Scanner Cop (Pierre David, 1994)

Just as I was about to start questioning the logic behind casting Brion James as "Dr. Hampton," a doctor who works at a poorly run mental institution, he goes ahead and describes Zena, the character played by one of my favourite actresses, Hilary Shepard, as an "odd yet attractive brunette." I must say, I haven't agreed with something said in a movie this much in a long time. Oh, the reason I was about to question the logic of casting Brion James is because his role is so small. But that doesn't matter now, for I have seen Scanner Cop, the movie that boasts Hilary Shepard's finest performance. I know, a lot of you will say that Hilary's role as Divatox in Turbo: A Power Rangers Movie is her finest performance, but since I haven't seen that movie... (You call Hilary Shepard one of your favourite actresses, yet you haven't seen Turbo: A Power Rangers Movie? What's wrong with you?) The reason I haven't seen  Turbo: A Power Rangers Movie is complicated and sad. In other words, I don't feel like getting into it at this juncture. Speaking of sad, a quick show of hands: Anyone think it's kinda sad that I've seen Scanner Cop but I haven't seen Scanners? Wow, that's a lot of hands (don't worry, though, I'm working on fixing that).

Loosely based on the David Cronenberg film–which, according to some, is considered a classic (I'm sure it's nowhere near as awesome as Rabid, but I've heard nothing but good things)–about a small segment of the population (called "scanners") who can blow up people's heads with their minds, Scanner Cop is about a cop, who is also happens to be a scanner... You could call him a "scanner cop," but let's not state the obvi... You know what, since I'm feeling a tad impish today, let's call him that. After all, the film's called "Scanner Cop," not "Policeman Psychic," or... well, you get the idea.

Anyway, for a film that looks pretty stupid on paper, Scanner Cop is actually quite good. What am I saying? It's more than quite good, it's phenomenal.

Sure, a lot of this has to do with Hilary Shepard's manic performance as a goth-tinged psychic psycho-hosebeast who wantonly wields a spray bottle filled with what I'm assuming is chloroform, but the rest of the film is just as compelling.

A quick side note: After watching the film a second time, I have since learned that the stuff Hilary Shepard sprays is a "harmless neuro-blocker."

The explanation as to why the rest of the film is so darned compelling can be summed up with these six simple words... (Wait, let me guess: Darlanne Fluegel in a pleated skirt.) Hmmm, I was going to going to say: Help! Deformed baby heads are protruding from my Dad's forehead. But since that's not even close to being six words, I'm going to have to say, yes, the reason this film is so darned compelling is because To Live and Die in L.A.'s Darlanne Fluegel wears a pleated skirt in one scene.

Just kidding. Oh, don't get me wrong, I love pleated skirts (especially when paired with a matching blazer). That being said, the opening scene that features three miniature baby heads protruding from a scanner's forehead is pretty fucking compelling. In fact, it's so compelling, in some markets, the protruding baby head forehead guy is on the poster (and by "poster" I mean the VHS box).

In reality, however, the protruding baby head forehead guy doesn't really have baby heads protruding from his forehead. You see, this is what happens when scanners fail to take their meds. Designed to dampen their power, scanners who wish to lead normal lives take a special pill that will keep the noise that sounds like the music of Zoviet France at bay (the decision to not go see Zoviet France at The Rivoli back in the early '90s still haunts me to this day).

I think I should explain myself a little bit. Um, how should I put this? Okay, whenever a scanner goes into scanning mode, this monotonous droning noise erupts on the soundtrack. Designed to replicate the atmospheric conditions that are taking place inside a scanner's brain while scanning, the so-called "scanner noise" can be added to the list of things that I loved about this movie.

After the protruding baby head forehead guy is shot and killed by a slumlord during an altercation with police, the protruding baby head forehead guy's son, Samuel Staziak (Daniel Quinn), is adopted by Officer Peter Harrigan (Richard Grove), one of the very cops at the scene. Realizing that Samuel will probably spend the rest of his life being experimented by mad scientists, the cop decides the raise the kid, who, like his father, is a scanner, as his own.

