Only now does it occur to me... AGAINST THE WALL

Only now does it occur to me...  that Harry Dean Stanton must occasionally request for "singing" to be included in his contracts.  

As he broke into song, I recalled Harry Dean's hearty rendition of "Hand Me Down My Walking Cane" in STRAIGHT TIME, Harry Dean's eerie hymnals in BIG LOVE, and I'm pretty sure he sorta sings along with the radio in WILD AT HEART.  That's just off the top of my head, I'm sure there's more, but in general, I must say that I'm happy we get to see Harry Dean belt one out in every other movie.  Anyway, that minor observation was just a portal into the movie at hand: John Frankenheimer's made-for-HBO historical movie on the Attica Prison riots, AGAINST THE WALL.

And of course it wouldn't be a prison movie without Danny Trejo.  That's a major prerequisite.

See also:  RUNAWAY TRAIN, THE HIDDEN, KINJITE: FORBIDDEN SUBJECTS, LOCK UP, MANIAC COP 2, WEDLOCK, CON AIR, ANIMAL FACTORY, etc., etc.

There's a frightening turn by Clarence Williams III as one of the instigators of the riot.  He also played a terrifying villain in 52 PICK-UP, Frankenheimer's Cannon Films classic.

And, hey– remember Clarence was in TWIN PEAKS for a couple of episodes as an FBI Agent?  There's a whole TWIN PEAKS connection there with Harry Dean Stanton, who memorably played in FIRE WALK WITH ME.

Speaking of TWIN PEAKS– here, Harry Dean plays the father of...

Kyle McLachlan!  "Damn fine coffee!  And hot!"

So wait, if we're to believe that Agent Cooper took a demotion to "prison guard," does this take place before or after the [NEBULOUSLY PHRASED TWIN PEAKS SPOILER ALERT] 

"transformation" at the end of Season 2?

...

Aaaah!!  BOB!  "Through the dark of futures past, the magician longs to see.  One chants out between two worlds, fire walk with me.  I'll catch you with my death bag.  You may think I've gone insane, but I promise I will kill again!"  Indeed!

P.S.  Apologies for foisting my ludicrous pop culture crossovers onto what is a pretty serious and socially relevant flick.  Occasionally it wanders into moments worthy of an After School Special, but on the whole, it's intense, well-acted, and held together by the crisp, workmanlike direction of John Frankenheimer.

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Junta Juleil's Top 100: #70-66

70. FAT GIRL (2001, Catherine Breillat)

I'm the first to admit that, like BAD LIEUTENANT, CRASH, and any number of movies on this list, FAT GIRL is not for everyone. But I will also say that it's probably the truest, most important film about adolescence to come out in years, and its final, 400 BLOWS-mirroring freeze frame conveys an intent to shatter the complacency of watered-down "youth in turmoil" movies, just as Truffaut's film did back in '59. Catherine Breillat is a provocateur, to be sure, but she's neither a dime-store shock-peddler nor an obnoxious feminist. Her films attempt to glean meaning from the ever-shifting dynamics of sex and power which govern human interaction, and she doesn't shy away from asking the tough questions or handing out the tough answers. This is her masterpiece.

