Film Review: THE BIG EASY (1986, Jim McBride)

Stars: 3.5 of 5.

Running Time:  minutes.

Notable Cast or Crew:  Dennis Quaid (ENEMY MINE, FAR FROM HEAVEN), Ellen Barkin (DOWN BY LAW, THE ADVENTURES OF BUCKAROO BANZAI), John Goodman (BARTON FINK, THE BIG LEBOWSKI), Ned Beatty (SUPERMAN, DELIVERANCE), Grace Zabriskie (TWIN PEAKS, WILD AT HEART), Marc Lawrence (MARATHON MAN, THE MAN WITH THE GOLDEN GUN), Soloman Burke (Rock n' Roll Hall of Famer and "The Bishop of Soul").  Written by Daniel Petrie, Jr. (BEVERLY HILLS COP, TURNER & HOOCH).

Tag-line:  "Police ACTION at its best!"  (If ya know what I mean.)

Best one-liner:  "If I can't have you, can I have my gator?"

Sweet crawdad-lickin', bayou-sweatin', gator-chompin' lordy o mine!  It's time to kick off this three part series of Southern-Fried Sleaze-O-Rama!

What? You may be thinking.  THE BIG EASY is a fairly respected, medium-to-high-budgeted 80s Neo-Noir classic, or at least a near-classic.  It's got a respectable acting pedigree, Ebert loved the hell out of it, and for as much as we use the AFI for anything other than the occasional snide remark, they shortlisted this flick for their "Greatest American Mysteries" list and for their "Greatest American Love Stories" list.  So what are you thinking, placing this crawdad-lickin' gem in your series dedicated to unintentional camp and hilarious perversity?

Well, as much as I genuinely enjoy THE BIG EASY, I must spring something on you.  A pop quiz, to be exact.  Don't worry, though– there's only one question.  I want you to think hard, and tell me what the answer is, because honestly, I don't even know.  The question is this:

Q:  What is the most unexpectedly bizarre moment of Mardi Grassin', cajun-spicin' wackadoodle to appear in THE BIG EASY?

Is it, A:  Ned Beatty's spectacular get-up during a front-porchin' Crescent City shindig,

which includes a rather chic felt crawdad hat, a pair of suspenders, and a Tabasco™ sauce tee-shirt, which proudly (and accurately) labels Beatty as "HOT STUFF."

Is it, B:  Grace Zabriskie's bug-eyed, Creole-accented turn as Dennis Quaid's mother,

a matriarch so fierce that she can demolish old ladies with a soul-blasting Medusa glare:

It's a performance which probably inspired David Lynch, who would later cast her in WILD AT HEART as an accented hitwoman carrying out a job in New Orleans.

Is it, C:  John Goodman, looking nowhere near "skinny," but certainly younger and svelter than I've seen him this side of C.H.U.D.

Hint: it's not C.  C is pretty normal.

Is it, D:  The comically disturbing semi-implied, semi-explicit salad-tossing scene between Dennis Quaid and Ellen Barkin



which nearly made me spray my beer through my nose.  (And don't you worry, this series with make an extremely tasteful recurring motif of this particular proclivity.)  I feel as if this demands a new euphemism.  "The Bayou Tosser?"  "Mason Licksin'?"  "Jambalaya Jammin'?"


Is it, E:  Jambalaya Jammin'.  Nevermind, nevermind, THIS is "Jambalaya Jammin'":


Or, as longtime goosing aficionado Burt Reynolds might call it, "The Stroker Ace."

Or is it, F:  Dennis Quaid going undercover and on the lam as notable "Hall and Oates" member,  John Oates.

John Oates heartily approves.

And you really must watch the following clip, which truly functions best when viewed entirely out of context:

So there you have it– I have posed the question.  I pray that you, my valued readers, can provide me with the answer.  So here's hopin' you beat the heat, and stay tuned for more crawdad-lickin', Southern-fried Sleaze-o-rama!

–Sean Gill

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Film Review: CAUGHT (1949, Max Ophüls)

Stars: 3.8 of 5.

Running Time: 88 minutes.