Flash-forward fifteen years, and Officer Peter Harrigan, who is now Commander Peter Harrigan, is congratulating his son for graduating from the  police academy.

Meanwhile, a war on cops has just gotten underway, as average L.A. residents are murdering police officers all across the city.

Okay, it's not a "war" and it's not exactly happening "all across the city," but the fact that two police officers were murdered by seemingly random people on a single night is somewhat troubling to authorities. Putting Lieutenant Harry Brown (Mark Rolston) in charge of the case, Commander Harrigan hopes to catch the person responsible for these crimes because... well, it's his job. But don't forget, his son just graduated from the police academy and is about to hit the streets as a patrolman.

While the authorities are at a loss, we, the audience, are clued in as to who is responsible for these murders when we see Hilary Shepard's Zena appear onscreen for the very first time. Now, I'm not saying just because Zena is dressed like a Goth, with fortune teller overtones (think Sioxsie Sioux crossed with Stevie Nicks), that she's the one responsible. But let's get real people. Prejudice towards Goths and  fortune tellers runs deep in Hollywood.

Take the scene where Zena sneaks up on Cyndi Pass (who's wearing a leotard, yet she's carrying a tennis racket*). For a minute there I thought I was watching a public service ad about the dangers of Goths, especially Goths who do the bidding of mentally unstable individuals who look like Richard Lynch; by the way, if your horror or action movie doesn't star Richard Lynch, then you're doing something seriously wrong.

Nevertheless, I dig Gothic fashion and think fortune tellers are rad.

Giving the film a much needed splash of campiness, Hilary Shepard injects (literally at times) Scanner Cop with an off-kilter playfulness that Daniel Quinn, Richard Grove, Mark Rolstone, et al were unable to bring to the table.

Despite the fact I haven't seen the original, even I know it's not a scanner movie unless someone's head explodes. I won't spoil it for you by identifying the person whose head goes all kablooey, but everything that leads up to the head ruining scenes is... What was the word I used earlier? Oh yeah, phenomenal. I was particularly impressed with the Clive Barker-esque sequence that takes place in Hell, as some of the imagery is quite disturbing.          

* It's called multitasking, look into it.

Hunk (Lawrence Bassoff, 1987)

You don't hear about yuppies, or, as they're sometimes called, "yuppie scum," that much nowadays. Why is that? Is it because they're called hipsters now? Nah, hipsters are descendents of Duckie, yuppies are actually descendents of Blaine. The influence of the yuppie, and, to a lesser extent, their European cousins, "Euro-trash," has always been a contentious issue in the West. Causing those who view themselves as cool to fly into fits of rage, yuppies have always been seen as vile creatures that need to be destroyed on sight. Of course, I can make an incendiary statement like that without fear of reprisals because no one has ever admitted to being a yuppie. In other words, I won't be getting a sternly worded note from the anti-yuppie defamation league telling me to curb my disdain for everything they stand for. You want to know why? There is no such organization. And one of the main reasons there is no such organization is a movie from 1987 called simply, Hunk. I was beginning to wonder what all this yuppie talk had to do with this movie. Briefly touching on the nascent yuppie phenomenon in Weekend Pass, writer-director Lawrence Bassoff obviously saw the insidious impact they were having on society and decided to do something about it. You'll notice that Mr. Bassoff has only two directorial credits to his name. The reason Hunk would be the last film he ever made was because the yuppie scum that ran Hollywood in the 1980s were so alarmed by the anti-materialism, anti-superficiality, anti-war message his film was putting out there, that they probably had him blacklisted. Wait a minute, Hunk is anti-war?!? I can see the others, but anti-war? You're crazy.

Crazy, eh? Name another movie where a socially awkward computer programmer is given the choice between being a hunk with killer pecs or an everyday slob with mediocre pecs? What's that? You say that sounds like the plot of every movie in existence? Aw, crap, I forget to mention if he picks the latter, the world will be engulfed by violence and destruction. Oh, and before you say: Isn't the world already engulfed by violence and destruction? I meant to say, more violence and destruction than usual. We're pretty much talking World War III up in this cinematic cubbyhole.

