City Limits (Aaron Lipstadt, 1984)

Even though this is yet another film that is supposedly set in the future, it technically takes place in the past. Um, I think that makes sense. Nevertheless, despite the wonky timeline, City Limits still manages to capture the unwashed disquietude of a world rife with unopened cans of cat food and fingerless gloves as far as the eye can see. How, you might be asking yourself, does it manage to do this? It's simple, really. Costume designer Merril Greene was obviously given free reign when it came time to design the various outre outfits worn by The Clippers and The DA's. And, no, I'm not talking about the NBA franchise, nor am I talking about a group of funkily attired trial lawyers. Believe or not, The Clippers and The DA's are two of L.A.'s toughest bike gangs. Actually, I think they're L.A.'s only bike gangs (they basically run the entire city). Of course, there's not much for them to rule over nowadays... you know, since a mysterious plague wiped out almost the entire population. Needless to say, with no links to the past, the citizens living in this post-apocalyptic paradise have developed their own unorthodox sense of style.

Now, if, say, The Clippers or The DA's were to walk down the street during the pre-apocalypse, they would probably be laughed at (or worse, be accused of being hipsters). However, since the people who would have been doing the majority of the laughing are all dead, it means that Rae Dawn Chong can wear a white fedora with a pink cape covered in black polka dots without having to worry about being judged by the self-appointed fashion police.

If this world sounds too good to be true. Don't worry. The fine folks at Sunya Inc. want to change all that. In a normal movie, Sunya would be the heroes, and bikers the villains. But in a bizarre twist, especially for a movie from the mid-1980's (a period when Charles Bronson/Chuck Norris/Sly Stalone-style vigilantism was all the rage), City Limits implies that the biker way of life is the way of life worth preserving.

Sure, Sunya will tell you that all they want to do is turn the lights on and bring back other essential services to the city. And who in their right mind would be against that? Yeah, but can Rae Dawn Chong still wear flannel shirts with studded collars? (Um, I don't think she wears anything like that in this movie.) Okay, maybe she doesn't wear a flannel shirt with a studded collar. But at least she can if she wants to. When Sunya take over, you can pretty much forget about mixing and matching.

How do I know this? Trust me, if the leader of a powerful, quasi-fascist organization looks like Norbert Weisser, you can pretty much kiss your freedom goodbye.

Oh, crap. It just dawned on me that Mick (Darrell Larson), the leader of The Clippers, sort of looks like Norbert Weisser, who, if I haven't mentioned already, plays Bolo, Sunya's most Germanic honcho. Either way, judging by Norbert's actions, it's clear that Sunya are not to be trusted.
    

Born in the desert and raised by James Earl Jones (his parents died during the plague), Lee (John Stockwell) has grown tired of living in the country, and yearns to go the city. Hopping on his motorbike, Lee rides to L.A. with the hope of joining The Clippers.

Now, this may come across as a tad dickish, but any review for City Limits that fails to give props to Mitchell Froom's score should be discounted immediately. Seriously, it's that good. Sure, it sounds a lot like Mr. Froom's Café Flesh score. But as almost everyone knows, the Café Flesh score is one of the greatest scores of all-time. In other words, you could view City Limits as the real Café Flesh 2 (no offense to the late great Antonio Passolini - a.k.a. Johnny Jump-Up). Except instead of being about Sex Negatives looking for post-nuke thrills at a club run by Tantala Ray, it's about... Come to think of it, the plots of the two films are eerily similar. Of course, no one expels seminal fluid on anyone in City Limits. Which is a shame, as I was hoping to see James Earl Jones blast his CNN-bank rolled seed all over Pamela Ludwig's alabaster backside.

Don't look at me that way. It's clear to anyone with eyes that James Earl Jones and Pamela Ludwig (Over the Edge) do more than bond over model airplanes in this movie.

Anyway, after being initiated, Lee is accepted into The Clipper fold. Oh, wait. It would seem that Ray (Danny De La Paz), the leader of The DA's, wants Lee dead. You see, one of The DA's was killed during the chase involving Lee. So, Ray wants restitution.

Instead handing Lee over, Whitey (John Diehl), or maybe it was Sammy (Don Keith Opper)... Whoever it was, trial by combat is put forth as a possible solution. I liked how the idea comes from issue #43 of Insect Man, a comic book that serves as a sort of bible in this film's universe. In a way, it reminded me of how the Earth book "Chicago Mobs of the Twenties" shaped the residents of Sigma Iotia II in the Star Trek episode, "A Piece of the Action."

