Hello, folks...
Just a quick note to say the first of this week's 80's Party Flicks/Philip K. Dick Flicks (that sounds bad, doesn't it?) reviews will start posting tomorrow, beginning with BLADE RUNNER: THE FINAL CUT.
But, just to give you folks a taste of things to come, please see below a collage of our reviews for next week, starting 3/6/11. I've also posted some, ahem, music videos to help clue you folks in...
Guess away!
Hmmm.... what could all these movies have in common?
Ciao, folks. Have a wonderful evening...
OSCAR REPORT: The 83rd Academy Awards…
Hello, folks. Cutting to the chase here: I felt like I just had a threesome with James Franco and Anne Hathaway. I could just have a cigarette - or five - now. That’s how good the Oscars were tonight. And that's how awesome our hosts were...
Oh, sure… there was never really any doubt about who would walk off with the Top Five Awards - just how well they’d give their acceptance speeches. Which, thankfully, were actually quite sweet and classy. Especially one in particular. Yes, Ms. Portman. I am talking about you. You are such a generous and thoughtful babe, thanking the unsung heroes on the crew by name. I’m so impressed by your sterling character, that I would also like to have a sleazy threesome with you and James Franco.
At any rate, for anyone who was either without a television tonight or trapped under something heavy, please find below the winners of the Top 5 Oscars:
BEST SCREENPLAY: David Seidler for THE KING’S SPEECH
BEST DIRECTOR: Tom Hooper for, uh, THE KING’S SPEECH
BEST ACTRESS: Natalie Portman for BLACK SWAN
BEST ACTOR: James Franco for 127 HOURS (kidding, it was Colin Firth for, um, THE KING’S SPEECH
BEST PICTURE: 127 HOURS (kidding again, it was also some movie called THE KING’S SPEECH - anyone heard of it?)
And while I was hoping to regal the world with some of hilarious shit that I observed during the party, I promised someone I would only talk about hilarious shit that happened onscreen - not in the room. Newsflash, guys: I operate a blog - not the National Enquirer. Don’t flatter yourselves. You’re not that interesting…
With that in mind, I’ve assembled some special awards of my own from tonight‘s show. Please see below:
BEST USE OF A RED DRESS: Sandra Bullock and Anne Hathaway
BEST USE OF BLUE DRESS: Anne Hathaway (yes, really) and Amy Adams
BEST USE OF BLACK AND WHITE DRESS: Reese Witherspoon.
BEST USE OF A DRESS THAT LOOKS LIKE IT WAS ATTACKED BY A BUBBLEGUM MACHINE: Cate Blanchett.
BEST USE OF A PIMPIN’ SUIT: Javier Bardem and Josh Brolin
BEST USE OF A LEOTARD: James Franco doing his BLACK SWAN impersonation (I’m not normally an ass man - more like pecs and biceps - but one word aptly describes his tushie: goddamn. I think at this point I turned to my host and asked, “Please tell me you’re recording this to DVD. PLEASE!”)
BEST USE OF THE F-WORD: Melissa Leo’s inner voice goes buck-wild during her acceptance speech for BEST SUPPPORTING ACTRESS.
BEST REFERENCE TO MELISSA LEO USING THE F-WORD: James Franco, telling her “Congratu-effing-lations, Melissa…” Please bring this guy back next year.
WORST REFERENCE TO MELISSA LEO USING THE F-WORD: Christian Bale during his acceptance speech for BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR. Chris, you’re awesome and I knew you’d win - but enough about the F-word already. Deal with it.
MOST UNEXPECTED CAMEO: Billy Crystal, smiling through his burning rage at watching his old gig being usurped by James and Annie. You picked the wrong business to grow old in, Billy.
MOST INTERESTING CHEMISTRY BETWEEN PRESENTERS: Justin Timberlake and Mila Kunis; Jude Law and Robert Downey Jr.; Russell Brand and Helen Mirren. Who wants to bet they went backstage and basically ripped each other’s clothes off, afterwards?
MOST PUZZLING WIN: The music for THE SOCIAL NETWORK nabs BEST ORIGINAL SCORE. Really, Academy. Really?
LEAST PUZZLING WIN: Christian Bale for BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR for his role in THE FIGHTER. Knew it. Felt it. Suck it.
MOST SUSPENSEFUL WIN: Natalie Portman vs. Annette Bening. Not exactly neck-and-neck, but close.
FUNNIEST ACCEPTANCE SPEECH: Colin Firth for BEST ACTOR - droll, self-deprecating British wit at its best. Made me want to sleep with him.
MOST TOUCHING ACCEPTANCE SPEECH: Natalie Portman for BEST ACTRESS - thanking “the people who normally are never mentioned” like the hair and make-up folks, the camera operators, and other technical crew. By name. Each of them. Yes, folks - she remembered all their names. Made me want to sleep with her.
UGLIEST WOMAN ONSTAGE: James Franco in drag. The man in his natural masculine form is basically Sex-On-Legs, and you know I would so tap that. But put him in a blonde wig, pink strapless dress, garish red lipstick, and high heels, and we’re basically talking a “woman” so terrifying it’s enough to make any straight man go gay. Sorry, James. You know I love you, but leave the cross-dressing to Tyler Perry and those guys on Hollywood Boulevard. Please.
SWEETEST SMILE ONSTAGE: Anne Hathaway. Made me want to sleep with her.
MOST CRINGE-INDUCING MOMENT: Did Christian Bale forget his wife’s name? Or did I slam back too many glasses of Merlot?
SECOND MOST CRINGE-INDUCING MOMENT: Tom Hooper during his acceptance speech for BEST DIRECTOR for THE KING’S SPEECH, basically telling Helena Bonham-Carter not to be jealous of his tri-cornered Bromance with Colin Firth and Geoffrey Rush. Methinks the after-party might be a touch awkward.
THIRD MOST CRINGE-INDUCING MOMENT: Kirk Douglas practically salivating over Anne Hathaway, who is about, oh, 658 years younger than him.
MOST HEARTFELT PRESENTATION: Halle Berry, honoring the trailblazing maverick, Lena Horne.
HOTTEST WOMEN: Anne Hathaway, Cate Blanchett, Natalie Portman, Annette Bening, Halle Berry, Sandra Bullock, Melissa Leo.
HOTTEST MEN: James Franco, Javier Bardem, Colin Firth, Andrew Garfield, Mark Wahlberg.
FUNNIEST SKIT: The “He Doesn’t Own A Shirt” video with Jacob, Edward, and Bella from - what else - TWILIGHT - or whatever the fuck the latest one is called. And, seriously: put a fucking shirt on, Jacob. I know people who have better chests and abs than you - so give it a rest.
So, folks, if I were to rate tonight’s show, taking into consideration the hosts, presenters, awards, wins, skits, and unexpected moments, I’d have to rate it:
****½ out of *****
Buona serata, folks. Have a great week, and stay tuned for our Hybrid Genre week.
Smile... and STAY EXTRAORDINARY!
Oh, sure… there was never really any doubt about who would walk off with the Top Five Awards - just how well they’d give their acceptance speeches. Which, thankfully, were actually quite sweet and classy. Especially one in particular. Yes, Ms. Portman. I am talking about you. You are such a generous and thoughtful babe, thanking the unsung heroes on the crew by name. I’m so impressed by your sterling character, that I would also like to have a sleazy threesome with you and James Franco.
At any rate, for anyone who was either without a television tonight or trapped under something heavy, please find below the winners of the Top 5 Oscars:
BEST SCREENPLAY: David Seidler for THE KING’S SPEECH
BEST DIRECTOR: Tom Hooper for, uh, THE KING’S SPEECH
BEST ACTRESS: Natalie Portman for BLACK SWAN
BEST ACTOR: James Franco for 127 HOURS (kidding, it was Colin Firth for, um, THE KING’S SPEECH
BEST PICTURE: 127 HOURS (kidding again, it was also some movie called THE KING’S SPEECH - anyone heard of it?)
And while I was hoping to regal the world with some of hilarious shit that I observed during the party, I promised someone I would only talk about hilarious shit that happened onscreen - not in the room. Newsflash, guys: I operate a blog - not the National Enquirer. Don’t flatter yourselves. You’re not that interesting…
With that in mind, I’ve assembled some special awards of my own from tonight‘s show. Please see below:
BEST USE OF A RED DRESS: Sandra Bullock and Anne Hathaway
BEST USE OF BLUE DRESS: Anne Hathaway (yes, really) and Amy Adams
BEST USE OF BLACK AND WHITE DRESS: Reese Witherspoon.
BEST USE OF A DRESS THAT LOOKS LIKE IT WAS ATTACKED BY A BUBBLEGUM MACHINE: Cate Blanchett.
BEST USE OF A PIMPIN’ SUIT: Javier Bardem and Josh Brolin
BEST USE OF A LEOTARD: James Franco doing his BLACK SWAN impersonation (I’m not normally an ass man - more like pecs and biceps - but one word aptly describes his tushie: goddamn. I think at this point I turned to my host and asked, “Please tell me you’re recording this to DVD. PLEASE!”)
BEST USE OF THE F-WORD: Melissa Leo’s inner voice goes buck-wild during her acceptance speech for BEST SUPPPORTING ACTRESS.
BEST REFERENCE TO MELISSA LEO USING THE F-WORD: James Franco, telling her “Congratu-effing-lations, Melissa…” Please bring this guy back next year.
WORST REFERENCE TO MELISSA LEO USING THE F-WORD: Christian Bale during his acceptance speech for BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR. Chris, you’re awesome and I knew you’d win - but enough about the F-word already. Deal with it.
MOST UNEXPECTED CAMEO: Billy Crystal, smiling through his burning rage at watching his old gig being usurped by James and Annie. You picked the wrong business to grow old in, Billy.
MOST INTERESTING CHEMISTRY BETWEEN PRESENTERS: Justin Timberlake and Mila Kunis; Jude Law and Robert Downey Jr.; Russell Brand and Helen Mirren. Who wants to bet they went backstage and basically ripped each other’s clothes off, afterwards?
MOST PUZZLING WIN: The music for THE SOCIAL NETWORK nabs BEST ORIGINAL SCORE. Really, Academy. Really?
LEAST PUZZLING WIN: Christian Bale for BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR for his role in THE FIGHTER. Knew it. Felt it. Suck it.
MOST SUSPENSEFUL WIN: Natalie Portman vs. Annette Bening. Not exactly neck-and-neck, but close.
FUNNIEST ACCEPTANCE SPEECH: Colin Firth for BEST ACTOR - droll, self-deprecating British wit at its best. Made me want to sleep with him.
MOST TOUCHING ACCEPTANCE SPEECH: Natalie Portman for BEST ACTRESS - thanking “the people who normally are never mentioned” like the hair and make-up folks, the camera operators, and other technical crew. By name. Each of them. Yes, folks - she remembered all their names. Made me want to sleep with her.
UGLIEST WOMAN ONSTAGE: James Franco in drag. The man in his natural masculine form is basically Sex-On-Legs, and you know I would so tap that. But put him in a blonde wig, pink strapless dress, garish red lipstick, and high heels, and we’re basically talking a “woman” so terrifying it’s enough to make any straight man go gay. Sorry, James. You know I love you, but leave the cross-dressing to Tyler Perry and those guys on Hollywood Boulevard. Please.
SWEETEST SMILE ONSTAGE: Anne Hathaway. Made me want to sleep with her.
MOST CRINGE-INDUCING MOMENT: Did Christian Bale forget his wife’s name? Or did I slam back too many glasses of Merlot?
SECOND MOST CRINGE-INDUCING MOMENT: Tom Hooper during his acceptance speech for BEST DIRECTOR for THE KING’S SPEECH, basically telling Helena Bonham-Carter not to be jealous of his tri-cornered Bromance with Colin Firth and Geoffrey Rush. Methinks the after-party might be a touch awkward.
THIRD MOST CRINGE-INDUCING MOMENT: Kirk Douglas practically salivating over Anne Hathaway, who is about, oh, 658 years younger than him.
MOST HEARTFELT PRESENTATION: Halle Berry, honoring the trailblazing maverick, Lena Horne.
HOTTEST WOMEN: Anne Hathaway, Cate Blanchett, Natalie Portman, Annette Bening, Halle Berry, Sandra Bullock, Melissa Leo.
HOTTEST MEN: James Franco, Javier Bardem, Colin Firth, Andrew Garfield, Mark Wahlberg.
FUNNIEST SKIT: The “He Doesn’t Own A Shirt” video with Jacob, Edward, and Bella from - what else - TWILIGHT - or whatever the fuck the latest one is called. And, seriously: put a fucking shirt on, Jacob. I know people who have better chests and abs than you - so give it a rest.
So, folks, if I were to rate tonight’s show, taking into consideration the hosts, presenters, awards, wins, skits, and unexpected moments, I’d have to rate it:
****½ out of *****
Buona serata, folks. Have a great week, and stay tuned for our Hybrid Genre week.
Smile... and STAY EXTRAORDINARY!
UPCOMING REVIEWS FOR THE WEEK OF 2/28/11 - 3/6/11
Hello, folks...
Weekend funcheck: are you guys having fun? Hope so. Remember that old Japanese proverb: "We do not smile because good things happen... Good things happen because we smile..." Never forget that.
At any rate, we're right on schedule (a little early, in fact) with the posting of DEAD CALM this morning. With that, we go right into next week's review list. If you didn't guess from the slideshow posted yesterday, we are having another Hybrid Genre week.
Yup, in honor of the twin releases of TAKE ME HOME TONIGHT and THE ADJUSTMENT BUREAU next weekend, we are reviewing a combo of Philip K. Dick-based sci-fi thrillers (Philip K. Dick is one of my favorite writers) and 80's party flicks ("Take Me Home Tonight" is my #1 favorite song of all time). We haven't had a Hybrid Genre week since last August... It's about time.
Please find the list below:
# 261 - BLADE RUNNER: 1982 (AKA: Quien Es Muy Macho? Harrison Ford or Rutger Hauer?)
# 262 - PAYCHECK: 2004 (AKA: Quien Es Muy Macho? Ben Affleck o Aaron Eckhart?)
# 263 - WEIRD SCIENCE: 1985 (AKA: Build Your Own Blow-Up Doll)
# 264 - WHERE THE BOYS ARE: 1984 (AKA: Where The Cocks Are)
# 265 - BACHELOR PARTY: 1984 (AKA: Men Being Men)
# 266 - THE ADJUSTMENT BUREAU: 2011 (AKA: Big Brother Wants To Control Who You Date!!!)
# 267 - TAKE ME HOME TONIGHT: 2011 (AKA: Be My Little Baby!!!)
Oh, and please note that the Bonus Reviews for JUST GO WITH IT and ANOTHER YEAR will be incorporated into March's schedule. Details to follow...
Oh, and I will be posting an after-Oscar Party report tonight. It'll be a crazy one...
And once more, remember that Japanese Proverb:
"We do not smile because good things happen... Good things happen because we smile..."
Have a great Oscar Sunday, folks...
And in honor of my all-time favorite song and its namesake movie coming out next week (which I cannot wait to see), please revel in Eddie Money's brilliance. The hilariously sarcastic Topher Grace and my favorite song in one movie. Sign. Me. Up!
Weekend funcheck: are you guys having fun? Hope so. Remember that old Japanese proverb: "We do not smile because good things happen... Good things happen because we smile..." Never forget that.
At any rate, we're right on schedule (a little early, in fact) with the posting of DEAD CALM this morning. With that, we go right into next week's review list. If you didn't guess from the slideshow posted yesterday, we are having another Hybrid Genre week.
Yup, in honor of the twin releases of TAKE ME HOME TONIGHT and THE ADJUSTMENT BUREAU next weekend, we are reviewing a combo of Philip K. Dick-based sci-fi thrillers (Philip K. Dick is one of my favorite writers) and 80's party flicks ("Take Me Home Tonight" is my #1 favorite song of all time). We haven't had a Hybrid Genre week since last August... It's about time.
Please find the list below:
# 261 - BLADE RUNNER: 1982 (AKA: Quien Es Muy Macho? Harrison Ford or Rutger Hauer?)
# 262 - PAYCHECK: 2004 (AKA: Quien Es Muy Macho? Ben Affleck o Aaron Eckhart?)
# 263 - WEIRD SCIENCE: 1985 (AKA: Build Your Own Blow-Up Doll)
# 264 - WHERE THE BOYS ARE: 1984 (AKA: Where The Cocks Are)
# 265 - BACHELOR PARTY: 1984 (AKA: Men Being Men)
# 266 - THE ADJUSTMENT BUREAU: 2011 (AKA: Big Brother Wants To Control Who You Date!!!)
# 267 - TAKE ME HOME TONIGHT: 2011 (AKA: Be My Little Baby!!!)
Oh, and please note that the Bonus Reviews for JUST GO WITH IT and ANOTHER YEAR will be incorporated into March's schedule. Details to follow...
Oh, and I will be posting an after-Oscar Party report tonight. It'll be a crazy one...
And once more, remember that Japanese Proverb:
"We do not smile because good things happen... Good things happen because we smile..."
Have a great Oscar Sunday, folks...
And in honor of my all-time favorite song and its namesake movie coming out next week (which I cannot wait to see), please revel in Eddie Money's brilliance. The hilariously sarcastic Topher Grace and my favorite song in one movie. Sign. Me. Up!
# 260 - DEAD CALM (1989)
DEAD CALM (1989 - THRILLER / SUSPENSE) ****1/2 out of *****
(You know how they say “never pick up hitchers on the side of the road?” Well, same goes for the open sea…)
CAST: Sam Neill, Nicole Kidman, Billy Zane.
DIRECTOR: Phillip Noyce
WARNING: Some SPOILERS and strong arguments for never ever ever ever ever ever picking up seafaring hitchers - straight ahead…
As I’ve mentioned many times before, one of my favorite “misunderstood” films is the 1993 thriller SLIVER. The novel by Ira Levin was about a Manhattan book editor who is seduced into a world of voyeurism and murder after moving into a sleek highrise that is filled with secret video cameras. The book was a huge hit upon its publication in 1991, and it was a no-brainer that it would follow Levin’s previous works onto the silver screen. Some of Levin’s past novels that were turned into films include ROSEMARY’S BABY, THE BOYS FROM BRAZIL, THE STEPFORD WIVES, and A KISS BEFORE DYING. Not exactly clunkers, eh? Well… maybe A KISS BEFORE DYING could’ve been a little better. But, hey… Levin’s still sporting a more-than-good batting average, right?
As pre-production moved forward on SLIVER, one promising sign after another materialized: (1) Sharon Stone, hot off BASIC INSTINCT, was cast as controlled-but-vulnerable book editor Carly Norris; (2) William Baldwin, hot off BACKDRAFT, was cast as her sexy-but-potentially deadly love interest, Zeke Hawkins; (3) the New Age group Enigma would compose some of the film’s score, to include a couple of tracks devoted to Stone’s character Carly: “Carly’s Song” and “Carly’s Loneliness”; and (4) the most promising sign of all: Aussie director Phillip Noyce was hired to direct.
Why was this last bit so great? Easy. Noyce directed the 1989 Sam Neill-Nicole Kidman chiller DEAD CALM. For anyone who has seen DEAD CALM, that’s pretty much all I need to say. For anyone who has not seen it, I say: “Really? Are you kidding?” And then I would say, “DEAD CALM is an awesome classic thriller. What are you waiting for?” Bottom line: if anyone could turn SLIVER into a classic thriller, it was Noyce. DEAD CALM was such a tense, riveting, scary, atmospheric journey into darkness and survival, that imagining the possibilities for SLIVER under his helm was sublime.
Unfortunately, as well all know by now, SLIVER didn’t turn into the classic thriller I’d hoped for. The major reason for this was the studio compromising Noyce and writer Joe Eszterhas’s (BASIC INSTINCT) vision for SLIVER. While the novel was a straightforward thriller with erotic overtones, they decided to turn the film into more of a dark romance chronicling reserved book editor Carly Norris' journey to the dark side of love - and her decision not to return.
In fact, SLIVER’s controversial original ending (Carly discovering Zeke is actually the killer - and staying with him anyhow) is what prompted the studio to scramble up a new one to satisfy audiences who just weren’t interested in moral ambiguity. Noyce and Stone preferred the original ending, and if the studio had the balls to support them and their vision, SLIVER would’ve been a much more eerie, memorable, and sinister thriller - and better remembered than it is.
