Black Moon Rising (Harley Cokeliss, 1986)

If I was serving aboard a space station with Linda Hamilton's character in Black Moon Rising, the high-tech techno thriller co-written by John Carpenter and directed by Harley Cokeliss (who's credited here as "Cokliss," but I guess he, wisely, decided to add the 'e' at a later date), I would have stolen all her pant suits and... (You pant suit obsessed pervert. Not only have you created a scenario that would never happen--like any reputable space agency would allow you to go into space--but you managed to creep everyone out in record time.) Um, you didn't let me finish. As I was saying, I would have stolen all Linda Hamilton's pant suits and tossed them in the nearest airlock. (You mean you would have jettisoned them?) Yeah, jettisoned them, I like that. Anyway, I would have jettisoned them without hesitation. (Don't you think her decision to wear pants made it easier to perform her job? I mean, her job is to steal cars, not to give shiftless reprobates boners.) Hello? Since when has it been impossible to steal a car while wearing a modest skirt? And besides, these "boners" you speak of will actually come in handy. (Huh?) What? You don't think Linda Hamilton steals the cars herself, do you? Don't be crass, Linda Hamilton is too classy for that. No, she distracts the car's soon to be former owners with her womanly charms, while a team of men in blue jumpsuits pick the parking lot clean of the cars their boss desires.

(I'm still not convinced. Call me daft, but I think a modest skirt, one that boasts an equally modest slit, would have been a far more effective garment for Linda Hamilton to wear while stealing a shitload of cars.)

You don't say. Well, I think you might be underestimating the intrinsic allure of Linda Hamilton. (Ya think?) Yes, I do. She's got something about her that transcends modest slits and skimpy hemlines. (Don't tell me, it's her captivating face.) While I don't exactly care for the smug tone you're currently using, you're absolutely right, Linda Hamilton's face rules in this movie.

If that's the case, doesn't that mean her face would have to rule in every movie? I know, when you cast Linda Hamilton to be in your film, you usually get Linda Hamilton's face as well. But there's something different about the way it's shot in Black Moon Rising. Part of it has to do with the manner in which cinematographer Misha Suslov photographs her face (he has a tendency to bathe it neon light whenever possible), but most of the credit has to go to Linda Hamilton herself, as her face oozes a peculiar brand of sadness.

("A peculiar brand of sadness," eh? Colour me intrigued.) While she's grateful to her boss, Ed Ryland (Robert Vaughn), the car thief king of the west coast, for getting her off the streets, she's not all that happy being a criminal. Having access to fancy cars and an unlimited wig budget is great and all, but Nina, the actual name of Linda Hamilton's character, seems lost.

(You're not implying that she needs a rugged, freelance thief  in her life, one, perhaps, who is played by Tommy Lee Jones, are you?) While I would never imply that, a little T.L.J. is never a bad thing.

A government e-mail is sent to an Agent Johnson (Bubba Smith), F.B.I., instructing him that they need to get their hands on the financial records of the Lucky Dollar Corporation out of Las Vegas for an upcoming grand jury trial. Not wanting to steal "data tape #757-65" themselves, the government suggests that Agent Johnson, F.B.I., employ a freelance operative to procure the desired tape. In other words, hire a professional thief.

We meet this freelance operative while he nonchalantly confronts an inexperienced criminal wielding a pistol during an attempted convenience store robbery. Is Quint (Tommy Lee Jones) brave, suicidal, stupid, or all three? Either way, he manages to talk the gunman out of robbing the store, and then calmly continues to drink his coffee. Instead of labeling him, "brave, suicidal, or stupid," I'm declaring Quint to be a badass. Why? Look at the way he drives around Las Vegas to the music of Lalo Schifrin, it practically screams badass. The stealing of the data tape itself goes relatively smoothly. That is, until, Lee Ving shows up with Uzi (as he's one to do). Since Quint knows Lee Ving's character (he's in charge of security for the Lucky Dollar Corporation), he feels like he deserves more money (he didn't expect there to be any "old friends" firing Uzis at him on this job).

