Film Review: CODE NAME: WILD GEESE (1984, Antonio Marghereti)

Stars: 2.5 of 5.

Running Time: 101 minutes.

Tag-line: "This is a corporation of businessmen.  Their business is war.  For them, the jungle and the city are the same."

Notable Cast or Crew: Lee Van Cleef (THE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE UGLY; ESCAPE FROM NEW YORK), Klaus Kinski (AGUIRRE, THE WRATH OF GOD; DOCTOR ZHIVAGO), Ernest Borgnine (MARTY, ESCAPE FROM NEW YORK), Mimsy Farmer (FOUR FLIES ON GREY VELVET, MORE), Lewis Collins (KOMMANDO LEOPARD, CONFESSIONS OF A DRIVING INSTRUCTOR).  Directed by Antonio Marghereti (YOR THE HUNTER FROM THE FUTURE, CANNIBAL APOCALYPSE).

Best One-liner: "You find them, and make it slow. I want them to suffer. And then...take PICTURES!"

So you send your buddy down to Drug Mart with 50¢ to grab THE WILD GEESE on VHS with Richard Burton.  Instead, he comes back with this. We're far beyond the point where Margheriti and his Campari-swilling cronies are making any money off of that rental, but, the question is, what are they getting out of it? I would propose that (like every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings) maybe every time a piece of plagiaristic Italo-trash gets mistakenly rented, Fabio Testi gets another pair of tight jeans?

Regardless, this is pretty terrible. The quality is bootleg-level horrid, the action is boring, the characters bland, the editing stale.  It's the kind of flick that makes Michael Winner look like Orson Welles. It features a fairly awful Jan Nemec/Eloy score––kinda Christopher Cross meets De Angelis. Most everyone seems to have done their own dubbing, but Kinski must've thrown a tantrum in post, cause he's been dubbed by a stuffy English gent, which is just plain whacky.
 
Good day to you, sir

Then Mimsy Farmer shows up about 50 minutes in to ruin our lives.  But there's a lot of schweet things going on as well: Lee van Cleef with a Rambo-bandana as the badass prisoner sprung for the mission (in a role reversal from ESCAPE FROM NEW YORK),

Science cannot explain my irrational dislike for Mimsy Farmer (shoulda been Grace Jones)

Ernest Borgnine doing his patented "Borgnine-grin,"


Truly Kinski's madness holds no power in the face of a Borgnine-grin


Kinski's machine gun versus Lee van Cleef's flamethrower-spewing helicopter,



Even the prospect of attacking Kinski with a flying flamethrower does not excite Lee van Cleef

the operation at hand is called "Operation: Cleaning," there's a generic villain named 'Khan' ("You find them, and make it slow. I want them to suffer. And then...take PICTURES!"), and the line "That's Americans for you! The only serious thing we've ever done is revolt against your king, since then, it's just been Hollywood, Hollywood..."

This movie's full of head-scratchers––like the weird nuzzle/forehead rub van Cleef does with Mimsy at the end.

Not sure where this came from.

And where does this guy keep getting ice cold Buds in the middle of the jungle?

I'm reminded of the finale of DELTA FORCE––beers for everybody!

Why do the silenced gunshots sound like a pinball ricochets? How does a car drive sideways along the wall of a tunnel?
 
 
 
 
 
This is truly one of the more majestic scenes in film history: Lewis Collins, while driving his car in a tunnel, swerves to avoid some construction and drives sideways down the tunnel wall (in miniature) for a good forty-five seconds as Ernest Borgnine tries to wrap his head around it, in vain.

Still, this is far from being the worst that Italy has to offer.  I cheerfully give it two and a half stars.

–Sean Gill

The Runners-Up to Junta Juleil's Top 100, Part 1

Ah, so many films and so few spaces on the Top 100. Naturally, there had to be some spill-over.

IN THE MOUTH OF MADNESS (1994, John Carpenter)

"Reality isn't what it used to be." A Lovecraftian ode sung, naturally, toward the abyss, it's Carpy's last (thus far!) unadulterated, undeniably "Great" film with a capital G. IN THE MOUTH OF MADNESS prints the fall of man upon celluloid, shows it to our protagonist- shows it to us- and together we cackle in the darkness, senselessly, because there's nothing else we can do. Previously reviewed HERE.

BABY DOLL (1956, Elia Kazan)

Kazan can wring more forbidden sexuality from the subtle rocking of a porch swing than all the R-Rated movies ever made, put together. A Southern Gothic chamber piece like no other, it develops into a tête-à-tête-à-tête between long suffering perv Karl Malden, the creepily childish Carrol Baker, and the inimitable Eli Wallach, and it's no exaggeration to call it a blazing tour de force and perhaps the most vigorous, deranged examination of American repression ever made. It's a bottle of cheap champagne on a hundred-degree day, only someone's been shakin' it up for twenty years, and you have to open it without spilling a drop– good luck!