DEAD CALM, on the other hand, enjoys a much more favorable reputation. Like SLIVER and it's sleek tower buidling, DEAD CALM is also set in a very confined location: two boats floating in the middle of the Pacific. On one boat, we have John Ingram (Sam Neill) and his wife Rae (Nicole Kidman). John is an officer in the Australian Navy, and is taking time off to cruise the high seas with Rae - who, shall we say, has issues.
You see, not too long ago, John and Rae’s young son was killed in a car accident - with Rae driving. Rae barely survived herself, and since then has been recovering from her ensuing nervous breakdown. John and the doctors hope that a quiet cruise in the Pacific is just what she needs to get back on her feet. Oh, how wrong they are…
You see, the occupant of the other boat I mentioned is Hughie Warriner (Billy Zane), a loony American who is apparently the sole survivor of mass food poisoning that killed all of his shipmates, a bunch of bimbo/model wannabes and their skeezy photographer. When Hughie spots John and Rae’s ship on the horizon, he understandably chooses not to hang out with his pal’s corpses anymore - and skedaddles on out of there in a dinghy.
John and Rae, being warm and classy Aussies, extend a big welcome to the jibbering Hughie. He tells them his story about the food poisoning and how grateful he is that they just happened to sail by. Otherwise, who knows what he would’ve done to stay alive. Which bring an interesting, if also very disgusting, question to my mind: if you eat the corpse of someone who died from food poisoning - would you die from food poisoning yourself? Hmmmmmm……
Whatever. After storytelling hour, Hughie retires to his cabin. Rae, being a sensitive and sweet person, sympathizes with Hughie’s ordeal. John, on the other hand, being a career Naval officer, knows bullshit when he smells it. He decides to take the dinghy back to the other boat and investigate, and see if Hughie is on the up-and-up. Or if he and Rae are dealing with a seafaring version of Charlie Manson.
What will John find on the other boat? Did Hughie’s shipmates actually die from food poisoning? Or something else? What is Hughie hiding? What does he have planned for his rescuers? Will John and Rae survive their encounter with him? Will Rae continue to be a trembling wuss? Or will she nut up and fight back to keep her and her man alive? What happens when Hughie tries to put the moves on her? Does he actually think he can compete against a guy who is a Naval Officer and also looks like Sam Neill?
Silly bastard. Sam Neill is The Hotness…
BUT, SERIOUSLY: I remember the first time I saw DEAD CALM back in 1990. I remember thinking, “this is a perfect thriller.” And it actually does come very close. One of this film’s major assets is how visceral and raw it feels. In our recent review for BLACK WIDOW (review # 259) we talked about how thrillers are meant to thrill - and thrills are an emotional response. Director Phillip Noyce understands that and uses his considerable suspense techniques to elicit gut reactions from us and his actors.
He also manages the neat trick of having an open ocean setting feel clammy and claustrophobic. The atmosphere Noyce creates for DEAD CALM is one that is almost another character in the film: thick, oppressive, ominous. It’s enough to give you pause before going sailing on the open ocean. Hitchcock would’ve been proud of Noyce’s thriller skills.
But as accomplished a suspense director as Noyce is, he would be adrift without his trio of wonderful stars. Sam Neill, Nicole Kidman, and Billy Zane are all perfectly cast. Neill is someone I have always thought of as the “thinking person’s hunk.” He’s hypnotically-gorgeous but also has considerable depth, intelligence, and range to him. He’s been the bright spots in many films, and his performance here is no exception. He turns John Ingram into the kind of guy you would want by your side in an emergency, the kind that is always the first one there for you when the chips are down. John’s cool-but-soulful manner is a great match for Rae’s vulnerability. He likes to protect, and she needs the protection - at least, at first.
Speaking of Rae, she is easily one of the most intriguing heroines in the Thriller Genre. Right up there with Ellen Ripley from ALIEN, Clarice Starling in THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS, and Helen Hudson from COPYCAT. Like all these ladies - yes, even Ripley - Rae has a very vulnerable side, and this is what we see in the beginning when she’s trying to recover from the tragic death of her son. But, as the old saying goes: “stormy seas test character.” This literally happens in DEAD CALM: Rae’s struggles to save not only John but also herself from Hughie’s psychosis is what uncovers the core of steel within her character. Nicole Kidman made her mark with this role, and she deservedly went on to international stardom because of it. Truly, a star was born.
As the third point of the triangle, Billy Zane brings a manic energy and scary intensity to the role of Hughie Warriner. In some scenes, Hughie comes across as soulful and lost, but in others he is icy, calm, and calculating. And then in others he is explosive and raging. it’s this chameleon-like, unpredictable quality of the character’s that Zane perfectly taps into. Zane keeps you guessing with his performance, and we feel the same push-pull of sympathy for Hughie - even when it becomes clear that he is one messed-up individual.
In the end, DEAD CALM is a classic thriller that succeeds because of its gifted cast and director. It’s a shame that SLIVER didn’t turn out the same way…
(You know how they say “never pick up hitchers on the side of the road?” Well, same goes for the open sea…)
CAST: Sam Neill, Nicole Kidman, Billy Zane.
DIRECTOR: Phillip Noyce
WARNING: Some SPOILERS and strong arguments for never ever ever ever ever ever picking up seafaring hitchers - straight ahead…
As I’ve mentioned many times before, one of my favorite “misunderstood” films is the 1993 thriller SLIVER. The novel by Ira Levin was about a Manhattan book editor who is seduced into a world of voyeurism and murder after moving into a sleek highrise that is filled with secret video cameras. The book was a huge hit upon its publication in 1991, and it was a no-brainer that it would follow Levin’s previous works onto the silver screen. Some of Levin’s past novels that were turned into films include ROSEMARY’S BABY, THE BOYS FROM BRAZIL, THE STEPFORD WIVES, and A KISS BEFORE DYING. Not exactly clunkers, eh? Well… maybe A KISS BEFORE DYING could’ve been a little better. But, hey… Levin’s still sporting a more-than-good batting average, right?
As pre-production moved forward on SLIVER, one promising sign after another materialized: (1) Sharon Stone, hot off BASIC INSTINCT, was cast as controlled-but-vulnerable book editor Carly Norris; (2) William Baldwin, hot off BACKDRAFT, was cast as her sexy-but-potentially deadly love interest, Zeke Hawkins; (3) the New Age group Enigma would compose some of the film’s score, to include a couple of tracks devoted to Stone’s character Carly: “Carly’s Song” and “Carly’s Loneliness”; and (4) the most promising sign of all: Aussie director Phillip Noyce was hired to direct.
Why was this last bit so great? Easy. Noyce directed the 1989 Sam Neill-Nicole Kidman chiller DEAD CALM. For anyone who has seen DEAD CALM, that’s pretty much all I need to say. For anyone who has not seen it, I say: “Really? Are you kidding?” And then I would say, “DEAD CALM is an awesome classic thriller. What are you waiting for?” Bottom line: if anyone could turn SLIVER into a classic thriller, it was Noyce. DEAD CALM was such a tense, riveting, scary, atmospheric journey into darkness and survival, that imagining the possibilities for SLIVER under his helm was sublime.
Unfortunately, as well all know by now, SLIVER didn’t turn into the classic thriller I’d hoped for. The major reason for this was the studio compromising Noyce and writer Joe Eszterhas’s (BASIC INSTINCT) vision for SLIVER. While the novel was a straightforward thriller with erotic overtones, they decided to turn the film into more of a dark romance chronicling reserved book editor Carly Norris' journey to the dark side of love - and her decision not to return.
In fact, SLIVER’s controversial original ending (Carly discovering Zeke is actually the killer - and staying with him anyhow) is what prompted the studio to scramble up a new one to satisfy audiences who just weren’t interested in moral ambiguity. Noyce and Stone preferred the original ending, and if the studio had the balls to support them and their vision, SLIVER would’ve been a much more eerie, memorable, and sinister thriller - and better remembered than it is.
DEAD CALM, on the other hand, enjoys a much more favorable reputation. Like SLIVER and it's sleek tower buidling, DEAD CALM is also set in a very confined location: two boats floating in the middle of the Pacific. On one boat, we have John Ingram (Sam Neill) and his wife Rae (Nicole Kidman). John is an officer in the Australian Navy, and is taking time off to cruise the high seas with Rae - who, shall we say, has issues.
You see, not too long ago, John and Rae’s young son was killed in a car accident - with Rae driving. Rae barely survived herself, and since then has been recovering from her ensuing nervous breakdown. John and the doctors hope that a quiet cruise in the Pacific is just what she needs to get back on her feet. Oh, how wrong they are…
You see, the occupant of the other boat I mentioned is Hughie Warriner (Billy Zane), a loony American who is apparently the sole survivor of mass food poisoning that killed all of his shipmates, a bunch of bimbo/model wannabes and their skeezy photographer. When Hughie spots John and Rae’s ship on the horizon, he understandably chooses not to hang out with his pal’s corpses anymore - and skedaddles on out of there in a dinghy.
John and Rae, being warm and classy Aussies, extend a big welcome to the jibbering Hughie. He tells them his story about the food poisoning and how grateful he is that they just happened to sail by. Otherwise, who knows what he would’ve done to stay alive. Which bring an interesting, if also very disgusting, question to my mind: if you eat the corpse of someone who died from food poisoning - would you die from food poisoning yourself? Hmmmmmm……
Whatever. After storytelling hour, Hughie retires to his cabin. Rae, being a sensitive and sweet person, sympathizes with Hughie’s ordeal. John, on the other hand, being a career Naval officer, knows bullshit when he smells it. He decides to take the dinghy back to the other boat and investigate, and see if Hughie is on the up-and-up. Or if he and Rae are dealing with a seafaring version of Charlie Manson.
What will John find on the other boat? Did Hughie’s shipmates actually die from food poisoning? Or something else? What is Hughie hiding? What does he have planned for his rescuers? Will John and Rae survive their encounter with him? Will Rae continue to be a trembling wuss? Or will she nut up and fight back to keep her and her man alive? What happens when Hughie tries to put the moves on her? Does he actually think he can compete against a guy who is a Naval Officer and also looks like Sam Neill?
Silly bastard. Sam Neill is The Hotness…
BUT, SERIOUSLY: I remember the first time I saw DEAD CALM back in 1990. I remember thinking, “this is a perfect thriller.” And it actually does come very close. One of this film’s major assets is how visceral and raw it feels. In our recent review for BLACK WIDOW (review # 259) we talked about how thrillers are meant to thrill - and thrills are an emotional response. Director Phillip Noyce understands that and uses his considerable suspense techniques to elicit gut reactions from us and his actors.
He also manages the neat trick of having an open ocean setting feel clammy and claustrophobic. The atmosphere Noyce creates for DEAD CALM is one that is almost another character in the film: thick, oppressive, ominous. It’s enough to give you pause before going sailing on the open ocean. Hitchcock would’ve been proud of Noyce’s thriller skills.
But as accomplished a suspense director as Noyce is, he would be adrift without his trio of wonderful stars. Sam Neill, Nicole Kidman, and Billy Zane are all perfectly cast. Neill is someone I have always thought of as the “thinking person’s hunk.” He’s hypnotically-gorgeous but also has considerable depth, intelligence, and range to him. He’s been the bright spots in many films, and his performance here is no exception. He turns John Ingram into the kind of guy you would want by your side in an emergency, the kind that is always the first one there for you when the chips are down. John’s cool-but-soulful manner is a great match for Rae’s vulnerability. He likes to protect, and she needs the protection - at least, at first.
Speaking of Rae, she is easily one of the most intriguing heroines in the Thriller Genre. Right up there with Ellen Ripley from ALIEN, Clarice Starling in THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS, and Helen Hudson from COPYCAT. Like all these ladies - yes, even Ripley - Rae has a very vulnerable side, and this is what we see in the beginning when she’s trying to recover from the tragic death of her son. But, as the old saying goes: “stormy seas test character.” This literally happens in DEAD CALM: Rae’s struggles to save not only John but also herself from Hughie’s psychosis is what uncovers the core of steel within her character. Nicole Kidman made her mark with this role, and she deservedly went on to international stardom because of it. Truly, a star was born.
As the third point of the triangle, Billy Zane brings a manic energy and scary intensity to the role of Hughie Warriner. In some scenes, Hughie comes across as soulful and lost, but in others he is icy, calm, and calculating. And then in others he is explosive and raging. it’s this chameleon-like, unpredictable quality of the character’s that Zane perfectly taps into. Zane keeps you guessing with his performance, and we feel the same push-pull of sympathy for Hughie - even when it becomes clear that he is one messed-up individual.
In the end, DEAD CALM is a classic thriller that succeeds because of its gifted cast and director. It’s a shame that SLIVER didn’t turn out the same way…
# 259 - SLEEPING WITH THE ENEMY (1991)
SLEEPING WITH THE ENEMY (1991 - THRILLER / DRAMA) *** out of *****
(Another reason to marry a Goofy Guido instead of a Rich Yuppie…)
CAST: Julia Roberts, Patrick Bergin, Kevin Anderson, Elizabeth Lawrence, Kyle Secor, Claudette Nevins, Nancy Fish.
DIRECTOR: Joseph Ruben
WARNING: Some SPOILERS and strong argument for never dating anyone who lives in a beach house and drives a Mercedes.
There was a period starting in 1990, when she hit pay-dirt as the “ho-with-a-heart-of-gold” in PRETTY WOMAN, all the way to 2001, when she won “Best Actress” for her bravura turn in ERIN BROCKOVICH, that Julia Roberts could do no wrong. Heck, she could’ve played a crackwhore peddling drugs to middle-schoolers and still would have probably received a Distinguished Service Award from the Los Angeles Public Schools agency. In fact, there are unconfirmed reports that thousands of men across the nation, in the years following the release of PRETTY WOMAN, decided to marry the hookers they were banging and make honest women out of them. Would I make this shit up?
That’s how strong J. Ro’s mo-jo was in her day. Memo to the Twitter Generation: your Kristen Stewarts and Dakota Fannings ain’t got nothing on the Divine Ms. Roberts during her prime. But they can probably drink her bathwater from that time.
In SLEEPING WITH THE ENEMY, Roberts plays Laura Burney. Laura is married to rich yuppie Martin (Patrick Bergin), who is some sort of financial whiz whose salary allows him to have: (1) an art-deco mansion on the beach; (2) a luxury sports car; (3) a state-of-the-art gym right in his mansion; and (4) the general air of a rich asshole. What I have found in my life is that, generally speaking, the more white collar-successful a guy is, the worse he is in bed. So when we meet Laura for the first time, she understandably looks like a cat that has lived next to a firing range for most of its life: a little jumpy. Methinks she needs to hang out with construction workers, waiters, and Guidos instead. Girl, sex-wise, blue-collar is where it's at. Your world... will be rocked. You’ll be walking around with a smile on your face for weeks.
But I digress. Again. Of course, to be completely fair, the fact that Martin, you know, beats the crap out of her every week or so may have something to do with her general unhappiness, as well. Yes, folks… you read that right. Our Martin is an asshole who thinks his success allows him to lift a hand to his woman. And our poor Laura seems to be content to turn the other cheek to this treatment. It would be admirable if it weren’t so sad. I mean, from their one sex scene, Martin doesn’t exactly perform like someone so awesome you’d forgive him for the occasional shin-kick or bitch-slap thrown your way. In other words: Laura, darling, we need to talk…
Fortunately, Laura turns out to be a more crafty chick than neither we nor her douchebag husband gave her credit for. Turns out she’s been plotting an escape from him for some time now. To wit, she has secretly been: (1) taking swimming lessons; (2) stashing away huge amounts of money; and (3) trying to find the perfect opportunity to, you know, “accidentally” get lost at sea. Since everyone knows she can’t swim, her disappearance will logically chalked up to drowning. I have to say I’m somewhat impressed with our little Laura…
Sure enough, Laura doesn’t have to wait long for an opportunity. After her weekly beating (you guys think I’m kidding, but I assure you I am not), Martin take Laura to go sailing with one of their neighbors. The stars must have aligned for Laura, because everything falls into place: a stormy night, big waves, and Martin too busy doing “sailor-man-stuff” with their neighbor to notice her, you know, jumping overboard.
Long story short, Laura swims back to their beach house under cover of darkness, grabs some clothes, her secret stash of cash, tosses her wedding ring into the toilet, and jumps on the next Greyhound bound for… well, we’re not exactly sure yet. But the fact that Martin The Choad is still back on the boat, freaking out and screaming “Laura! Laura! Laura! Laura!” like a little bitch, while she is speeding away to parts unknown for a new life, is enough to make us rejoice a little and dance a jig. Take that, fucker…
Anyhow, the Greyhound eventually dumps Laura in lovely and exotic… Cedar Falls, Iowa. Hey, look what the hell were you expecting? Ibiza? Capri? Schmucks, please… At any rate, Laura starts the long process of turning herself into… “Sarah Waters.” As Sarah, Laura does the following: (1) rents out a house that is Martin-free; (2) leaves the handtowels in the bathroom in a total disarray - something Martin would’ve given her the Knuckle Sandwich for back home; and (3) makes the acquaintance of a hot dork named Ben (Kevin Anderson) - and let’s just say Ben seriously needs a haircut. He’s not a Goofy Guido, but at least he doesn’t throw Laura across the room whenever his dinner is a minute or two late to the table. Baby steps, you know?
Is it happily ever after for Laura, er, Sarah and Ben? Don’t bet on it, because unbeknownst to our Cedar Falls couple, one wife-beating financial wizard back in Boston has just discovered that his thought-to-have-drowned wife was actually a frequent face at the local gym, where she - oh, shit - took swimming lessons. This revelation, and the fact that the plumbing at the beach house is apparently worthless because it can‘t even flush wedding rings properly, makes Martin realize that he’s been seriously punked. Ha ha, Take that, fucker.
I don’t have to tell you folks that Martin basically turns into the Terminator, only much scrawnier - and with a 70’s porn star mustache. Soon, it becomes his sole mission to find Laura and take her back, no matter what it takes. So, I suppose you could say that Laura is basically Sarah Conner now, only with bigger lips.
Will Martin The Terminator find Sarah Waters-Connor AKA Laura? And what does he plan to do when he finds her? Besides mop the floor with her, that is. Will Ben be able to protect Laura? Or is Ben the one needing protecting? How will Laura defend herself from someone who is basically the T-2000, only scrawnier? How, I ask?
Who knows. All I can tell Laura is this: if you somehow escape Martin for good, find yourself a nice sweet Guido, have lots of babies, and open an Italian restaurant where all your kids can work as waiters.
That’s what I’m doing. Except for the babies part. But that’s not for lack of trying.
BUT, SERIOUSLY: I wrote in the intro that Julia Roberts has the uncanny ability to win audiences over. That is never more true than in SLEEPING WITH THE ENEMY. If it weren’t for her empathic, sensitive performance as the abused Laura Burney, this film would be an average thriller and nothing more. With Roberts in the central role, though, the movie rises a bit above the norm. This is because we become invested in Laura’s journey and her attempts to rebuild her life. Julia Roberts makes that journey worthwhile. One scene, in particular, beautifully showcases all of Robert's strength in mining Laura's combo of quiet dignity and inner pain: the scene on the Greyhound where she obliquely tells a stranger the sad tale of her marriage. It's an affecting passage that is easily the best one in the whole movie.
Patrick Bergin and Kevin Anderson are okay in their roles, but the script doesn’t really do much to flesh them out beyond the standard “bad guy-good guy” pairing. At least Ben gets some shadings and a little backstory that give him a bit of nuance. Bergin, on the other hand, is playing a nearly one-note character. We do get an intriguing moment where Martin, arriving home after the Coast Guard has unsuccessfully searched for Laura, glimpses his reflection in a sliding glass door - and shatters it out of self-hatred. If there had been more moments like this, Martin might have made a more flesh-and-blood villain - instead of a nearly robotic one.
The plot is also surprisingly straightforward. There aren’t many twists and turns, and events unfold in an almost mechanical way. Some suspense is generated by the knowledge that Martin is closing in on Laura, while she herself is completely unaware of this fact. Hitchcock defined suspense as the audience knowing more than the characters onscreen do, and that is certainly the case here. Still, you can’t help but feel like more suspense should have been created by Laura's situation. My theory is that the script could’ve used some complications to keep things from being too linear.
