Only now does it occur to me... FIREFOX (1982)

Only now does it occur to me.... that Clint Eastwood basically outsourced the villains of his Cold War caper FIREFOX to the Lucas/Spielberg industrial complex.

The Russian villains you see before you are: Kenneth Colley (Ken Russell veteran and "Admiral Piett" from THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK),

Ronald Lacey ("Toht" from RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK),

and Wolf Kahler ("Sgt. Gobler" from RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK):

To balance things out, we have John Ratzenberger (CHEERS, "Major Derlin" from THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK), essentially reprising his role from EMPIRE (Rebel on an ice planet) as an American soldier fighting the Evil Empire from the North Pole.

Because I have to tip my hat to the outliers, another of the Russian villains is Klaus Löwitsch, a legitimately Great Actor who may bear some resemblance to Corbin Bernsen, but is in fact one of the most talented players to come out of the New German Cinema and a veteran of no less than five Rainer Werner Fassbinder films. It's probably not too much of a stretch for you to understand that he is completely wasted here.

Apologies, Mr. Löwitsch.

The film itself was a box office smash at the time, but today it plays like a second-tier, phoned in cold war thriller, á la Eastwood's own THE EIGER SANCTION or Peckinpah's THE OSTERMAN WEEKEND. Author Howard Hughes (AIM FOR THE HEART: THE FILMS OF CLINT EASTWOOD) probably sums it up best with, "Less a 'Firefox', it's more of a damp squib, or at best a smoldering turkey."

The opening is kind of a proto-COMMANDO, with shirtless Eastwood as a veteran in pastoral environs trying to enjoy his retirement when he's pulled out to do "one last job." In this case, the Last Job is stealing a top-secret Soviet fighter plane.

I guess there's an understated sci-fi aspect to the film with a "mind-control helmet" that pilots the Soviet plane via telepathy, but that's not even important, so you don't have to worry about it.

Also, for a Cold War actioner, there's not a lot of action. In fact, the entire plot could likely be reduced to about three scenes––therefore, I'm not sure why it runs 2 hours and 15 minutes. Ah, well.


It's also perhaps worth mentioning that the 'thrilling' dogfight is simplistic enough so as to prep us for the eventual Atari game tie-in; and despite using a superior "Reverse Blue-Screen" technology, it still looks inferior to the Battle of Hoth in THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK. Out of the 39 completed films Clint Eastwood has directed, I have now seen 37 of them (for the curious, my only gaps are HEREAFTER and THE 15:17 TO PARIS). Only THE EIGER SANCTION, SULLY, and INVICTUS are as boring as this one. I prefer BREEZY, for godssakes. BREEZY.

Film Review: FLESH + BLOOD (1985, Paul Verhoeven)

Stars: 5 of 5. Running Time: 128 minutes. Notable Cast or Crew: Rutger Hauer (BLADE RUNNER, THE HITCHER), Jennifer Jason Leigh (FAST TIMES AT RIDGEMONT HIGH, MARGOT AT THE WEDDING), Susan Tyrrell (FAT CITY, CRY-BABY), Brion James (BLADE RUNNER, SOUTHERN COMFORT), Ronald Lacey (Toht in RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK), Tom Burlinson (THE MAN FROM SNOWY RIVER), Bruno Kirby (Young Clemenza in THE GODFATHER PART II), Jack Thompson (BREAKER MORANT, SHORT CIRCUIT). Cinematography by Jan de Bont (who went on to direct TWISTER and SPEED 2: CRUISE CONTROL). Tag-line: "A timeless adventure, a passion for wealth and power. Only the strongest will survive." Best one-liner: "From now on, we'll eat like this. And whoever can't, best stay the stupid asshole he always was!"  

 I'll begin with two quotes by Paul Verhoeven which seem apropos to this film: "People love seeing violence and horrible things. The human being is bad and he can't stand more than five minutes of happiness. Put him in a dark theater and ask him to look at two hours of happiness and he'd walk out or fall asleep." and "Remember that Christianity is a religion grounded in one of the most violent acts of murder, the crucifixion. Otherwise, religion wouldn't have had any kind of impact." A lot of people like to pin down Paul Verhoeven as 'the guy who did SHOWGIRLS,' and while he cannot erase the fact that he is indeed guilty of being the guy who did SHOWGIRLS, he's one of the most audacious filmmakers to emerge from post-WWII Europe. FLESH + BLOOD is Machiavellian power games, stillborn children, nun snipers, yellowed teeth, and dogs lapping up pools of diseased gore. This movie is absolutely brutal. 

