The Dark Backward (Adam Rifkin, 1991)

In most movies, when a character stumbles upon the body of a naked woman at the local dump, their first instinct is to call the authorities. Well, how should I put this? The Dark Backward is not even close to being most movies. In fact, it's unlike anything I've ever seen. Oh, sure, parts it reminded me of Eraserhead (and I'm not just saying this because it mentions it on the film's poster), Blade Runner, Shredder Orpheus, The King of Comedy and Dr. Caligari. But the film, written and directed by Adam Rifkin (Detroit Rock City), is definitely a unique experience. Don't believe me? Um, Judd Nelson plays a struggling stand-up comic whose best friend is a chubby chasing, accordion-playing garbageman played by Bill Paxton. Any questions? I don't mean to toot my own horn (or squeeze my own accordion), but what was great about that last sentence is that I didn't need to allude to the fact that Judd Nelson's character grows a third arm. What's not so great about that last sentence is the fact that I called Bill Paxton's character a "chubby chaser." Trust me, he ain't no chubby chaser. The chicks he bangs in this movie are beyond chubby. Not to get too graphic, but I think Pickles' left bicep weighs more than me (Pickles being, of course, one of the morbidly obese women Bill Paxton mounts-thanks to sheer industriousness-and ultimately fucks in this movie).

Wait, that wasn't graphic at all. What I should have was: I think Pickles' rarely seen labia weighs more than me ("rarely seen" because it's shielded by a mountain range of abdominal flesh). While not factually accurate (her labia doesn't gain weight, and, hence, it does not weigh more than me), I think most people will agree that labias are funnier than biceps. Actually, anything cunt-based is a hundred times funnier than anything arm-based; just ask  jazz aficionado Soupy Sales. Whatta you mean he's dead? Criminy.

It's too bad Marty Malt (Judd Nelson) and I weren't best friends, as I could have taught him a thing or two about comedy. Instead, he's best friends with a guy named Gus (Bill Paxton), a sycophantic cheerleader who fills Marty's head with delusional nonsense on a daily basis. The biggest delusion being that he's actually funny.

They say the majority of comedy comes from pain, and it looks like Marty Malt is going to find this out the hard way when a painful nodule on the middle of his back grows into a human arm. I know, I said cunt-based humour is superior to arm-based humour. But arm-based humour is nothing to sneeze at. Granted, I can't think of any comedians off the top of my head who have had successful careers utilizing arm-based humour in their act. But I don't see why someone couldn't. I mean, arms can be funny, especially if you know a how to flail them properly.

I'm sorry, I'm trying to figure out why I compared The Dark Backward to Blade Runner a couple of paragraphs ago. The others I can sort of see. But Blade Runner? I'm just not seeing it. Hold on, I just remembered. When Marty and Gus are leaving Syd's comedy club after another terrible/awesome show, the camera hovers over this rooftop. And as we're doing so, I spotted a pile of dust-laden trash. Well, in Blade Runner, when Deckard is entering the police station, the camera hovers over the roof of Bryant's office. Anyone care to guess what's on the roof of Bryant's office? That's right, dust-laden trash.

Though, I think it's safe to say that The Dark Backward beats the snot out of Blade Runner in terms of garbage. Seriously, this film is wall-to-wall trash. And I mean that as a compliment.

Did I mention that Gus forces two of his morbidly obese girlfriends to eat dog food off his nipples?

Introduced to the "comedy stylings" of Marty Malt right off the bat, a sweaty Judd Nelson takes the stage at Syd's, a local club that seems to cater to the over 75 crowd. Telling a joke about buying stamps and one where his pet turtle turns out to be a rock, things are going pretty bad for the comedian in the pea green suit. Or are they? According to his accordion-playing pal Gus, he was hilarious and tells him afterward that the audience was laughing on the inside.

I'm thinking that Gus is either humouring his friend or that he has serious mental problems. I'm leaning more toward the latter. Judging by Gus' overall demeanour, he seems to have a few screws loose. (You mean he ain't hooked up right?) That's exactly what I mean, and Bill Paxton plays up Gus' insanity to the hilt. If you're like me and thought Bill's wacky antics were the best things about Aliens and Near Dark, you'll love his performance in this film, as he makes Nic Cage's gonzo turn in Deadfall seem restrained.

One of the keys to impressing me, cinema-wise, is the ability to create a world unto itself. And The Dark Backward manages to do that and then some. Shirking nationalism and popular culture, the film has its own ecosystem.

