Reviews

It's too bad more high-quality TV movies like this aren't being put out on DVD - though, at least, this film is currently available for streaming on Hulu and other sites. This is by far the most concise movie of any kind to deal with the pitfalls of cocaine addiction, much better than big-budget theatrical treatments like "The Boost" and "Blow." Dennis Weaver gives one of his best performances as the harried, self-pitying real estate agent who is convinced by a slightly disturbing (and oh-so-eighties-looking) couple that coke will help him make millions in the luxury home market. In fact, Weaver is so good it has always struck me as strange that his obituaries never even mentioned this work. The supporting cast is excellent (except for Karen Grassle as the cloyingly sweet simpleton of a wife) with James Spader being cast against type - at least, future type - as Weaver's clean-cut son. In fact, were a remake of this movie ever to be produced, it would make perfect sense to have Spader play Dennis' part. A great movie that is well worth looking at online ... or, if you can hunt it down, on VHS!

This may not be the very worst movie Peter Sellers ever did (I think that laurel goes to "The Prisoner of Zenda") but it is surely the most depressing. Sellers, especially sans makeup as Nayland Smith, looks like he has just undergone chemotherapy. As Fu Manchu, he looks hardly better and spends most of the film (with the exception of those strangely disturbing scenes where he gets jolted with electrical currents) on the verge of collapsing under the weight of all that makeup. The supporting players also look tired and run down, and Sid Caeser's presence is offensive even without his constant references to "Chinks!" (One bright spot: this would be one of the last times a major motion picture would portray Asians so insultingly ... or, for that matter, star a non-Asian as one!). The film seems surprisingly cheap, with soupy photography and drab sets - even the whiz-bang Elvis number at the end looks cut-rate. Only the stunning Helen Mirren and the tall, thin, nervous guy who get his pants wet add any sparks of life to this sad affair. All in all, this film provides an eerie premonition of a great comic's death, and an even eerier documentation of his dying.

Well, this certainly puts a new spin on addiction and recovery ... not to mention the dominatrix trade. In the future, ninety-five percent of the population is addicted to alcohol, drugs and anything else habit forming. Consequently, though there is no legal "proihibition" as such, anyone in the country (I think this takes place in the US) who is caught drunk or under the influence is forced to spend an entire year at a treatment center, like the one featured in this film. Fiacre Douglas, as the secretly drunken head of this facility, is quite good. So is Jen Burleigh-Bentz as the dominatrix detained for rehab, who must attend daily meetings with a group of other "doms." The rest of the cast is so-so, though many of them do look great in their bondage gear, and the sets are appropriately creepy if not exactly futuristic. Overall, a good attempt to capture the look and feel of a "Blade Runner" on the budget of a "Plan Nine from Outer Space."

It's a shame this little known debut by "Vixen Highway" director John Ervin did not get more attention. It's slow-paced and crude, but definitely an inspired little gem that in some ways is superior to "Vixen Highway." Instead of paying tribute to an obvious target like Russ Meyer, Ervin here chose the more original source of German expressionist films of the 1920's and early 1930's ("Blue Angel", "Metropolis", "Nosferatu").

The film, mind you, does not take place in this period or in Germany - pretty impossible for a low-budget 16mm feature shot in Minneapolis - but instead takes place in contemporary times. It concerns a Senator from Michigan, staying at a hotel in Minneapolis (1997 Minneapolis, that is), who is visited by a woman he believes is Satan and hounded by a desk clerk he thinks is spying on him. The "Berlin" aspect is shown through

the exquisite black-and-white photography and stark contrasty lighting. It's also shown through endless references to Germany - everyone has a classically "German" name and various products (shaving razors and household cleansers) and other names (sports teams, venues) also have names which in many cases are references to German silent cinema heroes.