On top of having the weight of the world on his muscular and sometimes not-so muscular shoulders (depending on which guise he is currently taking), the hunky/dorky protagonist at the centre of this surprisingly profound undertaking ("surprisingly," because it was produced by none other than Crown International Pictures) has to deal with issues of a supernatural nature.

What actor do you hire when you need someone to represent the most powerful force in the known universe? I don't know, how 'bout, Charlton Heston? No? Okay, James Earl Jones, perhaps? Not even close, eh? I got it, James Hong? Nice try. First of all, he's a she. And secondly...actually, there's no need for "secondly." Her name is Deborah Shelton (Body Double), and, mark my words, she will convince you to do her bidding. How does she do that exactly? How does she do that?!? You're kidding, right? She's Deborah Shelton. Doing her bidding is her middle name. Well, it's not actually her middle name. But it totally could be - you know, if she went down to the name-changing place and filled out a form or something, and waited six to eight weeks.

If the first thought to cross your mind when you start watching Hunk is: Did I accidentally put in a gay porno into my video player? Don't worry, you're not alone. Incorrectly thinking that Hunk is gay porno is a common mistake. Oh, don't get me wrong, it's gay all right. It's just that a lot of people might not be able to handle the in your face masculinity that the film unleashes on the viewer right out of the gate.

Shot from every angle imaginable, the film opens with a faceless man getting ready to go out. After watching him lather up in the shower, shave, and blow dry his hair, the man gets in his red convertible and leaves his swanky beach house. You'll notice that as he's driving, all the women on street stop and stare at him with a pussy moistening awe.

Walking into a building, the faceless man, a muscular man with blonde hair, enters the office of Dr. Susan Graves, PhD. (Rebecca Bush). Hold up, why does this guy need to see a shrink? It's funny you should ask that, as we're about to find out.

You see, he's not who he says is. Apparently, he's not a hunky blonde, but a nerdy computer programmer named Bradly Brinkman (Steve Levitt). Pretty unbelievable, right? Well, sit back and relax, because the hunky blonde is about to tell Dr. Graves, "Sunny," to her friends, the bizarre story of how Bradly Brinkman ceased to exist.

Working as a computer programmer for Constantine Constapopolis (Avery Schreiber), the owner of Constapopolis Computers, Bradly Brinkman spends most of his time writing computer code and daydreaming about being a hunk. Caught doing the latter one day by his Mr. Constapopolis, Bradly is told to come up with a new computer program by tomorrow morning or else he'll end up working at his boss's father's Greek restaurant Cyclops West.

Due to unexplained circumstances, "The Yuppie Program," a how-to guide for fledgling yuppies, miraculously appears on Bradly's desk. His boss is so pleased by this program, that he gives Bradly a big fat royalty check and the rest of the summer off. Renting a beach house in the exclusive community of Sea Spray, Bradly plans on relaxing for the rest of the summer.

He's barely had time to get settled in when he's confronted by Polly Clutter, a.k.a. Chachka (Cynthia Szigeti), a garrulous busybody along the lines of Marlene Willoughby's Frannie Grudkow from A Woman's Torment. Giving him a tour of the area, Chachka introduces Bradly to the so-called heavy-hitters of the Sea Spray social circle, who are, of course, playing beach Trivial Pursuit when he meets them. And they are: Coaster Royce (Page Mosely), Laurel Springs (Melanie Vincz), Skeet Mecklenburger (Doug Shanklin), and Alexis Cash (Hilary Shepard).

"Igor Stravinsky? Wrong!" And with that line, we're introduced to the comedic genius that is Hilary Shepard. What the fuck? Comedic genius? I didn't see that coming. Whatever do you mean? I thought you were going to start talking about her legs or something. Don't get me wrong, her legs are amazing. It's just that I was quite taken with Hilary's abilities as a comedian in this movie. In fact, one of the few pleasures I got from Hunk was watching her various facial expressions. I was particularly impressed with her eye-rolling technique; I have no doubt that she could go eye-roll-o-eye-roll with Winona Ryder, the queen of the unimpressed eye-roll.

