Only now does it occur to me... SPEED 2: CRUISE CONTROL (1997)

Only now does it occur to me... that they should've named this picture after a phrase which appears on screen about an hour and twenty minutes in:

"SPEED 2: SPEED MALFUNCTION."

Yes, despite Jan de Bont's workmanlike direction (you likely know him best as Paul Verhoeven's and John McTiernan's cinematographer), a denouement involving a $25 million setpiece with a cruise ship crashing into Saint Martin ("the most expensive stunt ever filmed"),

 

 and Willem Dafoe's finest crazyface (throughout),

this thing is the mess that everyone says it is. Witness my disdain by enjoying these screen captures taken from a VHS, which I photographed off of my television set. 

Anyway, SPEED 2 follows two of my ironclad 1990s rules: one of which is It Takes Place on a Boat, and the other being "if it's a SPEED movie, it must star a David Lynch villain as the Big Bad." In this instance, obviously, it's WILD AT HEART's Willem Dafoe gobbling the scenery. He plays a computer hacking leech enthusiast

with a caddy bag full of golf club bombs

and a nefarious plan to throw Bo Svenson overboard, steal some jewels (?), and ram a cruise ship into an oil tanker. When you first lay eyes on the shopping mall aboard this cruise ship, you find yourself rooting for Dafoe.

Anyway, Keanu Reeves has been replaced by Jason Patric (THE LOST BOYS, SOLARBABIES), 

and if Sandra Bullock wasn't in it (seen here wielding a chainsaw in her only moment of agency), you would have no reason to believe this was a SPEED film. The supporting cast is of a shockingly high pedigree: Temuera Morrison (ONCE WERE WARRIORS, THE BOOK OF BOBA FETT)

Please, sir, I beg you, watch ONCE WERE WARRIORS instead

the aforementioned Bo Svenson (THE INGLORIOUS BASTARDS, KILL BILL VOL. 2),  Colleen Camp (CLUE, WAYNE'S WORLD, POLICE ACADEMY 2), Joe Morton (THE BROTHER FROM ANOTHER PLANET, "Miles Dyson" in TERMINATOR 2), Glenn Plummer (SHOWGIRLS, MENACE II SOCIETY), and Kimmy Robertson (Lucy from TWIN PEAKS, LEPRECHAUN 2) as "Liza the Cruise Director."

Which is probably a bizarre enough note to end this on. Anyway. SPEED 2.

Only now does it occur to me... WHO'S THAT GIRL

Only now does it occur to me...  Who is that girl?  Who is she really?

Whew.  Okay.  A couple of things.

I hope you like unmitigated Madonna-prancing!

First off, this is an 80s screwball comedy presumably greenlit because of the success of DESPERATELY SEEKING SUSAN, and yet whoever was doing the greenlighting neglected to realize that Madonna was nearly mute and not actually the star of that film, which is regrettably not the case in WHO'S THAT GIRL.  

But this movie isn't all that Bad with a capital-B; it suffers mostly from a failure in tone– it's basically the fusion of SOMETHING WILD and BRINGING UP BABY (yes, there are jungle cats) with Madonna taking on the Katherine Hepburn/Melanie Griffith roles and Griffin Dunne taking on the Cary Grant/Jeff Daniels bits.  Madonna's character is pure id, manic-pixie-dream-Ciccone, and the major gag I guess is that she's a bad driver (!?).  Though I do appreciate the Material Girl living up to her name by patronizing McDonald's, wolfing down half of her Chicken McNuggets, and feeding the rest to an endangered species.

And did I mention that this is directed by James Foley, who did the GLENGARRY GLEN ROSS movie?

Anyway, there were a few brief things of note:

#1.  NYC in 1987.

I always appreciate these authentically sleazy street scenes; so ubiquitous in the 80s, and so rare today.  Thanks, Giuliani!

#2.  Obligatory gun salesman scene.

It seemed like for a while in the 70s and 80s, there was a scene in almost every film– comedy, action, drama, suspense, thriller, you name it– that took place in a seedy motel where a shady dude was selling weaponry.  Here, it's Sean Sullivan (CLASS OF 1999, WAYNE'S WORLD), who's a quite passable as a poor man's Brad Dourif.  Bravo.

#3.  REDRUM

While driving through the aforementioned unsavory neighborhood, Griffin Dunne's luxury car is graffitied over by the locals.  Particularly of note is "REDRUM" in pink and silver on the rear quarter panel, in a direct and head-scratching reference to THE SHINING.  My best guess is that it was the work of a bored production assistant.

