Only now does it occur to me... UNFAITHFUL

Only now does it occur to me...  Balloon Saloon!  Allow me to explain. 
So I've been on a Adrian Lyne rewatch kick and I finally got around to watching UNFAITHFUL, his surprisingly faithful (no joke intended) remake of Claude Chabrol's 1969 film, THE UNFAITHFUL WIFE.  I enjoyed it quite a bit, and the performances– particularly by Diane Lane and Richard Gere (the AMERICAN GIGOLO himself playing the cuckold in a piece of genius casting)– are incredibly in tune with one another, and subtle even in the midst of scenes that nearly ring "soap opera." 
The film begins with Diane Lane exiting a shop and entering a windstorm of Biblical proportions– or at least Bugs Bunny cartoon proportions.  She is hefted to and fro by the winds until she melodramatically meets a dangerously handsome Frenchman whereupon the titular unfaithfulness is set into motion.  Let me back up a moment– about that shop:

 It is a balloon saloon.

 
 


And I guarantee you this is the only time in film you will see Diane Lane battered about by giant balloon dinosaurs and zebras.



Even better, I recognized the balloon saloon from semi-frequent trips to Tribeca.
 
 Imagine it!  A bar where you can get balloons as well!  Alas, my dreams were dashed when I entered the establishment and discovered that it was simply a party center.  I craned my neck to look behind the counter with the helium tanks and the ribbon cutting station, hoping to spy a glimpse of a lonely tap of "Balloon Saloon Lager," but there was no such luck.  I'm still holding out hope that there's a back room speakeasy, accessible by password, which contains a portal to the clown bar from SHAKES THE CLOWN.  We can all dream, can't we?

By the way, J.D. over at Radiator Heaven did a great writeup on this film some time ago, too, if you want to read an informed opinion on something other than the Balloon Saloon.

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Film Review: WILD BILL (1995, Walter Hill)

Stars: 2.7 of 5.
Running Time: 98 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Jeff Bridges (STARMAN, THUNDERBOLT AND LIGHTFOOT, CUTTER'S WAY), Ellen Barkin (THE ADVENTURES OF BUCKAROO BANZAI, DOWN BY LAW), John Hurt (I, CLAUDIUS; THE HIT), Diane Lane (THE COTTON CLUB, RUMBLE FISH), Keith Carradine (NASHVILLE, SOUTHERN COMFORT), David Arquette (THE OUTSIDERS TV series, SCREAM), Christina Applegate (DON'T TELL MOM THE BABYSITTER'S DEAD, MARS ATTACKS!), James Remar (48 HRS., QUIET COOL), Bruce Dern (THE GREAT GATSBY, SILENT RUNNING). Based on the book DEADWOOD by Peter Dexter and the play by Thomas Babe.
Tag-line: "Take a walk on the wild side."
Best one-liner: "You ought to know better than to touch another man's hat."

Where to begin, WILD BILL? Let's start with the good. I'm a Walter Hill fan. I'm a fan of most of the talented, eclectic cast whose members include the commanding and mustachioed Jeff Bridges, the eloquent John Hurt, the soothingly intense Keith Carradine, the mysterious and sultry Diane Lane, and the lovably psychotic James Remar. There's fast and furious, well-choreographed gunfights which recall the quick-drawin', squinty-eyed triumphs of Sergio Leone.

There's a scene where Wild Bill shoots a shot glass off the back of a hapless pooch while he aims backwards, through a mirror.

There's Keith Carradine (who later played perhaps filmdom's finest Wild Bill on HBO's DEADWOOD) as Buffalo Bill in a zany scene showcasing Wild Bill's legendarily awful acting in the money-grubbing play 'SCOUTS OF THE PLAINS.'

There's a genius scene depicting a geriactric-style gunfight between a crippled Bruce Dern...

...and a smart-assed Wild Bill, who's had himself tied to a chair to make it a fair fight.

In fact, Dern practically steals the movie playing this wheelchair-bound, irascible, grizzled madman-

and it's a role that he's pretty much (BIG LOVE, MONSTER, THE ASTRONAUT FARMER) been playing ever since. (And to be fair, he was generally playing it before, too.)

We got John Hurt narrating and raising eyebrows and classin' up the joint

and even getting punched out by James Remar.

We got Remar bustin' in and and bellowing the rhetorical question, "A FIVE DOLLAR WHORE'S GONNA TELL ME ABOUT STREET TRASH?!" to a hooker played by...uh, Christina Applegate.

Wait, that must be a typo. Surely I meant to type 'Susan Tyrrell' or 'Candy Clark' or 'Grace Zabriskie'...but no such luck. It's not all peaches and cream, ladies and gentlemen. Christina Applegate is indeed in this movie, and though it pains me to say it, she's far from being the most absolutely, hair-raisingly loco element included in the film.

Now would probably be a good time to mention that WILD BILL is sort of structured like THE DOORS. We flash-forward and flash-back and wash out to events throughout Wild Bill's life, as if trapped in a interminable time warp, an ouroboros of violence and blood and dirt and whiskey. That's fine. It establishes the sense of violence that pervades Wild Bill's very being. But things start to get a little wonky as soon as we got drug trips and opium hallucinations and use of high-contrast black-and-white video art-lookin' sequences full of bizarre, Oliver Stone-style Native American mysticism


which, for all intents and purposes, are unwatchable until Diane Lane shows up, at which point they become only barely watchable.