The cool thing about the trial by combat sequence is that Jennifer Balgobin (Dr. Calgari and Repo Man) is the one The DA's  choose to fight Lee. Any time I can add a Jennifer Balgobin movie to my list of Jennifer Balgobin movies that I've seen is a reason to celebrate. Watch out, Out of Bounds, you're next!

If you look closely, you can spot Jennifer Balgobin busting out some sweet ninja moves during the climatic battle scene as well.

The reason there's a climatic battle scene is because The Clippers refuse to cooperate with Sunya. Managing somehow to convince Ray and The DA's that working with Sunya is in their best interest, the corporation, lead by Robby Benson, seem to be having trouble convincing The Clippers.

When asking nicely gets them nowhere, Sunya resort to acts of violence. It's at around this time that Wickings (Kim Cattrall), an idealist Sunya employee, realizes that the company she works for is super-nefarious. Of course, by the time she figures this out, it's too late.

With the majority of their members either dead or being subjected to Sunya sponsored re-education seminars, The Clippers find themselves with their backs against the wall. Will these freedom-loving, motorcycle-riding, flamboyantly-dressed samurai ass-clowns be able to retake their half of the city from a heavily armed group of jumpsuit-wearing fascists? Probably. I mean, sure, the odds are not exactly in their favour. But I bet they got a few tricks up their puffy sleeve.

The most puzzling question has to be: Why did Mystery Science Theater 3000 feature this movie on their show? I thought they only watched bad movies, and City Limits is not even close to being a bad movie. Weird. At any rate, if you like films like, Café Flesh, Punk Vacation, Roller Blade and Shredder Orpheus, you should give this film a whirl.

Straight to Hell (Alex Cox, 1987)

Warning: The following may contain words and pictures that promote the notion that: A) Courtney Love is sexy as a pregnant gangster's moll (sit on that jukebox, you leggy hosebeast, you). And B) Courtney Love is an okay actress. What am I saying, "may contain"? Oh, believe me, this review of Straight to Hell will most definitely contain a crapload of notions that promote the off-kilter shapeliness that is Courtney Love. If that's the case, why am I giving you a warning? Somewhere back in the recesses of my mind, I must know that Courtney Love isn't the type of person you can openly heap praise on, at least not acting praise. I mean, she's not like, say, Mink Stole or Mary Woronov, people who are universally beloved. Show me, by the way, someone who doesn't like Mink Stole or Mary Woronov, and I'll show you one seriously disturbed individual. At any rate, it's obvious that Courtney Love and the rest of cast of Repo Man and Sid and Nancy all answered their phones when the pride of Bebington (Don't fuck with The Wirral!), Alex Cox, called 'em up asking them to appear in his wacked out tribute to Sam Peckinpah and Sergio Leone, because they're all in it.

(Even Zander Schloss and Xander Berkeley?) Yep, even them. Remember all those hot punk chicks who hung around The Sex Pistols in Alex Cox's Sid and Nancy? Well, they're all in it as well. And, yes, that also includes the ultra-gorgeous Michele Winstanley. You might remember her, she makes a great face when that guy at The Sex Pistols concert says he doesn't want to be a punk anymore.

Oh, man, I just realized that having most of the cast of Repo Man and Sid and Nancy in this movie doesn't necessarily mean it's going to be smooth sailing. If anything, the film could be just one long reminder of how good they were in those films.

No doubt leading to moments like: Hey, there's Sy Richardson, wasn't he amazing as Lyte in Repo Man? Or, look, that's Sara Sugarman! I loved her as Abby National in Sid and Nancy ("Sugar man, won't you hurry / 'cos I'm tired of these scenes").

While there's some of that going on for sure. The film does manage to create its own unique universe. In other words, it's not really fair to call this Sid and Nancy: The Western or Repo Man II: The Legend of Otto's Gold.

However, no matter how you spin it, the film is still a mess. Right, Grace Jones and Dennis Hopper?

Just as I was about to give up on this film, along comes Jennifer Balgobin in a pair of pink shorts. Instructed to wash Miguel Sandoval's motorcycle, Jennifer Balgobin, who plays Fabienne, goes outside with a bucket of soapy water. Opening her brown trench coat with much fanfare, Jennifer Balgobin, who is wearing, like I said, pink shorts, and a pink, cut-off tank-top with the words "Hot Property" written on it, proceeds to clean Miguel's bike in an erotic manner.

You gotta envy the eyeballs belonging to Sy Richardson, Joe Strummer and Dick Rude. I mean, to witness such a titillating display up close like that, it doesn't get any better than this. Or does it? I'll get to whether it does in a minute.

