Only now does it occur to me... SUPERMAN III

Only now does it occur to me...  oh, well allow me to explain.  I saw SUPERMAN III when I was kid, and while I successfully blocked most of it out, I definitely remembered sequences like "good Superman vs. evil Superman in the junkyard" and "villainous businesswoman transformed into robot" and "ski slope on top of skyscraper" and "Superman being a dick and ruining the Olympics."  You know, all the important stuff.  

Anyway, I decided (I don't know what got into me) to revisit this fine flick the other day, and was struck by the absolute lunacy of one scene in particular, so, here goes:  

Only now does it occur to me... that there is a scene in SUPERMAN III whereupon Richard Pryor, clad in a twenty-gallon foam cowboy hat, unveils a suitcase full of booze (including Kingsley Amis' favorite gin, Booth's)

and commences to get security guard Gavan O'Herlihy (the legendary reverse-mohawk'd villain Fraker from DEATH WISH 3) drunk as a skunk

so that he (Pryor) can hack into a computer and alter the orbit of a weather satellite so that he can ruin a crop of Columbian coffee because he's been blackmailed into doing so by Robert Vaughn who wants some petty revenge?!

And did I mention that all of this is accompanied by an instrumental version Roger Williams' Euro-pop-meets-country-western hit "They Won't Get Me," produced and synthesized by none other than sunglasses-wearing Italian madman Giorgio Moroder?  Madness, I tell you!

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Film Review: BRONCO BILLY (1980, Clint Eastwood)

Stars: 4 of 5.

Running Time: 116 minutes.

Notable Cast or Crew:  Clint Eastwood, Sondra Locke (THE GAUNTLET, SUDDEN IMPACT), Geoffrey Lewis (DOUBLE IMPACT, MIDNIGHT IN THE GARDEN OF GOOD AND EVIL), Scatman Crothers (ZAPPED!, THE SHINING), Bill McKinney (THE GREEN MILE, DELIVERANCE), Sam Bottoms (APOCALYPSE NOW, THE LAST PICTURE SHOW), George Wendt (HOUSE, CHEERS), and Merle Haggard.  Cinematography by David Worth (BLOODSPORT, director of KICKBOXER).

Tag-line: "The most outrageous of 'em all."

Best one-liner:  "We're barroom buddies and that's the best kind..."

I'm not gonna lie: I had some pretty low expectations for BRONCO BILLY.  Its always sat at the back of my unwatched Eastwood pile, keeping films like PINK CADILLAC and CITY HEAT company.  (Now that I've actually seen the thing, I guess we can stuff TROUBLE WITH THE CURVE back there in its old spot.)  Anyway, my point is this:  BRONCO BILLY is actually a good movie.  It's low key and occasionally goofy, but overall it's a strong, dramatic ensemble piece that effortlessly (sort of Howard Hawks by way of Robert Altman) recreates the atmosphere and camaraderie of what it's like to make your way in the world with a group of traveling players.

The players in question are Bronco Billy (Eastwood) and company, a touring old-timey Wild West show in an era (1980) that may have outgrown them.  Bronco Billy hasn't paid his crew (who include Scatman Crothers, Bill McKinney, and Sam Bottoms, among others) in ages, and their ramshackle show sometimes plays to crowds in the single digits.  Billy can't get female assistants to stick around for more than one performance (there's plenty of knife and horse tricks that go easily awry), local law enforcement's bustin' their balls, and things in general simply ain't lookin' too good for the gang.  At least not until they meet a stranded rich bitch with a heart of gold (Sondra Locke, Clint's real-life girlfriend at the time) and a whole variety of zany, salt of the earth characters along the way.
This film is also notable, because it may have been the first time that the upper echelon of the critical establishment began to take Clint's films seriously: it garnered a special screening at the Museum of Modern Art.

Anyway, let's get right down to brass tacks:  here's eleven reasons why you should consider joinin' up with BRONCO BILLY and the gang:

1.  "Barroom Buddies."