#4.  Candles and champagne.

Candles and champagne?  Hmm.  What is it about Madonna and candles and champagne?  This is triggering something... it's triggering something traumatic and long-buried...  I'm getting flashes...images...words.  "Body."  "Evidence." I'm seeing Willem Dafoe's nipples covered in champagne and candle wax and sweet God no, NOOOO–

Stop, Madonna, no more, NO MORE!  AIEEEEEE!

–and then suddenly, we're back to reality, I'm no longer having a BODY OF EVIDENCE acid flashback, I'm just watching Madonna in a PG-rated screwball comedy, and it's just a couple of good folks enjoying some nice champagne with some lovely candles in the background, and I'm having a pleasant time, it's quite delightful in fact, and just a pleasant and delightful time, don't you think?

The final verdict:  better than BODY OF EVIDENCE, but not nearly as good as... gee, I don't know...  DISORDERLIES?

Only now does it occur to me... HEAVEN'S GATE (1980)

Only now does it occur to me... that I'm not sure if a movie has ever been packed with as many beloved character actors as HEAVEN'S GATE, and I'll even include THE LONGEST DAY, COP LAND, THE EXPENDABLES, THE PLAYER, and MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS in consideration.

There's so much to say about HEAVEN'S GATE.  Probably too much.  From its tumultuous production that basically destroyed United Artists to its hideous reception to its latter-day critical re-evaluation to the Johnson County War on which it is based– one could fill a volume.  (And people have.)  In the end, I'd say it's an ambitious film which flirts with genius, is bogged down by poor pacing, but consistently holds the viewer spellbound with gorgeous Western imagery (courtesy of master cinematographer Vilmos Zsigmond) even when the narrative begins to dawdle. 

So set aside nearly four hours and give it a try– I'd say it's worth the time for the curious, the Western fan, the cinematography aficionado, or the character actor die-hard.  But more on that in a minute.  Then, see FINAL CUT: THE MAKING AND UNMAKING OF HEAVEN'S GATE (available in eight parts on YouTube here), and go ahead and read this interview with Cimino himself for a little taste of the outlandish (and possibly insane) creature who lurks beneath the surface of this genuinely talented and occasionally virtuosic director.

But for now, fasten your seatbelts, and prepare for a whirlwind tour of character actors, the sheer magnitude of whom may even give you whiplash: 

Coming up on the left here is Eastwood crony Geoffrey Lewis (10 TO MIDNIGHT, MIDNIGHT IN THE GARDEN OF GOOD AND EVIL, DOUBLE IMPACT, BRONCO BILLY, 'SALEM'S LOT, MAVERICK) looking like the live action mountain man version of "Pigpen" from peanuts.

Attached to Geoffrey Lewis is a hand.  And in that hand is a tongue.  And that tongue is attached to...

...Mickey Rourke?  

 

Lookin' pretty young there, Mickey!  Good show.

Down the road a spell is Terry O'Quinn (THE STEPFATHER, BLIND FURY, THE X-FILES, SILVER BULLET, THE ROCKETEER, "John Locke" on LOST)

He's got his hair still, and is playing a baseball-luvin' member of the U.S. Calvary.  In a strange tie-in with his character on LOST, he's got an injured leg and is carrying an important and mysterious "list" of names.

Continuing on with our journey, here's Richard Masur (IT, THE THING, LICENSE TO DRIVE, MR. BOOGEDY, RENT-A-COP, RISKY BUSINESS, MY GIRL)

chomping on a corn cob pipe, giving his all to his colorful brogue, and looking about as intense as he's ever looked (no small feat for a man generally typecast as "suburban dad").

Over on the right here, to the left of that presumably 19th Century malt liquor is edgy queen of French cinema Isabelle Huppert (THE PIANO TEACHER, AMOUR, I HEART HUCKABEE, COUP DE TORCHON, LA CEREMONIE, Hal Hartley's AMATEUR).

Up here behind the beard is Brad Dourif (CHILD'S PLAY, WISE BLOOD, ALIEN: RESURRECTION, DEADWOOD, THE TWO TOWERS, DUNE, ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO'S NEST, THE EXORCIST III, BLUE VELVET, GRIM PRAIRIE TALES)

and sure he doesn't have much to do, but it's a modern-day Western, so we had to have Brad Dourif in some kind of old-timey spectacles.  I think it should be written into the SAG paperwork.