In the end, it’s Julia Roberts who saves SLEEPING WITH THE ENEMY. Without her, this would’ve been a rote thriller. With her, it is a slightly above average thriller buoyed by waves of emotional depth that stem from her commanding central performance. Now, that’s talent…
(Another reason to marry a Goofy Guido instead of a Rich Yuppie…)
CAST: Julia Roberts, Patrick Bergin, Kevin Anderson, Elizabeth Lawrence, Kyle Secor, Claudette Nevins, Nancy Fish.
DIRECTOR: Joseph Ruben
WARNING: Some SPOILERS and strong argument for never dating anyone who lives in a beach house and drives a Mercedes.
There was a period starting in 1990, when she hit pay-dirt as the “ho-with-a-heart-of-gold” in PRETTY WOMAN, all the way to 2001, when she won “Best Actress” for her bravura turn in ERIN BROCKOVICH, that Julia Roberts could do no wrong. Heck, she could’ve played a crackwhore peddling drugs to middle-schoolers and still would have probably received a Distinguished Service Award from the Los Angeles Public Schools agency. In fact, there are unconfirmed reports that thousands of men across the nation, in the years following the release of PRETTY WOMAN, decided to marry the hookers they were banging and make honest women out of them. Would I make this shit up?
That’s how strong J. Ro’s mo-jo was in her day. Memo to the Twitter Generation: your Kristen Stewarts and Dakota Fannings ain’t got nothing on the Divine Ms. Roberts during her prime. But they can probably drink her bathwater from that time.
In SLEEPING WITH THE ENEMY, Roberts plays Laura Burney. Laura is married to rich yuppie Martin (Patrick Bergin), who is some sort of financial whiz whose salary allows him to have: (1) an art-deco mansion on the beach; (2) a luxury sports car; (3) a state-of-the-art gym right in his mansion; and (4) the general air of a rich asshole. What I have found in my life is that, generally speaking, the more white collar-successful a guy is, the worse he is in bed. So when we meet Laura for the first time, she understandably looks like a cat that has lived next to a firing range for most of its life: a little jumpy. Methinks she needs to hang out with construction workers, waiters, and Guidos instead. Girl, sex-wise, blue-collar is where it's at. Your world... will be rocked. You’ll be walking around with a smile on your face for weeks.
But I digress. Again. Of course, to be completely fair, the fact that Martin, you know, beats the crap out of her every week or so may have something to do with her general unhappiness, as well. Yes, folks… you read that right. Our Martin is an asshole who thinks his success allows him to lift a hand to his woman. And our poor Laura seems to be content to turn the other cheek to this treatment. It would be admirable if it weren’t so sad. I mean, from their one sex scene, Martin doesn’t exactly perform like someone so awesome you’d forgive him for the occasional shin-kick or bitch-slap thrown your way. In other words: Laura, darling, we need to talk…
Fortunately, Laura turns out to be a more crafty chick than neither we nor her douchebag husband gave her credit for. Turns out she’s been plotting an escape from him for some time now. To wit, she has secretly been: (1) taking swimming lessons; (2) stashing away huge amounts of money; and (3) trying to find the perfect opportunity to, you know, “accidentally” get lost at sea. Since everyone knows she can’t swim, her disappearance will logically chalked up to drowning. I have to say I’m somewhat impressed with our little Laura…
Sure enough, Laura doesn’t have to wait long for an opportunity. After her weekly beating (you guys think I’m kidding, but I assure you I am not), Martin take Laura to go sailing with one of their neighbors. The stars must have aligned for Laura, because everything falls into place: a stormy night, big waves, and Martin too busy doing “sailor-man-stuff” with their neighbor to notice her, you know, jumping overboard.
Long story short, Laura swims back to their beach house under cover of darkness, grabs some clothes, her secret stash of cash, tosses her wedding ring into the toilet, and jumps on the next Greyhound bound for… well, we’re not exactly sure yet. But the fact that Martin The Choad is still back on the boat, freaking out and screaming “Laura! Laura! Laura! Laura!” like a little bitch, while she is speeding away to parts unknown for a new life, is enough to make us rejoice a little and dance a jig. Take that, fucker…
Anyhow, the Greyhound eventually dumps Laura in lovely and exotic… Cedar Falls, Iowa. Hey, look what the hell were you expecting? Ibiza? Capri? Schmucks, please… At any rate, Laura starts the long process of turning herself into… “Sarah Waters.” As Sarah, Laura does the following: (1) rents out a house that is Martin-free; (2) leaves the handtowels in the bathroom in a total disarray - something Martin would’ve given her the Knuckle Sandwich for back home; and (3) makes the acquaintance of a hot dork named Ben (Kevin Anderson) - and let’s just say Ben seriously needs a haircut. He’s not a Goofy Guido, but at least he doesn’t throw Laura across the room whenever his dinner is a minute or two late to the table. Baby steps, you know?
Is it happily ever after for Laura, er, Sarah and Ben? Don’t bet on it, because unbeknownst to our Cedar Falls couple, one wife-beating financial wizard back in Boston has just discovered that his thought-to-have-drowned wife was actually a frequent face at the local gym, where she - oh, shit - took swimming lessons. This revelation, and the fact that the plumbing at the beach house is apparently worthless because it can‘t even flush wedding rings properly, makes Martin realize that he’s been seriously punked. Ha ha, Take that, fucker.
I don’t have to tell you folks that Martin basically turns into the Terminator, only much scrawnier - and with a 70’s porn star mustache. Soon, it becomes his sole mission to find Laura and take her back, no matter what it takes. So, I suppose you could say that Laura is basically Sarah Conner now, only with bigger lips.
Will Martin The Terminator find Sarah Waters-Connor AKA Laura? And what does he plan to do when he finds her? Besides mop the floor with her, that is. Will Ben be able to protect Laura? Or is Ben the one needing protecting? How will Laura defend herself from someone who is basically the T-2000, only scrawnier? How, I ask?
Who knows. All I can tell Laura is this: if you somehow escape Martin for good, find yourself a nice sweet Guido, have lots of babies, and open an Italian restaurant where all your kids can work as waiters.
That’s what I’m doing. Except for the babies part. But that’s not for lack of trying.
BUT, SERIOUSLY: I wrote in the intro that Julia Roberts has the uncanny ability to win audiences over. That is never more true than in SLEEPING WITH THE ENEMY. If it weren’t for her empathic, sensitive performance as the abused Laura Burney, this film would be an average thriller and nothing more. With Roberts in the central role, though, the movie rises a bit above the norm. This is because we become invested in Laura’s journey and her attempts to rebuild her life. Julia Roberts makes that journey worthwhile. One scene, in particular, beautifully showcases all of Robert's strength in mining Laura's combo of quiet dignity and inner pain: the scene on the Greyhound where she obliquely tells a stranger the sad tale of her marriage. It's an affecting passage that is easily the best one in the whole movie.
Patrick Bergin and Kevin Anderson are okay in their roles, but the script doesn’t really do much to flesh them out beyond the standard “bad guy-good guy” pairing. At least Ben gets some shadings and a little backstory that give him a bit of nuance. Bergin, on the other hand, is playing a nearly one-note character. We do get an intriguing moment where Martin, arriving home after the Coast Guard has unsuccessfully searched for Laura, glimpses his reflection in a sliding glass door - and shatters it out of self-hatred. If there had been more moments like this, Martin might have made a more flesh-and-blood villain - instead of a nearly robotic one.
The plot is also surprisingly straightforward. There aren’t many twists and turns, and events unfold in an almost mechanical way. Some suspense is generated by the knowledge that Martin is closing in on Laura, while she herself is completely unaware of this fact. Hitchcock defined suspense as the audience knowing more than the characters onscreen do, and that is certainly the case here. Still, you can’t help but feel like more suspense should have been created by Laura's situation. My theory is that the script could’ve used some complications to keep things from being too linear.
In the end, it’s Julia Roberts who saves SLEEPING WITH THE ENEMY. Without her, this would’ve been a rote thriller. With her, it is a slightly above average thriller buoyed by waves of emotional depth that stem from her commanding central performance. Now, that’s talent…
# 258 - BLACK WIDOW (1987)
BLACK WIDOW (1987 - THRILLER / DRAMA ) **** out of *****
(Well, I guess that‘s one way to get rich…)
CAST: Debra Winger, Theresa Russell, Dennis Hopper, Nicol Williamson, Sami Frey, Terry O’Quinn, D.W. Moffet, Diane Ladd, Leo Rossi.
DIRECTOR: Bob Rafelson
WARNING: Some SPOILERS and two hot chicks squaring off against each other - straight ahead…
The thing that I love the most about the Thriller and Horror Genres is that, contrary to popular belief, they are usually female-driven with strong heroines fronting many of them, or at least co-starring. But what I don’t like about the Thriller and Horror Genres is that, despite their usually capable heroines, they generally revolve around female victims. Even films with solid and complex heroines like THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS, COPYCAT, SLIVER, THE CARD PLAYER, and THE BEDROOM WINDOW, unfortunately also pivoted around a plot where women were victimized by male antagonists.
So, it’s a welcome change, then, to encounter a film like BLACK WIDOW wherein a woman is the one preying on the men. Why shouldn’t men get to be imperiled for a change? Who says they always have to be the ones doing the chasing. In BLACK WIDOW, it’s a woman who gets to the chasing - while another woman chases her. And I don’t mean in a KISSING JESSICA STEIN way. Although there are some hints of that. Ahem.
Our villain is Rinny Walker (Theresa Russell), a fabulously wealthy chick who has come to Hawaii to vacation - and to find a new husband. At this point, you’re probably thinking, “Big fucking whoop - without those chicks Hawaii would go under…” Yes, you’re right. But our Rinny is a little different. To wit, she: (1) is also known as Catherine, Marielle, or Margaret - depending on whether you are in New York, Dallas, or Seattle; (2) has been married thrice before under these aliases; and (3) killed all three of her husbands with poison and passed the deaths off as natural causes - and made off with their money.
To the Gold Diggers in the audience, please do not try this at home. There are safer, faster, and less illegal ways to get rich. This only has a chance in hell of working if you have Theresa Russell’s cat-like allure. Or if you’re a character in a thriller. Anyhow, Rinny has lucked out three times with her schtick of “loving ‘em-and-losing ‘em (with poison).” And has become a very rich woman because of it.
Fortunately, there are actually some law enforcement folks who actually show up for work and pay attention. She is our heroine, Alex Barnes (Debra Winger), and she is an analyst for the Department of Justice. While trying to sniff out a pattern in mafia-related killings, Alex inadvertently stumbles across the all-too-similar deaths of Rinny’s first two husbands. Supposedly, they died from some crap called Ondine’s Curse - which causes unexplained fatal interruption in breathing. The same thing that, you know, poison does. Jesus Christ, these people…
Anyhow, Alex proves to be worthy of her title of “DOJ Bloodhound Analyst” and starts to suspect that the wives of the dead rich men from New York and Dallas are one and the same. And that this woman has basically decided her lottery ticket is acting as the human version of a black widow spider - except the spiders don’t get to have very fat portfolios and financial statements. Hence the title. No, they didn’t call this flick BLACK WIDOW because GOLD-DIGGING MURDEROUS WHORE was already taken.
Sadly, while Alex is indeed a talented sleuth, she is not quite quick enough to keep Rinny (locally known as Margaret) from killing her husband in Seattle. By the time Alex shows up there, the cops are basically wrapping everything shut and calling it - you got it - Ondine’s curse - and Margaret has basically scampered off to Hawaii to become - you got it - Rinny. And the Seattle PD basically laughs Alex out of the office when she tells them her “Black Widow” theory. I should mention that the cops doing the “That’s interesting, now run along, toots” routine are all men. Natch.
So, even more determined now (if that’s even remotely possible) to nab her quarry, Alex quits her DOJ gig, hops on the next plane to Hawaii - and basically turns into Renee Russo from THE THOMAS CROWN AFFAIR, only she’s not chasing a billionaire playboy thief, but rather, a millionaire gold-digger murderess. In other words: let the games begin. In even more words: the chase is on, baby.
Not long after arriving in Hawaii, Alex “runs into” Rinny - only she’s changed her name to Jessica Bates. Rinny and “Jessica” instantly hit it off as pals, and Rinny even introduces her to Paul (Sami Frey), a local billionaire. You know what that means, right? If Rinny has anything to say about it, his days as a bachelor - and living human being - are numbered.
Will Alex step in and warn Paul about Rinny’s past? Or will she fall under Rinny’s spell, as well? Is Rinny completely oblivious to the fact that “Jessica” is an undercover agent for the Department of Justice? Or has she been playing Alex all along? What happens when Alex finds herself falling for Paul? How is this bizarre love triangle going to be resolved? And the most important question of all: are the cops in New York, Dallas, and Seattle as dense as this movie makes them out to be?
Well, let’s at least hope some of the cops are hot. That more than makes up for it.
BUT, SERIOUSLY: Almost European in its methodical way of telling its story and fleshing out its characters, BLACK WIDOW is a prime example of a film that succeeds because of its execution. Taking its sweet time to unfold, while also delineating the people who inhabit its sensual world, was the right way to go with this thriller. It’s a very “feminine” style, and considering the film revolves around two women in a very intriguing relationship with one another, it’s entirely appropriate. A more kinetic, gritty, and linear treatment would’ve ruined this film’s surreal, dreamy vibe - and, hence, the movie itself.
Equal parts Hitchcockian thriller, modern film-noir, and twin character studies, BLACK WIDOW works as well as it does because all of these elements are expertly-weaved in the script. From the first act, when Alex first catches on to the string of deaths that everyone else has missed and starts her investigation, to the middle act that sees Alex and Rinny’s growing relationship, to the third act where they morally square off against each other, this movie never lets go of your attention - and your emotions. Director Bob Rafelson cannily appeals to our feelings and senses, making BLACK WIDOW a seductive experience from beginning to end.
The supporting cast is very good, with Sami Frey, Dennis Hopper, and Nicol Williamson all vivid and distinct as the various husbands who fall prey to Rinny. Frey gets the most screen time, and he hits all the right notes of exotic appeal, manly stoicism, and intriguing mystery - making it understandable why Alex would find herself falling for him against her better judgement.
But this film belongs to its female leads. In a word, Theresa Russell and Debra Winger are sensational. The danger with a character like Rinny is you risk weakening her by providing too much backstory. With villains, sometimes the less you know about why they do what they do, the better. With Rinny, we only get tantalizing, oblique hints as to what has driven her to become a serial murderess - albeit an elegant one. And this makes her endlessly fascinating. Rinny has the ability to be a chameleon, and to turn herself into what her latest victim wants and needs, and it takes a very talented actress to play that complexity believably. And Theresa Russell is that actress.
More than matching Russell is Debra Winger as the rough-around-the-edges but brilliant Alex Barnes. Someone once said to me that “vision is the ability to see something that no one else can.” It can mean seeing the great potential in a person who everyone else dismisses - which makes you fight to the death for that person. Or it can mean seeing an end result that everyone else deems unattainable. Or it can simply mean believing in your convictions enough to stand by them. And that is what Alex Barnes has. Intuitively, she hones in on the truth behind the seemingly unrelated deaths of Rinny’s past husbands, when no one else thinks anything is wrong.
But Alex is more than just keen-witted intellectual abilities. She’s also human. This is evidenced by her unexpected attraction to Paul. Her job of nabbing Rinny would be a lot easier if she didn’t have to wrestle with her growing feelings for him. The scenes where Alex and Paul bond, and Alex has to drop her “tough cookie” façade to reveal the nervous woman beneath, unaccustomed to attention from handsome men, are some of BLACK WIDOW’s best. And Debra Winger beautifully plays all of Alex’s sides - hard, soft, and in-between. It’s a shame we see so very little of her these days.
Special mention should be made for BLACK WIDOW’s vibrant and lush cinematography, which breathes additional atmosphere into almost every scene. Whether New York, Seattle, Dallas, or Hawaii, the settings burst into colorful life. This is one beautiful movie to look at. It’s also a great movie to listen to: Michael Small’s score is one of the best unreleased scores I have ever heard: brooding, romantic, ominous, suspenseful, seductive, thrilling, and unforgettable. Someone please release this music somehow!
(UPDATE: I've just learned that Michael Small's score for BLACK WIDOW was released in 2006 on an extremely limited run of 1200 copies. My copy is on its way! YIPPEEE!!!!)
All in all, BLACK WIDOW is a film that appeals to the senses and emotions. It may not be able to withstand too much intellectual scrutiny, but as Alfred Hitchcock himself has proven with his films: a thriller is about thrills - and thrills are primarily born from emotion. Even so-called intellectual thrills.
(Well, I guess that‘s one way to get rich…)
CAST: Debra Winger, Theresa Russell, Dennis Hopper, Nicol Williamson, Sami Frey, Terry O’Quinn, D.W. Moffet, Diane Ladd, Leo Rossi.
DIRECTOR: Bob Rafelson
WARNING: Some SPOILERS and two hot chicks squaring off against each other - straight ahead…
The thing that I love the most about the Thriller and Horror Genres is that, contrary to popular belief, they are usually female-driven with strong heroines fronting many of them, or at least co-starring. But what I don’t like about the Thriller and Horror Genres is that, despite their usually capable heroines, they generally revolve around female victims. Even films with solid and complex heroines like THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS, COPYCAT, SLIVER, THE CARD PLAYER, and THE BEDROOM WINDOW, unfortunately also pivoted around a plot where women were victimized by male antagonists.
So, it’s a welcome change, then, to encounter a film like BLACK WIDOW wherein a woman is the one preying on the men. Why shouldn’t men get to be imperiled for a change? Who says they always have to be the ones doing the chasing. In BLACK WIDOW, it’s a woman who gets to the chasing - while another woman chases her. And I don’t mean in a KISSING JESSICA STEIN way. Although there are some hints of that. Ahem.
Our villain is Rinny Walker (Theresa Russell), a fabulously wealthy chick who has come to Hawaii to vacation - and to find a new husband. At this point, you’re probably thinking, “Big fucking whoop - without those chicks Hawaii would go under…” Yes, you’re right. But our Rinny is a little different. To wit, she: (1) is also known as Catherine, Marielle, or Margaret - depending on whether you are in New York, Dallas, or Seattle; (2) has been married thrice before under these aliases; and (3) killed all three of her husbands with poison and passed the deaths off as natural causes - and made off with their money.
To the Gold Diggers in the audience, please do not try this at home. There are safer, faster, and less illegal ways to get rich. This only has a chance in hell of working if you have Theresa Russell’s cat-like allure. Or if you’re a character in a thriller. Anyhow, Rinny has lucked out three times with her schtick of “loving ‘em-and-losing ‘em (with poison).” And has become a very rich woman because of it.
Fortunately, there are actually some law enforcement folks who actually show up for work and pay attention. She is our heroine, Alex Barnes (Debra Winger), and she is an analyst for the Department of Justice. While trying to sniff out a pattern in mafia-related killings, Alex inadvertently stumbles across the all-too-similar deaths of Rinny’s first two husbands. Supposedly, they died from some crap called Ondine’s Curse - which causes unexplained fatal interruption in breathing. The same thing that, you know, poison does. Jesus Christ, these people…
Anyhow, Alex proves to be worthy of her title of “DOJ Bloodhound Analyst” and starts to suspect that the wives of the dead rich men from New York and Dallas are one and the same. And that this woman has basically decided her lottery ticket is acting as the human version of a black widow spider - except the spiders don’t get to have very fat portfolios and financial statements. Hence the title. No, they didn’t call this flick BLACK WIDOW because GOLD-DIGGING MURDEROUS WHORE was already taken.
Sadly, while Alex is indeed a talented sleuth, she is not quite quick enough to keep Rinny (locally known as Margaret) from killing her husband in Seattle. By the time Alex shows up there, the cops are basically wrapping everything shut and calling it - you got it - Ondine’s curse - and Margaret has basically scampered off to Hawaii to become - you got it - Rinny. And the Seattle PD basically laughs Alex out of the office when she tells them her “Black Widow” theory. I should mention that the cops doing the “That’s interesting, now run along, toots” routine are all men. Natch.