The subtle majesty of the classic duet as performed by Merle Haggard and Clint Eastwood is truly something to behold.  Here, Clint sings along with Merle on the radio, much to the chagrin of Sondra Locke and a snoozing Scatman Crothers.  The simple joys of this kind of raggedy friendship are what "Barroom Buddies" and this film are really about–  "We're barroom buddies and that's the best kind, nobody fools with a buddy of mine– I laugh when you're happy, and I cry when you're blue-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoooooooooooooooooo!"  Simply poetry.


2. Post-coital "Barroom Buddies."

 After a wild night with Clint, Sondra Locke awakens the next morning, alone, dreamily singing "Barroom Buddies," a cappella, to herself.  This is patently insane, and I appreciate it.

3.  Speakin' of barroom buddies, look- it's Normie!  The original barroom buddy!  He's lookin' a little slimmer than usual, and he's got unexpected sideburns, but that's an uncredited George Wendt, all right.

Hopefully there's enough CHEERS fans around to appreciate the fact that in this universe, Wendt tends bar, instead of functioning as the sort of ultimate, beer-swilling, one-liner quipping barfly.  He even razzes Scatman Crothers about paying his tab; interesting since Norm never pays for a beer in the entirety of CHEERS unless he absolutely has to (his enormous tab is a constant source of amusement).   Also, the whole Clint & Sondra romance here has a real proto-Sam & Diane vibe to it, as well.  Anyway, yeah... CHEERS, ladies and gentlemen.

4.  Continuing on this tangent– the mood of the film is fantastic.  It's a little straighter and squarer than URBAN COWBOY, say, but that's fine too.  Smoky bars, wood-paneling, cheap beers,
 
barroom brawls worthy of a Burt Reynolds movie, and a place where the goddamn house band is Merle Haggard himself!
 


5.  The custom revolver door handles on Clint's car. 

If you can't appreciate the inherent genius and trashiness of it all, then you probably shouldn't be watching BRONCO BILLY anyway.

6.  This can't really be illustrated by a screencap, but at one point, Clint and the gang make a stopover at a mental hospital.  One of the night shift guards can be heard whistling Eddie Rabbit's wondrous theme song to "Every Which Way But Loose."  This, A: made me really happy, B: caused the song to be stuck in my head for several hours afterward, and C: reminded me that I really need to get around to reviewing the EVERY WHICH WAY BUT LOOSE novelization.

7.  Classic Eastwood crony Geoffrey Lewis.

He's a serious old-school country boy character actor in the vein of Bruce Glover, M. Emmet Walsh, and Joe Don Baker.  He's collaborated with Eastwood seven times, fathered Juliette Lewis (!), and always delivers offbeat, nuanced performances.  Playing Sondra Locke's ex, he's sort of a kooky antagonist throughout the piece, and he gets a lot of great glowering reaction shots.

8.  Scatman Crothers.

1980 was a good year for Scatman (see also:  THE SHINING and LAVERNE & SHIRLEY), and he personally rated BRONCO BILLY as one of his favorite performances.  As a quack doctor and the master of ceremonies, he brings a positive energy to the piece that makes the brotherhood of the troupe all the more believable.

9.  Rotating balloon-target POV in the knife-throwing sequences.

'Cause who doesn't like this sort of thing?

10.  Seems like Clint has to save Sondra Locke from getting raped in almost every movie (see also: THE OUTLAW JOSEY WALES).  This entry in particular refers to the hilariously deranged expression upon Eastwood's face as he pulls a would-be rapist off of Ms. Locke (of course this leads immediately to a Philo Beddoe-esque parking lot brawl).

11.  Art imitates life: aka, Clint's a cheapskate.
I've heard on multiple occasions (most thoroughly in Sondra Locke's tell-all, THE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE VERY UGLY and Patrick McGilligan's CLINT: THE LIFE AND LEGEND) that Clint is something of a real Scrooge McDuckin', penny-pinchin' cheapskate.  I'm not here to sling mud, but it seems that Clint's pretty self-aware of this, and in fact inserts references to it throughout his canon.  (The first that comes to mind is in DIRTY HARRY, when he doesn't want his expensive pants cut with scissors by the doctors trying to treat his bullet wound: "For $29.50, let it hurt.")  Well, here in BRONCO BILLY, we get Clint hassling Sondra Locke and deducting a dime from her paycheck when she needs to make a phone call.  Then there's the big robbery scene, whereupon two hoodlums stick up a country bank and Bronco Billy, with his trick shooting prowess, blasts their weapons out of their hands and saves the day.  But what is it that pushes him over the edge and into action?  It's when he sees the robbers shove a little boy, whose piggy bank explodes onto the floor, and the pennies go everywhere.

