Only now does it occur to me... HOLLYWOOD HOMICIDE (2003)

Only now does it occur to me... that it's hard to imagine a more awkward turn-of-the-century buddy cop movie than HOLLYWOOD HOMICIDE. Written and directed by Ron Shelton––a minor master of the modern sports pic (BULL DURHAM, COBB, TIN CUP, WHITE MEN CAN'T JUMP) and someone who, one year previous, managed to make an actually decent LAPD movie (DARK BLUE)––HOLLYWOOD HOMICIDE serves up a true smörgåsbord of clumsy plotting, wooden gags, character actors trying their hardest, and stars who clearly hate each other. It's also the only buddy cop movie I can think of that spends at least 1/3 of its run-time making in-jokes about property values and the L.A. realty scene.

I could begin with Lou Diamond Phillips' baffling appearance as an undercover cop/trans prostitute:


a role that nevertheless ends with the audience muttering, "Well, in the eyes of history, it's still possible that LDP actually conducted himself less shamefully than Harrison Ford."

Which leads us to HOLLYWOOD HOMICIDE's centerpiece: "Doesn't-Give-A-Shit Harrison Ford." And before you tell me that this is simply Harrison Ford's default state, might I remind you that this wasn't always true.

I suppose the reality is a little more nuanced than that. Perhaps this is better described as "Miserable Harrison Ford." And even though I am a Harrison Ford fan who grew up on Han Solo and Indiana Jones, there is something essentially and magnificently funny about seeing Ford undergo trials of pure agony for a paycheck he doesn't even need. However, I think we can all agree that this can't really be the backbone of a successful motion picture.

Take, for instance, this scene of L.A. cop Harrison Ford coming home after a long day of busting bad guys to drink some Scotch. It's basically a retread of his domestic scenes in BLADE RUNNER. And yet. The script calls for Ford to unwind with a weird little solo dance of relaxation. Obviously, Harrison Ford hates this.





Hates it with every fiber of his being. He's clearly restraining himself from murdering everyone on set. But Harrison: why aren't you back home then, in Wyoming? Shut away from this world of troublesome people and public places, hermetically sealed, just the way you like it, ya lovable misanthrope? Maybe he's just a masochist.

...As depicted in these sex scenes with THE UNBEARABLE LIGHTNESS OF BEING's Lena Olin.


"Bad cop, no doughnut?" HE HATES THIS.


Time for the blindfolds. Of course this is a set up for an excruciating, doughnut-devouring sexual climax:

HE IS SO UPSET RIGHT NOW. It's probably a violation of the Geneva Convention to put Harrison Ford through this much mental anguish. I'm trying to imagine Harrison Ford hosting SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE. Seems like he should've at this point, right? But he never did. I think that's because the strain of being zany in skits he wouldn't understand might just kill him. They probably should have saved Natalie Portman's "she lost the will to live" dumb STAR WARS death for Han Solo. Harrison Ford definitely could have pulled that off.

And we haven't even come to the matter of Ford's co-star, the yoga-teaching rookie cop Josh Hartnett.

Apparently they couldn't stand each other whatsoever, with Ford constantly calling Hartnett "punk" and Hartnett calling Ford an "old fart." They should have at least tried to put some of that antagonism in the movie! Instead poor Keith David is over here holding the bag, trying to act while they avoid eye contact.

 

Some of us are professionals

And whatever happened to Josh Hartnett? He was hot shit for a minute there. If you're not considering "Harrison Ford Revenge Plot" then you haven't been paying attention.

Hey, look, it's Bruce Greenwood!

It actively makes me sad to see him trying so hard. Hang it up, Bruce. Save that good shit for Atom Egoyan.

Also trying, Lolita Davidovich (RAISING CAIN, COBB, GODS AND MONSTERS)

who does pretty well for herself despite being saddled with a $20 wig. Oh, okay, maybe it's a $35 wig.

C'mon, Martin Landau? He was old. You producers made him get out of bed to be in a movie this bad? Shame on you.

I don't even have time to show you all the celebrity cameos, from Gladys Knight to Eric Idle to Andre 3000 to Robert Wagner. THE PLAYER, this ain't. Anyway. You were probably a lot happier before you learned about HOLLYWOOD HOMICIDE, weren't you?

