Film Review: THE HITCHER (1986, Robert Harmon)

Stars: 4 of 5.
Running Time: 97 minutes.
Tag-line: "Out on the desert highway, the rule of thumb has a different meaning..."
Notable Cast or Crew: Written by Eric Red (NEAR DARK, BLUE STEEL, BODY PARTS). Starring Rutger Hauer, C. Thomas Howell, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Jeffrey DeMunn (THE BLOB '88, THE MIST). Cinematography by John Seale (WITNESS, THE FIRM, THE TALENTED MR. RIPLEY).
Best one-liner: "How do you like 'Shitsville'?" Well, it's way better when Rutger Hauer says it.

Well, it's Earth Day. And it only seems right- although it certainly was unplanned- for it to coincide with Rutger Hauer week, with Hauer being an outspoken advocate of animal rights and conservationism, amongst other noble aims. [In fact, as of this moment, Rutger's putting forth an effort to secure the release of unduly imprisoned New Zealander whale rights champion Captain Pete Bethune, which you should check out.] Regardless, on this Earth Day, I shall discuss a film where Rutger Hauer's mere presence leads to the wholesale destruction of half the cars and helicopters in the Southwest (maybe he wanted to reduce greenhouse gas emissions?).

THE HITCHER flirts with genius... then it blows up some helicopters. It's as if John Woo remade THE WRONG MAN. But, in a way, that's why I like it. It's a paranoid western, a Hitchcockian road movie, a highway slasher, and a balls-out shoot 'em up. On the one hand, we have slick visuals, a spine-chilling villain, desolate locales, an encroaching aura of suspense; on the other, we've got confusing plot twists, unfathomable character motivations, the stilted offscreen death of a main character, and more car wrecks than USED CARS and THE BLUES BROTHERS put together. It's abundantly clear that Robert Harmon and Eric Red did not set out to make an art film- more likely they wanted the equivalent of an action-packed, feature length TWILIGHT ZONE episode, a pursuit at which they succeed. However, there's one variable that I don't think they could have predicted- the extent to which Rutger Hauer would transform the film into his own personal, claustrophobic, homoerotic hell ride.

Rutger Hauer is in your car. Rutger Hauer is in your face.
In fact, he's not just in your face, he's IN YOUR EYE.

He's relentless. As the enigmatic John "Ryder," he roams and rules the highways with windswept, chilly puissance. He's basically omniscient, invulnerable, and possesses the ability to POP UP RIGHT WHEN YOU LEAST EXPECT IT. Maybe he's Satan? God? It doesn't matter. You believe every second of it. He's Roy Batty, for godssakes.

The poor sap who he's tormenting is played by C. Thomas 'Ponyboy' Howell. (Or, as some like to call him, C. Thomas 'Soul Man' Howell). Howell begins as a fresh-faced goofus who thinks it's a good idea to pick up Rutger Hauer on a dark and stormy night. He slowly transforms (by necessity) into a mucky, dust-covered, single-minded barbarian (I was reminded of Caleb's similar metamorphosis in Red's vampire western, NEAR DARK). Along the way, he meets up with disaffected waitress Jennifer Jason Leigh (fresh off of FLESH + BLOOD with Rutger)

and good-hearted but often confused cop, played by Jeffrey DeMunn. They're both excellent, and insert some much-needed pathos in a film dominated by merciless man versus man action.

This movie is ridiculous. There's more mind-boggling "cat and mouse" reversals and confrontations in the first 20 minutes than in the entirety of your average thriller. I mean, you're about to see a film of this kind and you can pretty much predict that a gas station will erupt into an inferno of blazing detonations and wondrous Hollywood FX. That's a given. Most pictures would save it for the final act. THE HITCHER lays it down at about the 23 minute mark- because that's just the sort of movie that it is.

We're even entreated to the haunting image of a car streaking away from said explosion, its hood swathed in flames. The cinematography, by John Seale, is astounding. Desert storms, deep blue skies, darkness and illumination; flaring headlamps, polarized landscapes, and warm roadside diners.



