Showing posts with label Tracey Walter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tracey Walter. Show all posts

Wednesday, June 18, 2014

Film Review: MIDNIGHT RUN (1988, Martin Brest)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: 127 minutes.
Tag-line: "Taking the midnight run is a hell of a way to make a living."
Notable Cast or Crew:  Starring Robert De Niro, Charles Grodin (BEETHOVEN, ROSEMARY'S BABY), Yaphet Kotto (ALIEN, BLUE COLLAR, A NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET 6: FREDDY'S DEAD), John Ashton (BEVERLY HILLS COP, SOME KIND OF WONDERFUL), Dennis Farina (THIEF, MANHUNTER, GET SHORTY), Joe Pantoliano (THE GOONIES, RISKY BUSINESS, BOUND, THE SOPRANOS), Jack Kehoe (THE UNTOUCHABLES, SERPICO), Wendy Phillips (BUGSY, THE WIZARD), Philip Baker Hall (SECRET HONOR, HARD EIGHT), Fran Brill (WHAT ABOUT BOB?, Jim Henson crony and puppeteer and voice of "Prairie Dawn"), Tracey Walter (REPO MAN, BATMAN, SILENCE OF THE LAMBS).  Directed by Martin Brest (BEVERLY HILLS COP, SCENT OF A WOMAN).  Written by George Gallo (WISE GUYS, BAD BOYS).   Music by Danny Elfman (BATMAN RETURNS, EDWARD SCISSORHANDS).  Cinematography by Donald E. Thorin (THIEF, TANGO & CASH).
Best One-liner: "Why are you so unpopular with the Chicago police department?"

Let's talk MIDNIGHT RUN– undoubtedly, it's one of the funniest, most artistic, best-written, and best-acted buddy movies of the 1980s, or perhaps ever.  It was recommended to me for years (and most successfully so by J.D.'s terrific writeup over at Radiator Heaven), and I must say it was well worth the "Very Long Wait" it endured in my Netflix queue.  It's a road trip-buddy movie without clichéd characterizations, and each and every role and setpiece feels lived in.  In a year (1988) where one of the most acclaimed films (RAIN MAN) was a cloying and much less successful riff (in my opinion) on the convention, MIDNIGHT RUN has become a kind of sleeper classic, and one that I believe truly stands the test of time.

The plot is simple, but there's a lot of moving parts– consequently, even before we get to the characterizations it's a little more complex than the usual potboiler:  a sleazy bondsman (Joe Pantoliano) unwittingly posts bail for an accountant (Charles Grodin) who has embezzled $15 million from a ferocious mob boss (Dennis Farina).  With mafia assassins after him, Grodin has jumped bail and escaped cross-country, therefore Pantoliano employs a bounty hunter (Robert De Niro) to track him down in the five days he has left before he defaults on the massive bond.  Finding Grodin is only half the battle, however– De Niro must bring him back, alone, and he faces stiff competition from a dirty bounty huntin' rival (John Ashton), a single-minded FBI agent (Yaphet Kotto), the aforementioned mafia assassins,  double-crossin' informants, and even a helicopter.
 
 
 In what is possibly the best De Niro vs. Helicopter scene in all of filmdom. 

Whew.  And there's so many shifting allegiances and players, it's practically Shakespearean.  (Or at least GAME OF THRONES-ian.)  And I must say that it roughly does for bail bonds and bounty hunters what REPO MAN did for that occupation; a seedy and offbeat journey across the American underbelly.  I wish they made more films like this.

At the center of all this scheming and law-bending is the relationship between De Niro and Grodin (which, as J.D. astutely points out in his review, builds an atypical comedic relationship with two 'straight' men, eschewing the funny/zany guy), and boy, is it a doozy. 

We watch them (successfully) get on each other's nerves for nearly two hours, usually by petty and/or absurd means,


 
but something spectacular happens along the way:  it turns into one of the better character studies of the decade.

You expect De Niro, pre-"phoning-it-in era," to be excellent, and he is.  And the way he naturally takes to the comedic role, particularly in his improvisations, is admirable.  At one point, Grodin's character accuses him of having "only two forms of expression: silence and rage."  While this may be true, De Niro gives us each and every color of those respective rainbows––it's like how they say the Inuit language has over two hundred different words for snow: De Niro has at least that many ways to express silence and rage!

I must say that this movie transformed my understanding of Charles Grodin.  I suppose I'd become used to thinking of him as "the dad from BEETHOVEN who was in ROSEMARY'S BABY when he was really young," but holy Toledo– the man can ACT!

