Wet Hot American Summer (2001)

Directed by: David Wain

Written by: Michael Showalter and David Wain

Players: David Hyde Pierce, Janeane Garafolo, Michael Showalter, Marguerite Moreau

Setup: Camp counselors run amok with love and freedom in the air on the last day of the Summer season... with unexpected and utterly ridiculous hilarity.

Review: This film has been on my radar since my Freshman year of College, where it was sitting mysteriously on my roommate Bryce's shelf. Still, I just couldn't ever bring myself to view it. One look at the cover brought me to a point of slight curiosity, but not enough to pursue completely. One lazy Sunday changed all that, with excitement brewing due to the description of "spoof" for the film which I had not previously considered at all. Needless to say, any reservations I had were unfounded; the flick is brilliantly wacky and irreverent, resulting in giggly hysterics even after the film is over.

With a cast of players you've seen all over (including but not limited to Michael Ian Black, Paul Rudd, Christopher Meloni, Joe Lo Truglio, Amy Poehler, Bradley Cooper, Elizabeth Banks, and Molly Shannon), the film truly delivers an ensemble experience. Plot points range from making out to finding love, making out and getting laid, and making out and saving the world (did I mention making out?). Really, there is more to the film than this, and it helps to make it all the more enjoyable. Characters end up in ridiculous situations, leading them to perform ludicrous problem solving that leads to (sometimes dark) comic situations.

Archer in a can!

Where this film succeeds on all cylinders is its unique straddling of the real/unreal boundary, giving us enough of the former to care about the characters even when the film becomes difficult to believe overall. We can accept these people as generally likable (or wonderfully dislikable in regards to Paul Rudd's character), leading us to surprisingly effective hijinks. You can trust me when I say the overall atmosphere is one of enjoyable excitement and hilarity due to the sheer ridiculousness that pervades the film. Unlike its recent successors (Epic Movie, Disaster Movie, etc.) this spoof flick surprises even the most experienced watcher of comedic discourse.  In fact there are so many fantastic moments that during this article's creation, it took all of my will and strength to supress my laughter at scenes I had all but forgotten about beforehand (due to there being so many!).  So go ahead, check it now, and prepare for the onslought of funny and 80s culture combined.

Tidbit: The great H. Jon Benjamin (the voice of Archer in the eponymous series) tried out for an on screen role but failed.  Regardless, he got the arguably enviable role of a talking tin can...seriously.  

Drink of Choice: On a hot, sticky, sweaty, hot, sweaty, clammy day (NOT adult oriented as the movie title implies), all you need is Corona with lime (easier to avoid spillage, and to make, while laughing hysterically).

Directions: Add a damn lime to a Corona bottle. Drink. Repeat.

Might be my first non-mixed drink I've recommended here... had to happen sometime.

Jailbreakers (1994)

Directed by: William Friedkin

Written by: Debra Hill & Gigi Vorgan

Cast: Shannen Doherty, Antonio Sabato, Jr., and Adrien Brody

Plot:  Boy meets Girl.  Boy is actually a “Bad Boy Biker”, and Girl is supposedly “Good Girl Cheerleader”.  Boy goes to jail after crazy night with Girl, Girl gets indecisive, Boy wants out of jail, and there you have the reasoning behind the title!

Review:  Going into this film (and solely/ignorantly based on the cover), I assumed I’d be seeing an overall lesser effort by the generally well-regarded Billy Friedkin.  For full transparency, having just attended a screening at the Seattle International Film Festival (SIFF) a few months prior where he spoke at a premiere of his latest film Killer Joe (as previously reviewed by Jake), my respect for the man and his cinematic creations had increased dramatically.  One only needs to bring up The Exorcist and The French Connection, and automatic placement in the upper echelon of directors should be assumed, regardless of the rest of his filmography (see Francis Ford Coppola).  All of this being considered, one must realize that even our greatest heroes have skeletons in their closet, this one in particular being a very chubby set of skull and bones.

I immediately knew I should have skipped this right when “Showtime Presents” came across the screen; quality doesn’t immediately spring to mind (at least before the 21^st Century).  Quality didn’t ensue either, as the hasty and uninteresting plot proceeded to delve out cliché moments of romance between young lovers from opposite sides of society; one a misunderstood rebel who never had a chance, and the other a star stuck teen (played ineffectively by then popular Shannen Doherty) just wanting some change from her boring Suburban life.  Can you say original?!?!  HA… um, no, of course you can’t. 

I assumed this film took place in the present day even 15 minutes into the picture (perhaps ignorantly) until enough dated cars and a reference to On The Waterfront being a new film made me realize it was the 1950s.  Maybe it should be forgiven for a potentially low budget (um, Showtime) but the setting gave an odd mix of old and new, including clothing and hair styles .  The acting didn’t help either (save for Adrien Brody in an early role) with characters like Doherty’s spurting out dialogue in a manner that felt completely out of place while lacking serious emotion (seriously laughable, especially she’s supposed to be 15 but looks 20!).  It felt like there was no real research into the period besides memories of older cast/crew, and no real interest to accurately portray it.    

