Only now does it occur to me... THE PHANTOM CARRIAGE!

Only now does it occur to me... that the "father breaking down door with an axe to get at his cowering family" is an established genre.

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Film Review: STATE OF THE UNION (1948, Frank Capra)

Stars: 4.5 of 5.
Running Time: 124 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Spencer Tracy, Katherine Hepburn, Angela Lansbury, Van Johnson (THE CAINE MUTINY, BRIGADOON), Adolphe Menjou (PATHS OF GLORY, A FAREWELL TO ARMS), Margaret Hamilton (13 GHOSTS, THE WIZARD OF OZ). Based on the play by Howard Lindsay and and Russel Crouse (LIFE WITH FATHER, THE SOUND OF MUSIC). Screenplay by Anthony Veiller (THE KILLERS '46, THE STRANGER) and Myles Connolly.
Tag-line: "How's the state of the union? IT'S GREAT!" Not quite nailing the nuance, there.
Best one-liner: "No woman could ever run for President. She'd have to admit she's over thirty-five."

What with the state of the union address last week and the primary circus reaching new heights of wondrous absurdity, the timing feels right for a look at Frank Capra's STATE OF THE UNION.

I'd seen most of the "big" Capras as a kid, MR. SMITH GOES TO WASHINGTON, IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE, IT HAPPENED ONE NIGHT, ARSENIC & OLD LACE, and LOST HORIZON– and of them, only MR. SMITH really made an impression. I'd sort of written off Capra as something of a craftsmanly sentimentalist, and that was a terribly reductive way to look at who's now, really, one of my favorite directors. While I was working on this ongoing "Junta Juleil's All-Time Top 100" list, MR. SMITH came up, and J.D. of Radiator Heaven strongly recommended some "bleaker Capra," which led me onto a real Capra kick, one that ended with a trio of hard-hitting, gut-ripping, compassionately progressive but bitterly true films: MEET JOHN DOE, MR. DEEDS GOES TO TOWN, and STATE OF THE UNION. As I wrote in a comment previously– I'm almost shocked that these things were allowed to be made, in that they highlight the *gasp* "socialist" ideals of the Founding Fathers; attack nearly all kinds of mass media; and rise above the pettiness of politics and instead piling on dollop after dollop of pure, bright-eyed Humanism in a world on the brink of tearing its own throat.

STATE OF THE UNION feels ridiculously prescient, though I suppose it's arrogant to believe that the problems of our era are in any way unique. We've got fights over government deregulation, pre-nomination doubletalk, fear-mongering politicians, a media kingmaking "primary" that's more important than the actual votes (see the much-spoken of "Murdoch Primary" for comparison) - the film even boldly dares to ask if there's any real difference between Democrats and Republicans anymore. And the line "Politicians have remained professionals only because the voters have remained amateurs!" has to be one of my favorite zingers in the history of political cinema.

I don't want to say too much about the plot, but it involves Spencer Tracy as an industrialist ("Any man's made as much money as him is a good sound American") who's pushed into running for president by the kingmakers and who decides to do anything he can to get the nomination. The respective angel and devil on his shoulders are his reluctant, conscionable wife (Katherine Hepburn) and the ruthless, power-hungry media magnate (Angela Lansbury). And, as anyone will attest, an evil Lansbury in your movie is always a good thing. (Futhermore, Lansbury is the most vicious, calculating character in a movie whose cast includes Margaret Hamilton, the Wicked Witch of the West!)

Evil Lansbury refuses to acknowledge the help.

So go see STATE OF THE UNION. It's pretty damn good, and it's extremely damn relevant. Which makes it all the more hilarious that Google offered the old chestnut "I'm sorry, did you mean to search for XXX 2: STATE OF THE UNION?"

