Only now does it occur to me... THE LONGSHOT

Only now does it occur to me...  that in one of his films, Paul Bartel once slipped in a cameo appearance worthy of old 'Hitch himself!

THE LONGSHOT's not too great a movie– it's a Zany with a capital 'Z' 80s horse racing comedy that lacks the subtlety and mean streak of my favorite Bartels, like DEATH RACE 2000, EATING RAOUL, and SCENES FROM THE CLASS STRUGGLE IN BEVERLY HILLS.  I'd put this one more on par with LUST IN THE DUST.

Anyway, Bartel pops up– uncredited and in silhouette, no less– for about ten seconds as a blind man wandering the race track,

thus cementing his Hitchcock-worthy auteur status.  Or something.

(Also, I can't resist mentioning a choice appearance by 80s über-nerd Eddie Deezen (CRITTERS 2, ZAPPED!, WARGAMES, PUNKY BREWSTER, SURF II, GREASE, HAPPY HOUR) as a parking attendant.)

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The Runners-Up to Junta Juleil's Top 100, Part 1

Ah, so many films and so few spaces on the Top 100. Naturally, there had to be some spill-over.

IN THE MOUTH OF MADNESS (1994, John Carpenter)

"Reality isn't what it used to be." A Lovecraftian ode sung, naturally, toward the abyss, it's Carpy's last (thus far!) unadulterated, undeniably "Great" film with a capital G. IN THE MOUTH OF MADNESS prints the fall of man upon celluloid, shows it to our protagonist- shows it to us- and together we cackle in the darkness, senselessly, because there's nothing else we can do. Previously reviewed HERE.

BABY DOLL (1956, Elia Kazan)

Kazan can wring more forbidden sexuality from the subtle rocking of a porch swing than all the R-Rated movies ever made, put together. A Southern Gothic chamber piece like no other, it develops into a tête-à-tête-à-tête between long suffering perv Karl Malden, the creepily childish Carrol Baker, and the inimitable Eli Wallach, and it's no exaggeration to call it a blazing tour de force and perhaps the most vigorous, deranged examination of American repression ever made. It's a bottle of cheap champagne on a hundred-degree day, only someone's been shakin' it up for twenty years, and you have to open it without spilling a drop– good luck!

FOR A FEW DOLLARS MORE (1965, Sergio Leone)

FOR A FEW DOLLARS MORE is not, in fact, Leone's greatest achievement, but it's probably his most fun. In fact, perhaps one could go out on a limb and say that it's one of the first "buddy movies;" or at least the first "spaghetti western buddy movie," but even if that's true, it's a more-than-occasionally dark one. From a raging, hunchbacked Klaus Kinski to Lee Van Cleef's flinty, hawk-nosed countenance to Gian Maria Volante's wildly hallucinating madman to Clint's cigarillo-chomping roughneck with no name, one might call this film a meditation upon faces. Faces and guns. And it's all tied together by Morricone's sweeping score, which pendulates between primal grunts from the pit and overpowering Bach organ fugues!

BLACK BOOK (2006, Paul Verhoeven)

After a few explorations of hollow men, CGI bugs, robot cops, showgirls, ice-pick murderers, and the like, Verhoeven returns to where he began– visceral, dark, Dutch art film. Verhoeven usually takes the dim view of mankind, and here he quite effortlessly develops his hypothesis that we exist in a state of neverending war; it's just that big men with small ideas are always submitting these arbitrary labels, like "1914-1918," or "1939-1945," and to tell you the truth, Verhoeven doesn't know quite what those are supposed to mean...

DIRTY HARRY (1971, Don Siegel)

I said before that DIRTY HARRY is "a complex dissection of the 'man of values' in a world that has none, with our hero gradually realizing that his supposed values systems are in fact shadowy and undefined, and aww, who the hell cares anymore, let's shoot some people." Sure, it's sorta fascist. Sure, it stacks the deck, unimaginably. Sure, it has laughable depictions of hippies. But dig that groovy Lalo Schifrin score! Check out that classic a-hole authority figure, John Vernon! Behold the simpering, insane majesty of psycho-killer Andy Robinson! See Clint Eastwood's noon-day hot-dog interrupted by the magnum-blasting of goons! You know, just another Don Siegel masterpiece.

CREEPSHOW (1982, George A. Romero)

As I have written before in these hallowed pages, I would like to invest in a bumper sticker which says "I'd rather be...watching CREEPSHOW." Now I could say that this film flirts with the Top 100 entirely by virtue of "Ed Harris disco dance mania," but it's really because Romero lovingly recreates the morbid fantasias of childhood, the sensation of reading a book beneath the covers with a flashlight; the impressionability of youth, whereupon a dark and stormy night can inspire a sense of unrestrained, gleeful dread... Also: Tom Atkins.