There’s potential Friedkin had specific reasons for his seemingly lazy method here, or there were issues behind the scenes, leading to the dung heap we see on the screen.  Maybe he was trying to get some sort of imporant message across through a facade of cinematic coherence (and just TERRIBLE music, with quality seemingly derived from a 70's TV movie). Regardless, it can’t help save the end product from being utterly pointless and blah inducing.  I mean really, just plain BLAH.  Ahhhhhhh… just go watch To Live and Die in L.A. quality Friedkin, or Beverly Hills 90210 for some more “quality” Doherty acting.  If you’re even thinking about engaging this film, prep at least two drinks… and maybe a hammer.

Tid Bit:  After viewing I discovered this was actually in a series titled “Rebel Highway”, showcasing teleflicks inspired by B-movies of the 50s and 60s.  

Extra Tid Bit: I also discovered continually flossing my teeth for an hour would be more entertaining.

Drink of Choice: Prairie Fire. What basically entails 1 part Vodka and 1 part Tabasco sauce (at least in the local breakfast diner’s recipe), this concoction will most certainly wake you up to the fact that you’re losing brain cells watching this shit.  

High Plains Drifter (1973)

Directed by: Clint Eastwood

Written by: Ernest Tidyman

Starring: Clint Eastwood, Billy Curtis, Verna Bloom, Marianna Hill, Billy Curtis

As I began my cinematic symbiosis with this 1973 Western (Eastwood's second film behind the camera), I was expecting something moderately decent, oddly convinced it was a mid 80's effort in a declining genre (mixed it up with Pale Rider).  However I became utterly befuddled upon the discovery that it was actually made a whole decade earlier, when Eastwood was arguably at the top of his game with classics like Dirty Harry and The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly under his belt.  Upon this revelation 5 minutes into the film, I realized I might be in for an impressive surprise.  105 minutes into the film (meaning the credits were over), it was impressive, albeit nowhere near the greatness of Spaghetti Westerns and Eastwood's final Cowboy opus, Unforgiven

The eponymous drifter (again, Eastwood playing a “man with no name”) arrives in a surreal and serene coastal town.  With no clear evidence of interest, save for some arguably defensive killing and unapologetic sexual assault, the drifter (how he'll be known from here on out) becomes the town's salvation as they await the return of three murderers just released from prison.  To keep their hero, the townsfolk give away the key to the city, but in the process may also be giving away their souls as the drifter takes and does anything he may without any clear evidence it's for the town's own good.

Worthy of being known as a revisionist western, High Plains Drifter succeeds as an oddball standout in the genre.  Right from the beginning, Eastwood strives to show a difference in his character from previous "revisionist" westerns by Sergio Leone: the protagonist is slightly dislikable.  As we continue through the film however, none of these characters reveal a very positive or likable nature (save for the dwarf Malacki, played by Billy Curtis).  One can't help but wonder at what the drifter intents with the changes he make throughout the town; possibly revenge, boredom, or a combination of the two.  Even as we receive clues in the form of flashbacks and morality discussions, we never completely know, keeping a fresh sense of ambiguity and complication to the film making it all the more fascinating. 

For sure, while beautiful yet stark symbolism populates the picture in an effort to guide and showcase possible answers, morality is clearly shown to be a gray matter.  Are the townspeople really that different from the homecoming murderers?  Who was truly responsible for the heinous act at the center of the story?  As the film suffers from a dated soundtrack and feel, and even though it pales in comparison to other genre picks he's been involved with, Eastwood shows his skill as a storyteller not completely content with just being in front of the camera.  Even with moderately dull moments containing some poor acting from a few supporting players,  we are shown a fairly original piece of cinema, one that could be argued as more existentialist dark comedy than the western genre piece as touted.

Tidbit: While the studio wanted to use their back lot for the set, Eastwood opted for a real location where the town you see on screen was completely built from scratch. 

Drink of Choice:  I hate to do this again after High Noon, but it's gotta be whiskey.  Granted, you could go with something like Buffalo Trace instead of Pendleton’s like before, but as it's showcased here, whisky must win out. 

Really, a TRUE revisionist film would change the drink up; how bout giving the hero a Mojito?!

Evidence of Love (1990)

This flick qualifies as a “Streaming Roulette”, a segment whereby I take a movie from my consistently maxed out Neflix Queue, check it, and bring it back to you.  As such, even though there is no random movie generator here, I regard it as a fairly random process since the original reasoning behind my adding the film is no longer completely apparent.