So, even more determined now (if that’s even remotely possible) to nab her quarry, Alex quits her DOJ gig, hops on the next plane to Hawaii - and basically turns into Renee Russo from THE THOMAS CROWN AFFAIR, only she’s not chasing a billionaire playboy thief, but rather, a millionaire gold-digger murderess. In other words: let the games begin. In even more words: the chase is on, baby.
Not long after arriving in Hawaii, Alex “runs into” Rinny - only she’s changed her name to Jessica Bates. Rinny and “Jessica” instantly hit it off as pals, and Rinny even introduces her to Paul (Sami Frey), a local billionaire. You know what that means, right? If Rinny has anything to say about it, his days as a bachelor - and living human being - are numbered.
Will Alex step in and warn Paul about Rinny’s past? Or will she fall under Rinny’s spell, as well? Is Rinny completely oblivious to the fact that “Jessica” is an undercover agent for the Department of Justice? Or has she been playing Alex all along? What happens when Alex finds herself falling for Paul? How is this bizarre love triangle going to be resolved? And the most important question of all: are the cops in New York, Dallas, and Seattle as dense as this movie makes them out to be?
Well, let’s at least hope some of the cops are hot. That more than makes up for it.
BUT, SERIOUSLY: Almost European in its methodical way of telling its story and fleshing out its characters, BLACK WIDOW is a prime example of a film that succeeds because of its execution. Taking its sweet time to unfold, while also delineating the people who inhabit its sensual world, was the right way to go with this thriller. It’s a very “feminine” style, and considering the film revolves around two women in a very intriguing relationship with one another, it’s entirely appropriate. A more kinetic, gritty, and linear treatment would’ve ruined this film’s surreal, dreamy vibe - and, hence, the movie itself.
Equal parts Hitchcockian thriller, modern film-noir, and twin character studies, BLACK WIDOW works as well as it does because all of these elements are expertly-weaved in the script. From the first act, when Alex first catches on to the string of deaths that everyone else has missed and starts her investigation, to the middle act that sees Alex and Rinny’s growing relationship, to the third act where they morally square off against each other, this movie never lets go of your attention - and your emotions. Director Bob Rafelson cannily appeals to our feelings and senses, making BLACK WIDOW a seductive experience from beginning to end.
The supporting cast is very good, with Sami Frey, Dennis Hopper, and Nicol Williamson all vivid and distinct as the various husbands who fall prey to Rinny. Frey gets the most screen time, and he hits all the right notes of exotic appeal, manly stoicism, and intriguing mystery - making it understandable why Alex would find herself falling for him against her better judgement.
But this film belongs to its female leads. In a word, Theresa Russell and Debra Winger are sensational. The danger with a character like Rinny is you risk weakening her by providing too much backstory. With villains, sometimes the less you know about why they do what they do, the better. With Rinny, we only get tantalizing, oblique hints as to what has driven her to become a serial murderess - albeit an elegant one. And this makes her endlessly fascinating. Rinny has the ability to be a chameleon, and to turn herself into what her latest victim wants and needs, and it takes a very talented actress to play that complexity believably. And Theresa Russell is that actress.
More than matching Russell is Debra Winger as the rough-around-the-edges but brilliant Alex Barnes. Someone once said to me that “vision is the ability to see something that no one else can.” It can mean seeing the great potential in a person who everyone else dismisses - which makes you fight to the death for that person. Or it can mean seeing an end result that everyone else deems unattainable. Or it can simply mean believing in your convictions enough to stand by them. And that is what Alex Barnes has. Intuitively, she hones in on the truth behind the seemingly unrelated deaths of Rinny’s past husbands, when no one else thinks anything is wrong.
But Alex is more than just keen-witted intellectual abilities. She’s also human. This is evidenced by her unexpected attraction to Paul. Her job of nabbing Rinny would be a lot easier if she didn’t have to wrestle with her growing feelings for him. The scenes where Alex and Paul bond, and Alex has to drop her “tough cookie” façade to reveal the nervous woman beneath, unaccustomed to attention from handsome men, are some of BLACK WIDOW’s best. And Debra Winger beautifully plays all of Alex’s sides - hard, soft, and in-between. It’s a shame we see so very little of her these days.
Special mention should be made for BLACK WIDOW’s vibrant and lush cinematography, which breathes additional atmosphere into almost every scene. Whether New York, Seattle, Dallas, or Hawaii, the settings burst into colorful life. This is one beautiful movie to look at. It’s also a great movie to listen to: Michael Small’s score is one of the best unreleased scores I have ever heard: brooding, romantic, ominous, suspenseful, seductive, thrilling, and unforgettable. Someone please release this music somehow!
(UPDATE: I've just learned that Michael Small's score for BLACK WIDOW was released in 2006 on an extremely limited run of 1200 copies. My copy is on its way! YIPPEEE!!!!)
All in all, BLACK WIDOW is a film that appeals to the senses and emotions. It may not be able to withstand too much intellectual scrutiny, but as Alfred Hitchcock himself has proven with his films: a thriller is about thrills - and thrills are primarily born from emotion. Even so-called intellectual thrills.
# 257 - WHEN A STRANGER CALLS (2006)
WHEN A STRANGER CALLS (2006 - THRILLER / SUSPENSE) **1/2 out of *****
(Next time, sweetie, pay attention to the section in “Babysitter Training“ that talks about “Gigs You Should Definitely Turn Down“…)
CAST: Camilla Belle, Katie Cassidy, Tommy Flanagan, Derek De Lint, Clark Gregg, Kate Jennings Grant, Tessa Thompson, Brian Geraghty.
DIRECTOR: Simon West
WARNING: Some SPOILERS and one seriously dedicated - if also a little stupid - babysitter straight ahead.
When I was growing up, kids got punished for an entirely different set of crap that kids today get in trouble for. Some of the things me and my siblings got in hot water for (in order of frequency): (1) sassing our elders; (2) doing badly in school; (3) staying out too late; (3) sneaking ice cream out of the freezer (seriously); and (5) accidentally burning down an entire field with firecrackers stuck in water buffalo dung. I wish I were joking about that last one. But I’m not. Suffice it to say, if you’re going to plant firecrackers in water buffalo dung, make sure it’s not surrounded by dry grass. I didn’t see the sun for a month after that stunt. Goddamn, my Dad was pissed.
These days, the kind of things that teens get in trouble for is a completely different array of crap (no pun intended). Some of these things might include, but are not limited to, the following: (1) posting inappropriate pictures of themselves on their Facebook accounts; (2) going to websites they’re not supposed to be laying eyes on; and (3) busting the maximum limit of their minutes on their cellphones and therefore (4) racking up a bill so huge the Republicans may be tempted to come in and slash it in half. Meow.
Those last two bits (besides the Republicans part) is pivotal to our next review, the 2006 remake of the 1979 thriller semi-classic WHEN A STRANGER CALLS. Our heroine, Jill Johnson (Camilla Belle), has racked up a gargantuan cellphone bill trying to work out the bubble-gum love triangle between her, her friend Tiffany (Katie Cassidy), and Jill’s boyfriend Bobby (Brian Geraghty) - whom Tiffany has recently, shall we say, milked to the last drop. Slurp.
Anyhow, the price of a million “I can’t believe you fucked him” phone calls is a steep one. And Jill’s parents expect her pay every red cent on that bill herself. Hence, the shitty babysitting job that Jill finds herself in. The house is located, literally, in the middle of nowhere. At least it looks like Franklin Lloyd Wright designed the fucking thing. The way I see it, if you’re going to be stranded with two brats in the boonies, at least let the house be a really awesome one. Now, all Jill needs is another 1,238,342 babysitting jobs to be able earn enough money to pay off that phone bill.
Our story kicks off when Jill’s dad (Clark Gregg) drops her off at Fallingwater, er, the awesome house in the middle of nowhere. The rich couple whom she’s babysitting for, the Mandrakises (Derek DeLint and Kate Jennings Grant) barely have enough time to say “Hi, if you invite your boyfriend over please don’t fuck on our bed because the sheets are brand new, bye.” Oh, and they advise Jill that the children are already sleeping, and not to disturb them because it was apparently easier to get a crack-addicted chimpanzee to take a nap. And then they’re off, leaving Jill to wander around the house and wonder who she should screw to be able to live in such a grand place. Memo to Jill: the answer just walked out the door with his wife.
At any rate, Jill whiles away the evening by doing the following: (1) exploring the gargantuan house; (2) getting spooked by the sound of the refrigerator’s ice machine; (3) avoiding calls from both Bobby and Tiffany; and (4) trying to do her homework. No kidding. Who does homework these days? I didn’t even do back in the 80’s. Which would probably explain why I had to go to Summer School to pass Algebra. But whatevs…
Then Jill gets a call from some weirdo who asks her, “Have you checked the children?” To which she rightfully responds: “Mr. Mandrakis, I have not checked the children - but you can check me when you get home. Boy, can you ever check me.” Okay, kidding. She basically gets creeped out - and even more so when the guy calls back, like, a million times, asking the same thing: “Have you checked the children?”
Finally, scared (or annoyed) beyond belief, Jill calls the cops and begs them to put a trace on the call. After some hemming and hawwing, the cop on duty obliges - and tells Jill to keep the weirdo on the line longer next time so they can get a trace. She complies, basically chatting up the psycho on his favorite color, food, vacations spots, and sexual positions. Again, kidding. Still, she does manage to keep him on the line long enough to get a trace.
Unless you are not familiar with the popular urban legend called “The Killer Upstairs”, or the original WHEN A STRANGER CALLS, or the trailers for this film, you already know that the psycho has been in the house the whole time, calling from a second line upstairs, practically shaking his head in disbelief at Jill’s gullibility. Let’s just say that things get a whole lot more interesting from this point on. Thank. God.
And so begins what is basically an extending cat-and-mouse sequence between Jill and the killer through the house and the surrounding woods? Will she get away? Will she outsmart the killer? Or will he add her to his growing list of babysitter victims? What happens when Tiffany show up to make peace with Jill? Will she become a target, too? What about the kids? Are they okay? Or are they toast? Will Mr. and Mrs. Mandrakis shit a thousand bricks when they discover Jill and the killer have turned their house into an obstacle course?
I would be. The doorknobs of that place are worth more than some entire neighborhoods in South Seattle.
BUT, SERIOUSLY: In the wake of HALLOWEEN’s success in 1978, numerous films followed that used the “imperiled woman terrorized by a killer” premise to create thrills and chills. Among those, WHEN A STRANGER CALLS (1979) was a mild success. I write “mild” because the film is actually quite uneven. With the exception of its opening and closing scenes, everything else in between is actually fairly devoid of thrills. But the prologue and epilogue are master classes in suspense.
The first ten minutes and the last ten minutes of WHEN A STRANGER CALLS (1979) focus on Jill Johnson (Carol Kane), first as a babysitter, then later as an adult housewife with children of her own. In both cases, she is terrorized by a psychopathic killer (Tony Beckley). These sequences sing with rapidly building tension and simmering terror. The rest of the film dealt with a cop’s (Charles Durning) efforts to catch the killer - which were quite dull in comparison to Kane’s scenes.
WHEN A STRANGER CALLS (2006) takes the opening and ending of the original and stretches it out to feature-length. Does it succeed? Yes - and no. Yes, because the remake is better than the original, as a whole. No, because the original’s opening and closing scenes are more terrifying than the entire remake. I hope this makes sense. The bottom line is when you stretch a situation that was supposed to be no more than 15 minutes, at best, you start running into artificial reasons to pad the running time. This is something that happens all too much in the remake. There’s only so many times we can watch Jill wander around the dark house, hearing strange noises.
Also, when the killer’s presence is revealed, the ensuing chase/confrontation/stalking sequence is so protracted and redundant that it actually dispels some of the tension. This is partly because the killer is never sufficiently set-up a truly scary nemesis. He’s just a moderately threatening shadow that is almost mechanical at times. We never get the sense of flesh-and-blood psychopath - which is actually more terrifying than a superhuman automaton.
As the beleaguered heroine, Camilla Belle performs reasonably well. But, as with the quality of the original’s prologue and epilogue vs. the entire remake’s, Belle is not as affecting as Kane was in her considerably smaller role. You could actually feel Jill’s growing terror in the original film - and when she gets that phone call near the end that asks her, “Have you checked the children?” her sense of the past coming back to attack her is like a bomb dropping.
Bottom line: Belle is okay - but Kane is better. Which is essentially the way to describe WHEN A STRANGER CALLS ‘79 vs. WHEN A STRANGER CALLS ‘06.
(Next time, sweetie, pay attention to the section in “Babysitter Training“ that talks about “Gigs You Should Definitely Turn Down“…)
CAST: Camilla Belle, Katie Cassidy, Tommy Flanagan, Derek De Lint, Clark Gregg, Kate Jennings Grant, Tessa Thompson, Brian Geraghty.
DIRECTOR: Simon West
WARNING: Some SPOILERS and one seriously dedicated - if also a little stupid - babysitter straight ahead.
When I was growing up, kids got punished for an entirely different set of crap that kids today get in trouble for. Some of the things me and my siblings got in hot water for (in order of frequency): (1) sassing our elders; (2) doing badly in school; (3) staying out too late; (3) sneaking ice cream out of the freezer (seriously); and (5) accidentally burning down an entire field with firecrackers stuck in water buffalo dung. I wish I were joking about that last one. But I’m not. Suffice it to say, if you’re going to plant firecrackers in water buffalo dung, make sure it’s not surrounded by dry grass. I didn’t see the sun for a month after that stunt. Goddamn, my Dad was pissed.
These days, the kind of things that teens get in trouble for is a completely different array of crap (no pun intended). Some of these things might include, but are not limited to, the following: (1) posting inappropriate pictures of themselves on their Facebook accounts; (2) going to websites they’re not supposed to be laying eyes on; and (3) busting the maximum limit of their minutes on their cellphones and therefore (4) racking up a bill so huge the Republicans may be tempted to come in and slash it in half. Meow.
Those last two bits (besides the Republicans part) is pivotal to our next review, the 2006 remake of the 1979 thriller semi-classic WHEN A STRANGER CALLS. Our heroine, Jill Johnson (Camilla Belle), has racked up a gargantuan cellphone bill trying to work out the bubble-gum love triangle between her, her friend Tiffany (Katie Cassidy), and Jill’s boyfriend Bobby (Brian Geraghty) - whom Tiffany has recently, shall we say, milked to the last drop. Slurp.
Anyhow, the price of a million “I can’t believe you fucked him” phone calls is a steep one. And Jill’s parents expect her pay every red cent on that bill herself. Hence, the shitty babysitting job that Jill finds herself in. The house is located, literally, in the middle of nowhere. At least it looks like Franklin Lloyd Wright designed the fucking thing. The way I see it, if you’re going to be stranded with two brats in the boonies, at least let the house be a really awesome one. Now, all Jill needs is another 1,238,342 babysitting jobs to be able earn enough money to pay off that phone bill.
Our story kicks off when Jill’s dad (Clark Gregg) drops her off at Fallingwater, er, the awesome house in the middle of nowhere. The rich couple whom she’s babysitting for, the Mandrakises (Derek DeLint and Kate Jennings Grant) barely have enough time to say “Hi, if you invite your boyfriend over please don’t fuck on our bed because the sheets are brand new, bye.” Oh, and they advise Jill that the children are already sleeping, and not to disturb them because it was apparently easier to get a crack-addicted chimpanzee to take a nap. And then they’re off, leaving Jill to wander around the house and wonder who she should screw to be able to live in such a grand place. Memo to Jill: the answer just walked out the door with his wife.
At any rate, Jill whiles away the evening by doing the following: (1) exploring the gargantuan house; (2) getting spooked by the sound of the refrigerator’s ice machine; (3) avoiding calls from both Bobby and Tiffany; and (4) trying to do her homework. No kidding. Who does homework these days? I didn’t even do back in the 80’s. Which would probably explain why I had to go to Summer School to pass Algebra. But whatevs…
Then Jill gets a call from some weirdo who asks her, “Have you checked the children?” To which she rightfully responds: “Mr. Mandrakis, I have not checked the children - but you can check me when you get home. Boy, can you ever check me.” Okay, kidding. She basically gets creeped out - and even more so when the guy calls back, like, a million times, asking the same thing: “Have you checked the children?”
Finally, scared (or annoyed) beyond belief, Jill calls the cops and begs them to put a trace on the call. After some hemming and hawwing, the cop on duty obliges - and tells Jill to keep the weirdo on the line longer next time so they can get a trace. She complies, basically chatting up the psycho on his favorite color, food, vacations spots, and sexual positions. Again, kidding. Still, she does manage to keep him on the line long enough to get a trace.
Unless you are not familiar with the popular urban legend called “The Killer Upstairs”, or the original WHEN A STRANGER CALLS, or the trailers for this film, you already know that the psycho has been in the house the whole time, calling from a second line upstairs, practically shaking his head in disbelief at Jill’s gullibility. Let’s just say that things get a whole lot more interesting from this point on. Thank. God.
And so begins what is basically an extending cat-and-mouse sequence between Jill and the killer through the house and the surrounding woods? Will she get away? Will she outsmart the killer? Or will he add her to his growing list of babysitter victims? What happens when Tiffany show up to make peace with Jill? Will she become a target, too? What about the kids? Are they okay? Or are they toast? Will Mr. and Mrs. Mandrakis shit a thousand bricks when they discover Jill and the killer have turned their house into an obstacle course?
I would be. The doorknobs of that place are worth more than some entire neighborhoods in South Seattle.
BUT, SERIOUSLY: In the wake of HALLOWEEN’s success in 1978, numerous films followed that used the “imperiled woman terrorized by a killer” premise to create thrills and chills. Among those, WHEN A STRANGER CALLS (1979) was a mild success. I write “mild” because the film is actually quite uneven. With the exception of its opening and closing scenes, everything else in between is actually fairly devoid of thrills. But the prologue and epilogue are master classes in suspense.
The first ten minutes and the last ten minutes of WHEN A STRANGER CALLS (1979) focus on Jill Johnson (Carol Kane), first as a babysitter, then later as an adult housewife with children of her own. In both cases, she is terrorized by a psychopathic killer (Tony Beckley). These sequences sing with rapidly building tension and simmering terror. The rest of the film dealt with a cop’s (Charles Durning) efforts to catch the killer - which were quite dull in comparison to Kane’s scenes.
WHEN A STRANGER CALLS (2006) takes the opening and ending of the original and stretches it out to feature-length. Does it succeed? Yes - and no. Yes, because the remake is better than the original, as a whole. No, because the original’s opening and closing scenes are more terrifying than the entire remake. I hope this makes sense. The bottom line is when you stretch a situation that was supposed to be no more than 15 minutes, at best, you start running into artificial reasons to pad the running time. This is something that happens all too much in the remake. There’s only so many times we can watch Jill wander around the dark house, hearing strange noises.
Also, when the killer’s presence is revealed, the ensuing chase/confrontation/stalking sequence is so protracted and redundant that it actually dispels some of the tension. This is partly because the killer is never sufficiently set-up a truly scary nemesis. He’s just a moderately threatening shadow that is almost mechanical at times. We never get the sense of flesh-and-blood psychopath - which is actually more terrifying than a superhuman automaton.
As the beleaguered heroine, Camilla Belle performs reasonably well. But, as with the quality of the original’s prologue and epilogue vs. the entire remake’s, Belle is not as affecting as Kane was in her considerably smaller role. You could actually feel Jill’s growing terror in the original film - and when she gets that phone call near the end that asks her, “Have you checked the children?” her sense of the past coming back to attack her is like a bomb dropping.
Bottom line: Belle is okay - but Kane is better. Which is essentially the way to describe WHEN A STRANGER CALLS ‘79 vs. WHEN A STRANGER CALLS ‘06.
SNEAK PEEK: Next Week's Reviews...
Hi, folks...
Just a quick flash of our movie reviews for next week. Please see below and try to guess what our "Theme" is... Good luck! And smile!
Just a quick flash of our movie reviews for next week. Please see below and try to guess what our "Theme" is... Good luck! And smile!
REVIEW UPDATE: The Oscars and The Last Four Thriller Reviews!
Hiya, folks...
It's Oscars Weekend! And it's time to Party Hearty!!! This promises to be one of the better shows, what with Ultra-Babes James Franco and Anne Hathaway hosting. See below, and tell me I'm on crack.