I think might have spoke too soon regarding Courtney Love's performance in this movie. Don't get me wrong, the sight of a barefoot and pregnant Miss Love sitting provocatively on that jukebox is a enough to power a thousand misguided erections, but every time she would open her mouth, a small amount of blood would ooze from my ears.

(I thought you liked shrill and unpleasant women?) Yeah, but not that shrill and unpleasant. Where's Chloe Webb when you need her?

Since I can't go back in time and stop Alex Cox from casting her, let's soldier on, shall we? Look, the film stars as Sy Richardson, as the forthright Norwood (the inspiration for Samuel L. Jackson's Jules in Pulp Fiction perhaps?), Joe Strummer as the oily-haired Simms and Dick "Let's Go Get Sushi and Not Pay" Rude plays Willy. In other words, the film is still salvageable as far as entertainment goes.

Oh, it's salvageable, all right... Salsa y ketchup. Salsa y ketchup. Salsa y ketchup. Salsa y ketchup. Salsa y ketchup. Salsa y ketchup. Salsa y ketchup... Salva-fuckin'-geable!

The characters I just mentioned, in addition to Courtney Love, who plays Velma, Norwood's pregnant girlfriend, rob a bank in, oh, let's say, Mexico (the film was shot in Spain), and flee into the desert. When their car breaks down, they bury the loot (about four suitcases stuffed with money), and walk to a nearby town.

From what I gathered, the plan is to stay in the town until things blow over. Only problem being, the town is home to an unruly gang of gun-totting coffee drinkers.

When Norwood, Simms and Willy save two of the gun-totting coffee drinkers (Shane MacGowan and Spider Stacy of The Pogues) from a group of bounty hunters, Frank McMahon (Biff Yeager), the leader of the powerful McMahon Clan, welcomes the outsiders with opens arms.

While trying to buy nails from a local merchant named George (Miguel Sandoval), Simms gets his first glimpse of Jennifer Balgobin's Fabienne. Like any ex-member The Clash would do, Simms leaps on her with an enthusiastic jelonka ogłoszenia. Now, if you're worried about George getting upset by this untoward yet totally reasonable display, fear not, for he is in the back looking for nails.

The next day boasts the scene where Jennifer Balgobin washes Miguel Sandoval's motorcycle in pink shorts. I used to always say that Jennifer Balgobin's best work is in Alex Cox's Repo Man and Stephan Sayadian's Dr. Caligari. Well, now that I've seen Straight to Hell, I feel it's time to change my opinion. That's right, if you love Jennifer Balgobin, and I mean, really love Jennifer Balgobin, than Straight to Hell needs to be injected into your nervous system immediately. I don't care if her accent is a tad on the wonky side, this is the movie to see for all your J-Gob needs.

While Simms is getting all riled up by Fabienne, Willy's motor is more in tune with Louise (Michele Winstanley). Taking her to the local cemetery to visit her grandmother's grave, Willy declares his love for Louise. This, of course, doesn't go as planned, and Willy ends up dirty, sexually frustrated and alone.

It should be noted that almost everyday while the foursome are in town ends with a song: Day One ends with a performance of the song "Delilah" by Kim Blousson (Fox Harris), with Elvis Costello on guitar; day three ends with a performance of "Danny Boy" by Cait O'Riordan; and day four ends with not with a song, but random acts of violence and cameos by Grace Jones and Dennis Hopper.

Which leads to the final day, where Norwood, Simms and Willy wind up taking on the entire McMahon Clan in a large-scale, Wild Bunch-style shoot 'em up.

What's that? I forgot to mention the song that ends day two. That's weird. No, it's just that the song that ends day two just happens to be featured in what I now consider one of the greatest scenes in movie history. And get this, it has nothing to do with the massive slit on Jennifer Balgobin's dress or the robust nature of Michele Winstanley's jet black ponytail.

Everyone be quiet, because someone has requested that Karl (Zander Schloss), proprietor of Karl's Disco Wiener Haven, perform his theme song, "Salsa y Ketchup." Picked on and abused throughout the movie, Karl's unexpected triumph is the epitome of awesome.

Maybe it's because the song has lyrics such as: "Sizzle, they grizzle, you step up to the griddle, Salsa y Ketchup, you tell me and I'll fetch up," or maybe it was Karl's twitchy demeanor. Whatever it was, this scene turned what was up until then a mildly entertaining pseudo-spaghetti western into a genuine cult classic.