69. THE DARK CRYSTAL (1982, Jim Henson & Frank Oz)

I've said this before, but here it goes again:
True creativity, for me, is and has always been the ability to build something out of nothing- with your hands. THE DARK CRYSTAL is the apex of Jim Henson and designer Brian Froud's interminable artistry (they also collaborated on LABYRINTH), and here, they've built a timeless universe of breathtaking spectacle, exotic unfamiliarity, fanciful magic, ancient mysticism, exacting detail, and uncompromising depth. They are so confident (and deservedly so!) in their vision, that they've chosen to dispense with humans altogether, relegating them to puppeteering and vocal duties. There's no CGI here, no poorly rendered computer animations fabricated by some lazy skeeze at his PC. Everything's been rigorously fashioned and laboriously crafted from the ground up. While it's been designed for children to grasp, this is by no means merely a children's film. Using the familiar framework of the "quest" mythos, there's still philosophical complexity, palpable trauma, and visceral evil. Certain images possess a real potency, and stand out from the others: the dying Skeksis Emperor literally crumbling away in mid-screech as his vile, potential successors circle like vultures; the charming, faithful, lovable Fizzgig and his impossibly gaping maw; the genius matte paintings and meticulously sculpted forests that spare no detail from the tiniest of insects to the largest of trees to creatures I cannot even begin to describe. There is a certain REALness to the entirety of the proceedings because the screen is full of objects, animals, and characters that ARE real- someone could hold and manipulate them by hand or by string or by lever, and this is what gives them the breath of life. And with that breath, this film exhales upon the viewer the vivacity, exuberance, and sincerity that were poured into it by its creators. So eff you, CGI. You can toss my motherlovin' salad.

68. PULP FICTION (1994, Quentin Tarantino)

It was difficult to pick a favorite Tarantino. In general, he's something of a polarizing figure– in turns he's pompous, restrained, and occasionally misunderstood by slavering fanboys and disapproving critics alike. RESERVOIR DOGS has the tautness and intensity of a capital-G Great stage play, JACKIE BROWN features Tarantino at the height of his powers as an actor's director, KILL BILL is a helluva lot of well-orchestrated kung fu-spaghetti western fun, DEATH PROOF features perhaps the greatest car chase ever filmed and Kurt Russell's sleaziest, most ridiculous performance since BIG TROUBLE IN LITTLE CHINA, and INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS forces us to question how each of us (consciously or subconsciously) constructs narratives out of history. In fact, I might have even picked BASTERDS for this list, but I think I need to sit on it for about ten years first. Regardless, PULP FICTION is perhaps the most lovingly-constructed paean to American cinema ever to be sung from the rooftops; it's KISS ME DEADLY and PSYCHO and TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE and RIO BRAVO and CHARLEY VARRICK and SHAFT and ZARDOZ and THE PANIC IN NEEDLE PARK rolled into one, razor-sharp, fast-paced indie crime-fest that got Travolta dancing again, Keitel into a tuxedo, Eric Stoltz eating Fruit Brute, Uma looking like Anna Karina, and Amanda Plummer shivering and shuddering with the force of her own insanity! ...I could go on. A damn good movie, and my only complaint is that Dick Miller got left on the cutting room floor!

67. LOST HIGHWAY (1997, David Lynch)

A spider climbs the wall. Gary Busey whimpers. Robert Blake points a camcorder at you. David Bowie croons "Funny how secrets travel..." You careen down a highway into blackness, the only illumination coming from your flickering headlamps... LOST HIGHWAY is truly an experience. And it makes plenty of sense if you think about it long enough, so don't tell me that "it's needlessly confusing"– it just demands a certain, brooding sort of viewer who'll allow themselves to be lured into the veritable labyrinth that Lynch has constructed. Plus, Robert Loggia's livid, red-faced rant about tailgating is surely worth the price of admission alone. And one of my favorite facets of Lynch's oeuvre is the fact that his movies often linger, long after you've finished watching them; hanging dangerously at the periphery as you continue your day. I first saw LOST HIGHWAY on a VHS with my sister during an overcast, Midwestern afternoon in late summer. Afterward, we went out to dinner with the rest of my family, as it was a special occasion. As afternoon turned to evening, the sense of mystery and uncertainty remained. As I walked into the restaurant, I took a fleeting, sidelong glance into a dimly-lit room adjoining the kitchen. I saw an older woman chopping something, quite robotically, and with a hint of menace. She turned toward me, our eyes locked, and in one forceful movement, she shut the door. The entire exchange couldn't have lasted more than four or five seconds, but it carried with it a frighteningly palpable sense of dread. The only reason I repeat this story is to illustrate that Lynch's power is such that his films don't just invade your dreams (as many have already posited), they invade your waking hours! The best ones are potent enough to put you in a genuine state, whereupon you see the hidden menace in everything. Obviously, it's not a state you ought to be in all the time, but it's a darkly magical one that I deeply appreciate. Brace yourselves for more Lynch as this list continues.