FOR A FEW DOLLARS MORE (1965, Sergio Leone)

FOR A FEW DOLLARS MORE is not, in fact, Leone's greatest achievement, but it's probably his most fun. In fact, perhaps one could go out on a limb and say that it's one of the first "buddy movies;" or at least the first "spaghetti western buddy movie," but even if that's true, it's a more-than-occasionally dark one. From a raging, hunchbacked Klaus Kinski to Lee Van Cleef's flinty, hawk-nosed countenance to Gian Maria Volante's wildly hallucinating madman to Clint's cigarillo-chomping roughneck with no name, one might call this film a meditation upon faces. Faces and guns. And it's all tied together by Morricone's sweeping score, which pendulates between primal grunts from the pit and overpowering Bach organ fugues!

BLACK BOOK (2006, Paul Verhoeven)

After a few explorations of hollow men, CGI bugs, robot cops, showgirls, ice-pick murderers, and the like, Verhoeven returns to where he began– visceral, dark, Dutch art film. Verhoeven usually takes the dim view of mankind, and here he quite effortlessly develops his hypothesis that we exist in a state of neverending war; it's just that big men with small ideas are always submitting these arbitrary labels, like "1914-1918," or "1939-1945," and to tell you the truth, Verhoeven doesn't know quite what those are supposed to mean...

DIRTY HARRY (1971, Don Siegel)

I said before that DIRTY HARRY is "a complex dissection of the 'man of values' in a world that has none, with our hero gradually realizing that his supposed values systems are in fact shadowy and undefined, and aww, who the hell cares anymore, let's shoot some people." Sure, it's sorta fascist. Sure, it stacks the deck, unimaginably. Sure, it has laughable depictions of hippies. But dig that groovy Lalo Schifrin score! Check out that classic a-hole authority figure, John Vernon! Behold the simpering, insane majesty of psycho-killer Andy Robinson! See Clint Eastwood's noon-day hot-dog interrupted by the magnum-blasting of goons! You know, just another Don Siegel masterpiece.

CREEPSHOW (1982, George A. Romero)

As I have written before in these hallowed pages, I would like to invest in a bumper sticker which says "I'd rather be...watching CREEPSHOW." Now I could say that this film flirts with the Top 100 entirely by virtue of "Ed Harris disco dance mania," but it's really because Romero lovingly recreates the morbid fantasias of childhood, the sensation of reading a book beneath the covers with a flashlight; the impressionability of youth, whereupon a dark and stormy night can inspire a sense of unrestrained, gleeful dread... Also: Tom Atkins.

EATING RAOUL (1982, Paul Bartel)

"I'm the host here, goddammit, now get out of your clothes and get into the hot tub, or get out! We don't want any wet blankets or spoilsports at this party...we're here to SWING!" "-Yeah, well, swing on THIS!" EATING RAOUL is probably Paul Bartel's (DEATH RACE 2000, SCENES FROM THE CLASS STRUGGLE IN BEVERLY HILLS) greatest, loopiest trashterpiece, and it's one that pushes the envelope considerably. Comedy this quirky can be a slippery slope, but Bartel and Mary Woronov, who were quite obviously born to work together (as our 80's cult Hepburn and Tracy), soon brush aside our fears with an impossibly perfect combination of slapstick, refinement, and obscenity.

MILDRED PIERCE (1945, Michael Curtiz)

"That Ted Forrester's nice-looking, isn't he? Veda likes him." –"Who wouldn't? He has a million dollars." Film noir, melodrama, woman's weepie, whatever the fuck you want to call it, MILDRED PIERCE (based on the novel by James M. Cain) is goddamned fantastic. Joan Crawford, as a hard-workin' small businesswoman who can't seem to catch a break exudes genuine frustration, pathos, and the weight of life's disappointments...she's at the height of her shoulder-padded powers. I don't wish to reveal much of the plot, but Ann Blyth's spectacular, spiteful portrayal of Mildred's money-hungry daughter, Veda, has got to be one of the most hate-able screen villains of all-time.

STAR WARS (1977, George Lucas)

One of the most enjoyable adventure movies ever made. Continuous revisions, CGI shitstorms, and seemingly endless, doltish pop culture quotings cannot dampen the effect of the Star Destroyer thundering overhead, the menagerie of rubbery buddies at the intergalactic dive bar, Harrison Ford's lopsided grin, Alec Guinness' soothing self-assurance, Carrie Fisher's privileged but gutsy revolutionary, the cathartic roar of the angry Wookiee, the sad bleeps and bloops of a forlorn R2-D2. The attention to detail in the starship models; the sprawling, ramshackle sets and rundown futuristic equipment; the imaginative aliens and innovative special effects; the nods to Kurosawa, Curtiz, and Hawks; the childish wonder and excitement... ah, the heart swells! (But goddamn, what a pity the way things have turned out...)