Since I'm off to a soiree to celebrate said occasion tomorrow, I need to get the last of our thriller reviews posted by tonight, or tomorrow morning at the latest to stay on schedule. No worries. We'll get there. Smile!
It's Oscars Weekend! And it's time to Party Hearty!!! This promises to be one of the better shows, what with Ultra-Babes James Franco and Anne Hathaway hosting. See below, and tell me I'm on crack.
Since I'm off to a soiree to celebrate said occasion tomorrow, I need to get the last of our thriller reviews posted by tonight, or tomorrow morning at the latest to stay on schedule. No worries. We'll get there. Smile!
# 256 - COPYCAT (1995)
COPYCAT (1995 - THRILLER / MYSTERY) **** out of *****
(They say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery - but this is just a bit extreme…)
CAST: Sigourney Weaver, Holly Hunter, Dermot Mulroney, Will Patton, Harry Connick Jr., William McNamara.
DIRECTOR: Jon Amiel
WARNING: Some SPOILERS and seriously fucked-up fanboys straight ahead.
There are some jobs that look great and glamorous in movies, but when you see them up close in real life, you thank every saint in heaven that it’s not your occupation. Most of them are in law enforcement. Time after time, movies have portrayed cops as stud muffins or babes who are just a hair below movie stars and supermodels in status. Of course, the reality is very different. I know no cops who like James Franco or Charlize Theron. I’m sure they’re out there, though. Just not in my zip code, time zone, or even my lifetime.
Another law enforcement job that looks absolutely awesome on the silver screen, but is probably a lot less appetizing in reality, is that of “Criminal Psychologist.” Which is the occupation of the heroine of our latest review, COPYCAT. She is San Francisco shrink Dr. Helen Hudson (Sigourney Weaver) who, in her own words, is like “The Muse of Serial Killers.” Now, I don’t know about you folks, but that’s not exactly the kind of thing I’d be bragging about. Just saying…
Sure enough, Dr. Hudson’s rather morbid title catches up to her: after a university lecture that looks to be even better attended than your average Justin Bieber concert, she is attacked by one of the loons that she help put away. He is Darryl Lee Cullum (Harry Connick, Jr.), and he’d be kind of hot if it weren’t for the fact that his front teeth are jacked up. Oh, and the fact that he’s, well, fucking insane is yet another turn-off. Fortunately, Helen is rescued by a cop who looks like he never met a doughnut that he said “no” to. And Darryl Lee gets carted off to the loony bin, where I’m sure he’ll launch a Helen Hudson Fan Club.
I wish I could tell you folks that our good doctor bounces back from the attack like a resilient trooper. I could tell you that - but then I’d be lying through my teeth. Nope, our Helen basically turns into an emotional wreck who does the following: (1) retires from the Criminal Shrink game; (2) locks herself in her house where she never changes out of pajamas; and (3) basically surfs the Internet (or what passes for it in 1995) better than a pimply-faced 15-year old looking for porn. I believe the clinical term for Helen’s condition is “Post-Traumatic Stress With Traces of Agoraphobia.” But I think we can safely call her “A Fucking Wuss Who Doesn’t Have The Balls To Leave Her House.”
In fact, it weren’t for the sudden rash of serial killings that breaks out in the Bay area, Helen probably would’ve withered away in her luxurious loft like a hotter, but no less crazy, version of Mrs. Havisham from GREAT EXPECTATIONS. Unable to turn her back completely on her old racket, Helen calls in anonymous tips to the SFPD, feeding them hints that she used to charge an assload for. How generous of her.
Fortunately, there are actually some intelligent cops on the police force in Frisco. One of them is Mary Jane “M.J.” Monahan (Holly Hunter), and what she lacks in size and height, she makes up for in... hardboiled attitude and major-league cojones. Seriously, folks: this is one relentless chick. She may sound like a mouse, but she’s really a guided tactical fission device. Helen could actually benefit from borrowing some of M.J.’s balls. It doesn’t take long for our teeny-weeny cop to figure out the nutjob who’s been phoning in tips on the new murder case is actually the esteemed and celebrated (and traumatized) Dr. Helen Hudson.
M.J. and her partner Ruben (Dermot Mulroney) home in on Helen like a sailor gunning for the titty bar closest to the docks. Their offer to our basket case doc is fairly simple: officially lend some assistance to SFPD, since she’s already doing it anonymously anyway. After some melodramatic hemming-and-hawwing, our good doctor eventually agrees. One of the first things that Helen deduces is that the killer is doing a Greatest Hits homage to past psychos du jour. First, he dabbles in The Boston Strangler, then he goes Son of Sam, then he even tries a little Hillside Stranglers. Basically, he’s like a high school freshman trying to figure out whether to be a stoner, jock, brain, or hippie - but with a sharp knife.
Will M.J. and Helen figure out our killer’s pattern before he switches styles again? Or will he continue to emulate all the famous serial murderers who came before? Where will this bloody wild-goose chase end? And what is the killer’s plans for Helen? What about for M.J.? Or Ruben? Are either of these two ladies marked for death? What is our baddie ultimately trying to recreate? Why doesn’t he have his own style? Does he need some sort of intervention before he starts imitating Buffalo Bill?
One word: eeeewwww….
BUT, SERIOUSLY: In the wake of THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS huge success in 1991, the cinematic floodgates opened and sent forth a tidal wave of films similar in plot, if not quality. Out of all the serial killer thrillers that came out in the early-to-mid-90’s after THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS, only three are worth mentioning in the same breath as that aforementioned classic: JENNIFER EIGHT, SEVEN, and… COPYCAT.
According to criminal psychology, a serial killer’s pattern is as unique as his/her fingerprints. Meaning there are virtually never any deviations from that pattern. In COPYCAT, our heroines are faced with an adversary who not only changes his patterns at random, but he is also patterning his murders after infamous cases that have come before. This is an interesting angle for a serial killer thriller, and director Jon Amiel runs with it.
Aiding him immensely is his classy, talented cast. Sigourney Weaver is terrific as Helen Hudson. Showing signs of a Ripley-esque steely personality, but also tempering it with a deep vulnerability, Weaver turns Helen into a heroine who is both formidable and fallible. Clearly, this woman is exremely intelligent - otherwise she wouldn’t have attained that status that she has - but she is also not above being controlled by her emotions in certain situations. The result is a dichotomy that is fascinating to watch - and Weaver effortlessly sells the character.
Equally great is Holly Hunter, who subverts our notions of how a female detective looks like in movies. This is no cop who would look more at home on a runway or a photo shoot. Don’t get me wrong: Hunter is attractive, but in a more “real-world” way. Because of this authentic quality (and Hunter’s substantial acting talent), M.J. comes across as a vivid, distinct personality. Weaver and Hunter mesh well together, and make an intriguing duo. Physically, they are also interesting to look at together: Weaver, so tall and statuesque; Hunter, so petite and gamine.
Interesting note: in the original draft of COPYCAT’s screenplay, M.J. was actually a male character, and there was a romantic sub-plot between him and Helen. The decision was made to turn the role into a woman and make the relationship more of a “buddy” type. A smart choice, in my opinion.
The male supporting cast is just as riveting as the two female leads. Will Patton, William McNamara, and - especially - Harry Connick Jr. are all memorable as the men who revolve around M.J. and Helen’s orbits. Connick, in particular, is very good as the killer who has a love/hate relationship with Helen.
In the end, COPYCAT may not be THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS or even SEVEN, but it has its own merits and strengths to recommend it, not least of which are the two strong female characters at its center - who both have echoes of Jodie Foster’s Clarice Starling, one of the best movie heroines ever.
(They say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery - but this is just a bit extreme…)
CAST: Sigourney Weaver, Holly Hunter, Dermot Mulroney, Will Patton, Harry Connick Jr., William McNamara.
DIRECTOR: Jon Amiel
WARNING: Some SPOILERS and seriously fucked-up fanboys straight ahead.
There are some jobs that look great and glamorous in movies, but when you see them up close in real life, you thank every saint in heaven that it’s not your occupation. Most of them are in law enforcement. Time after time, movies have portrayed cops as stud muffins or babes who are just a hair below movie stars and supermodels in status. Of course, the reality is very different. I know no cops who like James Franco or Charlize Theron. I’m sure they’re out there, though. Just not in my zip code, time zone, or even my lifetime.
Another law enforcement job that looks absolutely awesome on the silver screen, but is probably a lot less appetizing in reality, is that of “Criminal Psychologist.” Which is the occupation of the heroine of our latest review, COPYCAT. She is San Francisco shrink Dr. Helen Hudson (Sigourney Weaver) who, in her own words, is like “The Muse of Serial Killers.” Now, I don’t know about you folks, but that’s not exactly the kind of thing I’d be bragging about. Just saying…
Sure enough, Dr. Hudson’s rather morbid title catches up to her: after a university lecture that looks to be even better attended than your average Justin Bieber concert, she is attacked by one of the loons that she help put away. He is Darryl Lee Cullum (Harry Connick, Jr.), and he’d be kind of hot if it weren’t for the fact that his front teeth are jacked up. Oh, and the fact that he’s, well, fucking insane is yet another turn-off. Fortunately, Helen is rescued by a cop who looks like he never met a doughnut that he said “no” to. And Darryl Lee gets carted off to the loony bin, where I’m sure he’ll launch a Helen Hudson Fan Club.
I wish I could tell you folks that our good doctor bounces back from the attack like a resilient trooper. I could tell you that - but then I’d be lying through my teeth. Nope, our Helen basically turns into an emotional wreck who does the following: (1) retires from the Criminal Shrink game; (2) locks herself in her house where she never changes out of pajamas; and (3) basically surfs the Internet (or what passes for it in 1995) better than a pimply-faced 15-year old looking for porn. I believe the clinical term for Helen’s condition is “Post-Traumatic Stress With Traces of Agoraphobia.” But I think we can safely call her “A Fucking Wuss Who Doesn’t Have The Balls To Leave Her House.”
In fact, it weren’t for the sudden rash of serial killings that breaks out in the Bay area, Helen probably would’ve withered away in her luxurious loft like a hotter, but no less crazy, version of Mrs. Havisham from GREAT EXPECTATIONS. Unable to turn her back completely on her old racket, Helen calls in anonymous tips to the SFPD, feeding them hints that she used to charge an assload for. How generous of her.
Fortunately, there are actually some intelligent cops on the police force in Frisco. One of them is Mary Jane “M.J.” Monahan (Holly Hunter), and what she lacks in size and height, she makes up for in... hardboiled attitude and major-league cojones. Seriously, folks: this is one relentless chick. She may sound like a mouse, but she’s really a guided tactical fission device. Helen could actually benefit from borrowing some of M.J.’s balls. It doesn’t take long for our teeny-weeny cop to figure out the nutjob who’s been phoning in tips on the new murder case is actually the esteemed and celebrated (and traumatized) Dr. Helen Hudson.
M.J. and her partner Ruben (Dermot Mulroney) home in on Helen like a sailor gunning for the titty bar closest to the docks. Their offer to our basket case doc is fairly simple: officially lend some assistance to SFPD, since she’s already doing it anonymously anyway. After some melodramatic hemming-and-hawwing, our good doctor eventually agrees. One of the first things that Helen deduces is that the killer is doing a Greatest Hits homage to past psychos du jour. First, he dabbles in The Boston Strangler, then he goes Son of Sam, then he even tries a little Hillside Stranglers. Basically, he’s like a high school freshman trying to figure out whether to be a stoner, jock, brain, or hippie - but with a sharp knife.
Will M.J. and Helen figure out our killer’s pattern before he switches styles again? Or will he continue to emulate all the famous serial murderers who came before? Where will this bloody wild-goose chase end? And what is the killer’s plans for Helen? What about for M.J.? Or Ruben? Are either of these two ladies marked for death? What is our baddie ultimately trying to recreate? Why doesn’t he have his own style? Does he need some sort of intervention before he starts imitating Buffalo Bill?
One word: eeeewwww….
BUT, SERIOUSLY: In the wake of THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS huge success in 1991, the cinematic floodgates opened and sent forth a tidal wave of films similar in plot, if not quality. Out of all the serial killer thrillers that came out in the early-to-mid-90’s after THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS, only three are worth mentioning in the same breath as that aforementioned classic: JENNIFER EIGHT, SEVEN, and… COPYCAT.
According to criminal psychology, a serial killer’s pattern is as unique as his/her fingerprints. Meaning there are virtually never any deviations from that pattern. In COPYCAT, our heroines are faced with an adversary who not only changes his patterns at random, but he is also patterning his murders after infamous cases that have come before. This is an interesting angle for a serial killer thriller, and director Jon Amiel runs with it.
Aiding him immensely is his classy, talented cast. Sigourney Weaver is terrific as Helen Hudson. Showing signs of a Ripley-esque steely personality, but also tempering it with a deep vulnerability, Weaver turns Helen into a heroine who is both formidable and fallible. Clearly, this woman is exremely intelligent - otherwise she wouldn’t have attained that status that she has - but she is also not above being controlled by her emotions in certain situations. The result is a dichotomy that is fascinating to watch - and Weaver effortlessly sells the character.
Equally great is Holly Hunter, who subverts our notions of how a female detective looks like in movies. This is no cop who would look more at home on a runway or a photo shoot. Don’t get me wrong: Hunter is attractive, but in a more “real-world” way. Because of this authentic quality (and Hunter’s substantial acting talent), M.J. comes across as a vivid, distinct personality. Weaver and Hunter mesh well together, and make an intriguing duo. Physically, they are also interesting to look at together: Weaver, so tall and statuesque; Hunter, so petite and gamine.
Interesting note: in the original draft of COPYCAT’s screenplay, M.J. was actually a male character, and there was a romantic sub-plot between him and Helen. The decision was made to turn the role into a woman and make the relationship more of a “buddy” type. A smart choice, in my opinion.
The male supporting cast is just as riveting as the two female leads. Will Patton, William McNamara, and - especially - Harry Connick Jr. are all memorable as the men who revolve around M.J. and Helen’s orbits. Connick, in particular, is very good as the killer who has a love/hate relationship with Helen.
In the end, COPYCAT may not be THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS or even SEVEN, but it has its own merits and strengths to recommend it, not least of which are the two strong female characters at its center - who both have echoes of Jodie Foster’s Clarice Starling, one of the best movie heroines ever.
# 255 - UNFORGETTABLE (1996)
UNFORGETTABLE (1996 - THRILLER / MYSTERY) ***1/2 out of *****
(Somehow, I don’t think Frankie had this kind of movie in mind as a namesake for his song…)
CAST: Ray Liotta, Linda Fiorentino, Peter Coyote, Christopher McDonald, Kim Cattrall, Stellina Rusich, David Paymer, Kim Coates, Caroline Elliott, Colleen Renison.
DIRECTOR: John Dahl
WARNING: Some SPOILERS and seriously fucked-up trips down memory lane - straight ahead…
Whenever I hear the song “Unforgettable” by Frank Sinatra, I am invariably reminded of three things: (1) Revlon’s ad campaign in the late 80’s and early 90’s that featured some of the hottest models in the world, as well as the iconic slogan: “The Most Unforgettable Women In The World Wear Revlon”; (2) a glamorous black-tie ball in a Rome hotel ballroom that I happened to catch a brief glimpse of, where handsome men in tuxes and ravishing women in evening gowns danced slowly and elegantly to the song; and (3) a guy I used to work with many, many, many years ago who tried unsuccessfully to get me to hang out with him after work by singing the fucking song to me every chance he got. I think my response to him was something along the lines of “I appreciate the serenade, but if I were you, I would find a way to forget about me - fast. If you want, I can help with that. Smashing a stapler into someone‘s head usually erases memory. May I demonstrate on you?”
Anyhow, my Frank Sinatra/BFF-wannabe was actually a mild pest in comparison to the problem plaguing the hero of our latest review, UNFORGETTABLE. He is Seattle medical examiner Dr. David Krane, and he’s not having a great year. For starters, the following has happened to him: (1) his wife Mary (Stellina Rusich) was brutally murdered not too long ago; (2) he was suspected then ultimately cleared of the crime; (3) the murderer was never found, so everyone still suspects him - including his co-workers on the police force; and (4) his kids have been taken away from him by his wife’s bitchy sister Kelly (Kim Cattrall) because, as far as Kelly’s concerned, David killed Mary.
See what I mean? This isn’t exactly the most fun period in David’s life. Unless you think being treated like a cracker version of O.J. Simpson is fun. For his part, David has clocked in a lot of time trying to find out who killed Mary - and consequently try to clear his name. Fortunately, there is a grand design over everything. Or as Buddha says: “There are no coincidences…” Or was that Kanye West?
Whatever. The point is this: two things happen that, for David, are basically the equivalent of a Lifeline while playing “Who Wants To Be A Millionaire.” First, while doing his normal M.E. activities at a crime scene involving a convenience store hold-up gone very bad, David notices something on the floor: a book of matches folded in a particular way. What’s so special about this? Oh, not much… just the fact that a similar folded-up book of matches was found at Mary’s murder scene.
So… by the Logic of Scooby-Doo and Encyclopedia Brown, David deduces that whoever killed the convenience store clerk and the art student customer must have been… the same guy who killed Mary. Still with me? Good, because it’s going to get more crazy.
The second thing that is like a ray of light for David is when he attends some boring-ass fundraiser involving university medical research. Fortunately for him, Buddha’s “everything-means-something” credo must be at work again, because at the event he meets Dr. Martha Briggs (Linda Fiorentino). Martha, despite looking like Linda Fiorentino, is one of those socially-awkward academic types who only really come alive when they’re talking about whatever stultifyingly dull project they're working on - or when they’re fighting tooth-and-nail for the grant that enables said projects.
Anyhow, Martha’s research just happens to be about… memory research. Specifically, she has developed a way to extract neurotransmitters from brain cells. When these neurotransmitters are combined with some serum/extract/whatever she’s invented, then injected into a subject, that subject experiences the memories of whomever the neurotransmitters came from. In other words - memory transfer. Okay, look… I didn’t write the fucking script, okay. If it were up to me, UNFORGETTABLE would have been a comedy where I finally decided to hang out with my Frank Sinatra/BFF-wannabe - and discovered how fun it is to beat him up whenever I want.
I don’t have to tell you that David gets into his noggin that if he uses Martha’s serum/extract/whatever and combines it with Mary’s neurotransmitters, then inject the cocktail into himself - he just might be able to see into her memory and discover who killed her. It doesn’t matter that Martha hasn’t tested her shit on humans - just on lab rats. Doesn’t bother David, though, because he evidently doesn’t give a shit. Again, please try to contain your disbelief. Save the thigh-slapping laughter for when you’re done reading the goddamned review. Suffice it to say, this movie makes THE BEDROOM WINDOW (review # 254) look like a model of plausibility.
David starts his little fucked-up experiment by stealing some of Martha’s serum/extract/whatever - then combining it with the dead art student’s neurotransmitters. This leads to an acid trip that would probably make a ‘shroom/extacy/tequila mash-up look like an after-lunch activity for Day Care. Needless to say, David gets his world rocked majorly. Which is a bad thing, according to Martha. You see, each time a subject gets a dose of Martha’s shit, it weakens their hearts. The more they, uh, shoot up with the stuff, the closer they get to croaking. In other words, we’re dealing with the medical version of Russian Roullete here, folks… The good news is David may actually find out who killed Mary. The bad news is it just might kill him. Fucking great.
So… who killed Mary? Will David solve the mystery and finally clear his name? And get his kids back? Or will Martha’s serum kill him in the process? And if it doesn’t, what about the killer himself? Will he just let David continue to get closer and closer? Is there more to Mary’s murder than David realizes? Will Martha risk her life to help David? And the most important question of all: what kind of acid trip was John Dahl on when he wrote this screenplay? Must have been a totally unforgettable one.
Seriously, man. Pass that shit around.
BUT, SERIOUSLY: In our recent review for THE BEDROOM WINDOW (review # 254), we talked about how a film with a potentially implausible series of events can be bolstered by a taut script, a talented director, and a strong cast - resulting in terrific entertainment. That film was a prime example of this fortuitous combo. Another one is UNFORGETTABLE. It may not be as elegant or classically suspenseful as THE BEDROOM WINDOW, but UNFORGETTABLE is still a very worthy thriller.