Take, for instance, the whole "Blump's" thing. Now, I'm not entirely sure what Blump's is, but they seem to have cornered the market for pretty much everything. Whether it be squeezable bacon, pork juice, beef, scab medicine, cigars/cigarettes, lemon fresh suppositories or cheddar-scented cheese, Blump's have got you covered.

Even Marty and Gus seem to be under the thumb of Blump's, as they work for their sanitation division. Though, I have to say, they're not very good at their jobs (the bulk of the trash they pick up rarely ever makes it into the back of the garbage truck).

One day, as they're out on their route, Gus notices a lump in the middle of Marty's back. No biggie, right? It's just an insect bite. After Gus molests a corpse at the dump, Marty takes a second stab at Syd's club. And like the opening set, it does not go well, as the geriatrics in the audience remain stone-faced throughout his painfully unfunny act.

While Marty has Lara Flynn Boyle's diner waitress to lean on for support, Gus has his portly harem of obese woman to eat stir fried dog food off his nipples. Lucky bastard. (Which one?) Which one what? (Which one is the lucky bastard?) Uh, I'd rather not say at this particular juncture.

As Marty's lump grows into an arm, he looses the support of Lara Flynn Boyle (she can't handle dating a guy with three arms) and gets nothing but confused looks from Dr. Scurvy (James Caan) and Nurse Kitty (Claudia Christian). But he does find an ally in Jackie Chrome (Wayne Newton), a talent agent. When Jackie saw Marty's act without the third arm, he reacted the way almost everyone does: Hostile indifference. But now that Marty has a three arms as supposed to just two, Jackie sees this as an opportunity to turn his abnormality into fame and fortune.

Re-branding them as "Desi the Three-Armed Wonder Comic and his musical accompaniment Gus," Jackie books Marty and Gus at a number of different clubs throughout the city. Of course, the results are the exactly same as they were before the third arm came along (Marty is still not funny, and Gus' accordion playing does nothing but confuse the audience), but Jackie seems to think the three-armed comic has potential.

It's true, production designer (Sherman Williams) and art director (Wendy Guidery) deserve a lot of the credit for making this the cult classic that it is today, it's actually the visionary weirdness of writer-director Adam Rifkin that elevates it to the status of off-kilter masterpiece. Screw that, everyone involved with this film needs to be commended.

Thief (Michael Mann, 1981)

Early on in this gritty crime thriller, a character is amazed by the colour of the sky. And then, during a later scene, someone is impressed by the colour of a tree. Why did these two instances of nature appreciation stand out in my mind as I watched Thief for the first time the other night? Well, the desperate people who populate this ultra-sleek universe exist mainly within an artificial vacuum. A grey world where every square inch is seemingly covered with a thick layer of steel and concrete, the men and women who are forced to survive here on a daily basis are rarely given the opportunity to experience a realm that isn't filled with a coarse brand of granular sadness. Some will do just about anything to escape this dreary nightmare, and if that means penetrating the thick, metaphorical barriers that have set up to prevent them from attaining a better life, than so be it. In order to placate the drabness of this particular domain, the powers that be have decided to drape certain parts of it with neon signs. This addition of colour creates a weird dichotomy between the two disparate plains of chromatic existence. However, the veritable neon light show doesn't make you want to stay any longer in this place. If anything, it causes one to want to leave even more, as they do nothing but remind you of how beautiful the world can be. Bathed in darkness, yet filled with moments of profound resplendence, writer-director Michael Mann (Manhunter) pretty much reinvents film noir for the new wave era; think of it as a black and white gangster film from the 1940s, but with added flashes of colour.

The words "sleek" and "straightforward" can't be used enough to describe the overall temperament of this unsentimental slice of early '80s cool. And they can't be used enough to characterize Frank (James Caan), a career criminal whose specialty is breaking into safes.

Opening on the rain-soaked streets of Chicago, we meet Frank doing just that, setting up his industrial-strength drill to bust open a safe. You can tell almost immediately that Frank and his crew, Joseph (William LaValley), who is sitting in a car listening to a police radio in a nearby alleyway in order to keep tabs on the heat, and Barry (James Belushi), who is making sure the building's alarm system stays inoperative during the course of the break-in, are professionals by the way they disregard the frivolous contents of the safe (jewelry is merely tossed aside). No, what Frank's interested in is uncut diamonds. Yeah, that's right, he steals ice. Oh, sure, he'll take cash, but he mostly deals in ice.

