at the very least, DICK TRACY. They don't make 'em like they used to.



#16. According to Clu Gulager, Lee Marvin was completely and utterly shitfaced when he filmed his final scenes. Of course, he still nailed his performance, and, if you believe Clu, which I always do, it's one of the greatest scenes in film history. And it never fails to evoke applause.

Amen.

-Sean Gill