Only now does it occur to me... THE QUICK AND THE DEAD

Only now does it occur to me... that the first time Sharon Stone produced a vanity project (this was her first-ever producer credit) she chose a Western mash-up of UNFORGIVEN and BLOODSPORT.

Written by Simon West (best known to readers of this site for his twisted fairy tale adventure THE 10TH KINGDOM) and script-doctored by Joss Whedon, THE QUICK AND THE DEAD is revenge tale told from beneath the shadow of ONCE UPON A TIME WITH WEST, but with the trappings of UNFORGIVEN.

[Gene Hackman essentially plays "Little Bill" once more, although this time he shamelessly phones in his performance.

Also, a criminally under-used Lance Henriksen is our stand-in for Richard Harris' "English Bob," but more on that in a minute.]

The aforementioned revenge is sought during a gunfighting contest, which is set up, tournament-style and with plenty of montages, almost exactly like the Kumite in BLOODSPORT.  Though directed with stylistic panache by Sam Raimi (a Raimi Western?!––hey, at least it's got "dead" in the title), it's never quite as good as it ought to be, and for a movie lined wall-to-wall with Leone-style duel scenes, it's rarely exciting.  A "too much of a good thing" scenario of there ever was one. 


A few small observations:

#1. Mopey Sharon Stone.  I don't know why, but when actors produce their own vanity projects, they usually make sure that they get to do plenty o' mopin'.  They want as much screen-time as possible to knead their brows and get that sad, faraway look in their eyes.



This is a Revenge-Gunfighting-Kumite movie for godssake, and Sharon Stone is over here patronizing the audience and jonesin' for an Oscar.  They should've just had Charlize Theron do it.


#2.  Big stars for cheap!  There's a pre-TITANIC and ROMEO + JULIET Leo DiCaprio:

and a pre-L.A. CONFIDENTIAL and GLADIATOR Russell Crowe:

They're fine.


#3.  Alan Silvestri totally plagiarizes his own soundtrack for PREDATOR throughout this movie.  It's a good soundtrack, but I kept waiting for the Predator to show up and enter the tournament.  Now that would've been something.


#4.  Bruce Campbell had a scene, but it was deleted.  They should release it in a collection with the deleted Alice Cooper scene from MAVERICK.


#4.  Keith David.  Massively underused, but wearing one of the best/worst fake mustaches in memory.

A fair trade, I suppose.


#5.  Lance Henriksen.  He's not around for long, but he essentially steals the movie as "Ace," a trick-shooter with a tremendous fashion sense.

The way he looks makes me furious that he never popped up in a supporting role on DEADWOOD.


#6. A Woody Strode cameo.

He's pretty ancient at this point, but he has a brief bit as a the town undertaker, and it's a nice throwback to ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE WEST.


#7.  Mick Garris.  Errr–––WHAT?!

Seen here on the left manhandling Gary Sinise, Mick Garris (infamous Stephen King crony and director of laughable King adaptations like THE STAND, THE SHINING, DESPERATION, RIDING THE BULLET, and QUICKSILVER HIGHWAY) plays a glorified extra during a Sharon Stone flashback.  I have to say that when I woke up this morning, I never imagined my day would have Mick Garris in it.  Well, there he is.

–Sean Gill

Only now does it occur to me... THE MIRACLE WORKER

Only now does it occur to me...  that the nearly nine-minute knock-down drag-out brawl between Annie Sullivan and Helen Keller (as the former attempts to pierce the abyss and teach the latter table manners) is probably the most brutal, drawn-out skirmish between stubborn personalities... until the spectacular six-minute fistfight from THEY LIVE.

The scenes are both so brilliantly blocked, staged, and acted (in THE MIRACLE WORKER, Anne Bancroft and Patty Duke directed by Arthur Penn; in THEY LIVE, "Rowdy" Roddy Piper and Keith David directed by John Carpenter) that they really stick out in one's mind as special, a beautiful fusion of stage and screen sensibilities.


The actors are permitted to reach into a deeply primal well as the scene is simplified and streamlined into two visceral, battling motivations:  "Eat with a utensil" & "I refuse!", and "Put on the glasses!" & "No!," respectively.