But the meat and potatoes of this film are clearly the whirling dances of death between Hauer and Howell. Emphasis on 'dances.' "There's something strange going on between the two of you," says the good-spirited Captain DeMunn. Wow, you said it. Now, apparently, C. Thomas became extremely afraid of Rutger Hauer for real during the shooting of this film. It's not hard to see why. Hauer transforms every interaction between himself and Howell into a theoretical hotbed of sadism, savagery, and primal sexual desires. Every time Hauer is near, you can tell that he's intently thinking about kissing C. Thomas, then maybe about snapping his neck afterward.

Hauer is so deeply entrenched in the character, that he knows which buttons to press to make C. Thomas actually uncomfortable. C. Thomas knows that a hateful yet passionate kiss is not is the script, but when somebody as absolutely committed as Rutger is around, da script don't mean shit.



Don't worry, C. Thomas, he was just leaning in to cryptically put pennies on your eyes... this time.

Later, C. Thomas and Rutger inexplicably hold hands.

C. Thomas diffuses the tension by spitting in Rutger's face. Rutger equalizes the power dynamic by LOVING IT.


Then he plays with the spit for a few unnerving moments- lets it roll down his fingers. Cradles it. Like a baby. Conserves it like a precious resource (for Earth Day?).

Now let's see here- who won the Oscar that year? Best Actor was Paul Newman for THE COLOR OF MONEY. I guess I'm not gonna begrudge Paul Newman anything. Best supporting actor was Michael Caine for HANNAH AND HER SISTERS. Also nominated was Dennis Hopper for HOOSIERS, because they didn't have the balls to nominate him for BLUE VELVET. Well, here's what should have happened. Cancel all the other awards, and stick Dennis Hopper and Rutger Hauer up on the stage. Let them try and creep each other out for an hour or two, or a year- however long it takes. Whoever wins gets all the awards. Who's with me?

Anyway, this movie also sets the precedent of Rutger Hauer popping out from behind cutesy things that belong to children– a teddy bear is slowly lowered to reveal....RUTGER HAUER.

More on this in a later review...

In closing... wow. Things you should take away from this: Hauer is a genius. Howell is a goofus. Actually, I just like the word 'goofus.' But always, always, always check your french fries. Four stars.

-Sean Gill

Side note: From what I hear, J.D. over at Radiator Heaven has got a big 'ole appreciation of THE HITCHER in the works, so stay tuned...

EDIT: J.D.'s article can be found here.

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Film Review: SURVIVING THE GAME (1994, Ernest R. Dickerson)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: 96 minutes.
Tag-line: "Jack Mason knows he's going to die someday. But today he's not in the mood."
Notable Cast or Crew: Ice-T, Rutger Hauer, Gary Busey, F. Murray Abraham (AMADEUS), John C. McGinley (THE ROCK, SCRUBS), Charles S. Dutton (SE7EN, MENACE II SOCIETY, CAT'S EYE), William McNamara (OPERA, EXTREME JUSTICE, GLAM). Music by Stewart Copeland (Drummer for The Police, DEAD LIKE ME, WALL STREET). Directed by Ernest R. Dickerson (JUICE, the MASTERS OF HORROR episode THE V WORD with Michael Ironside). Written by Eric Bernt (ROMEO MUST DIE, HIGHLANDER: ENDGAME, THE HITCHER remake).
Best one-liner: "I like my meat RARE!" –"Try WELL-DONE, bitch!"

From THE MOST DANGEROUS GAME to HARD TARGET, there has been a majestic, rugged American tradition of making awesome movies about 'dudes hunting dudes.' Well, I'm here to tell you that SURVIVING THE GAME is one of the best- it's unrelenting, unhinged, unabashed, balls-out entertainment.

Rutger Hauer in a doo-rag hunting bandana... CAN YA BEAT THAT?

Former Spike Lee cinematographer and JUICE director Ernest R. Dickerson is at the helm, and the first act is a tale of inner-city desperation starring a heart-string-tugging Ice T (and his gargantuan homeless dreads) set to jazzy, oddly upbeat tunes by Stewart Copeland.

Recruited by the affably intense real-life manslaughterer Charles S. Dutton, Ice T quickly finds himself wrapped up in an illicit ring of blue-blooded, hobo-huntin' madmen.