EATING RAOUL (1982, Paul Bartel)

"I'm the host here, goddammit, now get out of your clothes and get into the hot tub, or get out! We don't want any wet blankets or spoilsports at this party...we're here to SWING!" "-Yeah, well, swing on THIS!" EATING RAOUL is probably Paul Bartel's (DEATH RACE 2000, SCENES FROM THE CLASS STRUGGLE IN BEVERLY HILLS) greatest, loopiest trashterpiece, and it's one that pushes the envelope considerably. Comedy this quirky can be a slippery slope, but Bartel and Mary Woronov, who were quite obviously born to work together (as our 80's cult Hepburn and Tracy), soon brush aside our fears with an impossibly perfect combination of slapstick, refinement, and obscenity.

MILDRED PIERCE (1945, Michael Curtiz)

"That Ted Forrester's nice-looking, isn't he? Veda likes him." –"Who wouldn't? He has a million dollars." Film noir, melodrama, woman's weepie, whatever the fuck you want to call it, MILDRED PIERCE (based on the novel by James M. Cain) is goddamned fantastic. Joan Crawford, as a hard-workin' small businesswoman who can't seem to catch a break exudes genuine frustration, pathos, and the weight of life's disappointments...she's at the height of her shoulder-padded powers. I don't wish to reveal much of the plot, but Ann Blyth's spectacular, spiteful portrayal of Mildred's money-hungry daughter, Veda, has got to be one of the most hate-able screen villains of all-time.

STAR WARS (1977, George Lucas)

One of the most enjoyable adventure movies ever made. Continuous revisions, CGI shitstorms, and seemingly endless, doltish pop culture quotings cannot dampen the effect of the Star Destroyer thundering overhead, the menagerie of rubbery buddies at the intergalactic dive bar, Harrison Ford's lopsided grin, Alec Guinness' soothing self-assurance, Carrie Fisher's privileged but gutsy revolutionary, the cathartic roar of the angry Wookiee, the sad bleeps and bloops of a forlorn R2-D2. The attention to detail in the starship models; the sprawling, ramshackle sets and rundown futuristic equipment; the imaginative aliens and innovative special effects; the nods to Kurosawa, Curtiz, and Hawks; the childish wonder and excitement... ah, the heart swells! (But goddamn, what a pity the way things have turned out...)

JFK (1991, Oliver Stone)

Whether or not you agree with Stone's politics, or all, or none, or 10% of the conspiracy theories contained within the hefty treatise that is JFK, you must admit that it is something of a piece de resistance in terms of the fusion of editing, music, narration, and camerawork. At times it feels as if you are situated upon the tail leader of the Zapruder film; it's already been projected, and you're whirling around in the darkness afterward, confused, spooked, disoriented... A monument should be built to Joe Pesci's eyebrows in this film. And Tommy Lee Jones' mysterious, frightening portrayal of Clay Shaw just might be his finest work. Also: Gary Oldman, gay Kevin Bacon, Jack Lemmon, and Donald Sutherland... as "X!"

HOUSE (1977, Nobuhiko Obayashi)

Though it pains me to say that HOUSE does not quite pack the same punch the second time around, nothing can compare to the feelings of sheer shock, confusion, elation, and general bogglement that HOUSE instills in the first-time viewer. As I've written, "To avoid comparing it to other films, I would simply describe the HOUSE experience as akin to being trapped inside a kaleidoscope as a cackling madman rams and twirls and flips and submerges it with reckless abandon as upbeat music and ludicrous sound effects ricochet here and there and everywhere, dueling one another for dominance." Theoretically, I feel as if I've often thought that there were "no rules" in cinema, but only after seeing HOUSE did I realize that such a seemingly meaningless conceit could actually, successfully be put into practice!

TRUST (1990, Hal Hartley)

Hal Hartley's a personal American indie film hero of mine, and it was difficult to decide whether TRUST, SIMPLE MEN, AMATEUR, or HENRY FOOL belonged on this list. I settled on TRUST, a film I've described as "REBEL WITHOUT AN APARTMENT." It's a stirring, contemplative, and frequently deadpan hilarious tract; suburban malaise in a world on the verge of... something.