In each case, words take a back seat to action, and the result is raw, powerful, and riveting.  The scenes' length plays a role, too: as the characters clash beyond the point of reason and into pure obstinance/force of will, a dark humor emerges that somehow only intensifies the scene.  I think any director or actor should find a lot to learn here.

Only now does it occur to me... MARKED FOR DEATH

Only now does it occur to me... that prior to Danny Trejo hunting Steven Seagal in MACHETE, Steven Seagal chased Danny Trejo:



 and all the way to a showdown at the Club 'Tecate!'


In a more general sense, MARKED FOR DEATH (from Dwight H. Little, the director of HALLOWEEN 4 and FREE WILLY 2) is not quite a classic in this gentle-voiced, ponytail'd lunatic's oeuvre (like OUT FOR JUSTICE), but it's pretty damned enjoyable, notably because of the terrific Keith David (THE THING, THEY LIVE) as Seagal's crazy-eyed sidekick.

Keith David:  having none of your bullshit.

The film has a strange sensibility to it that's worth mentioning, too–  despite the presence of Cannon Films-style, hastily-sketched Rastafarian voodoo-luvin', crack-dealin' villains, the action scenes play out with a peculiar, humorless detachment (I daresay realism) that is reminiscent of Michael Mann's meticulous, paramilitary setpieces (i.e., in THIEF and HEAT).

Like its star, the film takes itself a little too seriously, but MARKED FOR DEATH is well worth a view for the early 90s action fan– and for you camp-lovers, it even boasts a finale whereupon the villain is sliced, stabbed, eye-gouged, spine-shattered, flung down an elevator shaft, and then impaled upon a steel rod: Seagal is nothing if not thorough.

-Sean Gill

Film Review: THE THING (1982, John Carpenter)

Stars: 6+ of 5.
Running Time: 109 minutes.
Tag-line: "Man is The Warmest Place to Hide."
Notable Cast or Crew: Kurt Russell. Wilford Brimley (EWOKS: THE BATTLE FOR ENDOR, THE FIRM, BORDERLINE), Keith David (THEY LIVE, MEN AT WORK, MISTER ROGERS' NEIGHBORHOOD), Donald Moffat (CLEAR & PRESENT DANGER, TALES OF THE CITY, ALAMO BAY), Richard Masur (MY SCIENCE PROJECT, RENT-A-COP, LICENSE TO DRIVE, STEPHEN KING'S IT), Richard Dysart (PALE RIDER, THE HOSPITAL), Charles Hallahan (FATAL BEAUTY, BODY OF EVIDENCE, VISION QUEST), Peter Maloney (MANHUNTER, JFK), Joel Polis (FATAL VISION, CHEERS), David Clennon (STAR 80, THE FABULOUS STAINS), T.K. Carter (RUNAWAY TRAIN, DOCTOR DETROIT, JEM AND THE HOLOGRAMS), Thomas G. Waites (THE WARRIORS, MCBAIN). Music by Ennio Morricone. Special effects by Rob Bottin (ROBOCOP, TOTAL RECALL), dog creature by Stan Winston. Cinematography by Dean Cundey (WHO FRAMED ROGER RABBIT?, ESCAPE FROM NEW YORK, JURASSIC PARK, BACK TO THE FUTURE, ROAD HOUSE, D.C. CAB)- Sven Nykvist, eat your heart out. Screenplay by Bill Lancaster, son of Burt.
Best one-liner: "I know you gentlemen have been through a lot, but when you find the time, I'd rather not spend the rest of this winter TIED TO THIS FUCKING COUCH!"

Well, apparently, this is the 500th post here at Junta Juleil. Since we've been discussing effective horror remakes versus the muttonheaded ones this week, I wouldn't want to use it to discuss anything besides... THE THING.

Now, if you're one of those unfortunate souls who has never seen THE THING (I'm continually surprised by how many people, even self-proclaimed cinephiles, haven't seen it), stop reading immediately. And don't resume doing whatever you were doing before you started reading this- put on some shoes. Leave your work/school/home behind. Tell them you're going to lunch, or have a medical emergency. Head to the nearest liquor store. You're going to need some J&B. It's not the best scotch on the planet, in fact, it's not even really a scotch (it's a blend), but Kurt Russell seems to like it just fine, so just shut it.