Said madmen include a troubled, lunatic John C. McGinley (who's losing his shit before the hunt even begins!); a nefariously paternal F. Murray Abraham (I never thought I'd see Salieri head-butting Ice T:

his pansy son William McNamara (Argento's OPERA, GLAM); a fringe-jacketed, knife-slingin' Gary Busey ("Experience the animal within yourself!"); and douchey, goatee'd ringleader Rutger Hauer (he's the kind of guy who's clipping his nails and has got a bird on his shoulder while he's interviewing you).

Rutger Hauer carefully oversaw his character's grooming and coiffure- and made sure that it was accentuated for maximum douchiness.

As such, SURVIVING THE GAME becomes a masters course in acting. Watch the following scene, for example:

I'm blown away. Even Ice-T, who's not exactly a titan among thespians, becomes fully connected to the material when he's surrounded by this veritable phalanx of genius performers. Each moment, word, line, and gesture fascinates. Watch Busey's unwavering stare. Or Hauer's vague sense of morality in the way he expresses the sentiment that we should cherish each moment- it's his roundabout way of telling Ice-T that this meal is his last.

To Hauer's character, this is a kindness. It's the way that he does things- the imparting of a fleeting, final gift; a few of life's finer things before the deluge. Busey is less interested in the 'etiquette' of murder, but he's being honest in his own way, as well- "When you're eating the flesh from the pig... look into his little beady eyes. That way, you will be devouring his soul.”

Now, you don’t have to be a Busey scholar to realize that he made that shit up on the spot, but Busey's character is merely sharing his perspective on the nature of the hunt and each member's place in the world. As far as he is concerned, he was christened 'the predator' on his thirteenth birthday (more on that in a minute) and Ice-T has been christened as 'the prey,' perhaps merely by virtue of his homelessness. Each character has a chance to dip into their subconscious and speak in a kind of veiled candor, or a reptilian honesty, if there is such a thing. It is at once a confession and a deception. The hunt is separate from their life, yet the hunt is their life. Only now does F. Murray Abraham's character reveal his true nature to his son. In sharing this moment with him, they're closer to Ice-T than they are with their wives or children- he's a sacred object- a confessor- just as he is an object of hatred- the hunted. But note that in either implication, he remains an object, an instrument. Something less than human that still manages to flirt with the divine. "Doc, sometimes you even scare me." –"Good." In another movie, this could've been a throwaway scene, quickly hammered out by its makers so that we could get straight to the ACTION, ACTION, ACTION! But instead, it's paced more like a film from an earlier era: character development is not a chore to be hustled along on its way like a necessary evil, it begets suspense. It increases the intensity of the higher stakes which are yet to come. Watch THE WAGES OF FEAR, Kobayashi's HARA-KIRI, any and every film which Hawks made. They're full of scenes like this– intense characters putting out their feelers, discovering the nature of the enemy, determining who exactly they're up against. Fanatical men exuding control, careful to reveal some (but not the full extent) of their hand. Ultimately, if scenes of this nature are executed with honesty, concentration, and a sprinkling of élan, they can be equally as satisfying as the eventual payoffs.

As if it wasn't exceedingly clear already, Busey is out of his mind in this picture. I mean, he always is, but here the muzzle is OFF. Busey later delivers an utterly mind-blowing monologue about the day he killed his boyhood dog with his bare hands and became a man.

I'm astounded. In a different film, this could have won him an Oscar. I’m serious. Busey has tapped into some primitive, subterranean chamber of the soul where few dare to venture, and he has emerged with something both captivating and repulsive, muted and visceral, improvised and premeditated, brutish and calculating - and it's quite possibly the best staging of a monologue I've ever witnessed.

In fact, for a typical actioner, there are a LOT of monologues. And they’re good ones, too. Then things get loco- McGinley ends up infusing his character with pathos:

Ice T gets to make one of those ‘leaps of faith’ like in every survival movie, shreddin’ guitar solos accompany myriad beat-downs, Rutger Hauer gets to show off that Russian priest outfit he stole from the set of WEDLOCK:

and a shot of PHILADELPHIA appears with the subtitle “Seattle.”

Guess they thought no one’d notice? Wow.

Still, based on the caliber of performer and the well-paced, intricately unfolded narrative: five stars and my highest recommendation.