While Hilary is putting on an eye-rolling clinic, you will notice Brad Pitt chilling on an inflatable beach chair sipping on a mai tai in the background whenever Skeet is onscreen. The only reason I mention this is because Brad Pitt is now a well-known actor/perfume shill.

Unimpressed with the heavy-hitters, especially their "aura of arrogance," Bradly still wants them to except him. Shunned by Alexis and Coaster at the Sand Castle, a local yuppie bar, and completely ignoring his housewarming party, the residents of Sea Spray seem to want nothing to do with Bradly Brinkman. What if he changed his name to Hunk Golden? Still not enough, you say? Okay, how about if he made a pact with a witch with a Class B sorcery license? You're getting warmer.

What if I told you the pact was made with a brunette demon goddess named O'Brien (Deborah Shelton), and the trial offer involved acquiring the thighs of Sylvester Stallone, the pelvis of Elvis Presley, the navel of Arnold Schwarzenegger, the nipples of Robert Redford, the eyes of Paul Newman, and the schlong of King King overnight? Well, first of all, getting the eyes of Paul Newman is the only one of those things that makes any sense. I mean, Robert Redford's nipples? King Kong's schlong? Ugh.

When Brady Brinkman wakes up the following morning, he discovers that he's been magically transformed into Hunk Golden (John Allen Nelson), a musclebound blonde with a killer bod. It should be noted that most guys would kill to have Bradly Brinkman's body. Nevertheless, John Allen Nelson's body is a work of art; it's no wonder Hunk is considered a minor classic throughout certain segments of the gay population.

As expected, the superficial yuppies who shunned Bradly Brinkman earlier in the film, fully embrace Hunk Golden; some, in fact, take it one step further (I'm looking at you, Laurel Springs - you gold digging whore - oops, did I say that out loud?). You could say, Hunk Golden becomes the toast of Sea Spray, as every time he walks down the beach in his Speedo becomes an event; hell, even mermaids want to have sexual relations with him.

While I enjoyed the scenes where Deborah Shelton's O'Brien would check up on Bradly/Hunk, the performance by James Coco as Dr. D (a.k.a. The Devil), who usually shows up during these "check up" scenes, was, let's just say, lackluster at best. Hampered by cheesy costumes, I felt the Dr. D character was completely unnecessary. That being said, John Allen Nelson and Steve Levitt (previously best known to me as the bellboy from Private School) both give excellent performances. Yeah, you heard right, excellent. Of course, they're nowhere near as compelling as Hilary Shepard. But then again, not that many people are.

Weekend Pass (Lawrence Bassoff, 1984)

What do you get when you put four sailors together in a cheap motel located somewhere off the Sunset Strip? I don't know, a low rent version of The Last Detail? What? No. And besides, that film only has three sailors (this one has four). And not only that, it takes place on the east coast. The east of coast of Canada? You know what east coast I'm talking about. What do you mean you still don't know what you get? All right, how 'bout if I told you that one of the sailors is an ex-gang member? Not sold, eh? Okay, one of them wants to be a stand up comedian. Nothing? The sailor in the glasses has a thing for chicks who sort of look like Tina Fey. Still nothing? Damn, I don't know what else to say. I suppose it wouldn't change your mind if I told you that the blonde sailor is intimidated by leggy, narcissistic women who want to painstakingly insert penis-shaped pieces of plastic into the rarely explored rectal cavities of heterosexual seaman. Oh, hello, it seems like that got your attention. Well, it's about time. After dabbling with women in prison films, cannibal gore-fests, and giallo thrillers, it was nice to crawl back into the bosom of my cinematic comfort zone: the mindless sex comedy. Produced by the legendary Crown International Pictures, Weekend Pass is akin to the other films they produced during this period of their lengthy existence. Mirroring the sleaze with a conscious vibe of such C.I.P. early-mid '80's classics like, My Chauffeur, Tomboy, and My Tutor, this particular slice of not-so innocuous fluff might look like a headache waiting to happen, but it's actually got something to say. Of course, what that is exactly isn't clear to me at the moment. But I'm sure it will come to me sooner or later.