66. THE UNKNOWN (1927, Tod Browning)

Almost everything I could say about this film carries with it the potential of sullying your maiden viewing by way of 'knowing too much.' So I'll tell you this: It stars Lon Chaney, whose virtues I have extolled HERE; co-stars Joan Crawford, whose acting talents and frightening eyebrows I have praised HERE; and was directed by Tod Browning, whose penchant for nightmarish silent and early sound cinema has been raved about HERE. All I'll say is that it deals with ill-advised obsessions, the blossoming of twisted love, and the madness that dances around a man's eyes when he discovers the senselessness of it all. Oh yeah, and it takes place at A CIRCUS. It's bold, it's brutal, and Lon Chaney (near the finale) delivers what has to be the finest reaction shot in all of cinema. One of the greatest films from the silent era (or any other, for that matter).

Coming up next... Philip Glass, my second-favorite ghost story, and Ed Harris fights the dragon!

Previously on the countdown:
#75-71
#80-76
#85-81
#90-86
#95-91
#100-96
Runners-up Part 1
Runners-up Part 2

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Film Review: THE EXORCIST III: LEGION (1990, William Peter Blatty)

Stars: 4.5 of 5.
Running Time: 110 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: George C. Scott, Brad Dourif, Jason Miller (actor in THE EXORCIST & RUDY, playwright), Ed Flanders (SALEM'S LOT, SPECIAL BULLETIN), Nicol Williamson (EXCALIBUR, RETURN TO OZ), Nancy Fish (KISS KISS BANG BANG, DEATH BECOMES HER), Grand L. Bush (DIE HARD, Balrog in STREET FIGHTER THE MOVIE, LETHAL WEAPON), Scott Wilson (IN THE HEAT OF THE NIGHT, THE WAY OF THE GUN, DEAD MAN WALKING). Cameos by Fabio, Patrick Ewing, Samuel L. Jackson, Larry King, C. Everett Koop.
Tag-line: "Do you dare walk these steps again?"
Best one-liner: "I still hear from her occasionally, screaming. I think the dead should shut up, unless there's something to say."

Way classier than any movie with the number '3' after it has any right to be, THE EXORCIST III: LEGION is an elegant character study and an unpretentious rumination on the nature of evil. EXORCIST novelist William Peter Blatty takes hold of the series' reins (after first offering them to John Carpenter!) and wisely proceeds as if part 2 had never happened. George C. Scott takes over as Kinderman (Lee J. Cobb's troubled cop from part 1) and plays him with case-hardened aplomb.

Every last detail of his performance is carefully fleshed out– his monologue on the carp in his bathtub; his weary manner of breathing when confronted with the supernatural; the way he lifts the corpse's sheet twice at every crime scene, then furtively looks at his hands to see if he's somehow sullied– the weight of it all plays effortlessly upon his face.

The bulk of the film takes place at a hospital, whose blue-lit, cavernous hallways and foreboding silences nearly transform the building itself into a character.

There's a visually impressive dream sequence with shades of Argento (and cameos by the likes of Patrick Ewing, Samuel L. Jackson, and Fabio!);



a terrific turn by Scott Wilson as a chain-smoking doctor; and a few genuinely FREAKY moments, the most notorious of which is a mini-masterpiece of pacing, tension, and (snip!) payoff.

Then there's Brad Dourif. As a mysterious patient in a secure, isolated ward, Dourif’s interpretation is breathtaking. The hair-raising scenes between Dourif and Scott play out like pieces of classical theater.