JFK (1991, Oliver Stone)

Whether or not you agree with Stone's politics, or all, or none, or 10% of the conspiracy theories contained within the hefty treatise that is JFK, you must admit that it is something of a piece de resistance in terms of the fusion of editing, music, narration, and camerawork. At times it feels as if you are situated upon the tail leader of the Zapruder film; it's already been projected, and you're whirling around in the darkness afterward, confused, spooked, disoriented... A monument should be built to Joe Pesci's eyebrows in this film. And Tommy Lee Jones' mysterious, frightening portrayal of Clay Shaw just might be his finest work. Also: Gary Oldman, gay Kevin Bacon, Jack Lemmon, and Donald Sutherland... as "X!"

HOUSE (1977, Nobuhiko Obayashi)

Though it pains me to say that HOUSE does not quite pack the same punch the second time around, nothing can compare to the feelings of sheer shock, confusion, elation, and general bogglement that HOUSE instills in the first-time viewer. As I've written, "To avoid comparing it to other films, I would simply describe the HOUSE experience as akin to being trapped inside a kaleidoscope as a cackling madman rams and twirls and flips and submerges it with reckless abandon as upbeat music and ludicrous sound effects ricochet here and there and everywhere, dueling one another for dominance." Theoretically, I feel as if I've often thought that there were "no rules" in cinema, but only after seeing HOUSE did I realize that such a seemingly meaningless conceit could actually, successfully be put into practice!

TRUST (1990, Hal Hartley)

Hal Hartley's a personal American indie film hero of mine, and it was difficult to decide whether TRUST, SIMPLE MEN, AMATEUR, or HENRY FOOL belonged on this list. I settled on TRUST, a film I've described as "REBEL WITHOUT AN APARTMENT." It's a stirring, contemplative, and frequently deadpan hilarious tract; suburban malaise in a world on the verge of... something.

Film Review: ELVIRA, MISTRESS OF THE DARK (1988, James Signorelli)

Stars: 4.5 of 5.
Running Time: 96 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Elvira (aka Cassandra Peterson– of MOVIE MACABRE and ELVIRA'S HALLOWEEN SPECIAL), William Morgan Sheppard (HAWK THE SLAYER, THE KEEP, MAX HEADROOM), Edie McClurg (FERRIS BUELLER'S DAY OFF, NATURAL BORN KILLERS), Susan Kellerman (BEETLEJUICE, THE DEVIL'S ADVOCATE), Jeff Conaway (GREASE, TAXI), Daniel Greene (FALCON CREST, HANDS OF STEEL), William Duell (ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO'S NEST, THE HAPPY HOOKER), Joey Arias (BIG TOP PEE-WEE, DRUNKS), Kurt Fuller (WAYNE'S WORLD, THE RUNNING MAN).
Tag-line: "Here comes Elvira... There goes the neighborhood!"
Best one-liner: "Hey, nice jacket. Who shot the couch?"

ELVIRA, MISTRESS OF THE DARK dares to ask the question– "Can a movie be assembled entirely out of one-liners?"– and boldly answers with a resounding... YES!

For the uninitiated, Elvira (aka Cassandra Peterson) hosted the Vampira-esque horrorshow MOVIE MACABRE for local L.A. station KHJ in the early 80's, wowing audiences with valley-girl aphorisms and ludicrous sexual innuendos.

The character of Elvira is a likable, delightfully self-centered cultural artifact not unlike the 'Pee-Wee Herman' persona of (her close friend and fellow-Groundling) Paul Reubens. In fact, in tone, ELVIRA, MISTRESS OF THE DARK often closely resembles PEE-WEE'S BIG ADVENTURE (but with heavy doses of PG-13 ribaldry), and in my mind, that's a good thing.

Both concern themselves with a weirdo-fishes-out-of-water roaming a cartoonish Americana, both were created and performed by kitsch-luvin' virtuosos, and both employ zany non-sequitur humor in a rare, non-irritating manner. [And as an added bonus, you can see Cassandra Peterson in PEE-WEE as the zany biker mama.]

ELVIRA is also a 1980's New World property (a Roger Corman stomping ground), which furthermore means it will be charmingly low-rent, but with the same manic energy which brought us such latter-day classics as HOUSE, DEAD HEAT, HELL COMES TO FROGTOWN, and HEATHERS. Basically, New World and Golan-Globus had a stranglehold on the finest 1980's party movies this side of the Atlantic. So fasten your seat-belts and grab your beers– here's ten things to love about ELVIRA, MISTRESS OF THE DARK:

#1. Elvira's Macabre-Mobile.