With it’s “memory transfer” premise serving as the core of a police procedural/murder mystery, UNFORGETTABLE manages to stake some unique ground and distinguish itself from others in the genre. It helps that the script is brisk, smart, and consistently interesting. It also manages to be several different thrillers at the same time: a Hitchcockian wronged-man piece; a psychological study of a man under pressure; and -most unexpectedly a surreal, Argento-esque mystery that is the closest thing to an American “giallo” as I’ve ever seen. Writer/director John Dahl does a nimble job of blending all these different flavors - and succeeds.
UNFORGETTABLE’s other major asset is its cast. Ray Liotta makes for a great, atypical hero. Liotta is a handsome man, but there is nothing cookie-cutter about it - and therefore he makes for a compelling, unexpectedly fresh lead. He has acne scars, he’s a little too aloof and intense, and he gives off a sense of not being all there - and that’s what makes him perfect for the human, quirky, and damaged character of Dr. David Krane. In a word, he’s great.
Linda Fiorentino is cast against type as the mousy and tentative Dr. Martha Briggs. We’ve gotten used to Fiorentino playing tough, assertive women, so it’s a pleasant surprise to find her playing this shy scientist who gets in way over her head while trying to help David Krane. It’s nice to see a female lead who is not a superwoman for a change, and is just a normal gal trying to survive the circumstances she’s in. The fact that Fiorentino is just as believable as the vulnerable Martha as she is playing the super-femme fatale Bridget Gregory from THE LAST SEDUCTION, attests to her talent and versatility.
The rest of the case provides solid support, with the likes of Peter Coyote, Christopher McDonald, David Paymer, and Kim Cattrall all vivid in pivotal roles. Ultimately, it may not be too difficult to determine who killed Mary, but the colorful gallery of supporting characters keep you second-guessing yourself.
Bottom line: UNFORGETTABLE may not be unforgettable, but it is memorable enough to rate way above your average thriller - enough to be a good entry in the genre.
(Somehow, I don’t think Frankie had this kind of movie in mind as a namesake for his song…)
CAST: Ray Liotta, Linda Fiorentino, Peter Coyote, Christopher McDonald, Kim Cattrall, Stellina Rusich, David Paymer, Kim Coates, Caroline Elliott, Colleen Renison.
DIRECTOR: John Dahl
WARNING: Some SPOILERS and seriously fucked-up trips down memory lane - straight ahead…
Whenever I hear the song “Unforgettable” by Frank Sinatra, I am invariably reminded of three things: (1) Revlon’s ad campaign in the late 80’s and early 90’s that featured some of the hottest models in the world, as well as the iconic slogan: “The Most Unforgettable Women In The World Wear Revlon”; (2) a glamorous black-tie ball in a Rome hotel ballroom that I happened to catch a brief glimpse of, where handsome men in tuxes and ravishing women in evening gowns danced slowly and elegantly to the song; and (3) a guy I used to work with many, many, many years ago who tried unsuccessfully to get me to hang out with him after work by singing the fucking song to me every chance he got. I think my response to him was something along the lines of “I appreciate the serenade, but if I were you, I would find a way to forget about me - fast. If you want, I can help with that. Smashing a stapler into someone‘s head usually erases memory. May I demonstrate on you?”
Anyhow, my Frank Sinatra/BFF-wannabe was actually a mild pest in comparison to the problem plaguing the hero of our latest review, UNFORGETTABLE. He is Seattle medical examiner Dr. David Krane, and he’s not having a great year. For starters, the following has happened to him: (1) his wife Mary (Stellina Rusich) was brutally murdered not too long ago; (2) he was suspected then ultimately cleared of the crime; (3) the murderer was never found, so everyone still suspects him - including his co-workers on the police force; and (4) his kids have been taken away from him by his wife’s bitchy sister Kelly (Kim Cattrall) because, as far as Kelly’s concerned, David killed Mary.
See what I mean? This isn’t exactly the most fun period in David’s life. Unless you think being treated like a cracker version of O.J. Simpson is fun. For his part, David has clocked in a lot of time trying to find out who killed Mary - and consequently try to clear his name. Fortunately, there is a grand design over everything. Or as Buddha says: “There are no coincidences…” Or was that Kanye West?
Whatever. The point is this: two things happen that, for David, are basically the equivalent of a Lifeline while playing “Who Wants To Be A Millionaire.” First, while doing his normal M.E. activities at a crime scene involving a convenience store hold-up gone very bad, David notices something on the floor: a book of matches folded in a particular way. What’s so special about this? Oh, not much… just the fact that a similar folded-up book of matches was found at Mary’s murder scene.
So… by the Logic of Scooby-Doo and Encyclopedia Brown, David deduces that whoever killed the convenience store clerk and the art student customer must have been… the same guy who killed Mary. Still with me? Good, because it’s going to get more crazy.
The second thing that is like a ray of light for David is when he attends some boring-ass fundraiser involving university medical research. Fortunately for him, Buddha’s “everything-means-something” credo must be at work again, because at the event he meets Dr. Martha Briggs (Linda Fiorentino). Martha, despite looking like Linda Fiorentino, is one of those socially-awkward academic types who only really come alive when they’re talking about whatever stultifyingly dull project they're working on - or when they’re fighting tooth-and-nail for the grant that enables said projects.
Anyhow, Martha’s research just happens to be about… memory research. Specifically, she has developed a way to extract neurotransmitters from brain cells. When these neurotransmitters are combined with some serum/extract/whatever she’s invented, then injected into a subject, that subject experiences the memories of whomever the neurotransmitters came from. In other words - memory transfer. Okay, look… I didn’t write the fucking script, okay. If it were up to me, UNFORGETTABLE would have been a comedy where I finally decided to hang out with my Frank Sinatra/BFF-wannabe - and discovered how fun it is to beat him up whenever I want.
I don’t have to tell you that David gets into his noggin that if he uses Martha’s serum/extract/whatever and combines it with Mary’s neurotransmitters, then inject the cocktail into himself - he just might be able to see into her memory and discover who killed her. It doesn’t matter that Martha hasn’t tested her shit on humans - just on lab rats. Doesn’t bother David, though, because he evidently doesn’t give a shit. Again, please try to contain your disbelief. Save the thigh-slapping laughter for when you’re done reading the goddamned review. Suffice it to say, this movie makes THE BEDROOM WINDOW (review # 254) look like a model of plausibility.
David starts his little fucked-up experiment by stealing some of Martha’s serum/extract/whatever - then combining it with the dead art student’s neurotransmitters. This leads to an acid trip that would probably make a ‘shroom/extacy/tequila mash-up look like an after-lunch activity for Day Care. Needless to say, David gets his world rocked majorly. Which is a bad thing, according to Martha. You see, each time a subject gets a dose of Martha’s shit, it weakens their hearts. The more they, uh, shoot up with the stuff, the closer they get to croaking. In other words, we’re dealing with the medical version of Russian Roullete here, folks… The good news is David may actually find out who killed Mary. The bad news is it just might kill him. Fucking great.
So… who killed Mary? Will David solve the mystery and finally clear his name? And get his kids back? Or will Martha’s serum kill him in the process? And if it doesn’t, what about the killer himself? Will he just let David continue to get closer and closer? Is there more to Mary’s murder than David realizes? Will Martha risk her life to help David? And the most important question of all: what kind of acid trip was John Dahl on when he wrote this screenplay? Must have been a totally unforgettable one.
Seriously, man. Pass that shit around.
BUT, SERIOUSLY: In our recent review for THE BEDROOM WINDOW (review # 254), we talked about how a film with a potentially implausible series of events can be bolstered by a taut script, a talented director, and a strong cast - resulting in terrific entertainment. That film was a prime example of this fortuitous combo. Another one is UNFORGETTABLE. It may not be as elegant or classically suspenseful as THE BEDROOM WINDOW, but UNFORGETTABLE is still a very worthy thriller.
With it’s “memory transfer” premise serving as the core of a police procedural/murder mystery, UNFORGETTABLE manages to stake some unique ground and distinguish itself from others in the genre. It helps that the script is brisk, smart, and consistently interesting. It also manages to be several different thrillers at the same time: a Hitchcockian wronged-man piece; a psychological study of a man under pressure; and -most unexpectedly a surreal, Argento-esque mystery that is the closest thing to an American “giallo” as I’ve ever seen. Writer/director John Dahl does a nimble job of blending all these different flavors - and succeeds.
UNFORGETTABLE’s other major asset is its cast. Ray Liotta makes for a great, atypical hero. Liotta is a handsome man, but there is nothing cookie-cutter about it - and therefore he makes for a compelling, unexpectedly fresh lead. He has acne scars, he’s a little too aloof and intense, and he gives off a sense of not being all there - and that’s what makes him perfect for the human, quirky, and damaged character of Dr. David Krane. In a word, he’s great.
Linda Fiorentino is cast against type as the mousy and tentative Dr. Martha Briggs. We’ve gotten used to Fiorentino playing tough, assertive women, so it’s a pleasant surprise to find her playing this shy scientist who gets in way over her head while trying to help David Krane. It’s nice to see a female lead who is not a superwoman for a change, and is just a normal gal trying to survive the circumstances she’s in. The fact that Fiorentino is just as believable as the vulnerable Martha as she is playing the super-femme fatale Bridget Gregory from THE LAST SEDUCTION, attests to her talent and versatility.
The rest of the case provides solid support, with the likes of Peter Coyote, Christopher McDonald, David Paymer, and Kim Cattrall all vivid in pivotal roles. Ultimately, it may not be too difficult to determine who killed Mary, but the colorful gallery of supporting characters keep you second-guessing yourself.
Bottom line: UNFORGETTABLE may not be unforgettable, but it is memorable enough to rate way above your average thriller - enough to be a good entry in the genre.
# 254 - THE BEDROOM WINDOW (1987)
THE BEDROOM WINDOW (1987 - SUSPENSE / THRILLER ) **** out of *****
(Terry, you fucking idiot… Cardinal rule of sex: you only go out of your way to help hotties you haven‘t already slept with - after you nail them, they‘re on their own…)
CAST: Steve Guttenberg, Elizabeth McGovern, Isabelle Huppert, Brad Greenquist, Carl Lumbly, Paul Shenar, Frederick Coffin, Wallace Shawn.
DIRECTOR: Curtis Hanson
WARNING: Some SPOILERS and one colossal dumbass - straight ahead…
A good friend of mine whom we will call “Forest Whitaker” because he looks like a more athletic version of the actor (sorry, Mr. Whitaker) says that there are a few thrillers that are completely free of bonehead decisions on the part of its characters. The Thriller and Horror genres, more than any other, are often dependent upon their players behaving as if they have the survival instincts of bungee jumpers on meth. If these folks behaved the way people do in real life, they wouldn’t be in any kind of trouble - and, I suppose, there wouldn‘t be any movies.
But, no… time and again, people in Thrillers and Horror Movies always choose the wrong thing to do - which often lead to: (1) danger, (2) dismemberment, and (3) death. Some examples include: (1) playing detective when there are people who get paid to do that shit, thank you very much; (2) not getting out of a dangerous location when the getting is good; (3) forgetting how to run properly when the inevitable chase scene happens; or (4) developing the alertness level of comatose potatoes. Basically, “Forest” is dead on with his assessment: even the most brilliant entries in these genre have at least one thing a key character does that defies logic, but is necessary to push the plot forward. The only thriller that I can think of that is (arguably) free of any bonehead decisions is THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS. Jodie Foster’s Clarice Starling pretty much behaved in a level-headed way all throughout, making decisions you or I might make if we were in her shoes. But the rest of them? You’d be forgiven for wondering if there were such a disease as “Horror/Thriller Movie Character Random IQ Drop“.
That’s definitely the disease afflicting Terry Lambert (Steve Guttenberg), the hero of our latest review, the 1987 Hitchcock homage THE BEDROOM WINDOW. Instead of breaking down the plot as per my usual manner, I will instead list the colossal “Oh, My God! You Fucking Idiot” moments that our hero Terry unleashes on us during the course of the movie:
1. Barely two minutes in, Terry is already walking down the Bonehead Path. He has just left an important office party at the architectural firm he works at. What’s so bad about that? Well, he’s brought with him his boss’s wife, Sylvia (Isabelle Huppert). In other words, while Terry is clearly smart enough to get an architectural degree and get employed by Baltimore’s top firm, he is clearly not smart enough to forego risking it all on a couple of “Who’s Your Daddy?” sessions with his employer’s woman. All together now: “Oh, My God! You Fucking Idiot!”
2. About five minutes in, God Almighty proves he has a sense of humor. Not long after Terry and Sylvia have a bunch of illicit orgasms, Terry goes off to, I guess, trim his pubes or something. Sylvia, on the other hand, hears a scream, looks out the, ahem, bedroom window, and sees… a woman getting attacked in the park below by a creepy-looking redhead. Sylvia opens the window - loudly - and scares off the attacker, leaving the woman behind. Terry comes back from, I guess, manscaping his johnson and asks “Whazzup?” To which, Sylvia pretty much says, “I just witnessed an attempted murder, dipshit, while you were carving animal shapes in your pubic hair. Asshole.” This is a problem for Sylvia, because if she comes forward as a witness, everyone will know she was in Terry’s apartment - and that will be the end of that. So what does Terry do? He calls the police and says he was the one who witnessed that assault on the woman below.
Once more, with feeling: “Oh, My God. You Fucking Idiot!”
3. With the Baltimore cops treating Terry like a star witness, he shows up at the station acting like Cock of the Block. There he meets the girl that was attacked. She is a smokin’ hot chick named Denise (Elizabeth McGovern), and she basically wonders why Terry acts like he’s never seen her before. Ah-fucking-hem, folks. Maybe it’s because he is, you know, not really the witness. Using Sylvia’s description of the assailant, Terry tries to pick the best match from the line-up. Which is kind of scary, when you think about it. What it if he gets it wrong? Too flustered, Terry tells the police he can’t be sure. This doesn’t stop him from tailing Carl Hendeson, the guy (Brad Greenquist) that best fits Sylvia’s description. Yes, folks… our hero Terry has decided to become a Hardy Boy and add sleuthing after suspected killers to his already established skills of architecture and fucking the boss‘s wife.
Yes, it’s time again, folks: “Oh, my God! You Fucking Idiot!”
4. Terry’s snooping after Carl eventually convinces him that Carl is the killer. Especially after another girl is attacked - and this time, murdered. Right after Terry saw Carl eye-fucking her in a bar. In other words, while Terry was stalking Carl, Carl was stalking this chick. Scary, ain’t it. This time, Terry goes to the police and basically says something along the very reasonable and convincing lines of “Gee, guys… shucks, but I think the guy who attacked Denise is that creepy redhead named Carl Henderson - and he might have killed this new chick. Is it too late to finger him?” Fortunately, the Baltimore detectives on the case, Detectives Quirk (Carl Lumbly) and Jessup (Frederick Coffin), are either too stupid or too amused by this dork of a witness to do anything but indulge him and take him at his word.
This one goes out to Terry, Quirk, and Jessup: “Oh, My God. You Fucking Idiots!”
Trust me, there are more of these head-slapping moments through THE BEDROOM WINDOW. Such as the scene wherein Terry blatantly keeps looking at Sylvia in the audience at Henderson’s trial to see what he should say on the stand. Such as the scene where Terry forgets to tell the prosecuting attorney that he wears contacts - which is used by Henderson’s defense attorney to destroy their case. Such as the scene where Terry pretty much leads Henderson to Sylvia, therefore exposing her to danger. Such as the scene where Terry recruits Denise to help trap Henderson before he kills again.
I mean, why not? Denise survived an attack from Henderson once. Why not push her luck?
A-one, a-two, a-one-two-three-four: “OH. MY. GOD!!! YOU FUCKING IDIOTS!!!”
Trust me: "Forest" would go into epileptic seizures over this flick.
BUT, SERIOUSLY: Sometimes, if you have a cleverly-written script, the right director, and a cast that is just as talented as it is attractive, you can get away with murder. Or at least some sizable suspensions of disbelief. Such a film is THE BEDROOM WINDOW. It has a script that is an engaging and exciting compendium of Alfred Hitchcock’s themes. It is written and directed by Curtis Hanson, who would go on to direct L.A. CONFIDENTIAL, WONDER BOYS, and 8 MILE. It’s toplined by Steve Guttenberg, Elizabeth McGovern, and Isabelle Huppert. In other words, it succeeds more than it has any right to.
One of the main reasons THE BEDROOM WINDOW hooks us for the ride is the intriguing premise at its core: an eyewitness can’t come forward because of an illicit affair, so her lover does it for her - and everything explodes and goes wrong for her, him, and the woman whose assault the movie pivots on. The key thing to the plot is you have to believe Terry’s decision to come forward and pretend to be the witness so that justice can be served - while protecting his and Sylvia’s privacy at the same time.
Many critics have knocked Steve Guttenberg in this film for being so goofy and loose, but I think that’s the reason we buy Terry’s actions. In Guttenberg’s hands, Terry is an amiable romantic whose infatuation with Sylvia pushes him to “impress” her with his gallantry. Clearly, he wants justice. But, just as clearly, he wants this elegant, sophisticated woman to think favorably of him. What guy (or gal) hasn’t been in that position? Bottom line: Guttenberg is perfect as Terry - he makes the character believably flawed and human - but always likable.
As the two major female characters, Elizabeth McGovern and Isabelle Huppert are smashingly good, and almost steal the show from Guttenberg. McGovern’s Denise is actually the film’s true heroine, despite Huppert’s Sylvia initially getting prominent treatment as the “eyewitness.” As the story moves forward, Denise gradually shapes up to be an extremely valuable ally to Terry, determined to help him nab her attacker. Meanwhile, Sylvia increasingly distances herself from the whole thing, fearing it will expose her affair with Terry and destroy her marriage. McGovern’s direct, no-bullshit take on Denise is a great contrast to Huppert’s cooler and more calculating interpretation of Sylvia. You almost feel like Terry is James Bond, and Denise is the “Good Bond Girl” and Sylvia is the “Bad Bond Girl” - or at least the “Not-So-Good Bond Girl.”
The rest of the cast is good, especially Brad Greenquist as the killer Carl Henderson. Despite his sizable role, he only has two lines in the film. Which actually has the great effect of making him seem even more menacing. Henderson is scary because of his… ordinariness. If you saw him on the street, you’d think he was an average guy - and not the vicious killer that he is. Isn’t how they all are? Bottom line: Greenquist makes Henderson into a memorable villain. And as I mentioned to my screenwriter pal “Brad Pitt” recently, “a thriller is only as good as its villain.” And THE BEDROOM WINDOW’s villain is a great one.
In the end, THE BEDROOM WINDOW is one of the better Hitchcockian homages. It succeeds in selling some potentially implausible scenarios with a confident script, a talented director, and a cast that is both beautiful and commanding. In short, it’s a very good thriller.
(Terry, you fucking idiot… Cardinal rule of sex: you only go out of your way to help hotties you haven‘t already slept with - after you nail them, they‘re on their own…)
CAST: Steve Guttenberg, Elizabeth McGovern, Isabelle Huppert, Brad Greenquist, Carl Lumbly, Paul Shenar, Frederick Coffin, Wallace Shawn.
DIRECTOR: Curtis Hanson
WARNING: Some SPOILERS and one colossal dumbass - straight ahead…
A good friend of mine whom we will call “Forest Whitaker” because he looks like a more athletic version of the actor (sorry, Mr. Whitaker) says that there are a few thrillers that are completely free of bonehead decisions on the part of its characters. The Thriller and Horror genres, more than any other, are often dependent upon their players behaving as if they have the survival instincts of bungee jumpers on meth. If these folks behaved the way people do in real life, they wouldn’t be in any kind of trouble - and, I suppose, there wouldn‘t be any movies.
But, no… time and again, people in Thrillers and Horror Movies always choose the wrong thing to do - which often lead to: (1) danger, (2) dismemberment, and (3) death. Some examples include: (1) playing detective when there are people who get paid to do that shit, thank you very much; (2) not getting out of a dangerous location when the getting is good; (3) forgetting how to run properly when the inevitable chase scene happens; or (4) developing the alertness level of comatose potatoes. Basically, “Forest” is dead on with his assessment: even the most brilliant entries in these genre have at least one thing a key character does that defies logic, but is necessary to push the plot forward. The only thriller that I can think of that is (arguably) free of any bonehead decisions is THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS. Jodie Foster’s Clarice Starling pretty much behaved in a level-headed way all throughout, making decisions you or I might make if we were in her shoes. But the rest of them? You’d be forgiven for wondering if there were such a disease as “Horror/Thriller Movie Character Random IQ Drop“.
