Only now does it occur to me... CARLITO'S WAY (1993)

Only now does it occur to me... that CARLITO'S WAY is probably one of De Palma's best. It has all the ridiculous vintage spectacle of SCARFACE (i.e., a life of crime occasionally depicted as a sleazy Mentos commercial) alongside the endlessly creative visual storytelling that you've come to expect from De Palma,

but it also possesses some incredibly nuanced character development, particularly in the dynamic between Carlito (Al Pacino)
 
Pacino: pictured wearing a leather duster during a heat wave––something that likely soured Pacino on subway filming at least until he played Satan in THE DEVIL'S ADVOCATE. According the the doc DE PALMA, he walked off set that night, mid-shoot!

and his scuzzy lawyer (Sean Penn, in one of his finest performances).

I'm not even joking about the caliber of Penn's work here––he's phenomenal.

Furthermore, there are brilliant supporting turns by underground NYC standby Rick Aviles,

pre-fame Viggo Mortensen (back when he was still a character actor),

a ubiquitously likable Luis Guzman, and a subtly chilling John Leguizamo.


But, as you can probably tell––being as this is an "Only now does it occur to me"––I'm about to dive into some minutiae. First, I'd like to call out a Dario Argento reference. De Palma is no stranger to giving a nod to his post-Hitchcock contemporary across the pond. Historically, DRESSED TO KILL is chock full of Argento references, and there's a pretty substantial TENEBRE homage in THE UNTOUCHABLES. Here, it's a little subtler. Pacino is stalking his ex-girlfriend Penelope Ann Miller and he follows her––in the rain––to a ballet academy.


Probably only the die-hards would read this as an abstract reference to SUSPIRIA, whose infamous opening scene involves a furtive (and voyeuristic) visit to a ballet academy in the pouring rain.

Finally, I wanted to salute the MVP of CARLITO'S WAY: Dancing Phone Call Woman. Allow me to explain.

At El Paraiso, Carlito's dance club (the name is a reference to the sandwich shop in SCARFACE), the revelers revel mostly in bottom-shelf cocaine and top-shelf disco.

De Palma is brilliant at staging group scenes with dozens of extras. Look no further than the "Relax" scene from BODY DOUBLE. Some directors don't direct their extras at all, some use an assistant director, and some assistant directors just tell the performers where to stand. De Palma is precise––incredibly so––and practically every single extra is doing something specific and visually interesting. There are no rooms of people randomly milling about, mumbling "peas and carrots, peas and carrots," wondering what the hell to do with their hands. This leads me to the all-star background artist of CARLITO'S WAY: Dancing Phone Call Woman. As De Palma's camera roams the room, in one corner, behind an open door, there is a woman on the phone. No, she is not merely on the phone––she is shaking a maraca while on the phone. And, no, she is not merely shaking a maraca while on the phone––she is dancing up a storm, twirling like Stevie Nicks, shaking a maraca, and beaming like a beauty contestant––all while making a phone call from a land line with a spiral-coil cord. 

I salute you, Twirling-Dancing-Maraca-Phone Call Woman. You are a special, irreplaceable thread in the tapestry that is CARLITO'S WAY. You are a goddamned champion.

Only now does it occur to me... THE INDIAN RUNNER (1991)

Only now does it occur to me... that the probability of the THE INDIAN RUNNER existing is so unlikely that I'm not, in fact, sure that it does exist.

Picture, if you will, a movie directed by Hollywood activist Sean Penn, based on a song ("Highway Patrolman") by blue-collar hero Bruce Springsteen, and produced by infamous former White House Chief Strategist and crypto-fascist Steve Bannon. A motley crew, indeed! (Though I kinda doubt Springsteen ever sat down in a room with the other two, perhaps exhausted enough by Penn's middle-of-the-night phone calls.)

So, THE INDIAN RUNNER stars David Morse as a highway patrolman (okay, that is incredibly likely, I'll give you that)

and young Viggo Mortensen as his wild, lawbreaking brother.

I would posit, as many have, that they represent the dueling aspects of Sean Penn's interior struggle/personal contradictions, with David Morse as the Sean Penn who does volunteer work and saves people from hurricanes, and Viggo as the Sean Penn who (allegedly!) tortured Madonna and dangled paparazzi over balconies.

But now for something truly unlikely: Charles Bronson plays their father, in his only theatrical role post-1984 that didn't involve Cannon Films' Menahem Golan.

And wait––what's this?––it's almost like there's something missing... something that belongs between his nose and upper lip...