Eventually, Lee Ving and the boys (his underpaid underlings) track Quint and his bullet-ridden car down at a gas station located somewhere between Las Vegas and Los Angeles. Hiding the data tape in the back of an experimental car called Black Moon--one that was just clocked in at 325 mph during a recent test run and is being towed by Earl Windom (Richard Jaeckel), the car's designer, Billy Lyons (Dan Shor), the car's driver, and Tyke Thayden (William Sanderson), the car's mechanic--Quint hopes to rendezvous with the car at The Betsy, a fancy restaurant in Hollywood, where the Black Moon team plan on inking a deal with an Italian car company.

In the meantime, before Lee Ving and the boys show up, Quint takes the time to chat up an attractive redhead. Hey, wouldn't you know, the attractive redhead is played by none other than Lisa London, Rocky from Savage Beach and Guns.

After evading Lee Ving and the boys and acquiring another, less bullet-ridden, automobile, Quint heads over to The Betsy to get his precious data tape. Well, I must say, that wasn't a very interesting movie. Wait a minute, we have Linda Hamilton in a wig. I repeat... (don't repeat that.) Yeah, but, Linda Hamilton is... (We get it, she rules.) I don't think you get it, Linda Hamilton is wearing a wig and she's carrying a cellphone that's as big as a shoe box. (Aw, man, I didn't think you would become one of those blithering gits who constantly make snide comments related to the size of cellphones seen in movies made during the 1980s.) What can I say, I'm a snide git who loves to blither about chunky cellphones.

She must have a robust data plan, because Nina (Linda Hamilton) is always talking on her morbidly obese mobile phone.

Anyway, after bumping into Quint in the parking lot, Nina goes inside The Betsy and allows some dingus aggressively hit on her at the bar; you can tell Quint likes her already by the look on his face as he eavesdrops on her "conversation."

Little does anyone in the bar know, but Nina is planning on stealing a Rolls-Royce, an Excalibur, an Aston Martin and two Mercedes Benz's. I know, how is a single woman going to steal that many cars? Well, don't worry, she's got an entire team of car thieves working for her. As the desired cars are being driven away, Nina notices a strange car sitting on the back of a trailer. Deciding that she wants it, Nina hops in, pushes a few buttons, and she's off. Of course, Quint's data tape is still hidden in the back, so he jumps in his car and begins to follow her.

Oozing retro futurism and featuring cool camera angles, the chase between Quint's Dodge Daytona and Nina's Wingho Concordia II is probably the film's most memorable in terms of style. It's true, the music could have been more techno-ish, but I think it's safe to say that the sight of Linda Hamilton behind the wheel of that kooky car (the lights emanating from the dashboard dancing across her face like bolts of neon lightning), is worth its weight in scrunchies.

While the well-paid underlings in the blue jumpsuits answer to Nina, she answers to Ed Ryland (Robert Vaughn), a vintage car collector/evil bastard; to prove he's an evil bastard, he has Nick Cassavetes strangle a rival, and does so with a sly smile.

The fact that Nina stole the Black Moon without Mr. Ryland's permission causes friction between them. It also doesn't help matters that Quint (who still has Bubba Smith breathing down his neck) and the owners of the Black Moon are snooping around Ryand Towers, Mr. Ryand's state of the art headquarters (he keeps his car collection on the top floor and runs an elaborate chop shop/import-export business out of the basement).

When Nina is pissed, she drives a Jaguar XK-E, when she's horny, she drives a Studebaker Gran Turismo Hawk. Look at me, namedropping car models like it were a bodily function. She drives the latter to a nightclub (Tech-noir, perhaps?), where she meets Quint, and has...well, I won't spoil what happens next.

Eventually turning into a heist movie, a la Thief, the characters spend most of their time trying to figure out how to break into Ryland Towers. It's not exactly compelling stuff, but Tommy Lee Jones and Linda Hamilton are great as a couple of thieves who are tired stealing for others. If I had my way, I would have instructed Linda Hamilton to wear more skirts, added one more car chase involving the Wingho Concordia II (the car is not a factor for a huge chunk of the film's middle third), cast Jenette Goldstein as Bubba Smith's take no guff partner, and told Lalo Schifrin that I need to hear more synthesizers on the score.