The choices he makes are spectacular– you know him, and you believe he's real, but you can't fully read him- he's wise, yet high-strung; paranoid, yet zen.  You get the idea that he just might be the smartest guy in the room, but you're unaware of his actual plan; like Michael Emerson's character on LOST but with an air of benevolence instead of menace.  He's always working an angle, and you can see it playing across his face, especially when nobody's looking.

His general demeanor is "disappointed" and nearly uninvolved, but make no mistake, he's heavily invested.  In who or what, I shall not say.

Then there are all these beautiful, understated moments of pathos and verisimilitude that pepper their journey.  De Niro has fleeting reunion with his ex-wife and daughter, and as it happens, we're really witnessing two scenes:  the foreground with De Niro and his daughter, and the background with Grodin and the ex-wife (Wendy Phillips). 

A lot of actors would have stood around while the main action played out, but not in this movie!  The word of the day is "subtlety."  Enrichment without pulling focus.

Shortly thereafter, there's a peculiar, tender moment as De Niro leads Grodin back to the car.  You could say it is a prisoner being led by his captor; you could say it's two opposing forces about to be confined in a single space; you could say it's two human beings compelled into an uncomfortable position because of pressures beyond their control.  No matter what you say, there's a sad dignity in the following, oddly paternal gesture whereupon De Niro repositions Grodin's overcoat so it doesn't get caught in the car door.



And that is the film in a nutshell.  Many movies are simply a collection of scenes, and the makers are interested in getting from point A to B to C.  If a journey by car is required to get from A to B, they'll put on their workgloves and hammer out a segue.  It risks becoming a chore, a time-filler, a necessary evil.  Here, that's not so.  MIDNIGHT RUN breathes life from every pore, it's teeming with an authenticity that cannot be contained.  Slamming a car door becomes an opportunity for character development, enlightenment, truth– not simply an audiovisual cue that we're about to move from one location to another.  This is just one example out of dozens: I can already tell you that this film will reward multiple viewings.

Now, I don't want to give too much away– especially because, as the film progressed, I found myself legitimately not knowing how it was going to end.  Do you realize how rare that is in an 80's buddy/action/crime/comedy?  Such a thing must be savored!


In closing, here are ten bits of my beloved minutiae that I must mention in order to properly sing MIDNIGHT RUN's praises:


#1. Yaphet Kotto.  Hell yes, Yaphet Kotto.  Master of the slow burn.


I've never not loved a scene that starred Yaphet Kotto, from LIVE AND LET DIE to ALIEN to THE RUNNING MAN to A NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET 6: FREDDY'S DEAD.  His big, watery eyes are slow-cookin' with gentlemanly rage. 

He plays it so deadpan, I suppose you could make the argument that he's the true straight man of the piece.  Carry on, Yaphet.

#2.  Danny Elfman's score.  It is the least-Danny Elfmanish Danny Elfman score ever.  It's like honkytonk Ry Cooder meets a Huey Lewis and the News karaoke track.  It's beautiful and terrible both, and it's still stuck in my head.

#3.  Joey Pants.  Mr. Pantoliano himself.

His stash of money in his pink socks, his terrible late 80s patterned shirts, his shit-eating grins, his sweaty combovers, his ratlike countenance– has anyone ever been better suited to play a bailbondsman?  Perhaps not.

#4.  Apparently the studio wanted George Gallo to rewrite the screenplay to accommodate Cher in the Charles Grodin role.  When that didn't work, they were pulling for Robin Williams.  Obviously, given the perfection of Grodin's performance, in either case it would have been a real movie killer.  I just physically shivered.  I don't even want to think about this.

#5.  Philip Baker Hall (SECRET HONOR, BOOGIE NIGHTS, DOGVILLE) as a Las Vegas mob associate named "Sydney."

Fans of P.T. Anderson's HARD EIGHT (aka SYDNEY) will note that he plays a washed-up Las Vegas gambler also named Sydney in that particular film.  I realize that the continuity isn't perfect by any means, but seems like a little more than a coincidence.  I'm just going to pretend it's an official sequel, and don't try to stop me.

#6.  Cult maniac Tracey Walter (REPO MAN, THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS, CONAN THE DESTROYER, BATMAN '90, RUMBLE FISH, THE HAND) as the proprietor of a greasy spoon diner.

That is his natural habitat, and all is right in the world.

#7.  The "litmus configuration" scene (I will say no more of the specifics) is a mini-masterpiece of actors playing characters who in turn are "acting."  Every element of the scene: the improv, the near crack-ups, the locale, the bystanders– it's perfection. 