Around the bend in the proto-pimp costume is Bronson heavy Paul Koslo (THE OMEGA MAN, VANISHING POINT, THE STONE KILLER, MR. MAJESTYK, CLEOPATRA JONES, FREEBIE AND THE BEAN, LOVE AND BULLETS).

Then, over in that train with the fur hat and the lip carpet is Sam Waterston (THE KILLING FIELDS, THE GREAT GATSBY, SERIAL MOM, LAW AND ORDER, CRIMES AND MISDEMEANORS, CAPRICORN ONE)

who finally gets to play a bad guy, and to great effect!

Over to the side there, you can see a Kris Kristofferson (PAT GARRETT AND BILLY THE KID, BRING ME THE HEAD OF ALFREDO GARCIA, CONVOY, FLASHPOINT, BIG-TOP PEE-WEE, BLADE, and star of CHRISTMAS IN CONNECTICUT, the only feature Arnold Schwarzenegger ever directed) in his natural habitat.

And wait– who's that in the shadows behind him?  Why, it's the film debut of Willem Dafoe (THE LOVELESS, WILD AT HEART, ANTICHRIST, SPIDERMAN, TO LIVE AND DIE IN L.A., THE LAST TEMPTATION OF CHRIST, EXISTENZ, BODY OF EVIDENCE, BOONDOCK SAINTS, THE ENGLISH PATIENT).  He's just an extra, but, hot damn!

Down the path a spell is none other than Jeff Bridges (TRON, THE BIG LEBOWSKI, CUTTER'S WAY, THE LAST PICTURE SHOW, KING KONG '76, STARMAN, THUNDERBOLT AND LIGHTFOOT).

He's got a great intensity here in a supporting role– and supposedly when production wrapped, one of the many "cabin" sets were up for grabs, so Bridges swooped in, disassembled it, and reconstructed it on his ranch property!

Over in this glen is Christopher Walken (THE DEER HUNTER, ANNIE HALL, KING OF NEW YORK, THE DEAD ZONE, A VIEW TO A KILL, MCBAIN, BATMAN RETURNS, WAYNE'S WORLD 2, NEW ROSE HOTEL, KANGAROO JACK)

and I'll yes indeed shut my big mouth, shitpoke!  Another fine Walken badass role.

And then right here, if he'll put down the flask long enough for you to get a clear look– is none other than John Hurt (THE ELEPHANT MAN, I CLAUDIUS, ALIEN, THE HIT, 1984, THE STORYTELLER, KING RALPH, DOGVILLE, MIDNIGHT EXPRESS, DEAD MAN, HELLBOY, TINKER TAILOR SOLDIER SPY '11)!

He delivers an eccentric performance, dripping with pathos.  Like every other John Hurt performance!  The man is never anything less than superlative.

Then, upon examining the end credits, I realized that one of my favorites, Tom Noonan (MANHUNTER, HEAT, THE MONSTER SQUAD, THE LAST ACTION HERO, ROBOCOP 2, THE HOUSE OF THE DEVIL, DAMAGES), was in the film as "Jake," and I didn't notice him!  To be fair, he may have been standing around the back with a beard and hat on, and I'm sure I would have seen him if I'd been looking in advance, but allow me to repeat this sentiment:  there were so many character actors that I missed Tom Noonan.

Whew!  I'm impressed.  I hope you've enjoyed this breakneck tour of character actors.  And perhaps in closing, it begs to be asked:  where the hell was Harry Dean Stanton?

Film Review: GO GO TALES (2007, Abel Ferrara)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: 96 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Willem Dafoe (BODY OF EVIDENCE), Matthew Modine (VISION QUEST, FULL METAL JACKET), Bob Hoskins (THE LONG GOOD FRIDAY, THE COTTON CLUB), Sylvia Miles (MIDNIGHT COWBOY, THE SENTINEL), Asia Argento (TRAUMA, MOTHER OF TEARS), Burt Young (ROCKY, ONCE UPON A TIME IN AMERICA), Stefania Rocca (THE CARD PLAYER, THE TALENTED MR. RIPLEY), Anita Pallenberg (BARBARELLA, DILLINGER IS DEAD), Shanyn Leigh (PUBLIC ENEMIES, MARY), Roy Dotrice (AMADEUS, SUBURBAN COMMANDO), Joseph Cortese (AMERICAN HISTORY X, WINDOWS), Pras (of The Fugees). Soundtrack in association with Grace Jones.
Tag-line: "Un film di Abel Ferrara."
Best one-liner: "You can't put the dog in my gourmet kitchen!"