 

Every single character looks out for number one, and here, 'looking out for number one' means ripping an earring (and a chunk of flesh) from a woman as she's being raped or using 'God's word' when it's to your liking (Verhoeven has called organized religion a symptom of societal schizophrenia). Any time there's a moment for levity or genuine romance, it's immediately undercut by something like the rotting genitals or random carrion. 

 

Take a gander at this lovely idyll, for instance. 

 

It’s not exactly a historically accurate depiction of medieval warfare and the Black Death, and it doesn't quite take place in the 14th Century... sixty years ago it took place on the battlefields of Europe. Verhoeven was just a kid then, but he was there. As we speak, it's being waged by talking heads on TV, by hypocrites behind closed doors, and by vicious opportunists from here to the far corners of the world. Where an exploitation flick would insert a rape scene so the viewer might feel 'morally superior,' Verhoeven stages sexual assault as a grotesque vortex of ever-shifting power dynamics between man, woman, and the collective.

   

The performances are outstanding: Susan Tyrrell was born to do the Dark Ages––she enters the scene as a bawdy, pregnant, perpetually wasted camp follower whose life is a series of the highest, barbaric highs and the lowest, 'WHY ME?' lows:

  

Brion James is pure animal, ruthless but bewildered:  

But mostly terrifying as all get-out. 

 

   

Brion James makes the evolutionary leap to using forks and knives. 

 

Ronald Lacey is the sinister Cardinal- malicious, but sincere (not that it matters when he's got his sword in your guts):

  

Jack Thompson is the beleaguered hunter, embodying an almost Peckinpah-style morality (think Robert Ryan in THE WILD BUNCH):

   

Clearly the Medieval equivalent of "I'm gettin' too old for this shit!" 

 

and Tom Burlinson is the man of science, but his singlemindedness gives way to a sanctimonious depravity.

  

Rutger Hauer simmers and scowls- a calculating, towheaded, serpentine fiend, rapist, and murderer who might be the closest thing we've got to a traditional 'hero.'  

Though sainthood is more than a stretch. 

   

And ain't this a surreal fucken sight: a BLADE RUNNER reunion! (Not to mention that Brion James is giving Rutger Hauer a goddamned wheelbarrow ride!) 

 

Jennifer Jason Leigh- in possibly her finest performance- is a privileged, maid-beating blueblood who attends the condottiere's ‘school of hard knocks’ and emerges as perhaps the most complex and guileful of the bunch.

  

Nihilistic ‘entertainment’ at its best: five stars, and my highest recommendation.

Michael Ironside Fanfiction: "SEE YOU AT THE CAST PARTY, IRONSIDE"

SEE YOU AT THE CAST PARTY, IRONSIDE:

A STORY FROM THE SET OF TOTAL RECALL TOLD IN FIVE CHAPTERS
BY SEAN GILL

1

The year was 1989. The place: Mexico City. A heavyset, scraggly-bearded man strode purposefully though a cavernous soundstage, forcefully clutching a wrinkled piece of paper. The fellow doing the striding was Mickey Jones. Renaissance Man. Drummer for Bob Dylan. Best friend of Michael Ironside.

‘Burly Miner’ in TOTAL RECALL- whose set, as a matter of fact, was the one through which he was stomping with such insolence. It was the last day of shooting, which should have been a day of joy, a day of reflection, a day for the cast and crew to look upon their accomplishments with pride and to feel that tingling satisfaction of a job well done. But none of these things were on Mickey’s mind. Mickey was pissed, and, by God, it took a hell of a lot to get Mickey pissed. He paused at the door marked “Ironside.” No light issued forth from within. Dammit, he’s not here yet. I’ll just leave it, Mickey thought. He turned the knob and gingerly peered inside– a silhouette. Teeth gleaming in the darkness. Shit, someone’s there! Before he could react, the lights popped on with a bang to reveal… Ironside.
“Jesus God, Mike, you scared the hell outta me!”
Ironside chuckled. A deep, dark, throaty laugh. He absent-mindedly picked his teeth with what appeared to be a small metal spike. “Sorry about that…” He lifted his feet up, resting them on the counter as he stared off, deep in thought.
“Have you been here all night, Mike?”
“‘Have I been here all night… Mike?’ Yes, Mickey, I have. Been thinking about CHAINDANCE.”
“Oh, yeah. How’s that script coming along?”
Ironside lowered his feet from the counter and swiveled to face Mickey. “Why don’t you tell me what brings you here in such a state? Talk to me, Mickey.”
“It’s like this, Mike–” and Mickey offered the half-crumpled sheet. Ironside took it, unfolded it on the counter, and smoothed it with his palm. As he read the what the page contained, his eyes widened, then narrowed. His eyebrows contorted with rage. His teeth clenched.
“Jesus, Mike, your mouth!”
Sure enough, Ironside had accidentally bitten the metal toothspike, breaking it cleanly into two halves, which clattered on the counter. “Don’t worry about it, Mickey- worry about this!!!”
Ironside gestured to the paper, which, typed in Comic Sans font, said something like:

“ATTN: Cast and Crew. I regret to inform you that there will be no TOTAL RECALL cast party tonight, at least not in the traditional sense. It will be a Euro-centric private party open only to myself and Mr. Schwarzenegger. B.Y.O. Campari. We regret any inconvenience. Sincerely, your director, Paul Verhoeven.”

The statement was followed by this photograph:


Ironside was up in a flash, his fist already blasting a hole through his dressing room mirror. Slivers of the reflective glass and chunks of wooden frame crumbled onto the floor.

“A lotta people worked on this film, Mickey. THIS IS BULLSHIT!,” Ironside roared.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa- calm, down, man!”
“I even brought several twelve-packs of Labatt Maximum Ice, expressly for this occasion!”
“It’s okay, Mike– we can drink those Labatts in my trailer- watch a hockey game or something. I wouldn’t have told you if I thought it’d make you this angry–”
Just then, a hulking figure appeared behind Mickey in the doorway. It was Arnold Schwarzenegger.
“Hach-hach-ha-ha-ha! Good mohrning,” Arnie remarked. “Seee yew aht the cast pahr-ty, Irohnside! Hach-hach-ha-ha!,” and just as quickly as he’d arrived, Arnie was gone.
“Now that’s not right,” Mickey admitted. “It wasn’t like this on V, was it?”
“No, Mickey, it wasn’t.”
“Are you, okay, Mike? What are you thinking?”
Ironside stared intently at the space where Schwarzenegger used to be. “He’s dead,” Ironside snarled. “He and his Dutch buddy, both.”
“What!?!,” Mickey shouted, incredulously.
“And when I’ve finished… I’m going to eat them.”

2

“Whaat do you think of this wuhnnn?,” Arnie inquired, as Sharon Stone apathetically thumbed through a series of glossy photographs.
“It’s fine, they’re all fine,” Sharon replied. Her motivation in saying so was an attempt to escape the conversation as quickly as possible.
“Yesss, but which one do you like the behst??”
“What are you two looking at?” said Rachel Ticotin, interrupting. She was immediately sorry that she had asked. But it was the perfect opportunity for Sharon Stone to make a break for it, and she did precisely that.
“Thaaank you for ahsking. Paul und I just had these tah-ken at Kayy-Mahrt. Which one do you like thee behst?” Arnie held up two photos which looked like this:




Rachel examined the photos for close to a minute, unsure of what to say. “Well, actually, they’re both fine. I like them both.”
“Meee too.” Arnold smiled in genuine contentment.

~~~

“Did he pull any shit like this on ROBOCOP?,” inquired Ironside.
“Well. Not really,” answered Ronny Cox. “It’s just… maybe just don’t take it so personally. If you got into acting for the cast parties- I, uh, think you’re gonna end up disappointed.”
“That’s not why I’m mad- it’s the principle of the thing. I’d just as soon go back to roofing.”
“Come on, Michael. Don’t talk like that. Calm down. Let me tell you a story...."

"I was working on this flick called TANGIERS with Ronald Lacey. He’d just gotten off of a Spielberg shoot- RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK. He played Toht, the Nazi with the coat-hanger- yeah, you know who I’m talking about. Well, anyway, the whole time we’re shootin’, he just can’t drop it. ‘Oh, Spielberg’s craft services were so much better,’ and this and that and the other. And I just got to thinkin’ about Spielberg’s craft services. My mouth is watering. We’re out in the middle of nowhere in Morocco, and all I can think about is some other director’s caterer. Anyway, yeah, it affected my performance a little bit. And I learned a valuable lesson about acting that day… about myself.”
Just then, Sharon Stone strode in. “Talkin’ about craft services, huh? Best I ever had- you’re not gonna believe this– POLICE ACADEMY 4: CITIZENS ON PATROL. Of course you had to eat it while sittin’ across the table from Bobcat Goldthwait…”
“We’re not talking about craft services– we’re talking about this cast party bullshit!,” exclaimed Ironside.


“Well, I think it’s all a cheap shot at you, actually, Mike,” said Sharon with a touch of maleficence.

“He’s rubbin’ it in that you were his third choice for Richter. You know he called Kurtwood and Robert Davi first, right?”
Ironside bared his teeth.
Ronny frowned. “Whoa-whoa- that’s out of line, Sharon, and you know it. Apologize to Michael.”
“No,” said Sharon, snidely. Then she spun on the balls of her feet and promptly strolled out the door.
“Is that true, Ronny?”
“Noo…I don’t think so.”
“I’m crashing that party tonight, Ronny. Are you in?”
“Ehhh, I got a flight back at 6 PM. You should come, too. You got HIGHLANDER 2: THE QUICKENING coming up, right? That’s exciting, right? Maybe you should focus on that. It’s not good to get wrapped up in all this negative energy, Mikey.”

3

Ironside sat in his dressing room, dejected. It was almost 8:00 PM. The shoot was over. Crews were tearing down the last of the set, and soon, they’d be taking away the makeshift dressing room. Ironside stared at the broken mirror. They’ll probably take that shit outta my paycheck, he mused. He contemplated his next move. Sure, he could do Labatts and hockey with Mickey. He could work a little more on CHAINDANCE. He could even get an early start on those wig-fittings for HIGHLANDER 2. But Arnie’s taunting words hung over him like a poisonous shroud: “Seee yew aht the cast pahr-ty, Irohnside! Hach-hach-ha-ha!” Son of a bitch must pay, thought Ironside. He clenched and gritted his teeth as a sound emerged which approximated that of several grinding millstones gone haywire. Something clicked in his mind, and he flashed back to NOWHERE TO HIDE- on one of the days when Amy Madigan’s husband, Ed Harris, had visited the set. “Let me tell you something, Mike,” Ed had said.

“These people will shit on you. They will hire you, they will work you like a dog, and then they will shit on you. They will even dress you in cardigans. But you must not let that happen. You must kill them. And you must kill them with your bare hands… Alright, let’s go have a drink.” Ironside smiled. He missed hanging out with Ed Harris. But then he felt something sharp prickling the palms of his hands. He looked down, only to realize that he’d been thinking so intensely about Ed Harris that he’d shattered the armrests on his chair. He released his grip, and the floor was sprinkled with two handfuls of splinters and sawdust. Ironside stood up, and began the long walk to the trailer marked “Schwarzenegger,” his course of action now clear.

4

“Doez yowhr person prefehr me in RUNNINGH MAN or TWINZ?,” Schwarzenegger inquired. Verhoeven stared at the card in his hand.
“Umm… RUNNING MAN, I guess.”
Arnold Schwarzenegger and Paul Verhoeven were locked in a rousing game of Subjective “Guess Who.” Schwarzenegger flipped down a few faces, faces who looked like they wouldn’t enjoy having the sort of good time that TWINS had to offer. After a moment, Verhoeven asked, “Is your person Peter?”
“No,” replied Arnie, “It’s Claire.”
“Wait a fucking second, I turned down Claire like six questions ago.”
“Whutt wus the quest-schun?”
“Uhh…uhh…it was, uh– that’s right- it was ‘Does your person wear panties?,’ and you said YES, when clearly she doesn’t.”
“I am sorry, Paull. I deed not mean to ruin your game.”
“No, it’s alright, it’s just uh- just, uh, don’t worry about it. Get me some more Campari.” Arnie reached across the couch and grabbed Paul in a bear hug.