Love and a .45 (C.M. Talkington, 1994)

What do you think was the catalyst that caused me to make such a concerted effort to seek out and watch Love and a .45? Was it: A) Good word of mouth; B) The film's trailer; C) Renée Zellweger in cut-off jean shorts; or D) The music of The Reverend Horton Heat. If it was 'A,' you would have probably seen it when it came out, and according to my research, it came out 1994, so, you can forget about 'A.' As for 'B,' well, I never watched the trailer, simple as that. And I'm not really a fan of so-called psychobilly music (unless of course we're talking about The Cramps). In other words, that's rules out 'D.' You know what that means, right? Book me a room in the loony bin, I just watched me a movie solely because Renée Zellweger purportedly wears cut-off jean shorts in it for an unknown amount of time. Well, you can stop throwing around words like, "purportedly" and "unknown," because Renée Zellweger not only wears cut-off jean shorts in this movie, she's wears them from start to finish. You mean? That's right, Renée Zellweger, whose legginess and acting ability have always been undervalued as far as I'm concerned, is in cut-off jean shorts when the film begins and she's in cut-off jean shorts when it ends. Oh, and before you ask, yes, you can win one of them stupid ass Oscar thingies and still be undervalued as a thespian. The cut-off jean shorts she wears in this film, by the way, are cut so high, there's very little denim left. Only problem being, first time director C.M. Talkington isn't a pervert. (How can you tell?) Are you serious? The film is a severely lacking when it comes to gratuitous shots of Renée Zellweger either standing or sitting in cut-off jean shorts.

(Channeling every lovers on the lam film that came before it, Love and a...) Hold on, who said I was finished talking about Renée Zellweger in cut-off jean shorts? (You can't possibly have anything else to say about Renée Zellweger in cut-off jean shorts.) Oh, can't I, eh? Well, we'll just see about that, shall we? Wait, you might be right. Just kidding, I could a write a thousand words about Renée Zellweger and her cut-off jean shorts. But you know what? I won't. You wanna know why? Because I care.

Okay, now where was I? Oh, yeah, Renée Zellweger's cut-off jean shorts. (Liar.) They don't have a name, nor do they have any dialogue, but Renée Zellweger's cut-off jean shorts speak volumes in this film. Volumes!!!

It's a good thing Renée Zellweger has two legs worthy enough to dangle in a downwardly fashion from the cut-off jean shorts that star in this movie, or else things could have gotten messy. I mean, just the mere the thought of a less leggy actress poured into these cut-off jean shorts makes my brain hurt. (Whoa, "brain hurt"? What are you, some sort of caveman?) I'm sorry, the thought of some not as leggy actress donning the exalted shards of diminutive denim that which you speak so fondly of would have given me a severe headache. (That's more like it.)

Put aside your love of Renée Zellweger in cut-off jean shorts for a second. (Why?) I'll tell you why. Gil Bellows is about to rob a convenience store. (You interrupted my flow to tell me this?) Ah, but what I failed to mention is Gil Bellows kills it in the film's opening scene. (Kills it?!? Gil Bellows, the guy from Ally McBeal?) Don't hold that show against good old Gil, as it was still an asinine twinkle festering inside David E. Kelly's semi-hairless  nut-sack. No, Gil Bellows, playing career criminal Watty Watts, is amazing in this film.

Entering a convenience store (with Wiley Wiggins behind the counter), Watty Watts, whose charisma manages to shine through even in an orange ski mask, gives the young clerk a few life lessons while robbing the joint at gun point.

Meanwhile, somewhere down the road, Watty's sidekick, the alluring Starlene Cheatham (Renée Zellweger), is busy making sure the armored car heading Watty's way doesn't arrive to pick up the large sum of money Watty plans on stealing. If you're wondering how Starlene is going to manage this feet. Remember, never underestimate the power of a leggy lady in roadway distress.

After imparting some wisdom to Wiley Wiggins, and bagging around 450 dollars in cash (10% of the loot is given to Wiley Wiggins for his troubles), Watty Watts, via narration, waxes poetically about his station in life. Calling himself "an artist," Watty Watts declares that all you really need to survive in this world is love and a .45; I get teary-eyed just thinking about that.