Described by its director as his first "international screwball comedy" and a mash-up of THE KILLING OF A CHINESE BOOKIE and CHEERS, GO GO TALES is indeed an absurdly funny film, (it seems that Abel and Werner Herzog, at odds though they may be over the BAD LIEUTENANT 'remake,' are becoming the 21st Century's top purveyors of comedy and Willem Dafoe) but one which also strikes the seasoned Ferrara fan as an intimate self-portrait, full of melancholy and a yearning for simpler, scuzzier times. We're witnessing a world in transition; one with a smaller and smaller place in it for the scatterbrained, non-tech-savvy sleazemeister (here embodied by Dafoe's "Ray Ruby"). Ferrara himself, like many a gritty 70's NYC director, began rather modestly with pornographic films (NINE LIVES OF A WET PUSSY), simple exploitation (THE DRILLER KILLER, MS. 45), and even chronicled the Times Square strip club culture (FEAR CITY) in its pre-Giuliani heyday. But recently, despite cult followings and international successes, it seems he can't even get arrested in America. In a way, thank God that the Europeans have swooped in as his sometime patrons, but fuck the American 'indie' studio system for not allowing significant distribution or funding for a legendary filmmaker who, unlike so many of his contemporaries, has continued to generate that creative, envelope-pushing spark after nearly forty years in the business.

And so Dafoe's Ray Ruby finds himself living on the edge. Hand to mouth, hand to mouth, hand to mouth to lottery ticket.

His strip club, his brainchild, his life's work, his "Paradise Lounge" ...is in trouble. His brother (played with élan by a a moptopped, pompous Matthew Modine), a Staten Island hair salon mogul and the almighty supplier of finances, is threatening to pull the plug.

"The plug is pulled. Paradise is over!"

This delights to no end the vitriolic New Yawwk landlady (Sylvia Miles in one of her finest, meanest performances) who's been waiting in the wings, ready to sell the place out "to Bed, Bath, and Beyond, motherfuckers, on a ninety-nine year lease!"

"BED, BATH, AND BEYOND!!! BED, BATH, AND BEYOND!!!"

But Ray must shoulder some of the blame- after all, he's poured all of his profits into a dangerous lottery addiction ("I played the lottery- I mean, I REALLY PLAYED IT!"), has made some foolish investments ("Frisbees with my face on 'em, I don't know what I was thinking") and has lost money over his soft spot for struggling artists (seen in an incredible, tour de force sequence that can only be described as 'Talent Show Nite' at the strip club).

All is not lost, however, when Ray actually wins the lotto, but in the midst of his inveterate, notorious disorganization, he can't find the ticket!

It's Abel's plea to the heavens- actual, sort of quaint sleaziness has been hijacked by the corporate version of sleaziness! Is nothing sacred? You've taken everything else, are you gonna take TIMES SQUARE, too? Yes, they will. And they did. By the time Ray's business is being redirected and stolen by a doofus in a crustacean mascot costume, Ferrara's exasperation has become completely tangible. Go ahead, Bed, Bath, and Beyond. Just take it all away. I've got nothing to live for anymore.

Unfolding over the course of one night, and with an Altman-style, observational, roaming camera (which captures the life which teems upon and outside of its frame), Ferrara captures the best sort of comedy- the unforced kind, the kind that's true to life. Even at it's most outrageous, the laughs here don't feel planned or even like 'jokes,' they feel like the natural outpourings of characters whose lives (from afar, of course) happen to be hilarious. The musician Pras wanders about as the club's resident 'chef,' obsessed with the gourmet artistry of his (microwaved) free range hot dogs,


Pras witnesses the ignominious end of his organic, free range, gourmet hot dogs.

an ancient Burt Young receives awkward lap dances, a robust, gravel-voiced Bob Hoskins lauds the respectability of the joint, tanning beds catch fire, a Eurotrash stripper (Stefania Rocca) wrangles the greenlighting of her script during a private dance ("Sign da check! Sign da check!"), Matthew Modine plays a toy piano and performs a mind-blowing musical number,

and Willem Dafoe even croons a ballad with a debonair suavitude and creepy flourish seldom seen since the glory days of the Rat Pack.

All this, and I didn't even get to Asia Argento yet! I'm reasonably certain that her performance as the "scariest, sexiest girl in the world" is entirely improvised and her free-form poledancing/make-out session with a terrifying dog is easily the most startlingly outré incident to be captured on celluloid in years.