I'm going to choose to believe that it's not violence against the child– it's the sight of all those sweet, sweet pennies that gets his blood up.  In fact, later in the film, we learn that Billy and his gang are almost all ex-convicts, and they later even attempt a half-hearted train robbery.  So Billy's not against robbery in general– he simply was distraught because (and I'm going to paraphrase a Man with No Name quote from THE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE UGLY)  "I've never seen so many pennies, wasted so badly."

In closing, BRONCO BILLY's a wonderful little Western slice of life that proceeds at its own pace and charms you with its scruffy, wood-paneled, Barroom Buddy charisma.  Four stars.


–Sean Gill

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Only now does it occur to me... PARK ROW

Only now does it occur to me...  that PARK ROW is one of the finest American films of the 1950s.

Funded independently by cigar-puffing Hollywood maverick Sam Fuller, PARK ROW is a wild, dark, ambitious, intricate meditation on the freedom of the press and a nostalgic reverie for the bygone, moxie-filled newspapering glory days of Park Row.  Its scope is vast, even if its budget wasn't– some have even likened it to an indie-CITIZEN KANE.

I don't wish to say too much, but this movie is brutal.  Children are maimed, bombs are tossed, innocents beaten into pulps, and all over the integrity of print media.  Our intrepid hero even gets his hands on a less than 'fair and balanced' rival newspaper henchman, and clobbers his media-distorting ass against the pedestal of a statue of Benjamin Franklin!




Plus, you get to see a Blue Blazer made,

And there's even secret messages in the beer!

Anyway, as far as I can tell, it's only available via the MGM Limited Edition DVD-R print-on-demand collection, but I really can't recommend this film enough.  In an era where true journalistic integrity is the scarcest of commodities, seeing the fortitude, decency, and resourcefulness of two-fisted truth-tellers of yore (both the Park Row newshounds of the 1880s and Sam Fuller himself) lifts the spirits a little.

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Film Review: COCKTAIL (1988, Roger Donaldson)

Stars: 2.9 of 5.
Running Time: 104 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Tom Cruise, Bryan Brown (BREAKER MORANT, THE POSEIDON ADVENTURE '05), Elisabeth Shue (THE KARATE KID, HOLLOW MAN), Laurence Luckinbill (THE BOYS IN THE BAND, STAR TREK V), Kelly Lynch (ROAD HOUSE, ROAD HOUSE, ROAD HOUSE), Gina Gershon (SHOWGIRLS, FACE/OFF). Written by Heywood Gould (THE BOYS FROM BRAZIL, co-writer of ROLLING THUNDER). Directed by Roger Donaldson (WHITE SANDS, SPECIES, THE BANK JOB, THIRTEEN DAYS, NO WAY OUT).
Tag-line: "They thought he was good. They were wrong. HE WAS THE BEST." Also, see review.
Best one-liner: "I don't care how liberated this world becomes - a man will always be judged by the amount of alcohol he can consume - and a woman will be impressed, whether she likes it or not."

I'm not sure what to say. I enjoyed this, yes. For starters, it has one of the greatest tag-lines in film history: "When he pours, he reigns." There's high-fives, an amazing 80's neon font, and a sort of visceral, perverse fascination to be had in watching Tom Cruise and Bryan Brown undulate in unison, doing the Hippy-Hippy Shake as they mix Singapore Slings and what-have-yous.



But there's a key element of revulsion: the bad boy 'counter-culture' facade is easily unmasked to reveal a basic celebration of crass yuppie ideals. And it thusly kinda turns into a ginormous, reassuring pat on the back for yuppie sell-outs.

COCKTAIL says, "Fuck money! Fuck selling out! Yeah! Choose love!," and then cranks up the volume on some Starship before resuming with a business plan for creating a chain of bars for strip malls. It LITERALLY does of all of that. Only a yuppie shithook would think of themselves as a 'Maverick' because they're devoted to trite success manuals and dream of one day franchising NYC ambiance to tools across the land. Only the worst of douchebombs would truly relate to a romantic hero who successfully employs "A guy lays down a dare, you gotta take it!" as a perfectly legitimate, forgivable excuse for cheating on your girlfriend.