Notable Cast or Crew: Barbara Bel Geddes (VERTIGO, PANIC IN THE STREETS), James Mason (LOLITA, THUNDERBIRD ads, SALEM'S LOT), Robert Ryan (THE WILD BUNCH, THE DIRTY DOZEN), Curt Bois (CASABLANCA, WINGS OF DESIRE), Frank Ferguson (HUSH HUSH SWEET CHARLOTTE, ABBOTT AND COSTELLO MEET FRANKENSTEIN)

Tag-line: "The story of a desperate girl."

Best one-liner:  "Look at me!  LOOK AT WHAT YOU BOUGHT!!"

A hard-to-come by 40s melodrama that occasionally masquerades as a film noir, CAUGHT had been on my 'to-see' list for years, so I decided to take the plunge when I saw that it was expiring from Netflix instant at the end of the year.  A thickly-veiled portrait of Howard Hughes' love life (Ophüls was once fired from a Hughes picture, VENDETTA) and one of Martin Scorsese's favorite films (possibly the reason why he made THE AVIATOR?), the film walks that thin line between high art and low camp (or perhaps between low art and high camp?), and we all know that that's the sort of thing I enjoy.

Ophüls was a German arthouse filmmaker best known for making expressive, French romantic melodramas, packed with exquisite tracking shots.  He's at the height of his powers when he's presenting life as a lurid carnival– an endless dance rotating amongst different social milieus, like in LA RONDE or LOLA MONTÉS.  He's at his weakest when his carousel remains stuck in a single stuffy mode (i.e., THE EARRINGS OF MADAME DE..., a much-loved film that I happen to dislike).  In a film like CAUGHT, he's socially responsible, capturing the moments of life that exist between the stations of life.  However, his wings are rather clipped by the studio– he does get some nice tracking shots in there, but visual flair is few and far between.  As James Mason later wrote in a poem, "A shot that does not call for tracks/ is agony for poor old Max,/ who, separated from his dolly,/ is wrapped in deepest melancholy./ Once, when they took away his crane/ I thought he'd never smile again."

Basically, the plot follows Barbara Bel Geddes as she tries to further herself by saving up for an education.  Don't worry, it's 1949– she's not going to college:

I nearly did a spit-take when she pulls out this brochure after going on about educating and furthering herself.  Anyway, after gaining the necessary skill set for obtaining a husband, she marries an oddly named ("Smith Ohlrig") big shot played by noir-standby Robert Ryan, who seems to marry her only to vex his psychiatrist (!?).  He turns out to be a raging psychopath, á la Howard Hughes, who must destroy everyone whom he cannot own outright.

Robert Ryan, on the warpath.

Psychological abuse and boredom and melodramatic slapping take their toll

and Bel Geddes' character decides to reject this abusive life of Riley for a more emotionally fulfilling existence in a tenement house, working as a receptionist for a young doctor played by James Mason.  It's fun to see him as a caring pediatrician when in retrospect, he carries the cultural baggage of famous roles like "nymphet molester" (LOLITA) and "child murderer" (SALEM'S LOT).  At one point he says he'd like to "cut off of the curls" of an irritating, hypochrondriac little girl patient of his.  Stay classy, 1949!

 James Mason, incredulous.

It sort of turns into stock, well-acted melodrama at this point as she falls for dreamy 'doc Mason while still married to crazytown Ryan, but there were a few happenings that really set it apart:

#1.  Robert Ryan's benders that end in bouts of "angry pinball."  It seems like the sort of detail that was probably culled straight from Hughes' life.  I couldn't verify this in cursory Internet research, but I'm still going with it.

 Robert Ryan staves off sexual frustration and sociopathic tendencies with another angry pinball session.

#2.  This close-up from a gossip column montage about Ryan and Bel Geddes' declining love life.

Look at the story at the bottom, the one we're supposed to ignore during the course of the scene, because it's not highlighted and has nothing to do with our plot.  It appears to involve criminals, a radio show, a former circus clown named "Jebbo," and a volley of bullets.  I kind of wanted to be watching this movie!

 #3.  The finale, which involves shouting, the revelation of secrets, the destruction of the aforementioned pinball machine, and a happy ending featuring Dr. James Mason force-feeding liquor to a near-comatose pregnant woman (Bel Geddes).

 

 Though I'm still holding out hope it was Thunderbird!

 Not Ophüls' finest hour, but a pleasant enough and head-shakingly misogynistic melodrama with some noir elements.  Nearly four stars.

