Bad Influence (Curtis Hanson, 1990)

Let's say you're a yuppie who has it all. It's 1990, you got a sweet apartment (one that is filled with the kind of stuff yuppies like), you live in a nice neighbourhood, you're engaged to be married to Marcia Cross, your job, while tedious, pays well, and... Wait. Did I mention it's 1990? Or, more importantly, did I mention that you look like James Spader? I know, talk about having it all. Or does he? Have it all, that is. I don't think he does. Let's see. He doesn't really like Marica Cross, he doesn't need half the junk in his apartment, his slacker brother is always asking to borrow money and he hates his job. Sure, he still looks like James Spader, the sexiest man alive as far as I'm concerned. But even that doesn't seem to get him anywhere in Bad Influence, the film that begs the question: If James Spader approached Lisa Zane in a bar, would she really reject him? We'll get to that in a minute. Looking like James Spader can apparently only get you so far in Los Angeles circa 1990. But what if James Spader had a douchebag coach? What I mean is, what if James Spader had a sort of tutor that taught him how to be an asshole. I know, you're thinking to yourself: Isn't being an asshole a bad thing? Not in the world depicted in this film. In fact, the film should really be called "Good Influence." However, since Hollywood doesn't want it to get out that being a total dick/colossal hosebeast is the best thing a person can do for themselves in terms of self-improvement (everyone in Hollywood is either a total dick or a colossal hosebeast), the film turns into a cautionary tale about the dangers of ambition at around the midway point.

Enabling him to ditch his bland blouse-wearing fiancée is just one of the things James Spader's asshole tutor manages to swing for him. He also helps him turn things around at work, and finds a use for some of the stuff in his apartment. For example, the video camera (a purchase his stoner brother dismisses as wasteful) comes in handy in the dumping of his fiancée.

In case you haven't figured it out yet, James Spader's asshole tutor is played by Rob Lowe. Was there any doubt? I don't think so. With the stench of his sex tape scandal still lingering in the air, it made sense to exploit Rob Lowe's newfound bad boy status by casting him as an immoral con man/yuppie whisperer.

While any old con man can fleece a bunch of Hollywood phonies, it takes real skill to rehabilitate an under-performing yuppie. That being said, most of us will continue to ask the question: Does James Spader really need to be rehabilitated? Or, I should say, does Michael Boll (the name of Spader's character) really need rehabilitating? Of course, to most normal people, he's doing just fine. But to those living inside the L.A. douchebag bubble, he's floundering pretty badly. I mean, for one thing, this Paterson guy (Tony Maggio) at work is repeatedly making Michael look like a massive tool.

If Rob Lowe's "Alex," isn't fleecing Michael, why is he helping him? What I mean is, if it's not about the money (which Alex could have stolen from him without much effort), what does he want? Who knows? Seriously, though, I have no idea. Not much about Alex's background is revealed. It's true, the air of mystery that surrounds Rob Lowe's character gave him an almost supernatural quality (his apparent ability to disappear at will also added to this quality), but part of me would have liked to have known what his deal was.

The opening scene, which shows Alex leaving a woman's apartment in the early morning hours under suspicious circumstances, implies that he spends his days drifting from one con to another. But what is it about James Spader that makes him invest so much energy trying to improve his place the L.A. yuppie-verse of 1990?

At the end of the day it doesn't matter why he's helping him, all that matters is that Alex, despite his unorthodox methods, gets results.

And when I say "results," I'm talking about Lisa Zane's dynamic dick-pocket pounding the living fuckitude out of Michael's wayward cock.

As I just said, the film opens with Alex removing himself from the life of some woman in the early morning hours (he painstakingly gets rid of any photo that he's in and trashes all his personal-effects). Meanwhile, Michael is having a bad day at work. Not only does that aforementioned Paterson guy misplace "schedule 47," an important computer file of his, Marcia Cross, his fiancée, has decided to pop-in to tell him that she wants to postpone the wedding to November. You would think things couldn't get worse, but they do. The boyfriend of some chick at a nearby bar picks a fight with him and his brother, Pismo (Christian Clemenson), is asking for money again.