"THE BAR IS OPEN!"

But still, COCKTAIL is an important cultural document. The late 80's saw several exposés of yuppie culture. Something like BRIGHT LIGHTS, BIG CITY examines the origins and driving forces, and something like John Carpenter's THEY LIVE attempts to place it in perspective through the lens of outrageous sci-fi action and social commentary. But COCKTAIL exists as the flip side- the dark side- of that coin... almost a yuppie Bible. It's also a lot of fun. But for sheer vapidity, I'd rather be watching CAPTAIN RON, and for vapidity with subsequent meaning, I'd rather be watching AMERICAN GIGOLO. So there you have it. Not quite three stars.

-Sean Gill

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Film Review: HIGHBALL (1997, Noah Baumbach)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: 74 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Chris Reed (RUDY, MR. JEALOUSY), Lauren Katz (RUDY, MR. JEALOUSY), Noah Baumbach, John Lehr (MR. JEALOUSY, host of I'M A CELEBRITY, GET ME OUT OF HERE), Chris Eigeman (KICKING AND SCREAMING, METROPOLITAN), Peter Bogdanovich (director of THE LAST PICTURE SHOW, WHAT'S UP DOC?), Eric Stoltz (MASK, THE FLY II), Ally Sheedy (THE BREAKFAST CLUB, SHORT CIRCUIT), Rae Dawn Chong (COMMANDO, CHAINDANCE), Annabella Sciorra (MR. JEALOUSY, THE FUNERAL), Carlos Jacott (KICKING AND SCREAMING, BIG LOVE), Justine Bateman (FAMILY TIES, SATISFACTION), Dean Cameron (MEN AT WORK, ROCKULA). Written by Baumbach, Jacott, and Chris Reed. Produced by Joel Castleberg (KICKING AND SCREAMING, SLEEP WITH ME, MR. JEALOUSY).
Tag-line: "One year. Three parties. Twelve fools."
Best one-liner: "Di-annne! This kid vomited! And he reeks of liquor!"

Written and directed beneath the disguise of pseudonyms ("Ernie Fusco" and "Jesse Carter") and shot across six days on leftover money and film stock from MR. JEALOUSY, Noah Baumbach's HIGHBALL is, I dare say, a low-budge comic masterpiece which was marketed as a straight-to-video SWINGERS clone. You can hardly blame them, though- it's not like the 'overeducated, disaffected, metropolitan youth' subgenre had been packing 'em in since the heyday of late 70's Woody Allen. And while many have drawn parallels between these films and Allen's, I almost see 90's Noah Baumbach (KICKING AND SCREAMING, MR. JEALOUSY, HIGHBALL) and Whit Stillman (METROPOLITAN, BARCELONA, LAST DAYS OF DISCO) as a mini-genre unto themselves, especially separate from what came after: say, the stylistically bold, storybook forays of Wes Anderson; the meaner, more acerbic, post-2004 Baumbach; and the either too-hollow or too-mawkish latter-day fumblings of the so-called Mumblecore.

Shot inside someone's apartment with cheap, stark lighting and tinny sound, many will be put off by the low production value, but you A/V snobs will be ignoring one of the wittiest and best-acted comedy films in the last twenty years. I've watched HIGHBALL probably a dozen times (or more), and I'm left giddy with each viewing, always discovering a new background gag or some genius bit of throwaway dialogue. It's a cult film, and although the cult may be practically microscopic, my household is frequently home to "Everrrybody Fee-lix...it's Felix's birth-day," "Say hello to the other loooooosers," "I hope you like your beer tastin' good," "Little King Joachim," and other such obscure references that would surely baffle the non-HIGHBALL-initiated.

Though the cover art would have you believe that this film is about a Vegas lounge owned by the laid-back Eric Stoltz and run by his flashy cocktail waitress Annabella Sciorra, no element of the DVD cover has anything whatsoever to do with the film, not even Stoltz's and Sciorra's costumes or hairdos. (They do appear in the film, but as supporting characters.) Instead, we have Travis (Chris Reed) and Diane (Lauren Katz), a married Brooklyn couple whose (respective) desires to find an audience for closet-brewed beer and to recreate the French salons of the 18th Century provide the impetus for the film's triptych of parties: Birthday, Halloween, and New Year's.