So on to my secondary point: I watched STATE OF THE UNION later on the same day that I rewatched BARTON FINK, which is probably my favorite Coen brothers film. I was treated to some extremely bizarre and possibly intentional coincidences; some so specific that I probably never would have noticed them had I not happened to view the films back to back. Since the Coens love to repackage and adapt past works (CUTTER'S WAY and THE BIG SLEEP become THE BIG LEBOWSKI, THE GLASS KEY and RED HARVEST become MILLER'S CROSSING, etc.), I'm probably not way off base here.

Now, both BARTON FINK and STATE OF THE UNION are both set in the 1940s, so there's nothing extraordinary about overlapping fashion and decor and popular slang of the time like calling guys "heels," yet, as I watched on, these general tonal similarities began to strike me as odd. And, you know, Judy Davis is kind of like 1991's answer to Katherine Hepburn in her own way.

There's nothing terribly remarkable about that. But then I realized that the plots are basically the same– a man fighting to be in touch with the common man is whisked from one opportunity to another by soulless and strange entourages and handlers who use him as a tool to advance their own self-interests. Also, both films take place largely within the confines of hotel rooms. And, hey!– there's even a creepy little bellhop who prefigures the bizarre-itude of Buscemi in BARTON FINK.


Then, IMDB lists the infamous (of Ed Wood, Jr. fame) Tor Johnson as an uncredited wrestler. It must have been a blink and you'll miss it walk-on, because I must have blinked and missed him, but aficionados of BARTON FINK will take note of the wrestling connection.
But finally, the last parallel, and the one that vindicates my craziness: there's a scene whereupon Tracy and Hepburn are going through the campaign mail bag. They finish reading a letter and marvel, in a strange little moment, about how it's signed "Madman Mundt..."


...who is John Goodman in BARTON FINK!

I'm not sure what I've proven, precisely, outside of "The Coen brothers must love STATE OF THE UNION," but I suppose I'll take that.

-Sean Gill

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Only now does it occur to me... THE GODFATHER!

Only now does it occur to me... that Sterling Hayden's Captain McClusky is the most lovable character in THE GODFATHER.

At first glance, it might not seem like it's the case, but hear me out. When I first saw the film sometime in the early 90s, I had no idea who Sterling Hayden was. Subsequent viewings upgraded him to "the guy from DR. STRANGELOVE" and later to "the guy in all those films noir" and finally, ultimately, to "Sterling mutherfucken Hayden." Yes, I became a full-fledged fanatic. You can read what I've written about him (and some of his fantastic life story) HERE.

Anyway, who is Captain McClusky? At best, a supporting role; at worst, a throwaway henchman. But to me, he's simply the bee's knees.

He first appears as a big lug police captain who's on the take from the nefarious narcotics man, Sollozzo (played by Al Lettieri, of MR. MAJESTYK and THE GETAWAY), punching devoted son Michael (Al Pacino) outside his father's hospital, and, okay, I'll admit that that's not very nice.

But look how happy he is!

Hey, though– he even apologizes later!

He's like a lovable gym teacher, or a kid's soccer coach. "Sorry I had to ride you so hard before the last game, Mikey, but you have to admit, doing those extra laps gave you back the eye of the tiger." Look at his back-slappin', "good job, son" face:

He probably just got back from Grandparents' Day at the local elementary.
Conversely, look at Pacino: planning to kill him. Plotting to bump off sweet old McClusky. What a mean guy. Yet there's a little satisfaction hidden beneath there, too. He's probably already contemplating the horrors of THE GODFATHER PART III.

Then they go to dinner. McClusky's just interested in some veal. Best in the city. Just a sweet old man eatin' some veal. Sollozzo reveals that he'd like to speak privately with Michael in Italian, and look at McClusky:

He's a "go-with-the-flow" kind of a guy. Speak your Italian, make your gangland deals, just leave me to my meal. He's simple, meat-and-potatoes. Well, mostly potatoes, if ya know what I mean, but hey, aren't we all.

Then Michael leaves to retrieve the murder weapon from the bathroom. McClusky's not worried. He frisked him already. He's frisked a thousand punks.

