Only now does it occur to me... HEAVEN'S GATE

Only now does it occur to me... that I'm not sure if a movie has ever been packed with as many beloved character actors as HEAVEN'S GATE, and I'll even include THE LONGEST DAY, COP LAND, THE EXPENDABLES, THE PLAYER, and MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS in consideration.

There's so much to say about HEAVEN'S GATE.  Probably too much.  From its tumultuous production that basically destroyed United Artists to its hideous reception to its latter-day critical re-evaluation to the Johnson County War on which it is based– one could fill a volume.  (And people have.)  In the end, I'd say it's an ambitious film which flirts with genius, is bogged down by poor pacing, but consistently holds the viewer spellbound with gorgeous Western imagery (courtesy of master cinematographer Vilmos Zsigmond) even when the narrative begins to dawdle. 

So set aside nearly four hours and give it a try– I'd say it's worth the time for the curious, the Western fan, the cinematography aficionado, or the character actor die-hard.  But more on that in a minute.  Then, see FINAL CUT: THE MAKING AND UNMAKING OF HEAVEN'S GATE (available in eight parts on YouTube here), and go ahead and read this interview with Cimino himself for a little taste of the outlandish (and possibly insane) creature who lurks beneath the surface of this genuinely talented and occasionally virtuosic director.

But for now, fasten your seatbelts, and prepare for a whirlwind tour of character actors, the sheer magnitude of whom may even give you whiplash: 

Coming up on the left here is Eastwood crony Geoffrey Lewis (10 TO MIDNIGHT, MIDNIGHT IN THE GARDEN OF GOOD AND EVIL, DOUBLE IMPACT, BRONCO BILLY, 'SALEM'S LOT, MAVERICK) looking like the live action mountain man version of "Pigpen" from peanuts.

Attached to Geoffrey Lewis is a hand.  And in that hand is a tongue.  And that tongue is attached to...

...Mickey Rourke?  

 

Lookin' pretty young there, Mickey!  Good show.

Down the road a spell is Terry O'Quinn (THE STEPFATHER, BLIND FURY, THE X-FILES, SILVER BULLET, THE ROCKETEER, "John Locke" on LOST)

He's got his hair still, and is playing a baseball-luvin' member of the U.S. Calvary.  In a strange tie-in with his character on LOST, he's got an injured leg and is carrying an important and mysterious "list" of names.

Continuing on with our journey, here's Richard Masur (IT, THE THING, LICENSE TO DRIVE, MR. BOOGEDY, RENT-A-COP, RISKY BUSINESS, MY GIRL)

chomping on a corn cob pipe, giving his all to his colorful brogue, and looking about as intense as he's ever looked (no small feat for a man generally typecast as "suburban dad").

Over on the right here, to the left of that presumably 19th Century malt liquor is edgy queen of French cinema Isabelle Huppert (THE PIANO TEACHER, AMOUR, I HEART HUCKABEE, COUP DE TORCHON, LA CEREMONIE, Hal Hartley's AMATEUR).

Up here behind the beard is Brad Dourif (CHILD'S PLAY, WISE BLOOD, ALIEN: RESURRECTION, DEADWOOD, THE TWO TOWERS, DUNE, ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO'S NEST, THE EXORCIST III, BLUE VELVET, GRIM PRAIRIE TALES)

and sure he doesn't have much to do, but it's a modern-day Western, so we had to have Brad Dourif in some kind of old-timey spectacles.  I think it should be written into the SAG paperwork.

Around the bend in the proto-pimp costume is Bronson heavy Paul Koslo (THE OMEGA MAN, VANISHING POINT, THE STONE KILLER, MR. MAJESTYK, CLEOPATRA JONES, FREEBIE AND THE BEAN, LOVE AND BULLETS).

Then, over in that train with the fur hat and the lip carpet is Sam Waterston (THE KILLING FIELDS, THE GREAT GATSBY, SERIAL MOM, LAW AND ORDER, CRIMES AND MISDEMEANORS, CAPRICORN ONE)

who finally gets to play a bad guy, and to great effect!

Over to the side there, you can see a Kris Kristofferson (PAT GARRETT AND BILLY THE KID, BRING ME THE HEAD OF ALFREDO GARCIA, CONVOY, FLASHPOINT, BIG-TOP PEE-WEE, BLADE, and star of CHRISTMAS IN CONNECTICUT, the only feature Arnold Schwarzenegger ever directed) in his natural habitat.