-Sean Gill

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Film Review: SHAKES THE CLOWN (1991, Bobcat Goldthwait)

Stars: 3.75 of 5.
Running Time: 87 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Bobcat Goldthwait, Tom Kenny (HOW I GOT INTO COLLEGE, the voice of SPONGE BOB SQUARE PANTS), Adam Sandler, Robin Williams, Kathy Griffin, Julie Brown (BLOODY BIRTHDAY, EARTH GIRLS ARE EASY), Paul Dooley (DEATH WISH, SIXTEEN CANDLES), Florence Henderson, LaWanda Page (ZAPPED!, Aunt Esther on SANFORD AND SON). Costumes by Stephen M. Chudej (WEDLOCK, RAISING ARIZONA, TAPEHEADS, ANGEL TOWN).
Tag-line: "Loved by children. Desired by women. Adored by bartenders everywhere."
Best one-liner: "You didn't see nothing old man. We're just five happy party clowns, sitting down to a plate of beef. White, powdery, beef." or maybe "Shakes- take a bath, will ya?"

Shakes the Clown. SHAKES THE CLOWN. He's here, he's in your space, he's in your face, he's crashin' at your place, and it's just too late to do anything about it. He already drank half your beers, soiled your sheets, and has intimately acquainted himself with your lavatory. I guess this is par for the course when you live in Palookaville, U.S.A. and choose to tussle with the crass, colorful, 'n caddish clown cliques. But Shakes is the best of 'em. He's our hero.

MYTH: To quote Martin Scorsese (!), SHAKES THE CLOWN is the CITIZEN KANE of substance-abusing clown movies.
FACT: SHAKES THE CLOWN is the FRANKENHOOKER or substance-abusing clown movies.

Taking place in an irreverent, psuedo-noirish universe, SHAKES THE CLOWN is Bobcat Goldthwait's satire on the catty cabal that was L.A.'s stand-up comedy scene in the late 80's and early 90's, though I feel as if it could certainly be applied to just about any bitchy subculture, with in-crowds, unnecessary intrigue, watery self-importance, and behavior becoming of twelve-year-old girls. Shakes (Bobcat himself) is having a hard time dealing with the pressure, the drama, the drug abuse, the schoolyard antics- and so he lives on the fringe, an alcoholic clown with low self-esteem and a penchant for swirling around the bottom of the barrel.

Our film begins with a dog- clad in a paper party hat- scarfing down some congealed, day-old pizza as a record skips interminably in the background. A floozy (Florence Henderson!) with smeared lipstick and a torn slip is passed out on a couch amidst a sea of empty beer bottles.

And is that a lei?

A groggy child wanders by on his way to the bathroom, and, failing to espy Shakes' comatose body on the tiled floor, lets loose with a stream of urine which, naturally, showers Shakes' face in a demeaning, grotesque display.

You are on the same page as Shakes- distraught, befuddled, wondering how it's come to this. We're less than two minutes in, Shakes is hitting the bottle, and you don't blame him. You can't blame him. What a world. Next, he's applying his whiteface in a ramshackle, yellowed gas station restroom, ready to zip off to some kid's birthday party. A game of hide-and-go-seek becomes an opportunity to raid the liquor cabinet.

It's like a circus-tinged version of WITHNAIL & I. In an era where comedies were becoming a little too self-aware, too awkwardly 'dark,' and too self-congratulatory, SHAKES THE CLOWN is that rare early 90's black comedy that (mostly) works! Though Bobcat is not above introducing the occasional groan-inducing misfire of a joke or setpiece, it's imbued with a genuine slice-of-life sincerity that sees it through.

You want zany saxophone action? You got it. You want a brutal double low-blow delivered to nettlesome clown flunkies? Comin' right up.

You want Kathy Griffin? A peculiar request, but SHAKES THE CLOWN is ready and willing to oblige you.

You want clown-on-mime violence? All yours. Paul Dooley beaten to death by dope-addled clowns? Knock yourself out. One-liners like, "I bet you were a big hit in lock-up...your checkered pants around your ankles..." We aim to please. THIS tableau?:

It's all here. How generous of you, SHAKES THE CLOWN- you're a veritable cornucopia of clown-related oddities and horrors.