He's so matter-of-fact about it, too. He's not bragging. He's a humble, blue-collar hero who happens to be in the volatile business of punk-frisking. Is that any reason why he should have to die? You tell me.

Then, when Michael's been gone for an inordinate amount of time, he glances toward the bathroom.

It's not an evil glance, nor a scheming one. I think, and correct me if I'm wrong here, that it's a fatherly look. He's genuinely concerned that Michael's having some sort of an issue in the bathroom. Grandpa McClusky is here, ready and willing: need me to fix the toilet, Mikey?, having some trouble with the paper towel dispenser, Mikey?, I have a fine stool softener you can borrow if you'd like, Mikey. What a gent.

Then Michael comes out, and, after a tense moment where you're unsure if he's going to go through with it, actually going to shoot the beloved Gramps McClusky– he does.

I won't even show it here. I'm tearing up, just thinking about it. Doesn't even let him finish his bite of veal. Pretty rough stuff. Here's to you, Captain McClusky; only now does it occur to me that you're THE GODFATHER's emotional core. Or at least the core of veal-luvin', vaguely brutish grandfatherliness. Pass the Werther's.

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Only now does it occur to me... FROM HERE TO ETERNITY!

Only now does it occur to me... that pretty much the last thing you want to hear after being court-martialed– but before you're about to be severely clobbered with a billyclub by Ernest Borgnine– has got to be "Hello, tough monkey."

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Only now does it occur to me... BIG!

Only now does it occur to me... someone once knocked down Robert Loggia– and lived!











Annnnd... exit Loggia. But fear sweeps in his wake. Sure, later he plays 'Chopsticks' on a giant piano with his feet, but this is the man who so frightened David Lynch at his BLUE VELVET audition that he ended up casting Dennis Hopper, who seemed docile and wholesome in comparison. I'd bet anything that to this day, Tom Hanks checks under his bed every night to make sure Loggia isn't there, waiting.

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Only now does it occur to me.... SCROOGED!

Only now does it occur to me... that once upon a time, John Glover and Robert Mitchum once sat at the same table and shared incredulous looks regarding the increasingly erratic behavior of one Bill Murray.



Long time readers of the site will know of my love for Mitchum and Glover, and to see them both in the same 80s locale in a popular movie that I'd even seen before came as a tremendous and welcome shock. Now, neither of these gents have a great deal to do in SCROOGED (Mitchum is sort of a low-key conscience figure for TV exec Bill Murray, and Glover is an L.A. quasi-sleazebag who's been brought in to direct the SCROOGE TV special which features the Solid Gold Dancers), but it's comforting to know that somewhere out there, John Glover was sitting beside Robert Mitchum, perhaps even helping him in his career-long pursuit of not giving a shit. Happy holidays!

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Film Review: V.I. WARSHAWSKI (1991, Jeff Kanew)

Stars: 3.8 of 5.
Running Time: 89 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Kathleen Turner (ROMANCING THE STONE, PEGGY SUE GOT MARRIED, SERIAL MOM), Jay O. Sanders (JFK, GLORY), Charles Durning (SHARKY'S MACHINE, HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS), Wayne Knight (Newman on SEINFELD, JURASSIC PARK), Stephen Root (OFFICE SPACE, NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN), Nancy Paul (LIFEFORCE, SHEENA QUEEN OF THE JUNGLE), Angela Goethals (HOME ALONE, JERRY MAGUIRE). Directed by Jeff Kanew (REVENGE OF THE NERDS, TROOP BEVERLY HILLS). Music by Randy Edelman (GHOSTBUSTERS II, KINDERGARTEN COP). Cinematography by Jan Kiesser (FRIGHT NIGHT, SOME KIND OF WONDERFUL).
Tag-line: "V.I. Warshawski: A private detective with a name as tough as she is."
Best one-liner: "Murray, have you ever seen what I can do with a nutcracker?"