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Television Review: TALES OF THE CITY (1993, Alastair Reid)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: 360 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Laura Linney (ABSOLUTE POWER, MYSTIC RIVER, THE TRUMAN SHOW), Olympia Dukakis (MOONSTRUCK, DEATH WISH, SISTERS), Donald Moffat (THE THING, ALAMO BAY), Chloe Webb (SID AND NANCY, GHOSTBUSTERS II, TWINS), Marcus D'Amico (SUPERMAN II, 'Hand Job' in FULL METAL JACKET), Billy Campbell (THE ROCKETEER, Coppola's DRACULA), Thomas Gibson (EYES WIDE SHUT, 'Greg' on DHARMA & GREG), Paul Gross (MEN WITH BROOMS, COLD COMFORT), Barbara Garrick (THE ICE STORM, THE FIRM, DOTTIE GETS SPANKED), Rod Steiger (DUCK YOU SUCKER, John Flynn's THE SERGEANT, IN THE HEAT OF THE NIGHT), Robert Downey Sr., County Joe McDonald (of Country Joe and the Fish), Parker Posey, Paul Bartel, Ian McKellen, Mary Kay Place, Karen Black, Michael Jeter (TRUE CRIME, JURASSIC PARK III), Stanley DeSantis (THE AVIATOR, BOOGIE NIGHTS), Marissa Ribisi, Janeane Garofelo, and many others. Based on the book by Armistead Maupin. Cinematography by Walt Lloyd (KAFKA; SEX, LIES, & VIDEOTAPE; PUMP UP THE VOLUME, TO SLEEP WITH ANGER).
Best one-liner: "Come on, and try not looking like Tricia Nixon reviewing the troops."

"We don't have people like her in Cleveland." –"Too bad for Cleveland!"
Capturing 1970's San Francisco with genuine loving care and paying no heed to the social mores of standard network broadcasting, TALES OF THE CITY arrived on the scene in 1993 to critical praise and a fair amount of controversy (it was funded by Channel 4 and televised in the U.S. on PBS). I've watched it many times over, and I'm unsure if a series has ever quite so wonderfully, wistfully, and mystically captured the experience of moving to a big city and spreading your wings. TALES OF THE CITY is life in transition–

Mary Ann Singleton (Laura Linney) comes all the way from Ohio to emerge from her chrysalis: she becomes an independent young woman of her own construction- adapting and absorbing, but never mimicking, never losing her sense of self (or her housecoat that looks like a mattress cover!):

Note housecoat.

Mona Ramsey (Chloe Webb, in an electrifying performance) has lived in San Francisco long enough to traverse her life with complete confidence and quaalude-tempered charm, but recently she's been thirsting for something more, maybe even that house in Pacific Heights…or perhaps she’d settle for a few dear friends:

Webb and Marcus D'Amico's Michael Tolliver polish off some Chinese takeout.


Edgar Halcyon (the lovably gruff Donald Moffat) finds himself nearing death.

Years of inhibitions have calcified like a disease, and he yearns for one final last (or is it the first?) affair de coeur before he's just a heap of moldering dust.

These characters (and many more- from Thomas Gibson's leering scamp:

to Marcus D'Amico's cheerful Florida boy to Billy Campbell's earnest gynecologist:

to Paul Gross' self-possessed waiter to Barbara Garrick's meandering high society wife in crisis to Stanley De Santis' awkward loner) all find themselves affected, in one way or another, by the epicenter of it all: Miss Anna Madrigal of 28 Barbary Lane (played with tranquil aplomb by the devoted, maternal Olympia Dukakis).

With all of these beings (and even the era itself) in transition, Madrigal becomes their guardian, their friend, and their icon- representing the human ability to break free of one's self-imposed limitations and redefine oneself, to build a community. There’s a spiritual element to it all, with Madrigal’s parable of lost Atlantis and her desire to congregate like-minded individuals, but there’s a profound goofiness as well, from Parker Posey’s Snoopy-obsessed party girl:

to Karen Black as herself (at a fat farm!) to Paul Bartel & Ian McKellen as the height of snobbery:

The height of snobbery and loving it.

to Mary Kay Place’s ludicrous roundtable of rape.

Which is funnier than it sounds.