And wait– who's that in the shadows behind him?  Why, it's the film debut of Willem Dafoe (THE LOVELESS, WILD AT HEART, ANTICHRIST, SPIDERMAN, TO LIVE AND DIE IN L.A., THE LAST TEMPTATION OF CHRIST, EXISTENZ, BODY OF EVIDENCE, BOONDOCK SAINTS, THE ENGLISH PATIENT).  He's just an extra, but, hot damn!

Down the path a spell is none other than Jeff Bridges (TRON, THE BIG LEBOWSKI, CUTTER'S WAY, THE LAST PICTURE SHOW, KING KONG '76, STARMAN, THUNDERBOLT AND LIGHTFOOT).

He's got a great intensity here in a supporting role– and supposedly when production wrapped, one of the many "cabin" sets were up for grabs, so Bridges swooped in, disassembled it, and reconstructed it on his ranch property!

Over in this glen is Christopher Walken (THE DEER HUNTER, ANNIE HALL, KING OF NEW YORK, THE DEAD ZONE, A VIEW TO A KILL, MCBAIN, BATMAN RETURNS, WAYNE'S WORLD 2, NEW ROSE HOTEL, KANGAROO JACK)

and I'll yes indeed shut my big mouth, shitpoke!  Another fine Walken badass role.

And then right here, if he'll put down the flask long enough for you to get a clear look– is none other than John Hurt (THE ELEPHANT MAN, I CLAUDIUS, ALIEN, THE HIT, 1984, THE STORYTELLER, KING RALPH, DOGVILLE, MIDNIGHT EXPRESS, DEAD MAN, HELLBOY, TINKER TAILOR SOLDIER SPY '11)!

He delivers an eccentric performance, dripping with pathos.  Like every other John Hurt performance!  The man is never anything less than superlative.

Then, upon examining the end credits, I realized that one of my favorites, Tom Noonan (MANHUNTER, HEAT, THE MONSTER SQUAD, THE LAST ACTION HERO, ROBOCOP 2, THE HOUSE OF THE DEVIL, DAMAGES), was in the film as "Jake," and I didn't notice him!  To be fair, he may have been standing around the back with a beard and hat on, and I'm sure I would have seen him if I'd been looking in advance, but allow me to repeat this sentiment:  there were so many character actors that I missed Tom Noonan.

Whew!  I'm impressed.  I hope you've enjoyed this breakneck tour of character actors.  And perhaps in closing, it begs to be asked:  where the hell was Harry Dean Stanton?

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Film Review: GO GO TALES (2007, Abel Ferrara)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: 96 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Willem Dafoe (BODY OF EVIDENCE), Matthew Modine (VISION QUEST, FULL METAL JACKET), Bob Hoskins (THE LONG GOOD FRIDAY, THE COTTON CLUB), Sylvia Miles (MIDNIGHT COWBOY, THE SENTINEL), Asia Argento (TRAUMA, MOTHER OF TEARS), Burt Young (ROCKY, ONCE UPON A TIME IN AMERICA), Stefania Rocca (THE CARD PLAYER, THE TALENTED MR. RIPLEY), Anita Pallenberg (BARBARELLA, DILLINGER IS DEAD), Shanyn Leigh (PUBLIC ENEMIES, MARY), Roy Dotrice (AMADEUS, SUBURBAN COMMANDO), Joseph Cortese (AMERICAN HISTORY X, WINDOWS), Pras (of The Fugees). Soundtrack in association with Grace Jones.
Tag-line: "Un film di Abel Ferrara."
Best one-liner: "You can't put the dog in my gourmet kitchen!"

Described by its director as his first "international screwball comedy" and a mash-up of THE KILLING OF A CHINESE BOOKIE and CHEERS, GO GO TALES is indeed an absurdly funny film, (it seems that Abel and Werner Herzog, at odds though they may be over the BAD LIEUTENANT 'remake,' are becoming the 21st Century's top purveyors of comedy and Willem Dafoe) but one which also strikes the seasoned Ferrara fan as an intimate self-portrait, full of melancholy and a yearning for simpler, scuzzier times. We're witnessing a world in transition; one with a smaller and smaller place in it for the scatterbrained, non-tech-savvy sleazemeister (here embodied by Dafoe's "Ray Ruby"). Ferrara himself, like many a gritty 70's NYC director, began rather modestly with pornographic films (NINE LIVES OF A WET PUSSY), simple exploitation (THE DRILLER KILLER, MS. 45), and even chronicled the Times Square strip club culture (FEAR CITY) in its pre-Giuliani heyday. But recently, despite cult followings and international successes, it seems he can't even get arrested in America. In a way, thank God that the Europeans have swooped in as his sometime patrons, but fuck the American 'indie' studio system for not allowing significant distribution or funding for a legendary filmmaker who, unlike so many of his contemporaries, has continued to generate that creative, envelope-pushing spark after nearly forty years in the business.