The consensus is that V.I. WARSHAWSKI is not a good movie. The consensus hates V.I. WARSHAWSKI. The consensus sees the Hollywood Pictures logo and cries out in despair, "If you see the Sphinx, it stinks!" But the consensus is wrong. The world needs V.I. WARSHAWSKI. It needs Randy Edelman's almost nonstop, wall-to-wall strains of sleazy saxophone. It needs its comforting 80's Chicago trappings, soaked in Old Style and sitting in an apartment with a terrific view of Wrigley Field. It needs its TV-movie style mystery and cornball comedic stylings. It's like RUNNING SCARED meets MURDER, SHE WROTE with a hearty dash of SERIAL MOM. This is a good thing.

V.I. WARSHAWSKI achieves the impossible: a private-eye/buddy-kid flick that doesn't make one's hair stand on end. For a film whose major throughline is the mispronunciation of our heroine's surname, that says quite a lot. Though WARSHAWSKI may occasionally veer into one-liner territory that's a little too clever for its own good, dammit, it's never "precious." And I'm not gonna lie, WARSHAWSKI– that means a lot. Sure, Kathleen Turner spends half the flick teamed up with a scrappy teen (Angela Goethals), but she threatens bodily harm against children on at least a dozen occasions, muttering (drunken?) lines like "Be back by midnight, or I sell the kid!" Ohhh– and that's right– I just said Kathleen Turner.


You didn't know that? Shame on you. Get ready for America's husky-voiced sweetheart to charm the pants offa ya, and then smash yer nuts– quite literally, on more than one occasion. She attempts a Southern accent, partakes in a motorboat chase,

hoses down the bad guys ("Thanks for the use of your hose." –"She can use my hose anytime."), diffuses an office stand-off by threatening to unplug a computer that hasn't saved its files in hours, seduces a hockey player (like Carla on CHEERS?), and gets punched in the face, brutally, by Wayne Knight (famous for being SEINFELD's 'Newwwwwwman!' and JURASSIC PARK's 'Nyut-nyut-uh! You didn't say the magic word').

Kathleen Turner, one-liner at the ready.

But don't worry, ball-crushing aficionados, Kathleen wreaks hideous revenge upon her chubby nemesis with an actual nutcracker.


Wayne Knight, mere nanoseconds away from the business end of a nutcracker.

Yes, friends, this is a great movie.

And all the supporting character archetypes are here, too. We got Jay O. Sanders as a self-described "mild-mannered reporter" and sometime sidekick/love interest, a supporting villain with an (art? metallurgy?) studio, an overreaching villain who may or may not be a land developer, and the legendary Charles Durning as the gruff and fatherly cop-type who invariably urges restraint but ends up helping our private eye in the clutch.

Durning's first appearance involves him speaking unnecessarily through a megaphone, and at one point he trumps Kathleen Turner's "gut feeling" by proclaiming "my gut is bigger than your gut." I always applaud you, Durning. Always.

In the end, the movie bombed and averted the hoped-for series of V.I. WARSHAWSKI films (apparently there was a whole series of novels which preceded it), and retrospect hasn't been too kind either– it doesn't seem to have developed the cult following which some of its contemporaries have. For me, it's a solid second-tier buddy cop/P.I. type movie, and it can stand tall alongside the likes of ACTION JACKSON, QUIET COOL, RED HEAT, ALIEN NATION, THE ROOKIE, and a whole host of other, occasionally incredible films that are the perfect accompaniment to a profusion of beer and pizza and super-nachos on a Friday night. I bought the Blu-ray (!) of this film for a mere three dollars and fifty-cents, and though the picture quality is probably on-par with a low-to-medium-end DVD, there is a certain satisfaction in being able to say that I own V.I. WARSHAWSKI on fucking Blu-ray. How many of us even are there? How many brave souls who will step forward and admit to owning V.I. WARSHAWSKI at all, much less on the most-advanced, state-of-the-art format, because our passion for and dedication to V.I. WARSHAWSKI is so shockingly vigorous, that anything less would be simply profane! Well, I'm stepping forward, WARSHAWSKI. I'm brave enough. I am your champion. Amen.

-Sean Gill

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