The acting in the film varies quite a bit. By the far the best of the lot are Tom Nordyke as the Senator - sort of a cross between Michael Douglas and Bill Clinton - and Shyla Weaver as Ilsa - who, in turn, is a cross between Monica Lewinsky and Tura Satana! The character of the desk clerk is a lot of fun as written - a supposed temp who turns out to be the head of a clean-freak cult and constantly rails against the "whore" up in the politician's room. However, as played by Patrick Metzdorff, the character comes off as less funny than it could have been. John Ervin's direction also bears all the marks of a first-timer who did not give enough input to his actors.

Nonetheless, the film is worth checking out for those who love silent films, not just German ones, and want to see a perverted new twist on them. And it's definitely a treat for those who long for the days when low-budget indies were actually shot on FILM and not DIGITAL VIDEO (like, for instance, "Vixen Highway!")!

"Vixen Highway" has just about everything a Russ Meyer fan needs in these tough times. Hot, busty chicks, idiotic men and double entendres galore. One thing it does not have in common with Russ' originals is the awesome photography that was evident even in Meyer's early works. Shot on digital video, the film's impact as a tribute is considerably compromised.

Nonetheless, the storyline absolutely cannot be beat. Three of the busty women - super-tall Tura Satana lookalike Carolyn Hauck, redhead Sports Illustrated bombshell Angela Giaj and Pam Grier-close-to-be Miki Mosman - abscond with a donor liver bound for the house of a drug-addled rock star. The superchicks are pursued by two mob couriers as well as by three horn-driven hillbillies. Along the way we also encounter two grease-covered gas-pump babes and some sultry surgeons floating about the rock star's mansion (which comes equipped with its own operating room).

The acting for the most part is pretty good. The three leads "fit" their parts beautifully. Among the men, Charles Hubbell as the lead redneck Elroy - who, along with his two cousins, disguises as a highway patrolman to pull chicks over and cop some lovin' - and Robert Elliott and Dave Quimby as the goombas are notably good. And Michael Way as Larry Hugh gives new meaning to the term "wannabe!" The sets are also surprisingly good for such an el cheapo production - the rock star's mansion, inside and out, actually looks like a mansion! And the car the vixens drive the liver is a block-long convertible that looks like it may have actually been IN some Russ Meyer flicks!

If all this had been shot on 35 mm or even 16mm, it probably would be in video shelves or possibly even movie theaters as you read this. Unfortunately, the digital video format has probably prevented this from happening. Still, it's a great deal of fun and a good primer for those not familiar with the immortal Russ. Digital video has improved in quality since this film was shot, something that hopefully can be seen in a new sci-fi (!) movie that this film's writer-director, John Ervin, is working on called "Proinhibition". Reports are that there are dominatrixes galore brandishing whips in this new one - something worth seeing in any format!

For afficiandos of bad rocker-as-actor films (I know, it's a redundancy) "The Jazz Singer" should not be missed. While certainly not nearly as leaden a screen presence as the King of Bad Rocker-as-Actors, Elvis (nobody is as bad as him) Neil does add his own peculiarities to the genre.

Chief among them is his inability to look anyone -- not his father, not his wife, not his girlfriend, not his bandmembers -- in the eye when he's talking with them. For most of the film he is looking down at his shoes. This is probably a real-life affliction of Neil's, but in a movie it makes him look incredibly embarassed -- or stoned out of his mind. Second is his speaking voice, which is a clenched-tooth grumble evocative of 1988 presidential hopeful (and failure) Michael Dukakis. In fact, ol' Neil looks quite a bit like the Duke, just with bigger hair. Then there is Neil's complete indifference to everyone around him, particularly women. Even Elvis emoted a little excitement at the touch of one of his starlets. Here we have a couple of women (admittedly, not great looking but attractive neough) throwing themselves at him -- and his only reaction is to shrug his shoulders and say "I'd rather have a pizza." Finally, we have a wonderful wardrobe consisting of glittery button-down shirts and black polyester pants that do justice to the one part of Himself that can truly act -- his big, hairy, quivering ass.