Because attempting to describe the film's best gags and one-liners would merely be an exercise in watering them down, I'll instead give a rundown of the cast, many of whom will be easily recognizable to fans of semi-sophisticated 90's independent cinema.

Carlos Jacott, also a co-writer, nearly steals the movie as Felix, a character described as a man without a personality, and "if he did have one, deep down, it'd probably be some kind of an asshole." He expresses near-constant disdain, feeds six-year-olds booze, and presides over a host of spectacularly uncomfortable moments.

Jacott (left) exchanges words with Noah Baumbach.

Then we got Chris Eigeman, who's a personal hero of mine.

Sure, he usually just plays 'himself,' but when your self is as effortlessly deadpan and likably droll as Eigeman, you should be allowed to do whatever the hell you want.

There's John Lehr as the obnoxious, long-haired record store employee, er, I mean, record company employee.

Lehr, center, introduces his date (Justine Bateman) to his host (Chris Reed).

Playing an over-the-top goofus is a difficult feat to pull off without drawing the audience's ire, but Lehr is more than up to the task. Why he doesn't get more work (when mainstream comedy is teeming with untalented people playing goofuses) is beyond me.

Then we got Rae Dawn Chong and Ally Sheedy as themselves.


"Ally- was it...SHEEDY?"

And they're just famous enough for the gag to work perfectly. I.e., "Are you gonna go out there and tell Ally Sheedy to put out her cigarette?"

There's Peter Bogdanovich, who probably worked for free under the guarantee that he could pack in as many celebrity impersonations as was humanly possible for the duration.

And he does.

Eric Stoltz is the sensitive "star person" who "happens to know a lot of well-known people" delivers an excellent low-key performance in a film full of flashy ones (as he did in KICKING AND SCREAMING),

Baumbach himself plays a nebbish of sorts and reveals an acting talent that certainly deserves more exposure outside the occasional walk-on,

"How could you not know you look like Hitler?"

Dean Cameron shows up in a bit part as a recovering alcoholic magician whose final show does not disappoint,

'THE MAGIC MAN'

Noah's real-life dad Jonathan shows up as a creepy old man, Justine Bateman appears as a sad-sack hippie space cadet turned pleather-dress-wearing bon vivant, and Annabella Sciorra pops up as an elitist bitch and sometime wingwoman of Jacott's character. There's Stephen Foster references, dueling lizard costumes, and the choice between home brew and Malibu. There's amusingly unexpected character transformations, misuse of candy corn, and the marvelous collision of goofiness and sophistication. I'll say that this is the ultimate party movie for people who generally dislike 'party movies.' Not bad for six days.

Five stars.

-Sean Gill

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Of Note to Fans of Bukowski... and THE ROOM

Readers of this site know of my appreciation for both Charles Bukowski and Tommy Wiseau, and truly I thought "ne'er the twain shall meet," so to speak. Well, I was reading Bukowski's 1975 novel FACTOTUM this morning on the subway, when what should I come across but the following passage:

"I finished my beer, got up and found a bottle of vodka, one of scotch and sat down again. I mixed them with water; I smoked cigars, and ate beef jerky, chips, and hard-boiled eggs. I drank until 5 a.m."

Clearly it's being referenced by the "scotchka" which is so infamously enjoyed by Johnny and Lisa in that one scene in THE ROOM.


Obviously, it's a sign that Tommy Wiseau's next film should be a Bukowski adaption starring himself as the Chinaski alter-ego. I would pay good money to see that.

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Commercial Review: THUNDERBIRD WINE AD (196?, James Mason)

Stars 5 of 5.
Running Time: 22 seconds.
Notable Cast or Crew: James Mason.