I think it even quietly transcends the classic "I hate rednecks" bar scene from 48 HRS., another classic buddy movie moment similarly founded on some harmless flim-flammin'.

#8.  John Ashton.  As an endearingly diabolical rival bounty hunter, John Ashton officially won me over with this movie.  I'd probably seen him in half a dozen other roles (including BEVERLY HILLS COP, BREAKING AWAY, BORDERLINE, and SOME KIND OF WONDERFUL)

but only here did I see his acting chops on full display.  You love to hate him, and he never lets up– though he's imbued with a few streaks of pathos that wouldn't usually be afforded to such a character.

#9.  Dennis Farina.  I suppose this movie is ostensibly a comedy, thought I hope I've adequately made the argument that that's not entirely the case.  That fact is never more clear than when we get to sit down and meet Dennis Farina's mobster, up close.  He starts tossing around death threats

and for a moment the movie turns legitimately scary.  I applaud this.

#10.  Another cross-country fugitive road trip movie, NORTH BY NORTHWEST, gets a nice nod when Robert De Niro chases a crop duster– instead of the other way around.


I was speechless when I witnessed that moment, and speechless I shall remain.  
But before I go, let me say:  Five stars... and bravo!

–Sean Gill

Monday, January 17, 2011

Film Review: HOMER AND EDDIE (1989, Andrei Konchalovsky)

Stars: 2.2 of 5.
Running Time: 102 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: James Belushi, Whoopi Goldberg, John Waters (director of PINK FLAMINGOS and SERIAL MOM), Anne Ramsey (THE GOONIES, DEADLY FRIEND), Mickey Jones (TOTAL RECALL, EXTREME PREJUDICE), Karen Black (FIVE EASY PIECES, INVADERS FROM MARS), Vincent Schiavelli (ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO'S NEST, LORD OF ILLUSIONS), Tracey Walter (REPO MAN, MORTUARY ACADEMY), 'Tiny' Lister (EXTREME PREJUDICE, JACKIE BROWN), Pruitt Taylor Vince (NATURAL BORN KILLERS, WILD AT HEART), Wayne Grace (DANCES WITH WOLVES, MULHOLLAND DR.), Robert Glaudini (CUTTING CLASS; GRUNT! THE WRESTLING MOVIE).
Tag-line: "She's ruthless - He's witless - They're on the road together and falling apart at the seams!"
Best one-liner: "What the fuck is a brain stem?"

Sometimes when I can't tell if a film is supposed to be a comedy or a drama, and James Belushi happens to be in it, all I have to do is look at his credit: if it says 'Jim' (SNOW DOGS, CANADIAN BACON, ABRAXIS: GUARDIAN OF THE UNIVERSE, JUMPIN' JACK FLASH) it's probably intended to be a comedy, and if it says 'James' (SALVADOR, WILD PALMS, THIEF), it probably means that he wants to be taken seriously. HOMER AND EDDIE is a film which pendulates wildly between the full on-whacky and the quasi-profound, but for the record, he's credited as 'James.'

A lot of 70's and 80's movies struggle to maintain a consistent tone (INTO THE NIGHT, THE END, FREEBIE AND THE BEAN, SOMETHING WILD, HOWARD THE DUCK, and STROKER ACE come to mind), establishing themselves as Zany with a capital Z, and then pulling the rug out with something that's Heavy with a capital H. It's not to say that this will derail an entire film, or that tonal shifts can't be done well (see the Coens, David Lynch, et al.), but it's possible that two disparate tones have never been quite so at odds with one another as is the case in HOMER AND EDDIE. For example, we follow up a disquieting scene with a terminally ill woman smashing her head into a bathroom mirror...

...with one that involves hootin' n' hollerin' whilst driving past a bus full of nubile cheerleaders while set to peppy 80' grooves. A serious theological discussion that ends with Whoopi screaming, in all seriousness, "THERE AIN'T NO FUCKING GOD!" is followed by a fix-em-up montage set to tender guitar and wailin', sultry saxophone.

Directed by the writer of IVAN'S CHILDHOOD and ANDREI RUBLEV (!) and Cannon Films director-in-residence (RUNAWAY TRAIN, MARIA'S LOVERS, SHY PEOPLE) Andrei Konchalovsky, HOMER AND EDDIE is the tale of a brain-damaged man-child (James Belushi) and a brain-tumored sociopath (Whoopi Goldberg) who join forces and go on a West Coast road trip in search of the meaning of life, the meaning of family, and a missing eighty-seven dollars.