That’s definitely the disease afflicting Terry Lambert (Steve Guttenberg), the hero of our latest review, the 1987 Hitchcock homage THE BEDROOM WINDOW. Instead of breaking down the plot as per my usual manner, I will instead list the colossal “Oh, My God! You Fucking Idiot” moments that our hero Terry unleashes on us during the course of the movie:
1. Barely two minutes in, Terry is already walking down the Bonehead Path. He has just left an important office party at the architectural firm he works at. What’s so bad about that? Well, he’s brought with him his boss’s wife, Sylvia (Isabelle Huppert). In other words, while Terry is clearly smart enough to get an architectural degree and get employed by Baltimore’s top firm, he is clearly not smart enough to forego risking it all on a couple of “Who’s Your Daddy?” sessions with his employer’s woman. All together now: “Oh, My God! You Fucking Idiot!”
2. About five minutes in, God Almighty proves he has a sense of humor. Not long after Terry and Sylvia have a bunch of illicit orgasms, Terry goes off to, I guess, trim his pubes or something. Sylvia, on the other hand, hears a scream, looks out the, ahem, bedroom window, and sees… a woman getting attacked in the park below by a creepy-looking redhead. Sylvia opens the window - loudly - and scares off the attacker, leaving the woman behind. Terry comes back from, I guess, manscaping his johnson and asks “Whazzup?” To which, Sylvia pretty much says, “I just witnessed an attempted murder, dipshit, while you were carving animal shapes in your pubic hair. Asshole.” This is a problem for Sylvia, because if she comes forward as a witness, everyone will know she was in Terry’s apartment - and that will be the end of that. So what does Terry do? He calls the police and says he was the one who witnessed that assault on the woman below.
Once more, with feeling: “Oh, My God. You Fucking Idiot!”
3. With the Baltimore cops treating Terry like a star witness, he shows up at the station acting like Cock of the Block. There he meets the girl that was attacked. She is a smokin’ hot chick named Denise (Elizabeth McGovern), and she basically wonders why Terry acts like he’s never seen her before. Ah-fucking-hem, folks. Maybe it’s because he is, you know, not really the witness. Using Sylvia’s description of the assailant, Terry tries to pick the best match from the line-up. Which is kind of scary, when you think about it. What it if he gets it wrong? Too flustered, Terry tells the police he can’t be sure. This doesn’t stop him from tailing Carl Hendeson, the guy (Brad Greenquist) that best fits Sylvia’s description. Yes, folks… our hero Terry has decided to become a Hardy Boy and add sleuthing after suspected killers to his already established skills of architecture and fucking the boss‘s wife.
Yes, it’s time again, folks: “Oh, my God! You Fucking Idiot!”
4. Terry’s snooping after Carl eventually convinces him that Carl is the killer. Especially after another girl is attacked - and this time, murdered. Right after Terry saw Carl eye-fucking her in a bar. In other words, while Terry was stalking Carl, Carl was stalking this chick. Scary, ain’t it. This time, Terry goes to the police and basically says something along the very reasonable and convincing lines of “Gee, guys… shucks, but I think the guy who attacked Denise is that creepy redhead named Carl Henderson - and he might have killed this new chick. Is it too late to finger him?” Fortunately, the Baltimore detectives on the case, Detectives Quirk (Carl Lumbly) and Jessup (Frederick Coffin), are either too stupid or too amused by this dork of a witness to do anything but indulge him and take him at his word.
This one goes out to Terry, Quirk, and Jessup: “Oh, My God. You Fucking Idiots!”
Trust me, there are more of these head-slapping moments through THE BEDROOM WINDOW. Such as the scene wherein Terry blatantly keeps looking at Sylvia in the audience at Henderson’s trial to see what he should say on the stand. Such as the scene where Terry forgets to tell the prosecuting attorney that he wears contacts - which is used by Henderson’s defense attorney to destroy their case. Such as the scene where Terry pretty much leads Henderson to Sylvia, therefore exposing her to danger. Such as the scene where Terry recruits Denise to help trap Henderson before he kills again.
I mean, why not? Denise survived an attack from Henderson once. Why not push her luck?
A-one, a-two, a-one-two-three-four: “OH. MY. GOD!!! YOU FUCKING IDIOTS!!!”
Trust me: "Forest" would go into epileptic seizures over this flick.
BUT, SERIOUSLY: Sometimes, if you have a cleverly-written script, the right director, and a cast that is just as talented as it is attractive, you can get away with murder. Or at least some sizable suspensions of disbelief. Such a film is THE BEDROOM WINDOW. It has a script that is an engaging and exciting compendium of Alfred Hitchcock’s themes. It is written and directed by Curtis Hanson, who would go on to direct L.A. CONFIDENTIAL, WONDER BOYS, and 8 MILE. It’s toplined by Steve Guttenberg, Elizabeth McGovern, and Isabelle Huppert. In other words, it succeeds more than it has any right to.
One of the main reasons THE BEDROOM WINDOW hooks us for the ride is the intriguing premise at its core: an eyewitness can’t come forward because of an illicit affair, so her lover does it for her - and everything explodes and goes wrong for her, him, and the woman whose assault the movie pivots on. The key thing to the plot is you have to believe Terry’s decision to come forward and pretend to be the witness so that justice can be served - while protecting his and Sylvia’s privacy at the same time.
Many critics have knocked Steve Guttenberg in this film for being so goofy and loose, but I think that’s the reason we buy Terry’s actions. In Guttenberg’s hands, Terry is an amiable romantic whose infatuation with Sylvia pushes him to “impress” her with his gallantry. Clearly, he wants justice. But, just as clearly, he wants this elegant, sophisticated woman to think favorably of him. What guy (or gal) hasn’t been in that position? Bottom line: Guttenberg is perfect as Terry - he makes the character believably flawed and human - but always likable.
As the two major female characters, Elizabeth McGovern and Isabelle Huppert are smashingly good, and almost steal the show from Guttenberg. McGovern’s Denise is actually the film’s true heroine, despite Huppert’s Sylvia initially getting prominent treatment as the “eyewitness.” As the story moves forward, Denise gradually shapes up to be an extremely valuable ally to Terry, determined to help him nab her attacker. Meanwhile, Sylvia increasingly distances herself from the whole thing, fearing it will expose her affair with Terry and destroy her marriage. McGovern’s direct, no-bullshit take on Denise is a great contrast to Huppert’s cooler and more calculating interpretation of Sylvia. You almost feel like Terry is James Bond, and Denise is the “Good Bond Girl” and Sylvia is the “Bad Bond Girl” - or at least the “Not-So-Good Bond Girl.”
The rest of the cast is good, especially Brad Greenquist as the killer Carl Henderson. Despite his sizable role, he only has two lines in the film. Which actually has the great effect of making him seem even more menacing. Henderson is scary because of his… ordinariness. If you saw him on the street, you’d think he was an average guy - and not the vicious killer that he is. Isn’t how they all are? Bottom line: Greenquist makes Henderson into a memorable villain. And as I mentioned to my screenwriter pal “Brad Pitt” recently, “a thriller is only as good as its villain.” And THE BEDROOM WINDOW’s villain is a great one.
In the end, THE BEDROOM WINDOW is one of the better Hitchcockian homages. It succeeds in selling some potentially implausible scenarios with a confident script, a talented director, and a cast that is both beautiful and commanding. In short, it’s a very good thriller.
REVIEW UPDATE: Revised Thriller Schedule...
Hello, folks... Hope everyone is savoring the last bits of the weekend like the dregs of a particularly awesome bottle of Chardonnay (and Pinot - simultaneously). It's been a great weekend, and I hope everyone has enjoyed it!
At any rate, please note that I am tweaking the Thriller Flick list a little. I'm pulling COMA for a future line-up, and replacing it with the classic thriller DEAD CALM, which put Nicole Kidman on the map, and features Sam Neill at his hottest.
Please find the new list below, and please expect the first of the Thriller reviews to start posting tomorrow or so with THE BEDROOM WINDOW...
Have a great week, folks. Smile!
# 254 - THE BEDROOM WINDOW
# 255 - UNFORGETTABLE
# 256 - COPYCAT
# 257 - WHEN A STRANGER CALLS
# 258 - BLACK WIDOW
# 259 - SLEEPING WITH THE ENEMY
# 260 - DEAD CALM
Have great one, folks. Be happy and Zen-like!
At any rate, please note that I am tweaking the Thriller Flick list a little. I'm pulling COMA for a future line-up, and replacing it with the classic thriller DEAD CALM, which put Nicole Kidman on the map, and features Sam Neill at his hottest.
Please find the new list below, and please expect the first of the Thriller reviews to start posting tomorrow or so with THE BEDROOM WINDOW...
Have a great week, folks. Smile!
# 254 - THE BEDROOM WINDOW
# 255 - UNFORGETTABLE
# 256 - COPYCAT
# 257 - WHEN A STRANGER CALLS
# 258 - BLACK WIDOW
# 259 - SLEEPING WITH THE ENEMY
# 260 - DEAD CALM
Have great one, folks. Be happy and Zen-like!
UPCOMING REVIEWS FOR THE WEEK OF 2/21/11 - 2/27/11
Hiya, folks... Hope everyone is milking the weekend for what it's worth. As Buddha himself said: live in the present moment - earnestly and wisely. Sage words. In other words: did you have fun this weekend but also somehow make someone else's life just a little bit better? Hope so.
At any rate, we are right on schedule with the posting of IL MARE (review # 253). Given that we've had two straight weeks of Valentine Flicks that deal with love in all its shapes and sizes, I think it's just fitting that we get back into the mix of things with a week of... thrillers!
Yes, sir... nothing like a good suspense movie to get your blood going. We've got a mix of old and new thrillers - all the better to get your adrenalin going! See the list below:
# 254 - THE BEDROOM WINDOW: 1987 (AKA: Steve Guttenberg: Sexiest. Dork. Ever.)
# 255 - UNFORGETTABLE: 1996 (AKA: My Nickname - Sometimes For The Wrong Reasons...)
# 256 - COPYCAT: 1995 (AKA: Sigourney Weaver And Holly Hunter Vs. Harry Connick, Jr.)
# 257 - WHEN A STRANGER CALLS: 2006 (AKA: Pretty Strong Argument For Turning Down Babysitting Jobs That Require You To Drive 50 Miles To The Middle of Nowhere...)
# 258 - BLACK WIDOW: 1987 (AKA: One Woman's Fucked-Up Get-Rich-Quick Scheme)
# 259 - SLEEPING WITH THE ENEMY: 1991 (AKA: Julia Roberts Vs. The Husband From Hell)
# 260 - COMA: 1978 (AKA: Tom Selleck: Smokin' Hot Coma Patient)
Bye-bye, Valentine's. Hello, chase scenes...
At any rate, we are right on schedule with the posting of IL MARE (review # 253). Given that we've had two straight weeks of Valentine Flicks that deal with love in all its shapes and sizes, I think it's just fitting that we get back into the mix of things with a week of... thrillers!
Yes, sir... nothing like a good suspense movie to get your blood going. We've got a mix of old and new thrillers - all the better to get your adrenalin going! See the list below:
# 254 - THE BEDROOM WINDOW: 1987 (AKA: Steve Guttenberg: Sexiest. Dork. Ever.)
# 255 - UNFORGETTABLE: 1996 (AKA: My Nickname - Sometimes For The Wrong Reasons...)
# 256 - COPYCAT: 1995 (AKA: Sigourney Weaver And Holly Hunter Vs. Harry Connick, Jr.)
# 257 - WHEN A STRANGER CALLS: 2006 (AKA: Pretty Strong Argument For Turning Down Babysitting Jobs That Require You To Drive 50 Miles To The Middle of Nowhere...)
# 258 - BLACK WIDOW: 1987 (AKA: One Woman's Fucked-Up Get-Rich-Quick Scheme)
# 259 - SLEEPING WITH THE ENEMY: 1991 (AKA: Julia Roberts Vs. The Husband From Hell)
# 260 - COMA: 1978 (AKA: Tom Selleck: Smokin' Hot Coma Patient)
Bye-bye, Valentine's. Hello, chase scenes...
# 253 - IL MARE (2000)
IL MARE (2000 - ROMANCE / DRAMA / VALENTINE FLICK) **½ out of *****
(Okay, I‘m going to need a PowerPoint presentation on this movie‘s plot to be able to understand it. Yes, I'm an idiot...)
CAST: Jung Jae-Lee, Kim Eun-Ju, Mu-saeng Kim, Seung-Yeon Jo, Yun-jae Min.
DIRECTOR: Hyun-Seung Lee
WARNING: Some SPOILERS and migraine-inducing romances straight ahead…
The first sign that IL MARE, our latest Valentine Flick review, is going to be a challenge to watch is the trailer. The first time I saw it, my instant reaction was somewhere along the rational line of “Are you fucking kidding me?” Showing a minute-and-a-half of a chick bawling her eyes out in slow motion and using a letter to, I guess, blow her nose and wipe her tears, the trailer is excellent… if you were to use it as a way to torture someone to get vital information out of them. Forget Chinese-Water-Torture or Sleep-Deprivation - the trailer for IL MARE will get anyone to spill the beans in no time flat.
Then there’s the title, itself: IL MARE. Riddle me this, folks: why the fuck would you use an Italian title for a film set in Korea that has absolutely nothing to do with Italy? See, "Il Mare" means “The Sea” in Italian. Which would be fine, since the movie revolves around a house by the sea. Except that sea is a Korean sea - not an Italian sea. If you were an unwary renter scoping out flicks based solely on their titles, you might be forgiven for thinking this movie was a sequel to the lovely IL POSTINO, AKA “The Postman". I wonder how many folks made that mistake.
Then there’s the premise, which is some credulity-straining pap about a mailbox that can send letters through time, which allows a man and a woman to basically carry on an affair despite the two-year gap in their, uh, time zones. Given this wild premise, the film’s original title of “Siworae” is more appropriate. I guess it’s Korean for “Love Across Time.” Or something.
The point is this: going with this original Korean title instead of the Italian one would have prevented some unwitting Guido out there from seeing the words IL MARE on the Netflix site, thinking it’s an Italian film about fishing, then renting it only to sit through the first ten minutes before mildly commenting : “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS BULLSHIT!?!? WHERE’D ALL THESE VIETNAMESE PEOPLE COME FROM!?!!”
Okay, and for the record? All the Guidos I am personally acquainted with are smart, educated, funny, nice, unique, and talented. But I think if the show JERSEY SHORE has proven anything, it’s that there are several out there who shouldn’t be allowed out of their homes without muzzles - or a chaperone not afraid to use a tazer at the slightest provocation. If any of the special breed of Guidos from JERSEY SHORE end up watching IL MARE by mistake, it could piss them off and set off an emergency of catastrophic proportions - like a nation-wide rash of Gold Chain retail therapy shopping sprees. Fort Knox may never recover. The last thing we need is The Situation creating, uh, a situation.
But I digress. Again. Forgive me. So back to IL MARE and its wacky romantic angle. I mentioned before that it revolves around a Korean man and a Korean woman from two different times corresponding through super-duper mailbox next to a seaside house in - you got it - Korea. The mailbox, apparently, is like some sort of time portal that can send letters from 1998 to 2000 - and back again. Our hero is an architecture student who, in 1998, moves into the seaside house - called “Il Mare” instead of whatever the hell “The Sea” is in Korean. Our heroine is a voice-dubber (look it up - no time to explain because I have to get ready for something) who vacates the house in 2000. She leaves behind a Christmas Card in the mailbox, asking the next tenant to forward her mail to her new address.
If you’re guessing that the “next tenant” turns out to be our architect hero back in 1998, and are puzzled as to how that could be, considering our heroine moved out of “Il Mare” in 2000, all I can say is this: keep a lot of Excedrin nearby - you’ll need it before long. It gets more insane - trust me on that. To wit, our hero and heroine eventually realize the house’s mailbox is some sort of time machine that can send mail back and forth through time.
Before you know it, they’re sending love letters through the fucking thing like it’s some psychedelic/surreal form of email. Riddle me this again, folks: if you found a mailbox that enabled you to send mail to and from someone two years in the future, would you write lovey-dovey shit? Or would you ask for information that is actually useful like: (1) “What stock should I buy?”; (2) “What will the economy be like in two years?”; (3) “What is current hot invention that I can perhaps invent myself and make a bazillion bucks from?”; and - most crucial of all: (4) “Is Russell Crowe still smoking hot?”
I’m thinking you’d forego the lovey-dovey shit in favor of the more relevant stuff I’ve outlined above - especially the last one. Anyhow, what chance in hell does this relationship have, considering they can’t even hold hands? How long can they keep this bizarre arrangement going? And what happens when they agree to look each other up - in their current timezones? Will they recognize one another? Will this affect their “time warp correspondence”? Will my headache ever go away?
If you really want the answers to the above, see the movie. But get that Excedrin ready…
BUT, SERIOUSLY: Folks, I really wanted to like IL MARE more than I did. While the “time warp love” angle echoes semi-classics like SOMEWHERE IN TIME and THE TIME TRAVELER’S WIFE, IL MARE’s execution of this premise is just not powerful enough. In fact, the 2007 America remake, THE LAKE HOUSE, starring Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves actually works better. Usually I find myself favoring the foreign originals over the local remakes, but that is not the case with this movie.
Events unfold in such a confusing way that it’s hard to keep straight the sequence of events and timelines. Maybe it’s just me. Or maybe the script just needed another rewrite. In any case, the overall effect is a bit underwhelming. The leads are okay, but the relationship between their characters never ignites, and therefore we never have compelling reason to want to see them surmount their separation through time. The film is certainly beautiful to look at, but there really isn’t much under the surface to make this rise above the average mark.
I’ve found the best love stories are the ones that are understated and subtle. IL MARE starts out along those quiet lines, but then gets maudlin and overly heavy-handed, especially with the constant use of that sappy love song. Clearly, the film was successful enough in Korea and other Asian countries to warrant an American remake. The central idea, while a bit confusing, is not without value. It was just not handled assuredly enough in IL MARE. Fortunately, it was in THE LAKE HOUSE.
In the end, IL MARE is a well-intentioned but muddled valentine to star-crossed love. But the simple fact is there are much better valentines of this kind out there…
(Okay, I‘m going to need a PowerPoint presentation on this movie‘s plot to be able to understand it. Yes, I'm an idiot...)
CAST: Jung Jae-Lee, Kim Eun-Ju, Mu-saeng Kim, Seung-Yeon Jo, Yun-jae Min.
DIRECTOR: Hyun-Seung Lee
WARNING: Some SPOILERS and migraine-inducing romances straight ahead…
The first sign that IL MARE, our latest Valentine Flick review, is going to be a challenge to watch is the trailer. The first time I saw it, my instant reaction was somewhere along the rational line of “Are you fucking kidding me?” Showing a minute-and-a-half of a chick bawling her eyes out in slow motion and using a letter to, I guess, blow her nose and wipe her tears, the trailer is excellent… if you were to use it as a way to torture someone to get vital information out of them. Forget Chinese-Water-Torture or Sleep-Deprivation - the trailer for IL MARE will get anyone to spill the beans in no time flat.
Then there’s the title, itself: IL MARE. Riddle me this, folks: why the fuck would you use an Italian title for a film set in Korea that has absolutely nothing to do with Italy? See, "Il Mare" means “The Sea” in Italian. Which would be fine, since the movie revolves around a house by the sea. Except that sea is a Korean sea - not an Italian sea. If you were an unwary renter scoping out flicks based solely on their titles, you might be forgiven for thinking this movie was a sequel to the lovely IL POSTINO, AKA “The Postman". I wonder how many folks made that mistake.
Then there’s the premise, which is some credulity-straining pap about a mailbox that can send letters through time, which allows a man and a woman to basically carry on an affair despite the two-year gap in their, uh, time zones. Given this wild premise, the film’s original title of “Siworae” is more appropriate. I guess it’s Korean for “Love Across Time.” Or something.