Diane Lane: a real dish, even in high-contrast video-art-installation-style sequences.

All of this would be excusable if they were going the all-out arthouse route, but then we have pandering- I assume to the studio, but who knows– altering the historical record in a manner which can only be described as "thoroughly cockamamie." 'Colorado' Charlie Utter inexplicably becomes Charlie Prince (the John Hurt character). Jack McCall (Bill's assassin) is no longer a young, poker-luvin' douche who impulsively shot Bill in the back over a card game and a subsequent gesture of (quite possibly mocking) kindness. He's a pretty-boy (...played by David Arquette) avenging the honor of his mother, Susannah (Diane Lane), who has Bill at gunpoint about 3,000 times during the course of the movie but only acts on it during the finale.

Now, the historical McCall, most likely trying to save his own ass, claimed that Wild Bill had killed his brother and he was seeking revenge, but to tie it in with the Susannah Moore/Davis Tutt incident is not only kinda historically irresponsible, but it also works to the detriment of the story Hill is telling, unless he wanted the subject of his film to be a heavily fictionalized version of Jack McCall. Anyway, it doesn't really matter- the combining, editing, and altering of historical figures in cinema occurs with such frequency that it hardly bears ment–

CALAMITY

JANE

HOT

TUB

I like Ellen Barkin. I really like Ellen Barkin. Nobody can say that I don't like Ellen Barkin. I guess what I mean to say is that she doesn't quite look the part.

Then again, I suppose that her depiction is something that Hollywood has always struggled with:

So, forget I said anything. Thank God, though, at least they didn't s–



...

...

...

...Well, let's end things on a positive note, shall we? Here's a clip I uploaded of James Remar, possibly worn down from multiple takes, giving Wild Bill's hat a hearty, dramatic thwack.


-Sean Gill

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Film Review: THE COTTON CLUB (1984, Francis Ford Coppola)

Stars: 4 of 5.
Running Time: 127 minutes.
Tag-line: "It was the jazz age. It was an era of elegance and violence. The action was gambling. The stakes were life and death."
Notable Cast or Crew: Richard Gere, Gregory Hines, Diane Lane, Bob Hoskins, John P. Ryan, James Remar, Nicolas Cage, Gwen Verdon, Laurence Fishburne, Julian Beck, Tom Waits, Jennifer Grey, Joe Dallesandro, Diane Venora, Woody Strode, James Russo, Giancarlo Esposito, Sofia Coppola, Mario van Peebles! Not to mention Kirk Taylor- The Giggler in DEATH WISH 3! Music by John Barry. Cinematography by Stephen Goldblatt (THE HUNGER, STRIPTEASE). Produced by Robert Evans.
Best one-liner: "Blow that bughouse bastard to kingdom come!"

A lot of the knee-jerk negative reactions to Coppola's 80's output either center on the films being too avant-garde (RUMBLE FISH) or too obsessed with duplicating the celluloid past (ONE FROM THE HEART), but those are two key reasons why his 80's films, however flawed, are some of my favorites. Coppola, along with producer Robert Evans (CHINATOWN, POPEYE)- who was at one point banned from his own set due to heightening tensions between the men- crafts a dreamy, extravagant, maudlin, and occasionally brutal atmosphere that lies somewhere between THE PUBLIC ENEMY, 42ND STREET, and THE GODFATHER.


James Remar demands your attention.

Richard Gere and Diane Lane are our stars, but they are essentially muted: instead, it’s the rogue's gallery of supporting players that lends THE COTTON CLUB power: James Remar as 'Dutch Schultz,' at once exuding charm and childishness- and prone to Pesci-style bursts of violence:

Nic Cage undergoing a journey from stilted milquetoast to raving 'Mad Dog Mick' gangster:

Bob Hoskins as a horse-obsessed (!) impresario who lets you know he's not fucking around, even as he calmly arranges some flowers; Gregory Hines as undisputed king of the tap-dance; Woody Strode as a stoic doorman; Mario van Peebles as a hoofer (the same year as EXTERMINATOR 2!); John P. Ryan as a racist, seething Schultz rival:

Larry Fishburne as a no-nonsense Harlem racketeer who's been pushed around by the whites long enough:

Tom Waits as a nettlesome club employee; Joe Dallesandro as 'Lucky' Luciano, the new Mafioso on the block; and bit parts by everyone from Giancarlo Esposito to Jennifer Grey to avant-garde theater pioneer Julian Beck. It's an exquisite, exhilarating world seen through an amber-colored lens:

A classic 30's montage reimagined.


Shades of Vittorio Storaro?


If only the real Cab Calloway had employed Mario van Peebles (not pictured).


SCHLERP

garish, ostentatious fashion, waterfalls of spurting champagne, elaborate Art Deco setpieces, and swirling, nostalgic montages- at any moment, this heightened tranquility could be perforated by a stroke of repulsive barbarism or a whirlwind of fame, fortune, and your wildest dreams. This is not a gritty, historical document, per sé- it’s a paean to the endless possibilities and intoxicating escapism of the silver screen, and that’s just the way I like it. Four stars.

-Sean Gill

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