Oh yeah! Almost as good as Pee-Wee's bike. And everybody in the 80's had to have a vanity plate. Not quite as good as Stallone's AWESOM50 in COBRA, but still a fine showing. Supposedly Elvira has hung onto the Macabre-Mobile and drives it around for special appearances to this day.

#2. The town of Fallwell, Massachusetts, whose moralistic elements... DECLARE WAR ON ELVIRA!

You see, upon inheriting a home (and a book of 'recipes') from her Great-Aunt, Elvira moseys into Falwell (Jerry, anyone?), where her brazen and zany behavior turns the town... upside-down! Town leaders, including FERRIS BUELLER's Edie McClurg and WAYNE'S WORLD's Kurt Fuller, initiate a crusade against the 'salacious' Elvira,


who, through incendiary behavior and inadvertant misadventure alike


has offended and incensed the community at large. The persecution of Elvira reaches a logical end point worthy of Maria Falconetti. (Well, not really).


Dreyer didn't need no marshmallows

#3. All of this, of course, may or may not culminate in a geriatric orgy whereupon viewers will never be able to cleanse themselves of the image of Edie McClurg mounting an elderly gentleman, or William Duell (from ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO'S nest) having mustard licked out of his ear by a voracious Pat Crawford Brown.


#4. The obligatory fix-em-up montage. As I've written before, in the 1980's, if the conditions for a "makeover" or a "shopping" montage do not exist, a "fix-em-up" montage must take their place. First off, Elvira is already Elvira. So we don't need a makeover. Second, the majority of the film takes place in Fallwell, Massachusetts; I'm not sure what Elvira would want to buy there. Thirdly, a fix-em-up montage provides ample opportunity for Castellari-worthy asscrack.


#5. Baby Elvira. I don't feel the need to elaborate.


#6. Elvira's FLASHDANCE.


Black leg warmers, a stunt double-Elvira doing backflips, and a finale which channels CARRIE: what more could you want out of life?

#7. Elvira and her new beau's predilection for generic "Beer"-brand beer.

You can sorta tell from this picture.

I'm guessing it had to do with some kind of exclusivity agreement Elvira had with Coors, a brand which she'd been hawking most magnificently. I hope one day to tackle some scintillating commercial reviews based on the relationship between Elvira and "the Silver Bullet."

#8. Punk Poodle makeover.

Okay, I lied: there was a makeover montage. But it was a dog, so maybe it's kind of a gray area.

#9. David Lynch is a fan. Er, well, I have deduced that David Lynch must be a fan. I have three Exhibits aside from the fact that it's a colorful, episodic, Americana-luvin', bizarre tract somewhat in the vein of WILD AT HEART (1990). Exhibit A: the villain is the wondrous, Shakespearian William Morgan Sheppard, later cast by Lynch as the ultimate string-puller, 'Mr. Reindeer,' in WILD AT HEART.

WILLIAM MORGAN SHEPPARD WILL WEAR A VEST-ROBE THING

Exhibit B. One of William Morgan Sheppard's sidekicks (pictured on the left, having a beer poured into his lap by Elvira) is played by Frank Collison,

who Lynch also later cast in WILD AT HEART as 'Timmy Thompson' (seen at the weirdo motel campsite with Dafoe, John Lurie, Jack Nance, & Pruitt Taylor Vince).

Exhibit C. David Lynch chose ELVIRA's director, James Signorelli, to helm the only non-Lynch-directed episode of HOTEL ROOM, a post-TWIN PEAKS prime-time effort.

So maybe it's a bit of a stretch, but I think that when ELVIRA hit theaters, David Lynch took note.

#10. The finale. I don't think it's too much of a spoiler to say that ELVIRA, MISTRESS OF THE DARK ends with a little song n' dance.

Upon a cavernous Las Vegas stage, Elvira wows the audience with her sheer showmanship, twirling a flowing, batwing-shaped cape and surrounded by pillar-vases. Go-go boys dressed as derby-wearing devils drape themselves across an enormous spiderweb and leap about to accentuate the lyrical beauty of Elvira's generic pop song, which goes something like "Heeeeeere...Iiiiii...Ammmmmm!"

Elvira holds a tarantula toward the camera's fish-eye lens and kisses it,

and the song segues into "The Elvira Rap," which sounds a lot like that rap-break in Blondie's "Rapture." Some random, non-devilish back-up dancers emerge from the trunk of a car and

the devil-men whirl in unison

and the trunk guys' eyes leap out of their sockets due to the sheer Elvira-tude on display.

Finally, the pièce de résistance: Elvira's loopy, childish grin betrays her genuine excitement as we build to a nipple-tassle-twirling finale set to a surge of notes from an uplifting 1980's rendition of a Bach fugue.

It ascends (or is that 'shimmies up?') such a fully-committed summit of ludicrosity and PG-13 depravity, that I (and the gods of kitsch) are forced to bow down and award nearly five stars.

-Sean Gill