-Sean Gill

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Film Review: THE BLOOD OF HEROES (1989, David Webb Peoples)

Stars: 4 of 5.
Running Time: 90 minutes.
Tag-line: "When juggers play there is only one way to live - THE HARD WAY!"
Notable Cast or Crew: Rutger Hauer, Joan Chen, Vincent D'Onofrio, Delroy Lindo, Richard Norton (GYMKATA, dual roles in THE OCTAGON), Max Fairchild (MAD MAX 1 & 2), Anna Katarina (THE GAME, OMEGA DOOM). Written and directed by David Webb Peoples (BLADE RUNNER, LEVIATHAN, SOLDIER, LADYHAWKE, TWELVE MONKEYS, UNFORGIVEN, THE DAY AFTER TRINITY). Again, I really don't know why Peoples isn't a household name.
Best one-liner: " I don't like brutality. I like heroics. I like the blood of heroes."
AKA: SALUTE OF THE JUGGER. Right on!

Rutger Hauer, meet Joan Chen. Now a lot of people might know, say, that Rutger Hauer and somebody like Brion James have worked together four times, but the fact that he and TWIN PEAKS darling Joan Chen have appeared in four films together, ranging from 1989 (THE BLOOD OF HEROES) to 2010 (TONIGHT AT NOON) came to me as a bit of a shock. They're like the latter-day 20th Century Sci-Fi Hepburn and Tracy. Well, kind of. And that's not even the most puzzling facet of Mr. Hauer's career- that honor may well belong to his slideshow-esque appearance in the RAMBO III video game (1989) when he had nothing to do with any RAMBO film... Anyway, THE BLOOD OF HEROES:

"People no longer remembered the Golden Age of the 20th Century. They didn't remember the miraculous technology or the cruel wars that followed. They didn't remember when Juggers first played The Game or how it came to be played with a dog skull..."

Now, for being a movie which, even on DVD, has been given all the tender loving care of a faded, murky, full-screen battered VHS, THE BLOOD OF HEROES is shockingly classy. One of the first things to set it apart from its fourth-rate, MAD MAX-inspired brethren is an enchanting, mystical score by Todd Bokelheide (HEARTS OF DARKNESS: A FILMMAKER'S APOCALYPSE, BALLETS RUSSES). Kind of like post-civilization Bernard Herrmann, the work is punctuated by primal drums and creative, peculiar percussion. It's an epic, intriguing, and mysterious soundtrack, and that's just the sort of thing this film requires- it's easy for your skeptical mind to take the film seriously when, on some level, your gut already is.

Now the aesthetic here is definitely on the same page as MAD MAX- BEYOND THUNDERDOME (not to mention that it was filmed in Australia and features MAD MAX actors like Max Fairchild, and can I say 'Max' any more in this sentence?), and it's blood, sand, leather, corroded metal, and burlap sacks -to the max. Our story follows a team of impoverished Juggers as they fight their way through the rust belt bush leagues and on to the tournament of the 'Nine Cities'- the last vestige of wealth and culture- where bluebloods have hoarded supplies, amassed wealth, and buttressed their fortune with underground walls and towers to keep out the common rabble- unless, of course, they're prepared to compete at bloodsports for the richies' silk-stockinged amusement.

And, basically, in a barren, poverty-stricken world, Jugging is your only shot at upward mobility.

But the big question here, which I'm sure that you're finding yourself asking yourself is– WHAT IS JUGGING? Well, I'll tell you to the best of my ability. Okay. Two big dudes smack the shit out of each other with big hammer lookin' things- (think lacrosse sticks made from barbed wire?). Then a couple of other dudes whip razor chains at each other as more guys clobber each other with hooks and try to pin each other down. Then we got two diminutive running-back types (called 'qwiks') who pummel and thrash their way to the 'ball'- a dog skull- and then try to make it past each other and this chaotic shitstorm of hooks and chains and bludgeons and triumphantly thrust the dog skull onto a spike in the ground.

YAHHH

Then you win. Meanwhile, some jag-off is tossing stones against a gong or a piece of sheet metal, timing the whole thing.

The longer you last, the more impressive Juggers you are. Then the Juggers bond afterward. The winners get to keep the dog skull, and sometimes the hosting town buys them a round of drinks. No hard feelings. Everybody's gotta earn a living.