And so Dafoe's Ray Ruby finds himself living on the edge. Hand to mouth, hand to mouth, hand to mouth to lottery ticket.

His strip club, his brainchild, his life's work, his "Paradise Lounge" ...is in trouble. His brother (played with élan by a a moptopped, pompous Matthew Modine), a Staten Island hair salon mogul and the almighty supplier of finances, is threatening to pull the plug.

"The plug is pulled. Paradise is over!"

This delights to no end the vitriolic New Yawwk landlady (Sylvia Miles in one of her finest, meanest performances) who's been waiting in the wings, ready to sell the place out "to Bed, Bath, and Beyond, motherfuckers, on a ninety-nine year lease!"

"BED, BATH, AND BEYOND!!! BED, BATH, AND BEYOND!!!"

But Ray must shoulder some of the blame- after all, he's poured all of his profits into a dangerous lottery addiction ("I played the lottery- I mean, I REALLY PLAYED IT!"), has made some foolish investments ("Frisbees with my face on 'em, I don't know what I was thinking") and has lost money over his soft spot for struggling artists (seen in an incredible, tour de force sequence that can only be described as 'Talent Show Nite' at the strip club).

All is not lost, however, when Ray actually wins the lotto, but in the midst of his inveterate, notorious disorganization, he can't find the ticket!

It's Abel's plea to the heavens- actual, sort of quaint sleaziness has been hijacked by the corporate version of sleaziness! Is nothing sacred? You've taken everything else, are you gonna take TIMES SQUARE, too? Yes, they will. And they did. By the time Ray's business is being redirected and stolen by a doofus in a crustacean mascot costume, Ferrara's exasperation has become completely tangible. Go ahead, Bed, Bath, and Beyond. Just take it all away. I've got nothing to live for anymore.

Unfolding over the course of one night, and with an Altman-style, observational, roaming camera (which captures the life which teems upon and outside of its frame), Ferrara captures the best sort of comedy- the unforced kind, the kind that's true to life. Even at it's most outrageous, the laughs here don't feel planned or even like 'jokes,' they feel like the natural outpourings of characters whose lives (from afar, of course) happen to be hilarious. The musician Pras wanders about as the club's resident 'chef,' obsessed with the gourmet artistry of his (microwaved) free range hot dogs,


Pras witnesses the ignominious end of his organic, free range, gourmet hot dogs.

an ancient Burt Young receives awkward lap dances, a robust, gravel-voiced Bob Hoskins lauds the respectability of the joint, tanning beds catch fire, a Eurotrash stripper (Stefania Rocca) wrangles the greenlighting of her script during a private dance ("Sign da check! Sign da check!"), Matthew Modine plays a toy piano and performs a mind-blowing musical number,

and Willem Dafoe even croons a ballad with a debonair suavitude and creepy flourish seldom seen since the glory days of the Rat Pack.

All this, and I didn't even get to Asia Argento yet! I'm reasonably certain that her performance as the "scariest, sexiest girl in the world" is entirely improvised and her free-form poledancing/make-out session with a terrifying dog is easily the most startlingly outré incident to be captured on celluloid in years.

Yes, GO GO TALES is insane, and, yes, it rambles. It induces spit-takes, eye-pops, raised brows, and as Sylvia Miles' psychotic end credits song (about Bed, Bath, and Beyond) attests, it even draws a comparison with STREET TRASH. Most importantly, however, it's sincere. Five stars. Abel: may you always find new, disorderly, and innovative ways to make these maniacal movies of yours. Distributors: shame on you for not picking this film up during the four years it's been available. Willem Dafoe: take it easy, take it breezy... and take it sleazy.


-Sean Gill

EDIT: Apparently the release was also held up by a legal dispute concerning screenplay credit.