If there were any doubts as to who was behind the camera during the safe-cracking sequence, those doubts pretty much melted away for good when we watch Frank, Barry and Joseph make their getaway, as it bares all the markings of what would soon be known as the Michael Mann aesthetic. The urban jungle at night as seen through Michael Mann's lens is an exhilarating spectacle. I mean, nary a word of dialogue has been spoken, yet you feel yourself getting sucked into this darkly beautiful landscape.

A used car salesmen by day, Frank runs into a bit of a snag regarding his cut for the score he just pulled. It would seem that the man carrying Frank's money, oh, let's just say, he met with an unfortunate accident. And, as you might expect, Frank is none too pleased by this turn of events, and decides to confront a low level mobster (Tom Signorelli) at his phony place of business. After setting up a meeting that will hopefully rectify his money situation (the loaded pistol he shoved in the mobster's face as they chatted convinced him that it was in his best interest to do so), Frank visits his ailing mentor (Willie Nelson) in prison. When the rendezvous does finally transpire, which, of course, is taking place under the cover of darkness (you don't do this kind of shit in the middle of the day), Frank is mildly annoyed when he discovers that the low level mobster has brought along a high level mobster named Leo (Robert Prosky) to their clandestine meet and greet.

A self-employed thief who doesn't like outside agitators messing with his scores, noodles with the idea of working of for Leo, who offers to back any his future criminal endeavours. What's the point of making all this money if he doesn't have anyone to share it with? And that's where a waitress named Jessie (Tuesday Weld) comes in.

In the film's most compelling scene in terms of acting and dialogue, Franks tells Jessie, who's reluctant to get romantically involved with another con (it's safe to say that she has a bit of a shady past), all about the time he spent at Joliet (eleven years to be exact) while at a coffee shop. This scene, which goes on for about ten minutes, does an excellent job of fleshing out the Frank character, while at same time giving James Caan the opportunity to a shine as an actor.

Accepting Leo's offer after he finds out that Jessie is in fact his "girl," Frank and his crew immediately go to work on their next score, which involves breaking into a massive safe located in a Los Angeles highrise. While Barry tries to figure out the particulars of the building's elaborate alarm system, Frank works on acquiring right tools for the job, and, of course, adopting a baby (he manages to do both, by the way, while wearing a grey leather jacket).

As Frank soon finds out, being associated with Leo has its pluses and minuses. On the upside, Frank's score is being properly financed, and, on top of that, Leo comes through for him in the baby department after his effort to adopt through legal channels hits a bit of a snag. On the downside, however, Frank's proximity to Leo has brought a lot of unwanted police attention (heat) on him (his house is bugged and he's constantly being followed).

Now, is Frank's attempt to go straight doomed to fail? Who's to say? What I will say is that his journey is definitely worth watching, no matter what the outcome.

If the scene in the coffee shop was the film's most compelling in terms of dialogue and acting, than the scene where Frank looses his tail, and begins to cut into the roof of the L.A. highrise is the most compelling in terms of mood and style. I don't know, the sight of James Caan cutting into a roof with a saw doesn't sound all that compelling to me. It's true, it doesn't. But I have yet to mention one key ingredient, and that is, Tangerine Dream, the German electronic group founded in the late 1960s. The synths! My god, man, the synths! I was in electro heaven during the early going of the so-called "burn job sequence." Is there anything cooler than the sound of Tangerine Dream pounding away on the soundtrack as James Caan and James Belushi tore into that roof? I can't think of anything, and my brain is literally a synaptic Rolodex of cinematic cool.

The film oozes a noirish flair from start to finish, yet James Belushi is in the cast. How is that possible, you ask? Well, when I first saw the comedic actor appear on-screen, I'll admit, I did cringe my pants a little. But then it dawned on me, James Caan would never hang out with someone who wasn't at least one quarter badass. And you know what? He was a bit of a badass. (Hello? He drives a white '77 Corvette.) In fact, his character was just as professional as Frank, and there's no-one more professional than him. So, I apologize to James Belushi for doubting his presence in this movie. Oh, and keep an eye out for William Petersen (To Live and Die and L.A.) as the bartender at one of those obnoxious Chicago-style blues clubs; don't get me wrong, I love the Chicago music scene, but only when it comes to Wax Trax! Records and House Music.

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