When "Turn It On" by The Flaming Lips is done doing its thang on the soundtrack, a soundtrack that includes songs by Mazzy Star, Meat Puppets, Butthole Surfers, The Jesus and Mary Chain, and the aforementioned The Reverend Horton Heat (they also make a cameo as the live entertainment at a strip club), we see what kind of home two people who "specialize in risk management" live in. If you guessed a trailer, you would be right.

The serenity of their morning is sullied somewhat when Dinosaur Bob (Jeffrey Combs) and Creepy Cody (Jace Alexander) show up collect the money Watty Watts apparently owes a local gangster. My first impression of Dinosaur Bob and Creepy Cody is that these are two take being scumbags seriously. I mean, look at Jeffrey Combs' bolo tie, it practically screams Frank Booth. It's funny you should mention Frank Booth, as it appears as if Dinosaur Bob and Creepy Cody have both been attending classes at The Frank Booth Academy for Advanced Scumbaggery (it's adjacent to the dumpster behind The Learning Annex). They're not quite ready to graduate, but the quality of the scumbaggery they're putting out there as they defiled Watty Watts trailer park garden was first-rate.

Is Watty Watts' trailer the Grand Central Station for scumbags? The only reason I ask is because just after Dinosaur Bob and Creepy Cody slither away, Billy Mack Black (Rory Cochrane) shows up at Watty's door. However, unlike those other scumbags, Billy and Watty are on friendly terms. Sure, Starlene thinks he's a worthless piece of shit, but Watty needs Billy's help to land a big score (wedding rings don't pay for themselves).

Of course, the big score ends up going south when Billy kills a convenience store clerk (don't worry, it wasn't Wiley Wiggins). What do you expect when your partner in crime is a speed-snorting psychopath? I have no idea, but according to Watty Watts, the best thing to do when he gets out of hand is to stab him in the neck with a fork.

Just as Watty and Starlene were planning their trip to Mexico, two more scumbags in the form of Ranger X (Michael Bowen from Valley Girl) and Simp (Scott Roland) show up.

Not only did they interrupt Watty and Starlene's vacation plans, they interrupted some of Renée Zellweger's best leggy lounging. And for that, they both deserve to be shot point blank in the chest.

Hitting the road in a 1972 Plymouth Roadrunner, Watty Watts and Starlene get hitched by Jack Nance (the bride wore cut-off jean shorts), visit Starlene's parents, two handicapped suburban hippies played by Peter Fonda (whose dialogue is filtered through a voice-box) and Ann Wedgeworth, cash a cheque at the bank, and buy some film for Starlene's Polaroid camera.

On top of being wanted by Johnny Law, Watty Watts and Starlene are also being pursued by Billy Mack Black, Dinosaur Bob, and Creepy Cody. And if you thought the actors playing these three were gnawing on the scenery when they were onscreen separately, you should see them when they're all in the same scene together. To call the performances given by Rory Cochrane, Jeffrey Combs, and Jace Alexander "over the top" would definitely be one of them understatement thingies. If I had to choose one, I would definitely give Rory Cochrane the award for overacting in this film. Though, to be fair, the reason mostly has to do with the head tattoo (a giant eagle) he gets midway through the film.

If you like movies that feature scumbags in bolo ties cocking their guns every five seconds for dramatic effect, Renée Zellweger in cut-off jean shorts, atypical 1990s indie rock, and are hip about time, then I highly recommend Love and a .45.

 

Looker (Michael Crichton, 1981)

As I was busy wracking my brain trying to figure out where Jeana Tomasina (10 to Midnight) and Melissa Prophet (The Van) appear in this movie, I was apparently subjected to an eerily accurate portrait of the future. You could say my obsession with finding two attractive brunettes in a sea of skinny blondes played right into the hands of Digital Matrix Inc. and Reston Inc., the two sinister corporations situated smack-dab in the middle of Looker, Michael Crichton's highly intelligent techno-thriller about a humble plastic surgeon who finds himself embroiled in a vast conspiracy involving fashion models and light guns that freeze time. (How so?) How so what? (How did your obsession with brunettes play into the hands of The Digital Matrix Inc. and Reston Inc.?) Oh, I'm sorry. My explanation regarding the film's plot was so long-winded, that I forgot about the salient point I was in the process of making. Again, forgetting my point is exactly the kind of thing the not-so fine folks at The Digital Matrix Inc. and Reston Inc. would be encouraged to see. That's because they want to control the aim of your focus. In the old days, and by "old days," I mean the late 1970s/early '80s, corporations relied on television to get their message to the masses. And by "television," I'm referring to that glowing box that was usually located in a room called "the living room." Only, there wasn't much living going on in these rooms (unless you count sitting and staring into a flickering void as living).