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Film Review: CRY-BABY (1990, John Waters)

Stars: 4.6 of 5.
Running Time: 91 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Johnny Depp, Amy Locane (SECRETARY, AIRHEADS), Susan Tyrrell (FORBIDDEN ZONE, FAT CITY, FLESH + BLOOD), Polly Bergen (CAPE FEAR '62, THE MEN), Iggy Pop, Ricki Lake (HAIRSPRAY, SERIAL MOM), Traci Lords (VIRTUOUSITY, SERIAL MOM), Kim McGuire (SERIAL MOM, David Lynch's ON THE AIR), Willem Dafoe, Joe Dallesandro (THE LIMEY, FLESH, BLOOD FOR DRACULA), Mink Stole (PINK FLAMINGOS, DESPERATE LIVING, LOST HIGHWAY), Troy Donahue (IMITATION OF LIFE, COCKFIGHTER), Joey Heatherton (BLUEBEARD, THE HAPPY HOOKER GOES TO WASHINGTON), and Patty Hearst in her fiction film debut.
Tag-lines: "Too young to be square... Too tough to be shocked... Too late to be saved..."
Best one-liner: "Let's all put on a folk hat and learn something about a foreign culture!" (said by Patty Hearst) or perhaps "Woo-Wee, you caught me in my birthday suit, butt-naked" (said by Iggy Pop).

Psuedo-commercial John Waters (PECKER, SERIAL MOM) is not necessarily better than shoestringy, gutter sleaze John Waters (FEMALE TROUBLE, DESPERATE LIVING), they're just different- much like, say, the difference between TWIN PEAKS-Lynch and INLAND EMPIRE-Lynch. Some artists flourish under constraints (you can't show Divine devouring dog stools or Liz Renay getting rabies in the ass in a PG-13 film), and Waters is creative enough to make a film which nominally pleases the mainstream, yet is still deliciously infested with his trademarked pervy pizazz. This film is an oddball tour de force of sheer, ludicrous delights from a tittering, perfidious sewer rat to a devout Joe Dallesandro zealously bellowing "Let Jesus Christ be your gang-leader!" into a megaphone (as Joey Heatherton shudders beside him in a pious frenzy)-

In short, CRY-BABY is the bee's knees. It's Drapes vs. Squares, forbidden love, a 10th-rate Baltimore Disneyland, rockabilly concerts, an orphanage jailbreak, an epic “chicken” duel and an amalgamation of everything that Waters loves about the 1950's from JAILHOUSE ROCK to TEENAGE GANG DEBS.



The bizarro performances range from the hammy to the outré. Johnny Depp transforms the act of frequent, stoic weeping into something worthy of Tiger Beat magazine.

The legendary Susan Tyrrell (FAT CITY), while wearing a taxidermy bird helmet, sputters and chortles and emotes and blows away "goddamn gophers." It’s a work of mad genius and truly a sight to behold.

Tyrrell's trademark cackle.


Tyrrell and Pop. Best onscreen couple since Tyrrell and Rutger Hauer in FLESH + BLOOD. Who were the best onscreen couple since Tyrrell and Hervé 'Ze Plane' Villechaize in FORBIDDEN ZONE. Who were the best onscreen couple since Tyrrell and Stacy Keach in FAT CITY.

Iggy Pop is her husband, bathing himself in a wooden tub on the lawn and being an all-around good sport. Amy Locane embraces a sort of 'young Kathleen Turner' aesthetic, and Waters' two favorite pariahs (Traci Lords and Patty Hearst) exude, respectively, pose-worthy sass and adorable gullibility. Mink Stole speaks in tongues, and there's a 3-D moviegoing experience that'd make William Castle proud:

Willem Dafoe even appears for an ass-slapping cameo as a sleazoid, country-drawlin' prison guard.

"We gonna give you a haircut, pretty boy!"



By gum, this shit is great. Nearly five stars.

-Sean Gill

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Film Review: ONCE UPON A TIME IN MEXICO (2003, Robert Rodriguez)

Stars: 4.5 of 5.
Running Time: 102 minutes.
Tag-line: "The Time Has Come."
Notable Cast or Crew: Antonio Banderas, Salma Hayek, Willem Dafoe, Johnny Depp, Mickey Rourke, Eva Mendes, Danny Trejo, Cheech Marin, Rubén Blades, Enrique Iglesias, Marco Leonardi.
Best one-liner: "Ok. Smoke him... Smoke the fucker! Send him straight to fucking Broadway."

Rodriguez's continued retellings of his "Sergio Leone by-way-of Walter Hill and John Woo" EL MARIACHI legend are like a monstrous, runaway snowball. And as it rolls downhill, it increases in speed, size, ludicrousity, and finally, by ONCE UPON A TIME IN MEXICO, it's a completely deranged, rampaging behemoth full of eclectic actors, jaw-dropping setpieces, and a tangible joie de vivre that its contemporaries truly lack.