If you're a fan of these sorts of films like I clearly am, you can see that the possibilities for heroics, brutality, and sheer ridiculousness are sky high. This is my kind of sports movie.


More THE SEVENTH SEAL than THE KARATE KID, actually.

Rutger Hauer, as 'Sallow,' leads our heroic band of dust bowl gladiators.

He used to play in the Nine Cities, but now he's a washed-up P.O.S. with a bum eye, a bad attitude, and a lotta regrets. His squad includes 'Young Gar' (Vincent D'Onofrio), the screw-up kid with a heap of raw talent:

'Big Cimber' (Anna Katarina), a stern, ass-kickin' lady; 'Mbulu' (Delroy Lindo), the crusty veteran:

and Dog-Boy (Justin Monjo), the qwik. But when Dog-Boy is hideously injured, a local peasant gal who's short on brawn but long on moxie (played, naturally, by Joan Chen) steps into the ring.

Joan later said of THE BLOOD OF HEROES, “I loved that movie. It was a big departure for me. The part wasn’t written for an Asian woman. The part was actually written for a rugged, Amazonian-type woman. I am actually kind of short and small, but they changed it for me.”


Rutger Hauer: "I like scars."
Joan Chen: "..."

Rutger's up to his old tricks and exuding sheer forcefulness of presence- narrowing his eyes, pursing his lips nearly to the point of blowing homoerotic air-kisses,

and believably thumping the shit out of his opponents.

A head butt may be forthcoming.

Joan Chen takes a lickin' and keeps on tickin'. She even gets to bite some poor sap's ear off.

PFFT-TOOO!

But, on the whole, the proceedings are surprisingly low key, even restrained, and this actually works in the film's favor. The team heads to the Nine Cities, where there's fights, romance, old friends, grudges, fixers, cheaters, and creepy pasty rich people who get a little thrill out of licking Jugger blood. Richard Norton (GYMKATA, THE OCTAGON) even shows up as a shitkicker named 'Bone.'

Bone reporting for duty.

I'm not gonna reveal how it all turns out, but it gets downright Medieval. Its scope becomes smaller than you'd think, as well– it's not an epochal tale about freedom fighters toppling an evil regime, or however this story would usually be told- it's an intimate look at stoic gang of tough guys ('n gals) who kick some serious ass. Hell, I'll call it the best sport movie since THE RUNNING MAN. But then it just ends. Abruptly. The closing credits begin to roll over the final scene of the movie– what? What is this, a Chabrol film? Some cursory research turned up some answers- apparently, this is a somewhat truncated version. And somewhere out there exists a fourteen-minute longer version from Japan (called by fans, I shit you not, "THE GRAIL OF THE JUGGER") which fleshes out the denouement in a little more detail. Regardless, this is an excellent film, and one that I wholeheartedly recommend not only to futuristic bloodsport movie fans, but to Hauer/Chen aficionados, as well.

And to serious connoisseurs of whappin' and boppin'.

Four stars.

-Sean Gill

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Film Review: WEDLOCK (1991, Lewis Teague)

Stars: 4.1 of 5.
Running Time: 101 minutes.
Tag-line: "Trapped in a prison of the future. Betrayed by a woman of his past. Frank Warren is wired to explode."
Notable Cast or Crew: Rutger Hauer, Mimi Rogers, James Remar, Joan Chen (TWIN PEAKS, THE LAST EMPEROR), Stephen Tobolowsky (GROUNDHOG DAY, DEADWOOD), O-Lan Jones (EDWARD SCISSORHANDS, MIRACLE MILE), Danny Trejo, Grand L. Bush (LETHAL WEAPON, FREEJACK). Written by Broderick Miller (who basically rewrote it as a subpar TV movie called DEADLOCKED: ESCAPE FROM ZONE 14 in 1995). Directed by the underrated Lewis Teague (CUJO, CAT'S EYE, ALLIGATOR). Costumes by Stephen M. Chudej (TAPEHEADS, RAISING ARIZONA, SHAKES THE CLOWN).
Best one-liner: "You non-conformists are all alike."
AKA: DEADLOCK.