“I am so sorry I have roo-inned your game, Paull.”

But just then, the door to the trailer was separated from its hinges through sheer force of Ironside, who stood in the doorway now, his eyes wild and teeth gleaming. He approached Arnie and Paul, who quivered senselessly in fear. They had never seen Ironside look quite this terrifying during the entirety of the shoot.

His shadow loomed over the couch. But suddenly, Arnie let loose with an enormous, goofy smile. Ironside rumpled his eyebrows in brief bewilderment.
“Loook behindh you, Mike-ahl!”
Ironside knew better than to fall for this pitiful deception, yet he couldn’t resist. He turned around, and through the trailer’s doorway saw: the rightful TOTAL RECALL cast party.
“Hach-hach-haa-haaa! We really goht Mike-ahl, didn’t we, Paull!,” Arnie shouted with babyish exuberance. Verhoeven shivered uncontrollably, unable to shake the image of a murderous Ironside from his mind’s eye.

“Uhhh…yeah. Yeah, we did,” Paul muttered.

5

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before,” said Mickey Jones as he sipped on a Labatt Maximum Ice.
“It’s alright, Mickey, I, uh, knew the whole time,” replied Ironside, “by the way, did you know that only Labatt possesses the power of ice brewing, and only ice brewing can create Labatt Maximum Ice?”
“Yeah,” said Mickey, “I know.”
“Hach-hach-haa-haaa! We really goht you, Mike-ahl, didn’t we! Hach-hach-haaa, what fun!,” Arnie exclaimed, as he walked over to Ironside.

Arnie chomped on a piece of cake covered in red frosting and blue lettering, the full extent of which was undecipherable (but if it had been, you could see it once said, “Get your ass to Mars”). With one calculated movement, Ironside flipped up the bottom of Arnie’s plate, dunking his face in the frosting. Ironside smiled.
“Hach-hach-haaa-haa! Now you haf got-ten meee back! Hach-hach-haa!!”
“Something like that,” said Ironside coldly.
“Hey loook, it’s Benn-y!,” declared Arnie as he spotted Mel Johnson, Jr. making his way through the crowd.
“Hey, Arnold, you remember me, I’m Mel Johnson, Junior!,” screamed Mel Johnson, Jr.
“Hach-hach-hach-haaa! I lovve you guys!,” announced Arnie as he enveloped Mickey, Ironside, and Mel with an enormous hug. Ironside pursed his lips. A sensation of melancholy washed over him. He hadn’t had this much fun in a long time, and he hated to see it all end. But then Ironside winced and perished the thought because he knew CHAINDANCE would be just as much- if not more- fun, and he wouldn’t even need to leave Canada to have it. Ironside took a swig of his Labatt Maximum Ice. Life was good.

THE END

Film Review: RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK (1981, Steven Spielberg)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: 115 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Harrison Ford, Karen Allen, John Rhys-Davies, Denholm Eliot, William Hootkins, Paul Freeman, Ronald Lacey, Dennis Muren, John Williams, George Lucas, Pat Roach, Alfred Molina, Lawrence Kasdan
Tag-line: "The Return of the Great Adventure."
Best one-liner: "You want to talk to God? Let's go see him together, I've got nothing better to do."

Ah, Indiana Jones. A true hero for America. He's basically a grave robber, a cultural appropriator, sucker-punch thrower, a 'shoot first and ask questions later' kind of guy. He feels justified in everything he does, and when he gets called out on it, he defuses the situation with a smarmy grin. And the film acknowledges it, with Belloq's whole "shadowy reflection of you" speech, which is the screenwriter Kasdan beautifully channeling the days of Hawks and Huston. According to the original RAIDERS novelization, college-age Indy seduced 16-year-old Marion, promised her the world, and then left her. His friend and favorite professor's daughter! She was so broken down that she followed her dad to Nepal, he promptly died, and she had to work as a prostitute for some years in order to survive.

Now, with THAT subtext, watch their reunion scene, and soak in what a dick Indy is.

Cause that's exactly it. Indiana Jones is a dick. Case in point, in the Nazi sub base, Indy is dressed as a Nazi soldier. His mission- which risks not only his own neck and that of a woman he loves, but possibly the fate of the entire world- hangs in the balance. Yet, when he sees Belloq, he's willing to risk it all just to smack his shoulder into him. Of course, Belloq assumes it's a clumsy Nazi, and exits disdainfully, but Indy could have ruined the entire plan right there. Just so he could be a dick.





And look at that final, smug look of self-satisfaction. That really sums it all up.

Yet... when it all comes down to it, we love Indy. Because in the context of the films, he's usually fighting the most vile, venomous enemies the planet has ever excreted. So keep fighting the good fight, Indy, but cool it with the hypocrisy. There's a pretty blurry line between elitist private collection, 'public' museum, and Hovitos Temple. Aww, there you go with that lopsided grin again. Damn it. Fine. Five stars. But this is the last time!

-Sean Gill