Indeed, Bronson is missing his signature mustache. Back when Don Siegel tried to get him to shave it for 1977's TELEFON, Bronson's sole reply on the subject was "No mustache, no Bronson." Apparently it was somehow a different matter when Sean Penn called (!?). Perhaps old age had softened his stance, though he certainly grew it back quickly enough for YES, VIRGINIA THERE IS A SANTA CLAUS and THE SEA WOLF. It's also worth noting that this is a role of considerable pathos: a sweet old man from Nebraska who is not and has never been a pocket bazooka-wielding vigilante. (This is also one of the rare post-DEATH WISH roles in which he does not handle a firearm onscreen.)

Furthermore, legendary Oscar-winning character actress Sandy Dennis (WHO'S AFRAID OF VIRGINIA WOOLF?, THE THREE SISTERS, GOD TOLD ME TO, 976-EVIL) plays Bronson's wife. Frankly, it's bizarre to see the man who so beautifully uttered "Chicken's good... I like chicken" playing scene partner to one of the masters of the American stage.


Bronson: not a master of the American stage, but only because they never made KINJITE: FORBIDDEN SUBJECTS––THE MUSICAL!

Also, I must note that this image of Bronson praying before a pile of Wonder Bread and a gravy boat while sandwiched between a cornfed David Morse and a Gerber Baby might just be the whitest tableau ever committed to film:

I'm beginning to comprehend Steve Bannon's interest in the project. Also of note: Viggo's character has Nazi tattoos and hangs a confederate flag in his bedroom...

Next, we have Patricia Arquette as Viggo's pregnant girlfriend, and apparently she is meant to be the doppelgänger of Mia Farrow in ROSEMARY'S BABY.


"Nothing but a mild sedative to calm you down, Rosemary..."


Finally, we have Dennis Hopper as a terrifyingly intense bartender

Okay, so this is extremely likely, too

who leans in real close and whispers things like, "Did you ever wanna kill someone... just out of rage?"

Wow. I mean, look at that. I can't help but feel this must be the (slightly?) fictionalized version of an actual conversation that went down between Sean Penn and Steve Bannon. 

[In any event, you're probably wondering: is it any good? It is––but with a few caveats. It's very much an early '90s attempt to capture the spirit of '70s indie dramas by guys like Bob Rafelson, John Cassavetes, Peter Bogdanovich, and Hal Ashby. It's amped up by post-BLUE VELVET, expressionistic/Lynchian touches, some of which are visually interesting, and some of which are a little too pretentious for their own good. The first half of the movie outweighs the second (for reasons I can't get into without spoiling it), and it's really at its best when Bronson, Dennis, or Hopper are on screen, though Morse and Viggo are certainly in top form as well.]

Only now does it occur to me... THE PROPHECY (1995)

Only now does it occur to me... how in the hell did they succeed in making THE PROPHECY so boring?

Let's begin at the beginning: this is an apocalyptic, supernatural horror movie (from the writer of HIGHLANDER, no less), apparently popular enough to spawn four sequels, starring Christopher Walken as the Archangel Gabriel,

a character with bizarrely 'wig-like' slicked-back hair, who is defined mostly by his propensity for perching on things



and his profound, nearly Trumpian sniffing:


who is probably based on the "Angel of Death" character from a Madonna music video.


In "Bad Girl" (1993), Walken's just sniffin'

and perchin' all over the place.


Did I mention we also also have Eric Stolz (as the Archangel "Simon") looking all Jesus-y and

also perching on lots of things, like the best of them.

We have Elias Koteas lending serious pathos as a priest-turned-detective:


SEINFELD's "Kenny Bania" (Steve Hytner) in an oddly serious role:


Adam Goldberg dealing with some serious limbo/substance abuse:


Virginia Madsen looking seriously sad all the time:

and Amanda Plummer doing some serious gurgling in a hospital bed:

Wait a minute, why is this all so serious?!  This is a movie about creepy-wacky Archangels that sniff and perch on things, it should be kind of fun, right?

When we're given visions of a battle in heaven, I was reminded of ARMY OF DARKNESS

and immediately wished that I was watching ARMY OF DARKNESS instead.  Or at least TALES FROM THE CRYPT: DEMON KNIGHT.

By the time Viggo Mortensen shows up as Satan

Two of Cronenberg's faves sharing a tender, sniffin' moment––Viggo (A HISTORY OF VIOLENCE, EASTERN PROMISES) and Elias (CRASH).