You'll laugh, you'll cry, you'll cringe: "Everybody loves a clown...so why don't I?" Shakes spends a great deal of the film hanging with his buddies (including a surprisingly bearable 1991 Adam Sander!) and deflecting their attempts at intervention. On one such occasion, while touring the town in a convertible, Shakes deflects their admonishment by offering everyone beers, which leads to a Kenny Loggins-style montage set to a tune named "Me and the Boys" (See also: TOP GUN's "Playin' with the Boys").


Again and again, he's confronted regarding his alcohol problem and diffuses the situation by offering dudes beers, or by raising a toast to sobriety.

Then, despite mounting obstacles relating to substance abuse, Shakes is framed for the murder of a mentor by Tom Kenny's diabolical Binky, which leads to Shakes' undercover stint as a mime aerobics instructor alongside (again, surprisingly bearable for 1991) Robin Williams who went uncredited in his typically loopy role.

Possibly the only scene in film history to combine these two favorite diversions: Bobcat Goldthwait and PERFECT.

But I must take a moment to speak about Tom Kenny's performance as the villainous Binky.

The man, usually confined to voice-over roles (like SPONGE BOB SQUARE PANTS), is a very physical actor with a great look- clearly he was destined to one day play a venemous clown baddie. And he plays it with ghoulish, snakelike, irresistible aplomb- tossing knives, doin' dope, and laughing boisterously for the duration. He is the self-assured, monstrously Machiavellian clown of your nightmares- so get ready for some sleepless nights.

The technical elements are very strong, too: Stephen M. Chudej's candy-colored costume design heightens the almost otherworldliness of this noirish carnival, Bobby Bukowski and Elliot Davis' cinematography is as wide-angled and disorienting as an inebriate clown's night on the town, and Tom Scott's musical score is sax-heavy and down n' dirty (or is that redundant?).

And in one final side note, I must point out a detail which I really appreciated- during the "This is a rodeo clown bar, and you ain't rodeo clowns!" scene, the sign at the bar- 'The Broken Saddle' is accentuated by an actual man in a barrel, raising and lowering himself mechanically so as to appear like an animatronic.

It adds the proper bit of eerie, Lynchian flair to the scene and really pulls it all together. Anyway- and make sure you're sitting down, I suppose- for the reasons I've outlined, I have to give SHAKES THE CLOWN nearly four stars. Let the outcry commence!

-Sean Gill

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Film Review: NIGHTFALL (1957, Jacques Tourneur)

Stars: 4.4 of 5.
Running Time: 78 minutes.
Tag-line: "YOU COULD GO TO THE MOVIES EVERY DAY FOR FIVE YEARS---BEFORE YOU'D SEE ANOTHER PICTURE WITH SO MANY THRILLS AND SO MUCH SUSPENSE!" Notable Cast or Crew: Aldo Ray (MEN IN WAR, THE GREEN BERETS), Ann Bancroft (THE GRADUATE, HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS), Brian Keith (THE WIND AND THE LION, THE YAKUZA, THE DEADLY COMPANIONS), Jocelyn Brando (Marlon's sister, THE BIG HEAT, MOMMIE DEAREST), Frank Albertson (PSYCHO, IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE), and James Gregory (THE MANCHURIAN CANDIDATE, THE NAKED CITY). Story by David Goodis (DARK PASSAGE, SHOOT THE PIANO PLAYER) and screenplay by Stirling Silliphant (TELEFON, VILLAGE OF THE DAMNED, SHAFT IN AFRICA).
Best one-liner: A loving wife to her husband after a long day's work: "What you need is a drink... and some lamb stew, come on."

French director Jacques Tourneur (OUT OF THE PAST, CAT PEOPLE, I WALKED WITH A ZOMBIE) was a man who thrived on peculiar shadows, a fine mist, and the the realms of the unknown- whether it be in one of those frightening, out-of-the-way places, or somewhere deep within the dark, bracken-carpeted forest of a man's soul. And despite being best known for his accomplishments in horror and films noir, the man had a great affinity for nature, and never shied away from reveling in the grandeur of a majestic American landscape. NIGHTFALL is darkness and light. Neon-bedaubed, ice-rattling-in-a-highball-glass, murderous alleyway thug mystery is contrasted with gleaming snowscapes, the smell of pine, a mislaid bag of dough, and a traumatic memory- the flashback-driven answers. In my review, I'd prefer not to touch upon the specifics of the plot, so instead I'll consider the mood and the characterizations.