Yes, GO GO TALES is insane, and, yes, it rambles. It induces spit-takes, eye-pops, raised brows, and as Sylvia Miles' psychotic end credits song (about Bed, Bath, and Beyond) attests, it even draws a comparison with STREET TRASH. Most importantly, however, it's sincere. Five stars. Abel: may you always find new, disorderly, and innovative ways to make these maniacal movies of yours. Distributors: shame on you for not picking this film up during the four years it's been available. Willem Dafoe: take it easy, take it breezy... and take it sleazy.


-Sean Gill

EDIT: Apparently the release was also held up by a legal dispute concerning screenplay credit.

Film Review: CRY-BABY (1990, John Waters)

Stars: 4.6 of 5.
Running Time: 91 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Johnny Depp, Amy Locane (SECRETARY, AIRHEADS), Susan Tyrrell (FORBIDDEN ZONE, FAT CITY, FLESH + BLOOD), Polly Bergen (CAPE FEAR '62, THE MEN), Iggy Pop, Ricki Lake (HAIRSPRAY, SERIAL MOM), Traci Lords (VIRTUOUSITY, SERIAL MOM), Kim McGuire (SERIAL MOM, David Lynch's ON THE AIR), Willem Dafoe, Joe Dallesandro (THE LIMEY, FLESH, BLOOD FOR DRACULA), Mink Stole (PINK FLAMINGOS, DESPERATE LIVING, LOST HIGHWAY), Troy Donahue (IMITATION OF LIFE, COCKFIGHTER), Joey Heatherton (BLUEBEARD, THE HAPPY HOOKER GOES TO WASHINGTON), and Patty Hearst in her fiction film debut.
Tag-lines: "Too young to be square... Too tough to be shocked... Too late to be saved..."
Best one-liner: "Let's all put on a folk hat and learn something about a foreign culture!" (said by Patty Hearst) or perhaps "Woo-Wee, you caught me in my birthday suit, butt-naked" (said by Iggy Pop).

Psuedo-commercial John Waters (PECKER, SERIAL MOM) is not necessarily better than shoestringy, gutter sleaze John Waters (FEMALE TROUBLE, DESPERATE LIVING), they're just different- much like, say, the difference between TWIN PEAKS-Lynch and INLAND EMPIRE-Lynch. Some artists flourish under constraints (you can't show Divine devouring dog stools or Liz Renay getting rabies in the ass in a PG-13 film), and Waters is creative enough to make a film which nominally pleases the mainstream, yet is still deliciously infested with his trademarked pervy pizazz. This film is an oddball tour de force of sheer, ludicrous delights from a tittering, perfidious sewer rat to a devout Joe Dallesandro zealously bellowing "Let Jesus Christ be your gang-leader!" into a megaphone (as Joey Heatherton shudders beside him in a pious frenzy)-

In short, CRY-BABY is the bee's knees. It's Drapes vs. Squares, forbidden love, a 10th-rate Baltimore Disneyland, rockabilly concerts, an orphanage jailbreak, an epic “chicken” duel and an amalgamation of everything that Waters loves about the 1950's from JAILHOUSE ROCK to TEENAGE GANG DEBS.



The bizarro performances range from the hammy to the outré. Johnny Depp transforms the act of frequent, stoic weeping into something worthy of Tiger Beat magazine.

The legendary Susan Tyrrell (FAT CITY), while wearing a taxidermy bird helmet, sputters and chortles and emotes and blows away "goddamn gophers." It’s a work of mad genius and truly a sight to behold.

Tyrrell's trademark cackle.


Tyrrell and Pop. Best onscreen couple since Tyrrell and Rutger Hauer in FLESH + BLOOD. Who were the best onscreen couple since Tyrrell and Hervé 'Ze Plane' Villechaize in FORBIDDEN ZONE. Who were the best onscreen couple since Tyrrell and Stacy Keach in FAT CITY.

Iggy Pop is her husband, bathing himself in a wooden tub on the lawn and being an all-around good sport. Amy Locane embraces a sort of 'young Kathleen Turner' aesthetic, and Waters' two favorite pariahs (Traci Lords and Patty Hearst) exude, respectively, pose-worthy sass and adorable gullibility. Mink Stole speaks in tongues, and there's a 3-D moviegoing experience that'd make William Castle proud:

Willem Dafoe even appears for an ass-slapping cameo as a sleazoid, country-drawlin' prison guard.

"We gonna give you a haircut, pretty boy!"



By gum, this shit is great. Nearly five stars.

-Sean Gill