In short, it's a coming of age drama, a zany buddy-trip flick, an on-the-lam crime thriller, a fish out of water story, a Depression-era throwback (that's kind of a 1980's OF MICE AND MEN), a sex farce, and a cult movie. It's like somebody thought that combining RAIN MAN, SOMETHING WILD, and PEE-WEE'S BIG ADVENTURE would in some way be a good idea.
[The only movies of the era I can think of which can properly pull off the Americana road trip scenario along with flashes of beauty and violence and comedy and pathos are Jim Jarmusch's MYSTERY TRAIN and David Lynch's WILD AT HEART.]

Our leads do a pretty good job of 'running it up the flagpole,' so to speak. Belushi tries his hardest to pull off 'lovable, mentally disabled man.' The fact that I didn't find it entirely offensive is a tremendous credit to Belushi's acting chops.

I became something of a latter-day Whoopi fan only after seeing her performance in FATAL BEAUTY, and she's pretty amusing here, rampaging about and robbing people and uttering rejoinders such as "You're like Frankenstein and shit!" She anchors the erratic and ridiculous character with enough humanity that I was never actively pissed at her, and again, that is something of an achievement. You know a film is not hitting it's mark when I have to compliment it in terms 'what was not actively aggravating me.'

When you'd fear that all hope is lost- in a twist that really blew my mind– there's a goddamned parade of iconic cult actors in bit parts. Just look at this rogue's gallery:

Michael Ironside's best bud and ex-Bob-Dylan-drummer Mickey Jones as a redneck manhandled by Whoopi in a diner:


Legendary melancholy-faced character actor Vincent Schiavelli as a priest who refuses to grant Whoopi absolution for murder:


Former wrestler and action film standby Tommy 'Tiny' Lister as a heat-packin' clubgoer begrudingly won over by Belushi's cutesyness:


Crabby acting icon Anne Ramsey as a grizzled convenience store owner keeping an eagle eye out for shoplifters:


70's giant Karen Black as the insane madam of a low-rent, Southwestern, tin-shed whorehouse:


Pruitt Taylor Vince as an unlucky liquor store owner:


Director John Waters as a scampish highwayman who declares "Move it, maggot!":


And cult actor extraordinaire Tracey Walter as a stuttering cop and boyhood friend of Belushi.


Whew! In closing, I still like Konchalovsky. RUNAWAY TRAIN remains an all-time favorite, and HOMER AND EDDIE is by no means a terrible film, it's merely a misguided one. Probably the most inspired bit of work done on the film is by sometime Golan-Globus and Full Moon Pictures casting director Robert MacDonald (BARFLY, MURPHY'S LAW, RUNAWAY TRAIN, AMERICAN NINJA, TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE 2, THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM, SUBSPECIES, CASTLE FREAK, TRANCERS II) who assembled enough eclectic performers and bizarro cameos to really keep things interesting, even if it was something along the lines of 'What notorious cult performer will pop up next?!'

For its status as a (misconceived) labor of love and a treasure trove of unexpected personalities: a little over two stars.

-Sean Gill

Monday, May 3, 2010

Film Review: MORTUARY ACADEMY (1988, Michael Schroeder)

Stars: 4 of 5.
Running Time: 87 minutes.
Tag-line: "Where the dearly departed meet the clearly retarded."
Notable Cast or Crew: Paul Bartel, Mary Woronov, Christopher Atkins, Perry Lang, Anthony James, Tracey Walter, Wolfman Jack, Cesar Romero, Stoney Jackson (STREETS OF FIRE, ROLLER BOOGIE). Directed by Michael Schroeder (CYBORG 2, CYBORG 3: THE RECYCLER; assistant director on LAMBADA, HIGHLANDER 2!).
Best one-liner: "I haven't seen this much blood since Jimmy Hawks asked me to be his cell-block bride!"

Now, MORTUARY ACADEMY is nowhere near as terrific as EATING RAOUL, but it comes far closer than I ever could have suspected. I had been extremely disappointed by LUST IN THE DUST (which Paul Bartel directed, but didn't write), so I didn't know what to expect from a largely derided film (that he wrote but didn't direct), but as it turns out, my reservations were completely unfounded. This movie is ludicrous, and it works because it serves, straight up, a big dollop of what we really want- which is a shitload of Paul and Mary (Woronov).