Hypnotizing the viewer by bombarding their visual cortex with pleasing shapes and vivid colours, the corporations were able to hold the viewer's attention by putting so-called "shows" in-between the commercials for their products. Lulling the viewing into thinking they were using their own freewill by giving them a choice when it came to what shows they watched, the corporations had the powerful tool at their disposal.

(What if you told the corporations there was away to get the viewer to focus on the products they're tying to sell them to an even greater degree, do you think they would jump at the chance?) If it meant making more money, than, yes, they would definitely jump at the chance.

Suffering from a mild form of social anxiety, I used to dread going outside, as it usually meant that I would be subject to the prying eyes of the general public. The feeling that everyone was looking at me used to make me a tad uneasy. (Hey, wait a minute, I can't help but notice that you're using the past tense to describe your disorder. Does that mean you're cured?) Not exactly. But I have noticed that my anxious feelings are not as pronounced as they used to be. Why is that, you ask? Well, I'll you why, everyone is so self-absorbed nowadays, they could careless about those around them.

Remember those glowing boxes I alluded to earlier? Okay, now imagine everyone is carrying one those glowing boxes everywhere they go. In other words, no one is looking at me anymore, as they're way too occupied with their screen to notice me. In a weird twist, now I'm the one who's staring at them.

(What does all this mean?) Well, if the heads The Digital Matrix Inc. and Preston Inc. knew that one day people will be staring at screens all day long, their heads would probably explode. Then again, if they knew that one day people would be able to skip past their precious commercials with the simple push of a button, the part of their head that had already exploded as a result of hearing about humanities obsession with looking at screens would probably explode again.

Wow, judging by some of the words I've written so far, it would appear that I took a lot away from Looker. I don't want to belabour the point, but the way this film predicts the future is downright eerie. The characters, understandably, are shocked and appalled by the things they see transpiring in this movie. However, being a smug prick languishing in the present means that everything the occurs in this film, with a few exceptions here and there, has already come to fruition.

In order to reacquaint myself with my usual perverted self, let's talk about Terri Welles, shall we? Dominating the proceedings in the early going, Terri Welles appears in a commercial for Ravish perfume, exchanges dialogue with Albert Finney, wears a purple over purple leopard print, gets facial reconstruction surgery, puts makeup on to "Looker" by Sue Saad, wanders around her pink apartment in nothing but a black bra and matching panties and carries a small dog.

It's still early on, but I'm declaring Looker to be Terri Welles' movie, as she exudes a...Hold on, someone's at the door. And by "the door," I mean, Lisa Convey's door; which, by the way, is the name of Terri Welles' character. I'll wait to see who it is before I continue singing Terri's praises. Hmm, it would seem that no one was there after all. Did you hear that? It sounded like someone letting the air out of a tire. And what was with that flash of light? Something weird is going on.

When the synths start percolating on the film's synth-tastic soundtrack, which is composed by Barry De Vorzan, you know something awful is about to happen. However, her killer isn't wielding a drill or carrying a hatchet. No, he's employing a light-based weapon of some kind. We'll learn more about the light gun as the film progresses. In the meantime, what we just witnessed was one of the more unusual murder sequences in film history.

The killer, played by ex-football player Tim Rossovich, who is credited as "Mustache Man," may be only a henchman, but I thought he had a real presence about him. Oh, and the decision to give him no lines was the correct one. Of course, I'm not saying this because I don't think Tim Rossovich can handle scripted dialogue. On the contrary, I'm saying this because it gave his character an added air of mystery.