With each figure illuminated only by stark shafts of light, the two butt heads with great eloquence, spiral into the realm of the occult, and ultimately toe that fine line between lucidity and madness.


To see these two men (who are talented in such wildly disparate ways) square off against one another with such panache is an absolute treat. In all, it’s a significant work which transcends the schlocky origins of its ‘sequel status.’ Four and a half stars.


-Sean Gill

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Film Review: WHITE SANDS (1992, Roger Donaldson)

Stars: 3 of 5.

Running Time: 101 minutes.

Notable Cast or Crew: Directed by Roger Donaldson (COCKTAIL, SPECIES, THIRTEEN DAYS). Starring Willem Dafoe, Mickey Rourke, Samuel L. Jackson, Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio (SCARFACE, THE ABYSS), M. Emmet Walsh (BLOOD SIMPLE, STRAIGHT TIME), John P. Ryan (CLASS OF 1999, FATAL BEAUTY, THE COTTON CLUB), Miguel Sandoval (JURASSIC PARK, REPO MAN), Maura Tierney (ER, SCOTLAND PA), Royce D. Applegate (Rev. Brocklehurst on TWIN PEAKS, UNDER SIEGE 2), and cameos by Mimi Rogers (WEDLOCK, THE RAPTURE) and (failed presidential candidate) Fred Dalton Thompson.

Tag-line: "The most dangerous way to solve a murder... become the victim."

Best one-liner: "I've never met anyone like you...you're honest...even when you're lying."

WHITE SANDS is a mediocre conspiracy thriller in the mold of countless others, but it remains watchable because it's packed to the gills with talented and eclectic performers. Frequently, it's a complete rip-off of the underrated, underseen FLASHPOINT (1984): from the Tangerine Dream-y score to the desert discovery of a mysterious body with a shitload of cash to Kurtwood Smith's monologue about how sedition, chaos, and crime are the lifeblood of the government (here delivered by Mickey Rourke)- it's really quite shameless. Regardless, Willem Dafoe plays a cop whose suburban New Mexican existence is so insipid that he decides to impersonate the dead man on a whim, kind of just to see what happens.

Dafoe, as directed by Roger Donaldson (COCKTAIL, SPECIES) is pretty restrained, but there are a few fantastic moments which creep through- mainly Dafoe's childlike excitement at going undercover. There's a whirlwind of excitable eyebrow action, and his cheerful naïveté ("I can be a Bob!") is truly something to behold.

This is the most exciting moment of his life. But the tables soon turn- he becomes a victim of clothes-slashing lesbians:

Willem Dafoe: brutalized by lesbians.

makes the acquaintance of slippery (uncredited) arms dealer John P. Ryan:

John P. Ryan: once again, underappreciated. See also: my review of FATAL BEAUTY.

begins a war of wills with intense FBI man Sam Jackson:

Hold on to your butts

and begins a whirling dance of death (on eggshells) with enigmatic malfeasant Rourke (who is always compelling, even when phoning it in- as is proved here):

Mickey Rourke: smug, because he thinks he just swindled the producers for a paycheck by 'phoning it in,' when in reality, he couldn't help but deliver an intricate, multi-faceted performance.

We've got some 90's neo-noir action with Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio ("You're not the kind of woman I'd expect to see in a rodeo." –"I'm not the kind of woman you'd expect." GROAAAAN); a healthy dollop of skeezy n' sleazy

M. Emmet Walsh in a bolo tie (is there any other kind?); and bit parts for everyone from Maura Tierney to Miguel Sandoval:

'Why does everyone forget that I was in JURASSIC PARK?'

to that guy (Royce P. Applegate) from the DIFF'RENT STROKES kidnapping episode ("I will kill your parents, Sam"). They even manage to work in a Dafoe shower scene which lends credence to my theory that Dafoe might actually be naked more often than Keitel.

Three (ensemble-cast) stars.

-Sean Gill

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