Like a bizarro Tracy and Hepburn for 70's and 80's, my only complaints about any of their collaborations center on them not being the absolute center of attention. But worry not- they're front and center here. Using tropes from the likes of POLICE ACADEMY and MOVING VIOLATIONS, this film is far from original, but its brilliance lies in the details- the best jokes are nearly hidden: dubbed in the background or off-handedly tossed aside, only to sink in a moment later. Paul and Mary play 'Paul' and 'Mary,' nefarious administrators of a mortuary academy, scheming to keep sibling heirs Christopher Atkins (THE PIRATE MOVIE) and Perry Lang (ALLIGATOR) from passing their classes and inheriting the mortuary (was SIX FEET UNDER inspired by this?).

Christopher Atkins- still fresh-faced and full of vim and vigor despite the embarrassments of THE PIRATE MOVIE. I really respect that.


Paul nefariously consoles Perry Lang.

Paul wears that smoking jacket he wears in every movie, and Mary wears enough shoulder pads and leopard-print to satisfy her die-hards.

Formaldehyde is used as champagne, Paul romances a corpse:


I can't tell if Paul Bartel makes this more creepy or less creepy than it ought to be.

an ex-con (an awesomely terrifying Anthony James- 'Skinny' in UNFORGIVEN) exclaims "I haven't seen this much blood since Jimmy Hawks asked me to be his cell-block bride!"

and Tracey Walter (REPO MAN, SOMETHING WILD) strides in just to prove beyond reasonable doubt that this is, indeed, a cult movie.

(And he's doing Frankenstein-ian experiments in robotics and dead tissue, no less.) There's cameos by Wolfman Jack and Cesar Romero, an undead, animatronic horror band called "Radio Werewolf," and by now you should be able to tell if this is your cup of tea or not.

For a movie which I expected to be Zany with a capital 'Z' and (fastforward-ably?) unbearable, I was very pleasantly surprised. I suppose I shouldn't have underestimated the sheer animal power of Bartel and Woronov. Four stars.

-Sean Gill

Sunday, February 7, 2010

Film Review: GUNCRAZY (1992, Tamra Davis)

Stars: 4 of 5.
Running Time: 97 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Drew Barrymore, James LeGros, Ione Skye, Michael Ironside, Billy Drago, Joe Dallesandro, Tracey Walter. Written by Matthew Bright (FREEWAY, FORBIDDEN ZONE).
Tag-line: "Love made them crazy. Guns made them outlaws."
Best one-liner: "I kinda de-poisoned 'em with a potato scraper." or "Pee-Wee- dammit, you piece of shit!!" (Both said by Billy Drago.)

GUNCRAZY, a loose remake of the 1950 classic, is surprisingly solid. It takes place in that youthful, marginalized universe which the late 80's-early 90's knew so well (DRUGSTORE COWBOY, PRINCE OF PENNSYLVANIA, etc.). It's a denim-draped world where drifters live for that frenetic, ecstatic moment of stuffing a purloined Hostess pocket pie in their mouth, whole.

Tasty pocket pies are all they have to live for. (Is that a TEENAGE MUTANT NINJA TURTLES pocket pie?)

A world where a dog in a mansion lives better than 90% of the population. A world where, oh you think you're so smart? Well, I've got the gun, and so long as I've got this gun, I'm smart, and YOU'RE stupid. Drew Barrymore plays a trailer-dwellin' teen with low self-esteem who's raped by her mom's boyfriend

(Warhol's own Joe Dallesandro!) and pseudo-consensually assaulted by half the student body (including a young n' weaselly Jeremy Davies!)- until she meets fresh-faced, gun-luvin' ex-con James LeGros. But he's not your garden-variety, pistol-packin' psycho: he's a woebegone boy, who, given the assortment of problems which he faces at any given time, simply finds the Gun to be the easiest solution. They kill not because they like it, but because they've put themselves in a position where they must. And despite it all, they find that unenviable, ruinous position- that 'freedom' in the eye of the whirlpool before being sucked down- to be a vast improvement over their former miseries.

Then we got two of my all-time favorites: Michael Ironside and Billy Drago.

Ironside plays a tough-as-nails parole officer who will not hesitate to call you "trash" and say your gal "puts out for anyone in pants."

Ironside tells it like it is, much to LeGros' dismay.

He also wears a lot of cardigans. Why Hollywood saw it fit to dress Ironside in shitloads of cardigans is truly a mystery for the ages.

Ironside surrenders to... cardigans.

And as a side note, ONLY in a movie could LeGros beat up Ironside.

I mean, seriously.


Ah, 1992. And Ione Skye is Ironside's daughter!

Then Drago plays a batshit crazy, endlessly lovable preacher.

He imparts the Gospel to a crowd of about 9 and he does it from his garage, but there's SNAKES! Oh yes, there are snakes.

Drago prepares to drape his congregation in snakes.


Amen! Four stars.

-Sean Gill