As lackluster as Neil is, he at least acquits himself better than Larry Olivier, who is truly pathetic as he practically goes into convulsions over every little outrage sonny boy commits to the faith. Clearly, this was one of those movies -- along with "Inchon", "The Betsy" and a million others in the 70's and 80's -- Larry was getting a big paycheck for to provide for his extensive family upon his death. A noble gesture, to be sure -- but he definitely paid a price for it!

The film, as ridiculous and half-assed as it is, does have a few -- very few -- good points. Lucy Arnaz, who was the only person connected with this thing to receive any accolades, shows herself to be an ingratiating comic actress. Problem is, she dropped off the face of the earth after this film. While I'm definitely not a fan of Neil's music, most of the production numbers (except for that assanine party at Lucy's place involving the banjos) are acceptable pop-spiritual fare. And even the ode to Al Jolson's minstrel routine comes off fairly well -- if not exactly correctly -- as an affectionate spoof that the filmmakers were at pains to acknowledge and get out of the way early on.

All in all, a film that is not nearly as bad as "Glitter" "The Bodyguard" "Cool As Ice", "Ned Kelly" and other rock-star-on-the-big-screen flicks, but something that is a must for fans of Idiot Cinema. Now, if Mark Wahlberg does a version of this, I wonder where the yarmulke would belong!

The cinematic equivalent of walking across a street filled with cars running red lights while carrying two bags of groceries and having someone walking beside you telling you that he is an eccentric millionaire and wishes to write you a check for a million dollars. In fact, an appropriate title for this film would have had as many words as the previous sentence, for "Memento" is much too simple a concept for this movie's storyline, which zigs and zags and goes backwards and forwards so much you will need a bottle of Advil and some ice. But even if you do walk away from the theater with a painful headache from all the confusion -- and I guarantee you you WILL be confused when the lights go up -- by all means try this brain teaser. There are too many movies out there that give away everything in the first ten minutes -- or even during the previews! And even if this film isn't entirely satisfying -- I think the "My wife is dead and I must take revenge" premise should be banned from movies for the next ten years -- it's still refreshing to be challenged and forced to work on a movie as you are watching it. Performances all around are first rate and the cinematography is excellent. But, really, all of that takes second place to the game that is this movie.

... well, not a remake exactly but a tribute to this film and "Faster Pussycat! Kill! Kill!" the other classic in the Russ Meyer canon. The film is entitled "Vixen Highway" and will begin production under the auspices of Berlin Productions in the fall of 2000. The story concerns three foxy, busty women who find themselves delivering a most unusual package to an ailing rock star. Casting hasn't begun yet. Because of the ultra-low-budget nature of the affair, the producers can't afford to cast name babes like Heather Graham, Mira Sorvio or Lucy Lawless (who would be perfect) but will do their very best to find three vixens who will do justice to the formula. For more information, check out the Berlin Productions web site at http://www.my.treeway.com/berlin. Updates on the deal will be a regular thing in the coming months.

... well, not exactly a remake but a tribute to this and "Beyond the Valley of the Dolls", the other classic in the Russ Meyer canon. The film is called "Vixen Highway" and is slated to go into production under the auspices of Berlin Productions in the fall of 2000. The main characters are three foxy, busty women who find themselves delivering a most unusual package to an ailing rock star. Casting hasn't begun yet. Because the film is an ultra-low-budget affair, the filmmakers won't be able to afford name babes like Heather Graham, Mira Sorvino or Lucy Lawless (all of whom would be perfect) but will do their very best to find three vixens who will do justice to the formula. For more information check out the Berlin Productions web site at http://www.my.treeway.com/berlin. Updates on the deal will be a regular thing in the coming months.

This curious filmic transplant of Rowan and Martin's "Laugh-In" is notable for being the first movie I've ever seen in a movie theater and the first one I recall seeing at all. I was five years old and my family was traveling in a rinkydink town in Minnesota (Duluth, if you're interested) and it was on the same day as Neil Armstrong and company's landing on the moon. The only scene I remember from the original viewing was the one in which Dan Rowan is under the impression that the foxy vampiress can transmogrify into a tiger and, consequently, acts strangely intimate with the tiger. A most strange movie, like the TV show, and worth seeing for sixties psychedelia buffs.