Vibes (Ken Kwapis, 1988)

A cynical person will probably approach this stunning masterwork and declare it to be the primary reason as to why no other romantic comedies about bickering psychics in South America were made after it quickly came and went from theatres back in 1988. However, a deeply rational person with a sensible sense of self and the ability to appreciate fingerless gloves from afar will no doubt see a film that is literally oozing with the correct kind of moxie. Now, I'm not saying that I'm one of these so-called "sane people." (I am totally objective and base my opinions on the linear teachings of Rhonda Shear.) But even the dullest spoon in the tool shed can clearly see that the kinetic Vibes is conspiring on a completely different level when it comes to handing out the nonsensical charm. Making a competently made film, one that intelligent humans slobber over like an orgasm-inducing virus, is quite easy. On the other hand, making a film that always seems a tad off is extremely difficult. And that's how I would categorize this Ken Kwapis directed psychic adventure. I mean, there's definitely something wrong going on here. Yet, it's this wrongness that makes the film such a bizarre pleasure to roll around in.

A kooky mix between The Treasure of Sierra Madre, The Holy Mountain and any movie where a man and woman initially dislike each other but gradually learn to endure one another's quirks, the beautifully photographed endeavour is a flighty throwback to the adventure films of the 1930s. It's true, I haven't seen any of those films from the 30s, but I'm gonna pretend I have, you know, just for the sake of my point.

Anyway, unlike those particular adventure films, the imperialist scum who want to plunder the indigenous people of their natural riches are a tad more discreet in their plundering. Actually, when you think about it, they're not discreet at all. Nevertheless, the fact the filmmakers got permission to film in Ecuador really enhances the proceedings. This gave the film an inexplicable authenticity. Which is weird, especially when you consider how stupid it is at times.

The casting two of the strangest... okay, three of the strangest – Peter Falk ain't exactly perpendicular and junk, isn't necessarily the wisest course of action when setting about producing a romantic buddy movie about clairvoyant New Yorkers scouring the mossy mountains of Ecuador. That being said, I couldn't imagine this film without Cyndi Lauper and Jeff Goldblum as the duped psychics who are forced to help greedy treasure hunters find a shitload gold at the location of some lost Incan city.

The sight of the impish Cyndi as Sylvia Pickel, an astral projectionist with an invisible friend named Louise, and the lanky Mr. Goldblum as Nick Deezy, a second-sighted museum curator who can tell where an object has been just by touching it, wandering around Ecuador together is something you couldn't possibly concoct unless you were totally high. Without their cockamamie chemistry, I think Vibes would have probably expired tonally before it even got around to making the journey to the south.

Sure, the brief appearance of Jennifer Balgobin (Dr. Caligari) and Steve Buscemi (Ghost World) at a New York raceway, the even briefer turn by Max Perlich (Homicide: Life on the Street) as a busboy, and the sultry work of the gorgeous Elizabeth Peña (Lone Star) as a femme fatal in uncomplicated lingerie might have sustained the film from falling completely off track for a little while. But come on, who are we kidding here? The film is only barely on the cusp of being bearable because of what Cyndi and Jeff brought to the psychic table.

My favourite scene between the two was when Cyndi compliments Jeff's legs in the tent. The way Jeff struggled to return the compliment was factually adorable. I mean, I, too, would struggle to praise Cyndi's shapely, underrated legs if I was in such close proximity to them.

Delightfully oddball to outer reaches of tolerableness, Cyndi Lauper simultaneously channels the hard-nosed gumption of a street hustler, the Queens-reared surliness of an overworked tollbooth attendant, and the vixenish glee of a re-animated Jean Harlow. Listening to her enunciate words in Vibes was like eavesdropping on what heaven, or some heaven-like facsimile, must sound like when it's at its most loud and grating. Gentling caressing my auricle area is one thing, causing my eyes to wet themselves is quite another.

The many different outfits Cyndi sports in this movie were a flat out assault on my cerebral cortex. No wonder the elemental plot was so hard to follow. Whether she was summoning dead relatives in glimmering nightclothes, eating fries in a blue backless cocktail dress, or being dipped on the dance-floor in one of her many pink ensembles, Cyndi brought an uniquely sexy aura to all her looks. It got to a point where the anticipation over what she'd wear next would consume the marrow of my very existence.

The collaboration between Cyndi and costume designer Ruth Myers must have been explosive in terms of creative cohesion. Though, I have to say, I did doubt their couture-based cohesiveness when it came time to shift the action from New York to Ecuador. I thought: "Oh, great, say goodbye to the magenta, and say hello to bland hiking clothes." But all my fear was for naught, as her wacky style remained pretty much the same in both locals. Which has to be a testament to something; it's just gotta.

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