Aldo Ray is our protagonist. With a palooka exterior (albeit somewhat of a baby-faced one) and a soothing, gentle voice, it's really no surprise that Bruce Willis was tasked with seeing as many Aldo Ray films as possible in preparation his role in PULP FICTION- though perhaps a more accurate modern comparison would be one with David Morse. Ray can play the sort of big lug who'll admit it when he's scared, but still'll have no trouble serving up a platter of knuckle sandwiches if he has to (which is, surprisingly, almost never in NIGHTFALL).

He's even supposed to be an artist (!), too, which is a slight stretch, but he's a bizarre enough specimen to pull it off. He orders at a bar– "Vodka on the rocks, with a lemon twist." "Lemon twist or a big twist?," asks the long in the tooth bartender. "You look like the big twist type," Ray mildly replies. I love it.

Our female lead is a young Ann Bancroft. Somehow coming across as simulataneously as a more sweet-tempered and edgier version of Joan Crawford, she is pretty damned fantastic. Playing a model (and called a "mannequin" by her higher ups!) she gets a terrific Hitchcockian moment where she must escape goons at her own fashion show, dashing away from the crowd, cape and all! She has a palpable chemistry with Ray, both when they're at odds (wounded and at her apartment, he grumbles "Nice place- I'll try not to bleed all over everything!") and when they're working together (Ray aids her in her fashion show exit by awkwardly carrying and running with her). After their voguish escapade, Bancroft wonders what her boss, Mrs. Lipton, would say- "It's $650 worth of sequins!" Ray responds, earnestly- "Mrs. Lipton's never seen what a .45 can do to a set of sequins."

"Youre the most wanted man I know..." KISSSS

Amidst these great escapes, flashbacks, frame jobs, and misplaced bags of loot, we've got a duo of heavies, played by Brian Keith and Rudy Bond. Brian Keith has always got a sort of 'relaxed-bordering-on-weary,' matter-of-fact demeanor, and here it suits his killer quite well. Rudy Bond is the more unhinged of the two, leering, joking and waving a gun around like an overweight proto-Alan Arkin. ("I got a mind to give you an extra belly-button!") But maybe he just wants to be liked (?!). In one notable scene, they're roughing up Ray upon the shadowy, expressionistic landscape of an industrial park. Between the twirling gears, upright derricks, curling iron arms, seas of gravel, and savage gunmen, the sequence serves to genuinely rattle the audience. As I watched it, I realized it reminded me of something else– when Dennis Hopper perpetrates some lipstick-smeared intimidation on Kyle MacLachlan in BLUE VELVET! (And, as a side note, a suspense scene involving the spinning blades of a snowmobile was a clear inspiration for the flying wing 'propellers of death' sequence in RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK.)

In all, NIGHTFALL is a taut, moody noir, packed with sharp, clever Stirling Silliphant dialogue; poetic, mysterious Tourneur visuals; and likable, workmanlike performances. It's no OUT OF THE PAST (my favorite noir), but how could it be? Just about four and a half stars.

-Sean Gill

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Film Review: THIS WOMAN IS DANGEROUS (1952, Felix E. Feist)

Stars: 3 of 5.
Running Time: 100 minutes.
Tag-line: See review.
Notable Cast or Crew: Joan Crawford, Dennis Morgan (THE GREAT ZIEGFIELD, IN THIS OUR LIFE), David Brian (HOW THE WEST WAS WON, FLAMINGO ROAD), Richard Webb (OUT OF THE PAST, SULLIVAN'S TRAVELS), Philip Carey (DEAD RINGER, CALAMITY JANE), Mari Aldon (SUMMERTIME, THE BAREFOOT CONTESSA).
Best one-liner: "She's such a hot rod!"

Let's see here- what do I want to watch tonight? "THIS STORY IS A SCREEN-SCORCHER! Beth Austin... stylish name, stylish dame...known for what she was to mug and millionaire...EVERY INCH A LADY...till you look at the record! Part of her was Ritz - part of her was "racket" - all of her was exciting! Beth Austin---stylish dame with a stylish name---who lived by jungle law in a big city and clawed her way to where the money was...!" Holy shit, THIS WOMAN IS DANGEROUS! Let's fire it up!