Here's 10 reasons why ONCE UPON A TIME IN MEXICO rises above the muck of your typical 00's action flick and is worthy of your time:

#1. Some movies will, at times, splash a little blood or water on the lens. I think it's meant to amplify the grittiness, but for me it intensifies the disconnect- 'I'm watching a movie.' Rodriguez goes a step further: during a desert dirt bike chase, some cacti get blasted and the lens is spattered with cactus juice, which I have no choice but to wholeheartedly support.


#2. Mickey Rourke (and his l'il doggie). Now this is 21st Century Rourke (fossilized skin, gravelly voice, and every third word is "goddamn") at his finest.

His purple suits are not costumes- they're from his personal wardrobe. He exudes actual pathos, and in the course of a few brief scenes builds a relationship with his little chihuahua buddy that's more genuine and touching than anything from a weepie picture.

#3. Depp and his kitschy accoutrements.

From a CLASH OF THE TITANS lunchbox to an 'I'm With Stupid' t-shirt to the fanny packs, the fake 'staches, and the shorts n' blazer combo, Depp's attire is a testament to the inspired lunacy of the man himself.

Only on set for a few days, Depp hand-picked his own wardrobe from the festering aisles of tacky, border-town thrift shops and proceeded to unleash a hurricane of loopy, Brando-style improvisation, supposedly inspired by an anonymous, eccentric Hollywood mover and shaker who Depp always imagined "wore really cheesy tourist shirts, had a sideline obsession with Broadway, and favored strange, obvious disguises."

The end result is nothing short of astonishing, and 'Agent Sands' surely belongs on the short list of great characters in contemporary action cinema.

#4. Banderas' brutal double low-blow, worthy of Leo Fong. You'll know it when you see it.



Banderas' look says it all: he takes brutal ball-squeezing very seriously.

I'm sad to say, however, that the duration still compares unfavorably to THE EVIL THAT MEN DO.

#5. Willem Dafoe.

Scary with a mustache. Scary in silk shirts. Scary behind bandages. So scary, even Danny Trejo has got the heebie-jeebies, which is really saying something. Hell, he's even freaking out his döppelganger.

It's nearly a throwaway role- one in a parade of villainous entities- but we all know that Dafoe doesn't require a majority of screen-time to be terrifying as all get out.

WILLEM DAFOE WILL STARE INTO YOUR SOUL

#6. This camera angle.

Sometime between the ribaldry of classic 70's action cinema (BRING ME THE HEAD OF ALFREDO GARCIA, ROLLING THUNDER, et al.) and the present day, Hollywood moved from "gritty South American hooker in a smoke den with peeling paint" sleaze to "corporate, collagen, plasticine, air-brushed to oblivion" sleaze. And, frankly, I find the latter kind of disturbing. Regardless, while Eva Mendes certainly wouldn't belong in a Peckinpah flick, this camera-angle, and what it represents- an unrepentant, 'let's-call-a-spade-a-spade' style of bawdiness– is refreshing.

#7. "Are you a Mexi-CAN or a Mexi-CAN'T?"


#8. Cheech Marin.

Well, he missed out on the first EL MARIACHI movie, so I suppose he tried to make up for it by subsequently playing seven roles in seven Rodriguez flicks- a feat more impressive than it sounds, given that 5 of those films belong to ongoing series (3 SPY KIDS and 2 EL MARIACHI films). Here, he's amusingly long-winded and has got an eye patch, and that's really all you need to know.

#9. Rubén Blades. He's not the flashiest performer here. He's not an ex-con like Danny Trejo, a funnyman like Cheech Marin, a pop star like Enrique Iglesias, or a petrified, walking cautionary tale like Mickey Rourke.

He's low-key. He's convincing. And Rodriguez outfits him with a story arc that's well worth our time. In a film that's a whirling vortex of over-the-top yarns, off-kilter character actors, and reeling action set-pieces, Blades is that grounding dose of subtlety that really ties it all together.

#10. The finale: an eyeless gunslinger who makes Zatoichi look like Mr. Magoo, Banderas surfing down a staircase on his guitar, PREDATOR 2 references, and endless one-liners- life is good.


Nearly five stars. And while I surely wouldn't say no to a fourth EL MARIACHI flick, I'm not sure how Rodriguez could possibly escalate upon the bedlam contained herein without it collapsing under its own weight...

-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. ...

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