Not that I actually hated it so much as I was annoyed by it. Annoyed by the whiny, self-absorbed characters, particularly the uber-Woody-Allen-ish puppeteer played by John Cusack. Annoyed by the idea of a "seventh-and-a-half" floor of an office building where all the employees must stoop (ho-ho-ho). Annoyed by the secretary who mis-hears everything that's said to her (har-de-har-har). And, finally, annoyed by that damned portal into John Malcovich's head! Where the hell did this idea spring from? And why choose the New Jersey turnpike for characters to land in after they've been ejected from ... from ... where do they fly from, anyway?

Okay, okay, there were numerous moments in this film that were very funny. And the idea of John Malcovich playing a parody of himself - or, rather, a parody of what the public thinks he's like - is great. As it happens, Mr. Malcovich handled his "part" beautifully. But it only served to remind me how much more this film would have lived up to it's title if it had been about, say, a struggling thespian or fan who is so enamored of John Malcovich that he tries to emulate him or stalk him or something like that. At least, that's what I thought the film was gonna be about till I read the reviews!

I'm sorry, folks. I love innovations and it's always refreshing to see even an unsuccessful attempt to break away from the usual crop of action/smack-shion/horny teenager malarky (believe me, I'll take this puppy any day over "The Bachelor!"). But innovative should not necessarily be confused with great. An orange with a peanut butter filling may be innovative, but that doesn't mean it's gonna taste good.

If John Belushi were alive today ... well, he'd probably be in as low a career point as his Saturday Night Live crony, Dan Ackroyd and would most likely be co-starring with him in this pititful retread of their 1980 hit. As for the musical interludes that should have saved this monstrosity, all I can say is they are almost as lackluster as the rest of the movie, especially the celebrity pile-up (not unlike the "knee-slapping" scene involving fifty police cars mid-way through the film) wherin all the blues superstars looked like they wanted to get the hell out of there. And the boredom of seeing Aretha Franklin singing "Respect" for the umpteenth time is off-set only by the shock of seeing how terribly this once-attractive woman has aged. This isn't the worst movie ever made - but, damn, it's close!

Paramount among the many things that puzzled me about this film is just how three engaging actors like Ralph Fiennes, Uma Thurman and Sean Connery could trade barbs and puns for an hour-and-a-half and not have one of them -- not one of them -- be funny. And on top of that have Eddie Izzard, whose known for his verbal skills as Britain's top comedian, play a significant role in the film -- and not have any lines! And, not to beat a dead horse as my imdb brethren have mentioned, I must add those damn Teddy Bears! There really is no explanation for their presence ever. I've certainly seen much worse films and I have to say I rather enjoyed the look of it, especially the maze-like sets the characters get trapped in. And, yes, I realize Uma Thurman is known as "old bug eyes" but I have to say she looks great in leather. Otherwise, though, this film is one gigantic "Huh?"

I'm willing to agree with critics of this version of the 1962 thriller that Martin Scorcese's love of violence gets excessive, particularly in the needlessly graphic scene between Rober De Niro and Illeana Douglas (and I ain't talkin' about the one in the bar!). However, what I can't understand is people who prefer the whimpy 1962 original to what is obviously a far superior remake - in terms of acting, editing, cinematography and just plain thrills and chills.

As much as I admire Robert Mitchum and as effective as he was as Max Cady in the first film, Robert De Niro is a hundred times scarier. I've seen his charactrization at least five times and I still want to hire three guys of my own to beat this creep with tire irons. As for Nick Nolte, not only is he vastly superior actor to Gregory Peck (who reminds of a well-meaning high-school principle who wants to relate to the kids, but can't for the life of him loosen up) but his characterization of Sam Bodin is a believable, three-dimensional portrait of a terrified father and husband. Jessica Lange and Juliette Lewis - who has since become a rather annoying actress, I'll admit - give their best performances ever.