In the meantime, what do you say we perv out together and talk about all the PG-rated debauchery/mayhem the fours sailors at the centre of this inoffensive lark get up to during a fun-filled weekend in Los Angeles?

Where should we start? What's that? Call me someone who has superb hearing, but I could have sworn I just heard someone yell out "leggy narcissist," and get this, the person who yelled it had a Russian accent. Weird. Anyway, since the leggy narcissist, the statuesque Hilary Shepard, appears later on in the film, I'll get to her in a minute.

What I need is something to focus on that transpires near the beginning of the film, and then work my way from there. Does it have to involve legginess? Not necessarily. I got it, The Party Hearty Dancers! The leader of this spirited dance group is leggy as fuck. In fact, she's the leggiest woman in the entire film. I thought I just said that it didn't necessarily have to involve legginess? Since you brought it up, I guess I'll talk about the leggy leader of The Party Hearty Dancers; despite the fact I'm a tad shy when it comes praising the distinct contours of women's legs in a public forum.

Speaking of shyness, I'm also reluctant to talk openly about my love of leotards, my interest in montages that revolve around neon lights, and my infrequently mentioned fascination with gothic fashion.

Getting back to legs, Paul Fricker (D.W. Brown), Lester Gidley (Peter Ellenstein), Bunker Hill (Chip McAllister) and Webster Adams (Patrick Houser) are four seaman who have decided to drive to Los Angeles, from their base in San Diego, to engage in a weekend of hedonism. You mean a "weekend pass"? That's exactly what I mean.

Okay, that's great and all, but what has all this got to do with legs? Legs?!? You said, "getting back to legs." Oh, yeah. Legs. Well, after some signage porn (editor Harry B. Miller III does an amazing job splicing together multiple shots of some famous and not-so famous L.A. signs during this sequence) set to the ultra-catchy "Weekend Pass" by John and Robbie Baer, Fricker, Lester, Bunker and Webster hit up The G-String Club. A strip club? In the middle of the day? Eww, gross. It's not gross. It's a beautiful thing. No matter what your opinion is in regard to strip clubs that operate in the middle of the day, The G-String Club features some of the leggiest women ever to walk the face of the earth.

Things get off to gam-tastic start when Tuesday Del Mundo (Sara Costa) saunters onto The G-String Club stage with an aplomb that could best be described as--you guessed it--leggy. Thrusting her L.A. reared crotch, which is sheathed in a sequined teal thong, with the kind of abandon you don't often find this far north of Wilshire Blvd., Tuesday focuses the bulk her striptease on Fricker (she even grabs his sailor cap and uses it as a prop at one point). Noticing this, Webster bets the others that he can persuade Tuesday to go out with him.

As Webster is crashing and burning with Tuesday (she's too smart to be swayed by his asinine pick-up lines), The Party Hearty Dancers are putting on a leggy clinic. Lead by Helen Crookes, the leggiest of the three (hence, the reason she's their leader), the energetic dance trio might not have any dialogue or advance the plot in anyway, but I appreciated their dedication to uncut legginess.

In terms of having an overall look that scratched me where I itch, I also have to give it up to Ashley St. Jon, whose new wave/punk/glam/metal schtick was to die for.

Next up for the foursome is... Actually, before I continue, I should point out the reason the four seaman in L.A. in the first place. Oh, man, do you have to? I'm afraid so. I would really like this to look like a real movie review. Okay, but be quick about it. Wait, didn't you say they're in L.A. for hedonistic purposes? Yeah, I guess that's accurate. But the reason Fricker is in L.A. is because he plans on making his stand up comedy debut at the Comedy Castle on Saturday night. As for rest: Webster has date with a woman he knew in college; Bunker is going to look up an old flame; and Lester has a blind date. So, as you can see, they all have their reasons for being here.

At any rate, the foursome head over to Venice Beach next. Transfixed by the woman giving an aerobics demo on the beach in a tight leotard, Bunker Hill begins in haste his campaign to woo Tina Wells (Pamela Kay Davis), or I should say, begins his aggressive campaign, as he is relentless.