Now you'll need to procure a copy of THE THING. It shouldn't be that hard. It should be easier than getting copies of THE LETTER PEOPLE or HEAVENLY BODIES or BLACK ICE, starring Michael Ironside and Michael Nouri. Also, it's not essential, but if you could get one of these hats before you watch it:

that'd be great, too. Now, watch THE THING, and report back to me immediately. But just in case you're the sort of pantywaist who won't abide by my instructions, I'm not going to give away any major plot developments in this review. Onto the THE THING:

A breakthrough film for John Carpenter. The son finally tops the father––Carpy breaks through and outdoes the Howard Hawks original with this inimitable paranoid masterpiece. It's horror/sci-fi/thriller perfection. It's so evocative you can taste the stinging J&B tempered by Mac's frosty breath, sense the icy dread of the desolate, labyrinthine corridors, 'hear' the resonance of the overpowering silences, and feel the foreboding throb of the Morricone score.

The less the uninitiated knows, the better. This is the 'Red Scare' paranoia film taken through a post-modern meat grinder. Rob Bottin's special effects are so pre-CGI brilliant that it becomes a completely visceral experience.



We are there. Every manifestation of the The Thing is tangible, tactile, viscous, gloppy––it's really there. That tightening in your stomach? That flutter in your heart? That's movie magic. It's real men doing real things, assailed by real monsters (well, almost). There is no disconnect, no cartoonish nonsense, no frills. These are desperate men fighting for survival.

Donald Moffat is an old-school cold warrior wholly unprepared for Lovecraftian foes.

Also, pretty tired of this fucking couch.

Richard Masur is the bewhiskered head of the kennel who toes that fine line between dog-lover and terrifying lumberjack (a major contrast from the 'Dad'-type roles he was confined to, later in the 80's).

RICHARD MASUR IS GOING TO TOUCH YOU THERE

Keith David is the gritty, unwavering, ice-cold survivor, Childs. Keith David does 'pissed off' like nobody else. In fact, somewhere, as we speak, he's probably glowering at someone and doesn't know why.

He's one of those rare actors who can serve as the cornerstone for 'suspension of disbelief' in an action picture. I mean, if you don't, he'll will probably show up on your doorstep to twist you into a pretzel like Sarge always does to Beetle Bailey. (He'll do that to you if you call him David Keith by mistake, too.)

Wilford "AH KIL YEW" Brimley is Blair, who possesses a stout, astounding severity.

AH KIL YEW

The way he grimaces and groans while doing the autopsy-


or the way he stares at the computer readout which says the entire population of Earth could be infected in the next 27,000 hours, then nonchalantly reaches for his gun...


(A scene almost exactly duplicated in LEVIATHAN.)

I guess on my scores of previous viewings, I was too caught up in the gravity, the horror of the situation to realize- as I did in the presence of other audience members while seeing THE THING on the big screen––that Brimley is not only brilliant, he is absolutely hilarious. And you are not laughing at Wilford, ohh no. Nor are you laughing at the fact that his reactions to these given scenarios are so stoically over-the-top. You're laughing because- no matter how ridiculous he gets––you believe every second of it. These are merely the ways that the very real 'Dr. Blair' happens to react when faced with The Thing.

I'm all better now

Kurt Russell really comes into his own in this film. Even the era-defining Snake Plissken (a year prior) is a little too Eastwood-derivative (but can you blame him?- he was hanging out with Lee van Cleef!), but MacReady is all Russell. He can pull off that ridiculous Antarctic winter sombrero, which just might be the most awesome hat in the history of film. He can swig the J&B like no other (watch him make sure he doesn't spill a drop when the Norwegians barrel into camp).

He can fly a chopper through the eye of a needle, brandish a flamethrower with élan, and tell that electronic 8-bit chessmaster (the uncredited voice of Adrienne Barbeau) what's what.

He's a character written by Bill Lancaster, Burt's son- and if you squint a little and clench your jaw, you can almost see the sturdy, benevolent shadow of Burt looming over Mac, like a hardass guardian angel-

In short, he's just the kind of man you hope is on the front lines when the heavy stuff starts to go down.

Six stars. Maybe seven.

-Sean Gill