The following morning we meet plastic surgeon Dr. Larry Roberts (Albert Finney) as he enters his practice in a chipper mood. And why wouldn't he be? Women are paying him ridiculous amounts of money to cut up their faces. Sure, he removes the occasional sebaceous cyst and seems genuinely interested in opening a pediatric burn unit, but the majority of his surgery is purely cosmetic; in other words, completely unnecessary.

After flirting with a patient named Cindy Fairmont (Susan Dey), he was just checking out her face (she had some work done recently), Dr. Roberts is visited by Lt. Masters (Dorian Harewood), who informs him that two of his patients, both actresses who have appeared in commercials, have recently died under suspicious circumstances. If you listen carefully, the name of one of the dead actresses is Susan, and since Jeana Tomasina is listed as "Suzy" in the credits, I can only assume that Jeana's scenes were cut. Boo!

Naturally, Dr. Roberts thinks this is nothing but a tragic coincidence. His attitude changes almost immediately when another actress, a patient named Tina Cassidy (Kathryn Witt), drops by the office demanding that Dr. Roberts change her back. The frazzled woman tells Dr. Roberts that a man with a mustache is killing women who are perfect. Now, you might think someone's a little full of themselves. I mean, perfect? Get real, lady. However, as we'll soon find out, they are perfect, and they have the scientific data to back up their boastful claims.

Instead of showing Tina's inevitable confrontation with the Mustache Man the same way they did with his confrontation with Terri Welles, we see things from outside her apartment building. And so does Dr. Roberts, who rushed after Tina after she left his office in a paranoid haze (plus, she forgot her purse). Falling, like Terri Welles, from the balcony of her apartment, Tina's body crashes violently onto the roof of a parked car like a lifeless rag doll. Only, this was no dummy, the woman hitting the roof was clearly real. It's an amazing stunt.

Inside Tina's purse is a list of women, and three of them are dead. Noticing that Cindy's name is on that list, Dr. Roberts makes it his mission to make sure no harm comes to her.

Tracking her down at a photo shoot for Starting Line Lingerie, Dr. Roberts asks Cindy to accompany him to a fundraiser.

Who is responsible for the deaths of these models/actresses? And more importantly, why are they being killed? I have a sneaking suspicion that John Reston (James Coburn), president of Reston Inc., and the alluring Jennifer Long (Leigh Taylor-Young), president of Digital Matrix Inc., know who's behind these bizarre murders.

Maybe my senses have become dull over the years, but I thought Cindy's falling technique was excellent. Well, the people who run Digital Matrix Inc. don't seem to think so, and make her fall over and over until she's gets right. But then again, who decides what is right? In the world depicted in Looker, every minute detail is important. Hence, the frightfully specific measurements the models/actresses bring to Dr. Roberts for their plastic surgery (right down to the very last millimetre).

When so-called perfection is finally attained, the models/actresses are scanned by a computer. Once her data has been recorded, there's no need for the model/actress. (I don't want to alarm you, but Cindy is being scanned as we speak.) But I thought Dr. Roberts was protecting her? (He is, but he doesn't know what Reston Inc. and Digital Matrix Inc. are up to yet. Besides, he's being given a guided tour of the DMI's headquarters by none other than Jennifer Long, who is my new milf-spiration.)

You're what? (My milf-spiration. Doesn't everyone have one? Anyway, if I was a stylish woman in her late 30s who ran an evil corporation, I would dress and act exactly like Leigh Taylor-Young does in this movie.)

The film's final third is filled with shoot outs, fist fights and car chases. Yet, none are executed in a conventional manner. And how could they be when the aforementioned light gun is the principal tool used in all three?

Even though their only connection is the fashion industry and dead models, I wouldn't hesitate putting Looker on a double-bill with Eyes of Laura Mars, as both ooze style and sophistication. The former, however, has a scathing satirical edge the latter lacks. And it's this edge that makes this film the superior picture. Everything from advertisement and to our perception of beauty is skewered. Open up any fashion magazine or watch any television commercial, and you'll see a series of images that have been so digitally altered, that the people in them don't even look human anymore. They might as well appear as what they really are, a bunch of ones and zeros mindlessly cavorting about in a synthetic environment. And Looker is dead on when it comes to predicting the western world's misguided obsession with perfection.