THIS WOMAN IS DANGEROUS


THIS WOMAN KNOWS WHERE YOU LIVE


THIS WOMAN IS GONNA FUCK WITH YOUR SHIT

But wait just one second– it pains me to report that THIS WOMAN IS DANGEROUS is simply not that great a movie. It was Joan's final film at Warner Brothers (the studio at which she engineered her MILDRED PIERCE-ian comeback), and apparently her relations with the top brass had eroded to the point where she- and presumably everyone around her, by proximity– was miserable. Later, even post-TROG, she referred to it as the worst bit of her filmography. While I wouldn't personally go that far, I will say that it's frustratingly lackluster. THIS WOMAN IS DANGEROUS is really not an appropriate title. Maybe THIS WOMAN IS MOPEY or THIS WOMAN IS PISSED AT WARNER BROTHERS would have been more suitable. The most dangerous things she does in the movie involve the slapping depicted above, the swatting of a gun with her purse, and a scene where she makes salad dressing (more on that in a bit).

The plot is pretty simple. Joan is dating this gangster-type, Matt (David Brian), who along with his brother Will (Philip Carey), sister-in-law Ann (Mari Aldon), and a whole host of criminals rob and thieve and burgle and kill. Joan sometimes helps out in their cons, but as far as I can tell, she never has brandished a gun or lived by jungle law in the big city just to claw herself to where the money was or whatever. Anyway, she's losing her eyesight (a prequel to the Crawford episode of NIGHT GALLERY?), and requires drastic measures.

She travels to Indiana where she's operated on by Dr. Ben (Dennis Morgan) who's not only a doctor of eyes, but a doctor of love, as well. Matt gets wind of this nascent romance and speeds across the country to put a stop to the Hippocratic hanky-panky and reclaim his shoulder-padded babe before she goes 'straight'– for good! Now I'm sure that this doesn't sound too bad, and it isn't- it's just that the characters and the writing are about as stock as can be. Joan does a pretty great job, all things considered, but the criminals are grumbling one-dimensional stereotypes. Probably the best thing any of them does is punch the keys on a piano for dramatic emphasis. Mostly it's exchanges like, "Lay off the grain, will ya?" –"Shaddup!"

These guys are extremely underdeveloped. "You crazy ape!" The drinking game-inclined could surely try something involving each utterance of "Shaddup."

"SHADDUP!"

And on the side of the 'good guys,' it's even worse. The pursuing FBI men have all the personality of a pack of Little Debbie lemon wafers, and our doctor/paramour has a propensity for announcing positively groan-inducing dialogue to our cured Ms. Crawford–

"I'm sure your life is gonna be much BRIGHTER from now on," or "In many ways, you've opened MY eyes," to name a few.

The cinematography by Ted D. McCord (THE TREASURE OF THE SIERRA MADRE, EAST OF EDEN) is sharp and atmospheric. Stark underlighting in the clinic scenes lends the film a disorienting, nearly expressionistic quality, but you can't help but wonder if they were simply emulating DARK PASSAGE. A few slow, overlapping fades produce some abstract, bizarre imagery (I mean, more than usual).

A subliminal skull? (Click the pic for a larger view.)

Crawford's beauty is referenced just about every five minutes. I have to wonder if it was in her contract. But she spends most of the film sort of looking off into the distance with a troubled expression.

Is she perhaps deriving some secret satisfaction by visualizing herself dismembering her studio adversaries?

Hard to say. There's a fantastic moment when she leaps into action in a kitchen, insisting that she'll make the salad dressing. (?!)

I think it's safe to say that even Bob Mitchum would look more at home in the kitchen, tossing on an apron and cooking up a storm. Look at the utterly macabre, alien glare with which Crawford regards her child co-star. Is she visualizing another dismemberment? Is she just looking for an excuse? Perhaps a wire-hanger left carelessly on the countertop? A wire-hanger left by a little girl who's clearly asking for a cudgeling? Later on, the girl remarks "Your salad dressing was wonderful!" Seriously? Isn't it just olive oil, maybe some lemon, a touch of pepper if we're lucky? But nevermind. I'd rather not go on the record as criticizing Ms. Crawford's kitchen prowess. After all, THIS WOMAN IS DANGEROUS. Three stars.

Side note: and there's a pretty schweet stunt near the end, where a man is shot from a ladder, crashes through a plate glass window, and lands with a bone-crunching *WHOMP* on the floor. Fine stuntwork, fellas!


-Sean Gill

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