While Bunker is trying to put the moves on Tina (she is so far managing to resist his charms), the other three decide to have some fun at the expense of three goddesses who are supposedly not considered stereotypically attractive by your average heterosexual moron. I, on other hand, found these women to be quite alluring. What can I say? I loved the way their thick thighs twinkled in the harsh California sun. Now, I don't want to go into much detail about the particulars of the cruel prank they pull on them, but let's say it made me feel a tad queasy.

To alleviate my nauseousness, here's a mini-tribute to the three women who are unwittingly ridiculed by a trio of thoughtless seaman in Weekend Pass.

Employed by a snack cake company (one that I didn't catch the name of), Roberta (Mona Charles) is a frosting inspector; Pickles (Joan Dykman) is an eggbeater; and Candy (Debra Christofferson) is in charge of quality control.

If I was in charge of things, I would have re-written the film to have the seaman bring Roberta, Pickles and Candy to their hotel room for a cocaine-fueled orgy of sex and mild violence. But alas, it wasn't meant to be. Don't be so glum, Bunker convinces his fellow seaman to attend one of Tina Wells' aerobics classes. And just like his attempt to woo her on the beach, Bunker fails to win the aerobics instructor over. But you can tell he's wearing her down. Oh, and the scene at Tina's aerobics studio features lot's of women jumping in unison while wearing leotards.

Since the seaman, especially Lester, are worn out from the workout they endured, Webster, Fricker (that's with a "k" as in Kaopectate) and Bunker decide to give Kimono My Place Topless Massage a call. And before you know it, Chop Suzi (Cheryl Song) is walking all over Lester; and, yes, I mean that literally.

As Lester recovers from his session with Chop Suzi, the others cruise the city looking at neon signs. Wait, that can't be right. Nope, according to my notes, there's totally a neon sign montage in this film. Either way, Harry B. Miller III's editing is once again an amazing sight to behold.

And it doesn't end there, as Harry B. Miller III's editing comes into play during the seaman's trip to Melrose Ave. You mean the street where Retail Slut is was located? The very same. Awesome. Yeah, the Melrose shopping montage is rife with authentic goth, punk, metal and new wave fashions.

The film briefly gets melodramatic when the seaman head south of Wilshire Blvd. and visit Bunker's old neighbourhood. You're familiar with how L.A. gang members are typically portrayed in movies, right? Well, Weekend Pass turns that image on its head and has the Mau Mau (the gang Bunker used to belong to) act and dress like extras from The Apple. Anyway, lead by Bert (Grand L. Bush), the Mau Mau take exception with the seaman encroaching on their turf. A fight ensues, but nothing too serious.

I hope Webster has saved up his strength, because he's gonna need it when he finally hooks up Cindy Hazard, the leggiest narcissist in town. Oh, and the reason I call her the "leggiest narcissist in town," is because A) She's leggy. And B) She has four Andy Warhol-style silkscreens of herself hanging above her couch. Looking fierce in her leather mini-skirt, Cindy, a record exec, takes Webster to a fancy upscale eatery.

Meanwhile, Fricker meets a cute lady comedian, Heidi Henderson (Daureen Collodel), from West Covina backstage at the Comedy Castle. (Believe it or not, Phil Hartman, who plays the club's M.C., is probably the film's most well-known cast member.) The problem with the comedy club is sequence is that all the comedians are terrible. Meaning, when Fricker and Heidi bomb on stage, it doesn't really resonate, as they all kind of sucked. Nonetheless, the comedy club scene is probably the most awkward thing I've seen in years. In fact, I had to look away on several occasions.

When Lester's blind date, Tawny Ryatt (Graem McGavin), who sort of looks like Tina Fey, especially when they do those Tina Fey-centric flashbacks to the late '80s/early '90s on 30 Rock, and Maxine (Annette Sinclair), her cousin from San Francisco, finally decide to show up, you know this weekend is about to come an end. So, did I learn anything? Nope. Were you offended? Not really. And I'm sure the actresses who played Roberta, Pickles and Candy were treated with respect. How 'bout entertained? Most definitely. It was refreshing to watch something stupid for a change. And Weekend Pass definitely fit the bill.