The greatest improvement over the original, though, is the inclusion of the obsessive religious angle in Cady's character, which is clearly an outgrowth of Scorcece's own obsession with Catholicism. Many people cite, understandably, that Cady's ability to withstand being beaten and set on fire - not to mention riding for several hundred miles while tied to the bottom of a station wagon! - stretches credibility. But after several viewings, I see that the point was to make Cady out to be not so much a human or even sub-human but a supernatural demon not of this earth.

To wrap it up, I say to the purists who thought Scorcese and company disgraced J. Lee Thompson's directorial original, take a second look at the 1991 version and see if you feel like hiring some thugs to perform a hospital job on Maximillion Cady.

Filmed and distributed during the height of Talking Heads-mania, this hodge-podge of disconnected, half-baked folk stories and cliched townie characters seems to have been culled from the papers found in Thorton Wilder's wastebasket. David Byrne, who wrote, produced and directed this big-screen high-school play appeared to be going to great lengths to prove Esquire magazine's dig that he "could burp and people would call it brilliant." Thank God he's stuck with the tunes since then.

After four bombastic head-trips (the first of which, "Salvador" was quite good) director Oliver Stone found his match with The Doors as subject matter. In fact, I could not imagine any other director doing justice to the band, at least in spirit. The Doors, after all, wore their pretentions on their sleeves and featured a lead singer who represented just about every chemical and sexual excess imaginable.

This is not to say that the Doors were not a good band - for the most part they were downright great, especially when it came to the darker side of things. In this respect the movie is quite successful, welding together an impressive number of songs on the soundtrack and reenacting their outrageous concerts with grandeur and sweep. And Val Kilmer, who has since earned a reputation as Hollywood's biggest jerk, truly takes you inside the skin of the Lizard King.

Unfortunately, the film is pockmarked with scenes of domestic strife between Jim and the band, Jim and his two wives and Jim and his drunken cronies that are awfully histrionic - if not laughable. And except for the sequences showing Jim and the group in their rather brief climb to the top, Morrison is portrayed almost incessantly as a swaggering lush who treats

his friends and lovers as so much trash.

To anyone who's a fan of The Doors, I say see the film for the way it represents the band as a musical unit. But if you want a full-bodied (and accurate) portrayal of them as people, read a book.

Just briefly, I will add that "Eyes Wide Shut" is, as many of my five-hundred-plus fellow commenteers have said, no "Full Metal Jacket"or "Dr. Strangelove." In fact, it's not even "Barry Lyndon!" Yet it is a fascinating journey through one man's obsession with his wife's potential for infidelity and his own determination to achieve it. Tom Cruise (not one of my favorite leading men) gives a surprisingly moving performance, and Nicole Kidman is as intriguing and sexy as ever. As for dear old Stanley ... well, how many directors in history have included a chocolatey bacchanal worthy of Caligula in their final film? Oi vey, what a swansong!

This is a tough film to get into the first time around, especially without the aid of narcotics. Give it one or two more spins, though, and the mind-numbing multiple storylines, eye-straining editing, toe-curling Paul Williams-meets-Barry Manilow soundtrack and head-spinning number of main characters (there must be at least thirty in this thing!) begin to grow on you.

As for the MacGuffin of all Meyer Films, the breasts many of the female characters in this film possess are indeed of ridiculously ample size. But they are not the hideous freak-show monstrosities featured in the master's many other works (check out Tura Santana in "Faster Pussycat!"). The actors in general would, of course, be laughed off any mainstream film set (or even most TV soap operas!). But their talents are definitely befitting the campy trappings of this particular midnight movie.

And Roger Ebert's screenwriting? All I can say is that the dialogue is frequently memorable and occasionally brilliant, but it seems to come from a galaxy far, far away. I mean, did people in Southern California in 1969 really talk like this? Anyway, for those of you cult-film types who were frustrated by this traffic jam of a movie the first time, give it a second look ...