(also perching on things, come to think of it)

we should be having peak fun––it's so patently ridiculous, that no amount of overwrought, inspirational voiceover; no amount of clumsily-delivered Biblical exposition should be able to ruin our fun. And yet. And yet.

Allow me to quote a line from THE PROPHECY:

"And in the end, I think it must be about faith, and if faith is a choice, then it can be lost––for a man, an angel, or the devil himself. And if faith means never completely understanding God's plan, then maybe understanding just a part of it ––our part––is what it is to have a soul. And maybe in the end, that's what being human is, after all." 

Dear lord, I believe I've stumbled upon the problem. I wanted this to feel like PRINCE OF DARKNESS or HELLRAISER or DEMON KNIGHT––hell, I would have even taken END OF DAYS... but instead, watching this movie feels like going to church. THE PROPHECY is not a horror movie. It's a sanctimonious Hallmark Channel drama masquerading as a horror movie. THE PROPHECY tricks you into thinking you're buying tickets to a Black Sabbath concert, but really it's a 'hip' Christian rock festival called Whack Sabbath. THE PROPHECY approaches you at the mall, and you think, wow, you're getting a coupon for a free Orange Julius, but really you're being handed a pamphlet that asks, "Are you saved?" THE PROPHECY is a breaking news alert about "War!" and after you scramble to click the link, you see they mean the War on Christmas. PROPHECY is a better movie, and PROPHECY is a movie about mutant bears directed by a blacked-out drunk John Frankenheimer. I could go on. But I won't. Um, Amen.


[Also worth mentioning: there are a number of elements (including the Weinsteins) that this movie shares in common with Kevin Smith's DOGMA, and while the flavors couldn't be more different, I feel pretty confident that THE PROPHECY served as at least a partial inspiration.]

Film Review: PSYCHO (1998, Gus van Sant)

Stars: 3 of 5.
Running Time: 105 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Ann Heche, Bill Macy, Vince Vaughn, James Remar (RENT-A-COP, THE WARRIORS), James LeGros (PHANTASM II, ACE HITS THE BIG TIME), Viggo Mortensen, Julianne Moore, Philip Baker Hall, Rita Wilson, Robert Forster (ALLIGATOR, VIGILANTE). Music by Bernard Herrmann and adapted by Danny Elfman. Cinematography by Christopher Doyle.
Tag-line: "Check in. Unpack. Relax. Take a shower."
Best one-liner: "She might have fooled me, but she didn't fool my mother."

Perhaps Gus van Sant wanted to prove that 'movie magic' doesn't necessarily reside on the duplicatable surface. Well, Gus: point taken. Like the clone of a human being would not possess the same memories (or soul), a nearly shot-for-shot remake (with the same script and Herrmann score) of PSYCHO is going to strike your average cineaste as ill-advised. [Gus does add a few flourishes (i.e., Mom Bates lets down her hair, murders are crosscut with subliminal flashes of gals in lingerie, rolling clouds, and cows (!).]

Or maybe it's a goat? It's only on screen for like 1/20 of a second.

But by no means is this "bad" bad. It's packed with talented actors, all trying their best: Bill H. Macy as Arbogast, Viggo Mortensen as the hayseedily sincere Sam Loomis, James Remar as the stern state trooper,

James LeGros as the car salesman, Philip Baker Hall as the sheriff, and Robert Forster as 'the guy who gets to explain everything at the end.'

Forster spells it all out.

Ann Heche (as Marion) is no Janet Leigh, and her haircut is pretty questionable, but she holds her own.

 

In the middle of all this is Vince Vaughn (a few years before he began exclusively playing himself) as NORMAN BATES. Wearing sort of queer-coded bowling attire and engaging in some dubious line readings, Vaughn is in wayyy over his head, and he knows it.

Consequently, the level of fear he exudes in each scene varies depending on how talented his costars are (note his heightened jumpiness around Bill and Viggo).

He does nail that final stare, though, so it's not a total loss.

Anyway, I guess Gus couldn't decide whether or not to have this thing take place in 1960 or 1998. Well, to be more accurate he did decide––the opening titles say "1998," but he neglected to tell his cast, all of whom seem to have costumed themselves. Julianne Moore, for example, rolls in with headphones, a backpack, and a hoody––pure 90's.

Mere seconds later, Bill Macy scoots in wearing a zany royal blue suit straight from the 50's. I guess Gus also neglected to tell Bill Macy that he wasn't playing Sky Masterson.

Viggo attempts to mentally reconcile the collision of 50's and 90's happening before his very eyes.

 
Macy is the best. And he really milks that stairwell tumble for all it's worth.



Nice! Three stars.