Submitted, for your consideration: Thunderbird. The American Classic. What's the word? Thunderbird. How's it sold? Good and cold. What's the jive? Bird's alive. What's the price? Thirty twice. That's just sixty cents, ladies and gentlemen. Now for those of you still asking, 'What the hell is Thunderbird?,' let me lay it out for ya. It's a low-end, fortified wine. Also known as a blockparty breakup, a poverty punch, or a gutter punk champagne. A cheap n' grubby beverage, which, despite possessing a translucent 'white wine' hue, is known to turn the mouth a tenebrous, inky black. Existing somewhere on the chemical spectrum between Clorox, gasoline, and rubbing alcohol, it's like something out of STREET TRASH.

Over here we have James Mason. Veteran actor of stage and screen and a memorable collaborator of Alfred Hitchcock, Carol Reed, Stanley Kubrick, Michael Powell, Nicholas Ray, Tobe Hooper, Sam Peckinpah, and George Cukor, among others. Nominated for three Oscars, he's played General Rommel, Brutus, Captain Nemo, Joseph of Arimathea, and Humbert Humbert. He even had his own TV show for a little while: THE JAMES MASON SHOW. His deep, velvety voice has delivered exquistely-worded put-downs to co-stars as disparate as Charles Bronson, Cary Grant, and Marlon Brando. A class act if there ever was one. So, you're probably wondering why I even brought him up in the context of Thunderb–

Now that may be the finest celebrity endorsement I have ever witnessed, this side of Bronson/Mandom.

James Mason begins with a moment of hesitation...

You can see it in his nervous eyes and his stiff demeanor. He knows exactly what he's about to endorse. In fact, he may have grown that seedy moustache expressly for the occasion. He's come to grips with the sacrifices that must be made in the name of earning a living, yet still he finds it difficult to maintain eye contact with the viewer. He looks downward, using the excuse of a steadier pour.

"I like the unusual flavor of Thunderbird wine. It's an exceptionally good drink for every occasion."

He slowly pours himself a glass. He hasn't lied to us yet. Not directly. Perhaps he does like that unusual chemical taste in the same way that some of us enjoy the occasional whiff of gasoline from a passing automobile. And note that he doesn't say it's an exceptionally good drink per se, he simply finds it well-suited for every occasion, just as I find Drain-O well-suited for every occasion I have to unclog a pipe.

"Thunderbird has an unusual flavor, all it's own. Not quite like anything I've ever tasted."

Still he looks away. He even uses the descriptor 'unusual' once more. He's falling apart. Under that silken neck scarf, he is sweating buckets. You can't tell because he's a pro, but he's never lied to his public before. He still manages to avoid coming straight out and saying that 'Thunderbird is worth your time and money because it is delicious,' though, which is admirable. I like that sculpture, too.

"I suggest that you try Thunderbird. It's really delightful."

'Delightful' is stretching it. And James Mason knows it. That's why he toasts us with his tumbler-of-Thunderbird-on-the-rocks-with-lime-garnish as he says it. It's an old magician's trick: sleight of hand, distraction, and visual flourish. I like that he never takes a sip of Thunderbird. Now most will probably cite advertising laws and so forth, but I'll always hold that he can't bring himself to do it. It's also possible that the fumes have generated some kind of temporary paralysis.

Ah, and only now do we see that it's officially described as an aperitif, which might be the most egregious example of false advertising yet. Perhaps it could stimulate an appetite for slow-roasted packing peanuts served with rubber cement sauce, or something of that nature. I have to assume, though, that James Mason has tried Thunderbird at least once, or else he wouldn't realize the necessity of so carefully tiptoeing through his adjectives. But it's all in that first look–


It's only for an instant, but he really does look like a turtle out of its shell. The bird may be alive, but the Mason's mortified. And yet, at the same time, he looks scuzzier than Humbert Humbert at his scuzziest. This is the look of a man who is about to hawk some toxic chemicals in the form of a wine bottle. Then again, it doesn't resemble wine in any way, so let's say it's the look of a man who's about to hawk some toxic chemicals in the form of a bottle of bottom-tier Triple Sec. It's like that Philosophy 101 conundrum whereupon if you grab the carrot to feed yourself, someone across the world who you don't know dies. Except here, it's James Mason's livlihood versus a couple of dozen melting bums and dissolving hobos. It's the cycle of life, and it's all laid out quite beautifully. Thank you, Mr. Mason. Now pass that Thunderbird. Let her gentle wings soar.

-Sean Gill

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