Oh boy...now we're talkin' WEDLOCK. I'm a sucker for movies with necklace bombs. I've an even bigger sucker for movies with necklace bombs where Rutger Hauer exclaims "Jesus Christ!"

and then James Remar pops out of the shadows with a smoking gun, smarmily retorting, "No– but I'm flattered by the comparison," as Joan Chen cackles with fiendish malevolence.


Let's go down the list: 80's lightning FX? Check. Danny Trejo in a bit part as a prisoner?

Check. Exploding heads? Brutal ball-squeezing? A dude with a funky earring (like Ozone's in BREAKIN' 2) urinating on Rutger while he's in a sensory deprivation tank?


What is this, a Castellari movie?

Check, check, and double-check.

The main thrust is that 'good guy' thief Rutger takes the fall because of a double-crossin' fiancée Joan Chen (Josie on TWIN PEAKS) and ex-jewel-theivin' buddy Remar.

Rutger ends up in a futuristic, multi-gender, no smoking prison run by ruthless warden Stephen Tobolowsky (the obnoxious Ned Ryerson from GROUNDHOG DAY- bing!) and can only escape by remaining within 100 yards of his necklace bomb 'wedlock' partner, Mimi Rogers– who, by the way, he CAN'T STAND!

"Oh, nooo- you're my wedlock partner?"


See you in the funny pages

Now if that doesn't sound like movie gold to you, I don't even want to hear it- just get the hell outta here right now.

For the rest of you- here eleven reasons why WEDLOCK is well worth the commitment:

#1. Rutger, Joan, and Remar in Russian priest disguises. Is this why Rutger inexplicably has the same costume in SURVIVING THE GAME in '94?

Did he manage to sneak it off the set and into his personal collection? Did he figure three years was long enough for the producers of WEDLOCK to forget that his costume mysteriously went missing at the end of the shoot, and that they wouldn't put two and two together? How often does he wear it at home as lounging attire? Did James Remar keep his, too?

Is it only a matter of time before it ends up on an episode of DEXTER? So many unanswered questions.

#2. O-Lan Jones cameo as the proprietor of a store called "Astral Dreams." Welcome to the future.

#3. Warden Tobolowsky tooling around at times in a smoking jacket and sipping on girl drinks.



#4. These sunglasses. It's not that they're particularly 'over-the-top' or remarkable– they're just right.


#5. Rutger's continued flourishes of swordplay. It's not the Middle Ages (LADYHAWKE, FLESH + BLOOD), it's not essential to the plot (BLIND FURY), but by gum, we can fit some in anyway.

Touché!

#6. "So wait, when should we say this thing is set?" –"The future." "Naww, we gotta be more specific than that."


#7. The simple joy of enjoying tasty cold cuts after getting pissed on in the sensory deprivation tank is something I think we all can actually relate to.


#8. Rutger tooling around in THE most ridiculous southwestern rainbow fleece jacket/poncho, ever.

Which, naturally, leads to steamy, back-of-truck poncho sex:


I'm not sure what the concept was exactly, but I like it. Here's another picture of the macabre fleece:

Credit belongs to costume designer Stephen M. Chudej, who boldly chose to depict the future as not being populated by people in leather and burlap sacks (i.e., MAD MAX, SOLDIER, BLOOD OF HEROES, etc., etc.), but closer to the concepts of 'Medieval Turkish Dance Party," and "Rainbow-flavored Southwestern Mountain-Climbing Swishery." Highest marks.


#9. Try this theoretical question on for size: What if GROUNDHOG DAY starred James Remar instead of Bill Murray, and instead of being a quirky, pseudo-sci-fi holiday comedy, it was a straight-to-video, quirky sci-fi actioner?



#10. The "smash 'em if you got 'em" rule of intricate 80's cakes still applies, as always.

#11. The endless, increasingly insane situations the collars present to our heroes– from elevators to slomo cliff leaps to getting on the wrong bus, it's never less than a damn good time.

In closing- a little more than four stars. If it were made today, it'd be inundated by bad CGI, WB network has-beens, and maybe a washed up pro-wrestler or two– if we were lucky. It's a testament to the raucous genre filmmaking of Lewis Teague, the slick quintet of leads (Hauer, Rogers, Remar, Chen, Tobolowsky), and the colorful costume choices of Mr. Chudej that this thing is able to succeed at bein' a rip-snortin' wild ride. Pass the Schlitz.

-Sean Gill

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