This here be the first film I’ve ever seen by independent auteur Stephen Gyllenhaal (father of my doppleganger, Jake).  Starring Brian Dennehy (excited any time I see his name, despite the automatic association with the B movie bin) and Barbara Hershey (excited any time I see her period), I expected based on the title, the date (1990) and the cover art, that I would be watching a wannabe erotic murder mystery.  But you know what they say: book covers are for chumps.  

Note: (I might be slightly off on the quote, though I definitely know it came from Tolstoy) 

Based on a true story, seemingly innocent Candy Morrison (Barbara Hershey) is accused of the murder of the wife of equally boring Stan Blankenship (John Terry), with whom she previously had an affair.  Regardless, local attorney Ed Reivers (Brian Dennehy) represents Candy, disregarding any possible notion that she could be guilty of such a heinous act.   Right from the beginning with Candy’s slightly suspicious behavior, we know we’re in for a psychological bent of the mundane kind.

With all major story points seemingly expected and presented on a platter, there is no place to look for much entertainment or mystery here.  Candy obviously killed this woman; she’s acting odd, she was involved with the deceased's husband, and she’s got a frightening head of curly hair (come ON people; Barbara Hershey is supposed to have long, straight, flowing, and beautiful hair).  Even though the writers don’t take long to reveal this clear fact, the “twist” they head for at the end doesn’t help matters.  The true story aspect of the film could asist if the happenings in the story really did occur as portrayed, but disbelief plagues it heavily.

This “made-for-tv” movie or teleplay (surprising at first; not surprising at the end) is also called A Killing in a Small Town; a title more representative of the simple and straightforward story.  It also avoids preconceptions given by the current title of a “made-for-tv” Basic Instinct ripoff  (again, Chekov was right about book covers).  However, viewing it as such may help to lift one's opinion.  Just as well, the film is not without deserved praise: Hershey is mostly effective, disappearing into her role and providing histrionics without too much melodrama.  Dennehy shows up and phones it in, but Dennehy in any fashion is always a welcome addition, as is Hal Holbrook making an appearance in the second half (his voice is active in the first).  Performances aside though, as well as respectable restraint by Gyllenhaal and crew in avoiding overdramatic music and camera work, along with a note-worthy nonlinear story presentation, this “true story” found me struggling to find purpose throughout.  Had I immediately known it was going to go this route, I would’ve turned on F/X (a Brian Dennehy classic!).

Tid bit: Barbara Hershey won an Emmy AND a Golden Globe for this.

Extra tid bit: I’ve haven’t won an Emmy OR a Golden Globe… but I’ve never sunk so low as to have curly hair neither! 

Drink of choice: Texas Tea.  Besides hailing from the same state as Evidence of Love, this concoction shares a thematic element.  With equal parts tequila, rum, vodka, gin, whiskey, triple sec, sweet and sour mix, and Coca-Cola, it may sound and look like a good idea at the time, but upon consumption and reflection, you should’ve had Busch Light (or watched F/X).

Femme Fatale (2002)

Plot:  crazy sexy woman robs some stuff and falls into strange situation where she's French (Laure) but not (Lily), and can travel to alternate universes like Quinn Mallory in Sliders... could be cool...

Review: But it's not!  Man oh man has Brian De Palma fallen off his steed over the past decade (maybe 2...).  I believe he had some interesting notion behind the writing and directing of this film, maybe quite a gem in his head, but his poor execution (everyone else included) led to what really appeared to be a meandering and shallow thriller with a dash of eroticism.

First major problem: is De Palma suffering from dementia?  This story moves around without any cohesive nature, first appearing as provocative heist movie but quickly leading into an improbable time travel film, or characters suffering from multiple personality disorder.  This random nature is not exciting, intriguing, or welcome; it is mostly bothersome and annoying, causing the viewer to scoff more than an 18th English lord watching Problem Child 2.

Rebecca Romijn (Stamos or no Stamos); looks very really cute, but cannot act.  Maybe the former was the only reason she was hired, maybe they thought she could rise to the occasion; either way, she is slightly fun in all the wrong ways.  Antonio Banderas and Peter Coyote (a senator who ignorantly marries Laure/Lily) perform fine with their characters, while everyone else seems to fall flat.

De Palma, behind such works as Scarface, Carrie, and Casualties of War, obviously has talent (The Untouchables is truly amazing; check it now if you haven't seen it).  The question is whether or not he cares to use it anymore, with recent drivel like The Black Dahlia, Snake Eyes, and Mission to Mars (liked part of it). 

After watching this, I was shocked to see other actually appreciated it to an EXTREME extent, arguing that it held special and ridiculous meaning and symbolism related to film noir and cinema in general.  Part of this was clear in the beginning with Double Indemnity on a television, but I must admit I felt as though I had missed the true meaning and needed to view the movie once again.... until I realized that if the director meant to get that across, he should've actually done it instead of making a sub par attempt at entertainment involving priceless golden underwear (don't worry, this is in the beginning of the film, so you won't have to suffer the whole way through it).