The point is this: going with this original Korean title instead of the Italian one would have prevented some unwitting Guido out there from seeing the words IL MARE on the Netflix site, thinking it’s an Italian film about fishing, then renting it only to sit through the first ten minutes before mildly commenting : “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS BULLSHIT!?!? WHERE’D ALL THESE VIETNAMESE PEOPLE COME FROM!?!!”
Okay, and for the record? All the Guidos I am personally acquainted with are smart, educated, funny, nice, unique, and talented. But I think if the show JERSEY SHORE has proven anything, it’s that there are several out there who shouldn’t be allowed out of their homes without muzzles - or a chaperone not afraid to use a tazer at the slightest provocation. If any of the special breed of Guidos from JERSEY SHORE end up watching IL MARE by mistake, it could piss them off and set off an emergency of catastrophic proportions - like a nation-wide rash of Gold Chain retail therapy shopping sprees. Fort Knox may never recover. The last thing we need is The Situation creating, uh, a situation.
But I digress. Again. Forgive me. So back to IL MARE and its wacky romantic angle. I mentioned before that it revolves around a Korean man and a Korean woman from two different times corresponding through super-duper mailbox next to a seaside house in - you got it - Korea. The mailbox, apparently, is like some sort of time portal that can send letters from 1998 to 2000 - and back again. Our hero is an architecture student who, in 1998, moves into the seaside house - called “Il Mare” instead of whatever the hell “The Sea” is in Korean. Our heroine is a voice-dubber (look it up - no time to explain because I have to get ready for something) who vacates the house in 2000. She leaves behind a Christmas Card in the mailbox, asking the next tenant to forward her mail to her new address.
If you’re guessing that the “next tenant” turns out to be our architect hero back in 1998, and are puzzled as to how that could be, considering our heroine moved out of “Il Mare” in 2000, all I can say is this: keep a lot of Excedrin nearby - you’ll need it before long. It gets more insane - trust me on that. To wit, our hero and heroine eventually realize the house’s mailbox is some sort of time machine that can send mail back and forth through time.
Before you know it, they’re sending love letters through the fucking thing like it’s some psychedelic/surreal form of email. Riddle me this again, folks: if you found a mailbox that enabled you to send mail to and from someone two years in the future, would you write lovey-dovey shit? Or would you ask for information that is actually useful like: (1) “What stock should I buy?”; (2) “What will the economy be like in two years?”; (3) “What is current hot invention that I can perhaps invent myself and make a bazillion bucks from?”; and - most crucial of all: (4) “Is Russell Crowe still smoking hot?”
I’m thinking you’d forego the lovey-dovey shit in favor of the more relevant stuff I’ve outlined above - especially the last one. Anyhow, what chance in hell does this relationship have, considering they can’t even hold hands? How long can they keep this bizarre arrangement going? And what happens when they agree to look each other up - in their current timezones? Will they recognize one another? Will this affect their “time warp correspondence”? Will my headache ever go away?
If you really want the answers to the above, see the movie. But get that Excedrin ready…
BUT, SERIOUSLY: Folks, I really wanted to like IL MARE more than I did. While the “time warp love” angle echoes semi-classics like SOMEWHERE IN TIME and THE TIME TRAVELER’S WIFE, IL MARE’s execution of this premise is just not powerful enough. In fact, the 2007 America remake, THE LAKE HOUSE, starring Sandra Bullock and Keanu Reeves actually works better. Usually I find myself favoring the foreign originals over the local remakes, but that is not the case with this movie.
Events unfold in such a confusing way that it’s hard to keep straight the sequence of events and timelines. Maybe it’s just me. Or maybe the script just needed another rewrite. In any case, the overall effect is a bit underwhelming. The leads are okay, but the relationship between their characters never ignites, and therefore we never have compelling reason to want to see them surmount their separation through time. The film is certainly beautiful to look at, but there really isn’t much under the surface to make this rise above the average mark.
I’ve found the best love stories are the ones that are understated and subtle. IL MARE starts out along those quiet lines, but then gets maudlin and overly heavy-handed, especially with the constant use of that sappy love song. Clearly, the film was successful enough in Korea and other Asian countries to warrant an American remake. The central idea, while a bit confusing, is not without value. It was just not handled assuredly enough in IL MARE. Fortunately, it was in THE LAKE HOUSE.
In the end, IL MARE is a well-intentioned but muddled valentine to star-crossed love. But the simple fact is there are much better valentines of this kind out there…
# 252 - SHALL WE DANCE? (1997)
SHALL WE DANCE? (1997 - ROMANCE / DRAMA / VALENTINE FLICK) **** out of *****
(In Japan, it doesn‘t matter if you have two left feet - as long as you have a hot dance instructor…)
CAST: Koji Yakusho, Tamiyo Kusakari, Naoto Takenaka, Eri Watanabe, Yu Tokui, Hiromasu Taguchi, Reiko Kusamura.
DIRECTOR: Masayuki Suo
WARNING: Some SPOILERS and surprisingly passionate Japanese salary men - straight ahead…
There are some nationalities that you automatically associate with dancing. Typically, these are the Southern European, South American, Southeast Asian, and African folks - in other words, nations with passionate dispositions. Indeed, when I think of the people in my orbit who can cut holes into the dance floor, I immediately think of the ones who are Spanish, African, Italian, South American, Philippine - or descended from those nationalities. One nationality that definitely does not spring immediately to mind, however, is Japanese.
I think a prerequisite of being a good dancer is being in touch with your emotions and passions, and having the ability to focus, channel, and release them through your movements. And I hate to say this, but the Japanese aren’t exactly the most passionate of people - unless we’re talking crazy samurais trying to dice the shit out of each other, or a bunch of Japanese tourists going buck-wild at the sight of Clint Eastwood. Which is actually probably a result of all that passion being suppressed like a gigantic fart that finally just explodes, causing some internal rupturing and burst eardrums all around.
The point is the Japanese, while lovely and noble people, are not the type to give each other hugs and high-fives in public - even if they are man and wife. It’s just not done. Contrast this with us Americans, who think we’re being subtle when we only unbutton three instead of five buttons on our significant other’s shirt while making out in line at the movie theatre. When I see this, I like to turn to them and politely say in Italian: “Prendetevi Una Stanza, stronzos…” Which roughly translates to: “Get a room, assholes!” But, as I mentioned before, everything sounds great in Italian, so these folks basically smile and say, “Awww, that’s sweet of you” - before going back and tasting each other’s tonsils once more.
But I digress. Again. Basically, the Japanese are very, very, very repressed. And it eventually comes out in a variety of disturbing ways: (1) subway groping, (2) luridly kinky comic books, (3) thoroughly “WTF?” hairstyles and fashions, (4) worshipping SLIVER almost as much as they worship TITANIC and AVATAR, and (5) … taking covert ballroom dancing lessons.
Yes, you read that last part correctly. Something that is treated as a humdrum part of daily life in the West (specifically, people who can’t dance worth a shit who have to pay people who can dance to teach them how to dance worth a shit) is something very unusual in the Land of the Rising Sun. To the point where most of the people who take dance lessons have to hide the fact as something shameful, as if they were taking prostitution classes or something. Insert “I Want To Be A HO!” training video joke here.
At any rate, our hero is bored accountant Shohei Sugiyama (Koji Yakusho). For Sugiyama, his life has basically become like a PowerPoint presentation with only four slides set in a continuous loop: (1) Work, (2) Commute, (3) Eat, and (4) Sleep. I wish I could add a fifth slide called “Fuck” somewhere in that mix, but sadly I see no evidence that his wife Masaka (Hideko Hara) puts out anything but dinner. But for a harried salaryman, that maybe the most important thing. He can always jack off in the shower or something.
Fortunately, this never-ending Slide Show Of Doom is interrupted one night by something semi-interesting while Sugiyama is on his way home. That is, he looks up from his train seat during a stop and sees: a smokin’ hot chick staring out from the window of a building nearby, deep in thought. He spots her a couple more times, until he can’t contain his curiosity (or boner) anymore, and jumps off the train to… I guess stalk her or something. Like I said, this is a country that reveres SLIVER just as much as it does TITANIC and AVATAR. Why are you even surprised?
So… turns out the mysterious hot chick is dance instructor Mai Kishikawa (Tamiyo Kusakari), and the window she stares out every night belongs to a dance school. Before you know it, Sugiyama has has signed up for dance classes to get to know Mai better. Meanwhile, Masaka (remember her - Sugiyama’s wife?) gets suspicious of all his “late nights at the office” and hires a private investigator to tail Sugiyama and see what the hell hubby has been up to. Methinks we gots a situation here. And I don’t mean the one that runs around the Jersey Shore wearing enough gold chains to be seen from space.
Is Sugiyama really interested in an affair with Mai? Or is he just interested in being friends? What happens when he discovers that he actually likes dancing? Will his newfound knowledge of salsa, rumba, tango, and swing fire up his personality? And what happens when Masaka’s private dick tells her that her husband has not been cheating on her - but instead has been taking secret dance lessons? Is that actually worse than being fucked around on? Will Masaka confront Sugiyama? Will Sugiyama’s co-workers discover his secret? And how will Sugiyama, Mai, and the rest of the dancing clas prepare for the dance competition they find themselves part of? Will Sugiyama vindicate himself in the end? Or should he have left all the dancing to the Italians, Spanish, and Filipinos?
Time will tell. Let’s just say the last time I saw a Japanese person light up the dance floor was when a friend got drunk back in Japan and almost burned the place down. I guess you could say he literally lit up the dance floor. It was terrifying, yet deeply hilarious at the same time.
BUT, SERIOUSLY: There are some films that are cinematic contradictions - movies with characters engaging in activities not usually associated with their normal daily lives or cultures. These movies are part are closely related to the “Fish Out of Water“ genre, but have more cultural aspects to them. One of my favorites of this type of film is COOL RUNNINGS from 1993, which chronicled the real-life story of a bob-sled team culled from the shores of Jamaica - a nation not normally associated with bob-sledding.
With SHALLWE DANCE?, we have the same type of incongruous set-up: characters from a culture known for being unemotional, stoic, and passive find themselves indulging in an activity - ballroom dancing - that calls for the polar opposites of those traits. Namely, fire, passion, and expressiveness. It’s a great set-up, and one that immediately makes you lean forward with interest. Particularly if you have lived in Japan and have noted how reserved and structured the Japanese can be. We Americans take for granted the way our culture rewards and encourages individuality. In Japan, it is much more precarious proposition.
This is the reason why the 2004 American remake, while being a solid film and great experience in its own right, is not quite as glorious as the original. Japan is a society where people have to conceal their passions, which makes Sugiyama’s journey to learn how to dance a perilous one. He risks ridicule - from his colleagues and family - yet he forges ahead anyway in the manner of a person who has to do what he must do to fulfill himself.
The American remake with Richard Gere and Susan Sarandon, by contrast, turns the dilemma into a more personal rather than cultural one. John Clark (the Sugiyama character played by Gere) is portrayed as someone who has always buried his feelings - and lets loose when he impulsively takes dancing lessons in an effort to get to know better the mysterious Paulina (Jennifer Lopez). Society has not made him reserved - he has done this to himself. So, really, he’s rebelling against himself. Sugiyama, by comparison, is rebelling against his whole world - and that is a more compelling battle.
The entire cast is perfect. The main leads of Koji Yakusho, Reiko Kusamura, and Tamiyo Kusakari all terrific as, respectively: (1) Sugayama, the meek accountant who inadvertently discovers a passion for dancing; (2) Masaka, Sugayama’s befuddled wife who is just as much taken aback by her husband’s foray into dancing as he is; and (3) Mai, the mysterious beauty whose aloof distance conceals an ocean of hidden emotion and heartbreak. What’s great about SHALL WE DANCE? is how it refuses to cheapen Sugayama and Mai’s connection by introducing sex into the mix. Theirs is a friendship based on mutual respect and appreciation for the art of dancing. One of the major things the remake duplicates - and even improves upon - from the original is how Sugiyama’s platonic “romance” with Mia actually improves and strengthens his own true romance with his wife Masaka.
In the end, SHALL WE DANCE? is an unexpected - and unexpectedly lovely - valentine not just to the art of dance, but also to all passionate pursuits - regardless of type: soccer, basketball, writing, singing, painting, hiking, poetry, etc. Just as BULL DURHAM essayed the love for baseball, SHALL WE DANCE? breaks down our timeless fascination for dancing. It’s also a valentine to all transformative friendships - the kind that leaves you different and better than you were before.
(In Japan, it doesn‘t matter if you have two left feet - as long as you have a hot dance instructor…)
CAST: Koji Yakusho, Tamiyo Kusakari, Naoto Takenaka, Eri Watanabe, Yu Tokui, Hiromasu Taguchi, Reiko Kusamura.
DIRECTOR: Masayuki Suo
WARNING: Some SPOILERS and surprisingly passionate Japanese salary men - straight ahead…
There are some nationalities that you automatically associate with dancing. Typically, these are the Southern European, South American, Southeast Asian, and African folks - in other words, nations with passionate dispositions. Indeed, when I think of the people in my orbit who can cut holes into the dance floor, I immediately think of the ones who are Spanish, African, Italian, South American, Philippine - or descended from those nationalities. One nationality that definitely does not spring immediately to mind, however, is Japanese.
I think a prerequisite of being a good dancer is being in touch with your emotions and passions, and having the ability to focus, channel, and release them through your movements. And I hate to say this, but the Japanese aren’t exactly the most passionate of people - unless we’re talking crazy samurais trying to dice the shit out of each other, or a bunch of Japanese tourists going buck-wild at the sight of Clint Eastwood. Which is actually probably a result of all that passion being suppressed like a gigantic fart that finally just explodes, causing some internal rupturing and burst eardrums all around.
The point is the Japanese, while lovely and noble people, are not the type to give each other hugs and high-fives in public - even if they are man and wife. It’s just not done. Contrast this with us Americans, who think we’re being subtle when we only unbutton three instead of five buttons on our significant other’s shirt while making out in line at the movie theatre. When I see this, I like to turn to them and politely say in Italian: “Prendetevi Una Stanza, stronzos…” Which roughly translates to: “Get a room, assholes!” But, as I mentioned before, everything sounds great in Italian, so these folks basically smile and say, “Awww, that’s sweet of you” - before going back and tasting each other’s tonsils once more.
But I digress. Again. Basically, the Japanese are very, very, very repressed. And it eventually comes out in a variety of disturbing ways: (1) subway groping, (2) luridly kinky comic books, (3) thoroughly “WTF?” hairstyles and fashions, (4) worshipping SLIVER almost as much as they worship TITANIC and AVATAR, and (5) … taking covert ballroom dancing lessons.
Yes, you read that last part correctly. Something that is treated as a humdrum part of daily life in the West (specifically, people who can’t dance worth a shit who have to pay people who can dance to teach them how to dance worth a shit) is something very unusual in the Land of the Rising Sun. To the point where most of the people who take dance lessons have to hide the fact as something shameful, as if they were taking prostitution classes or something. Insert “I Want To Be A HO!” training video joke here.
At any rate, our hero is bored accountant Shohei Sugiyama (Koji Yakusho). For Sugiyama, his life has basically become like a PowerPoint presentation with only four slides set in a continuous loop: (1) Work, (2) Commute, (3) Eat, and (4) Sleep. I wish I could add a fifth slide called “Fuck” somewhere in that mix, but sadly I see no evidence that his wife Masaka (Hideko Hara) puts out anything but dinner. But for a harried salaryman, that maybe the most important thing. He can always jack off in the shower or something.
Fortunately, this never-ending Slide Show Of Doom is interrupted one night by something semi-interesting while Sugiyama is on his way home. That is, he looks up from his train seat during a stop and sees: a smokin’ hot chick staring out from the window of a building nearby, deep in thought. He spots her a couple more times, until he can’t contain his curiosity (or boner) anymore, and jumps off the train to… I guess stalk her or something. Like I said, this is a country that reveres SLIVER just as much as it does TITANIC and AVATAR. Why are you even surprised?
So… turns out the mysterious hot chick is dance instructor Mai Kishikawa (Tamiyo Kusakari), and the window she stares out every night belongs to a dance school. Before you know it, Sugiyama has has signed up for dance classes to get to know Mai better. Meanwhile, Masaka (remember her - Sugiyama’s wife?) gets suspicious of all his “late nights at the office” and hires a private investigator to tail Sugiyama and see what the hell hubby has been up to. Methinks we gots a situation here. And I don’t mean the one that runs around the Jersey Shore wearing enough gold chains to be seen from space.
Is Sugiyama really interested in an affair with Mai? Or is he just interested in being friends? What happens when he discovers that he actually likes dancing? Will his newfound knowledge of salsa, rumba, tango, and swing fire up his personality? And what happens when Masaka’s private dick tells her that her husband has not been cheating on her - but instead has been taking secret dance lessons? Is that actually worse than being fucked around on? Will Masaka confront Sugiyama? Will Sugiyama’s co-workers discover his secret? And how will Sugiyama, Mai, and the rest of the dancing clas prepare for the dance competition they find themselves part of? Will Sugiyama vindicate himself in the end? Or should he have left all the dancing to the Italians, Spanish, and Filipinos?
Time will tell. Let’s just say the last time I saw a Japanese person light up the dance floor was when a friend got drunk back in Japan and almost burned the place down. I guess you could say he literally lit up the dance floor. It was terrifying, yet deeply hilarious at the same time.
BUT, SERIOUSLY: There are some films that are cinematic contradictions - movies with characters engaging in activities not usually associated with their normal daily lives or cultures. These movies are part are closely related to the “Fish Out of Water“ genre, but have more cultural aspects to them. One of my favorites of this type of film is COOL RUNNINGS from 1993, which chronicled the real-life story of a bob-sled team culled from the shores of Jamaica - a nation not normally associated with bob-sledding.
With SHALLWE DANCE?, we have the same type of incongruous set-up: characters from a culture known for being unemotional, stoic, and passive find themselves indulging in an activity - ballroom dancing - that calls for the polar opposites of those traits. Namely, fire, passion, and expressiveness. It’s a great set-up, and one that immediately makes you lean forward with interest. Particularly if you have lived in Japan and have noted how reserved and structured the Japanese can be. We Americans take for granted the way our culture rewards and encourages individuality. In Japan, it is much more precarious proposition.
This is the reason why the 2004 American remake, while being a solid film and great experience in its own right, is not quite as glorious as the original. Japan is a society where people have to conceal their passions, which makes Sugiyama’s journey to learn how to dance a perilous one. He risks ridicule - from his colleagues and family - yet he forges ahead anyway in the manner of a person who has to do what he must do to fulfill himself.
The American remake with Richard Gere and Susan Sarandon, by contrast, turns the dilemma into a more personal rather than cultural one. John Clark (the Sugiyama character played by Gere) is portrayed as someone who has always buried his feelings - and lets loose when he impulsively takes dancing lessons in an effort to get to know better the mysterious Paulina (Jennifer Lopez). Society has not made him reserved - he has done this to himself. So, really, he’s rebelling against himself. Sugiyama, by comparison, is rebelling against his whole world - and that is a more compelling battle.
The entire cast is perfect. The main leads of Koji Yakusho, Reiko Kusamura, and Tamiyo Kusakari all terrific as, respectively: (1) Sugayama, the meek accountant who inadvertently discovers a passion for dancing; (2) Masaka, Sugayama’s befuddled wife who is just as much taken aback by her husband’s foray into dancing as he is; and (3) Mai, the mysterious beauty whose aloof distance conceals an ocean of hidden emotion and heartbreak. What’s great about SHALL WE DANCE? is how it refuses to cheapen Sugayama and Mai’s connection by introducing sex into the mix. Theirs is a friendship based on mutual respect and appreciation for the art of dancing. One of the major things the remake duplicates - and even improves upon - from the original is how Sugiyama’s platonic “romance” with Mia actually improves and strengthens his own true romance with his wife Masaka.
In the end, SHALL WE DANCE? is an unexpected - and unexpectedly lovely - valentine not just to the art of dance, but also to all passionate pursuits - regardless of type: soccer, basketball, writing, singing, painting, hiking, poetry, etc. Just as BULL DURHAM essayed the love for baseball, SHALL WE DANCE? breaks down our timeless fascination for dancing. It’s also a valentine to all transformative friendships - the kind that leaves you different and better than you were before.
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