The work explodes with these juxtapositions- profundity and disco; tourist hotspots and dubious holes-in-the-wall; dance competitions and suicide hotlines; epochal, life-changing events and casual conversations struck up at the supermaket; serious, kitchen-sink drama and an atmosphere that occasionally smacks of VERTIGO fused with ALICE IN WONDERLAND – and, as such, it's a true portrait of the city and a tribute to those irresistable souls who inhabit it…

-Sean Gill

Junta Juleil's Summer '10 Movie Series
1. HELL IN THE PACIFIC (1968, John Boorman)
2. KUFFS (1992, Bruce A. Evans)
3. THE OUTFIT (1973, John Flynn)

4. FOR Y'UR HEIGHT ONLY (1981, Eddie Nicart)

5. A*P*E (1976, Paul Leder)

6. BLIND FURY (1989, Philip Noyce)
7. HIS KIND OF WOMAN (1951, John Farrow)
8. HIGH SCHOOL U.S.A. (1983, Rod Amateau)
9. DR. JEKYLL AND MS. HYDE (1995, David Price)
10. MIDNIGHT IN THE GARDEN OF GOOD AND EVIL (1997, Clint Eastwood)
11. 1990: BRONX WARRIORS (1982, Enzo G. Castellari)
12. FALLING DOWN (1993, Joel Schumacher)
13. TOURIST TRAP (1979, David Schmoeller)
14. THE THREE MUSKETEERS (1973, Richard Lester)
15. BIG TROUBLE IN LITTLE CHINA (1986, John Carpenter)
16. TOP GUN (1986, Tony Scott)
17. 48 HRS. (1982, Walter Hill)
18. ONCE UPON A TIME IN MEXICO (2003, Robert Rodriguez)
19. TALES OF THE CITY (1993, Alastair Reid)
20. ...

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Film Review: MORTUARY ACADEMY (1988, Michael Schroeder)

Stars: 4 of 5.
Running Time: 87 minutes.
Tag-line: "Where the dearly departed meet the clearly retarded."
Notable Cast or Crew: Paul Bartel, Mary Woronov, Christopher Atkins, Perry Lang, Anthony James, Tracey Walter, Wolfman Jack, Cesar Romero, Stoney Jackson (STREETS OF FIRE, ROLLER BOOGIE). Directed by Michael Schroeder (CYBORG 2, CYBORG 3: THE RECYCLER; assistant director on LAMBADA, HIGHLANDER 2!).
Best one-liner: "I haven't seen this much blood since Jimmy Hawks asked me to be his cell-block bride!"

Now, MORTUARY ACADEMY is nowhere near as terrific as EATING RAOUL, but it comes far closer than I ever could have suspected. I had been extremely disappointed by LUST IN THE DUST (which Paul Bartel directed, but didn't write), so I didn't know what to expect from a largely derided film (that he wrote but didn't direct), but as it turns out, my reservations were completely unfounded. This movie is ludicrous, and it works because it serves, straight up, a big dollop of what we really want- which is a shitload of Paul and Mary (Woronov).


Like a bizarro Tracy and Hepburn for 70's and 80's, my only complaints about any of their collaborations center on them not being the absolute center of attention. But worry not- they're front and center here. Using tropes from the likes of POLICE ACADEMY and MOVING VIOLATIONS, this film is far from original, but its brilliance lies in the details- the best jokes are nearly hidden: dubbed in the background or off-handedly tossed aside, only to sink in a moment later. Paul and Mary play 'Paul' and 'Mary,' nefarious administrators of a mortuary academy, scheming to keep sibling heirs Christopher Atkins (THE PIRATE MOVIE) and Perry Lang (ALLIGATOR) from passing their classes and inheriting the mortuary (was SIX FEET UNDER inspired by this?).

Christopher Atkins- still fresh-faced and full of vim and vigor despite the embarrassments of THE PIRATE MOVIE. I really respect that.


Paul nefariously consoles Perry Lang.

Paul wears that smoking jacket he wears in every movie, and Mary wears enough shoulder pads and leopard-print to satisfy her die-hards.

Formaldehyde is used as champagne, Paul romances a corpse:


I can't tell if Paul Bartel makes this more creepy or less creepy than it ought to be.

an ex-con (an awesomely terrifying Anthony James- 'Skinny' in UNFORGIVEN) exclaims "I haven't seen this much blood since Jimmy Hawks asked me to be his cell-block bride!"

and Tracey Walter (REPO MAN, SOMETHING WILD) strides in just to prove beyond reasonable doubt that this is, indeed, a cult movie.

(And he's doing Frankenstein-ian experiments in robotics and dead tissue, no less.) There's cameos by Wolfman Jack and Cesar Romero, an undead, animatronic horror band called "Radio Werewolf," and by now you should be able to tell if this is your cup of tea or not.

For a movie which I expected to be Zany with a capital 'Z' and (fastforward-ably?) unbearable, I was very pleasantly surprised. I suppose I shouldn't have underestimated the sheer animal power of Bartel and Woronov. Four stars.

-Sean Gill

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