On the positive side, Rob Lowe's Alex steps in to help Michael with the whole bar fight situation. But unfortunately, Alex disappears before Michael can thank him. Oh, wait. There he is. While out jogging in black athletic clothes at night (fuck yeah), Michael spots Alex standing on a pier. After thanking him for saving his ass earlier in the day, Michael begins to wander away... when all of a sudden, Alex takes an interest in Michael's yuppie troubles.

Using the first of many nightclub passwords ("Dominate Athletic Woman"), Alex takes Michael to a club to see The Nymphs (an L.A. rock band fronted by Inger Lorre) and hit on Lisa Zane's Claire, the coolest woman... I want to say "the coolest woman on the planet," but let's not get carried away. Let's just say, she's the coolest woman currently in this club. Which is nothing to sneeze at, as the club scenes in this movie are chock-full of cool ass people.

Initially rebuffed by Claire, Michael... I don't know, man. Even though they have tried to make James Spader seem kind of dorky, he's still James Spader. Meaning, Claire should be wetter than an otter's taint. (An otter's taint?!?) What? They're pretty freaking wet. Anyway, after the Claire debacle, things begin to turn around for Michael when he out maneuvers, using advice he got from Alex, that Paterson guy at work the very next day.

Bumping into Alex later that evening, Michael is taken to an art gallery, where Alex introduces Michael to Claire. But instead of introducing him as Michael, he calls him "Dominique." It would seem that Alex (who now speaks with a French accent) has created a whole new persona for Michael. At first I thought, this seems unnecessarily convoluted. But then again, it gets results. And when I say, "results." I'm talking about Michael taking Claire back to his apartment to fuck her brains out.

Did I mention that Claire never leaves the house without a black backless dress and black stockings attached to her legs? I haven't? Well that's weird. The dress Claire wears during the art gallery/apartment scene is my favourite Claire outfit, as it boasts a healthy slit and had these oddly-shaped patterns around the neckline.

Asking what Michael fears and wants most in the world, Alex decides to speed things up, and takes his mentor-ship of Michael to the next level. Sabotaging his relationship with Marcia Cross and "neutralizing" his rival at work, Alex has done more for Michael in the past few days than anyone has in his entire life. However, and this is where things get complicated. You see, Michael has scruples, while Alex clearly does not. These differences in their characters end up clashing with one another and cause their almost brotherly bond to sour some bit.

While it was sad to see their relationship flounder the way it ultimately does, they at least got to attend what I consider to be one of the most awesome L.A. parties ever. Now, granted, the party isn't the wildest, nor does it feature music that I was particularly found of, but the atmosphere is too die for. A sort of late night goth garden party, the party (password: "Gay White Male") is teeming with black-clad denizens of the night. Call me crazy, but I could have sworn I saw Rozz Williams of Christian Death/Shadow Project fame hanging out on the stairs.

If you thought that party was awesome, wait until you get a load of the one where Pismo spies on Alex. First off, the club (password: "Fun Loving Couple Seeks...") is blasting "Who's Laughing Now?" by Skinny Puppy as lingerie-clad performance artists swing fluorescent lights with a reckless brand of abandon. And secondly... Actually, there is no "secondly." What else could you want? I mean, Skinny Puppy and lingerie. As far as I'm concerned, nothing else matters in this world.

It's too bad Michael and Alex couldn't have worked out their myriad issues in a less over the top (i.e. less violent) fashion, as I would have loved to have seen them (with Claire, of course) at this club together. Oh, well.

As with most thrillers of this type, the film gets super-ridiculous during its final third. That being said, the film is aesthetically superior to most of the junk I see on a regular basis. Let me break it down for you: James Spader, Rob Lowe, Skinny Puppy, black clothing, lingerie, slits, club scenes, Rozz Williams(?), and yeah. Wait, I almost forgot, Lisa Zane! I love her look. And, actually, you can thank her for making me aware of this movie. Oh, sure, I had heard of it. But after seeing her in the atrocious Freddy's Dead: The Final Nightmare, I thought to myself: I need more Lisa Zane in my life. So, I looked at her filmography, and the title "Bad Influence" jumped out at me. Thanks, Lisa and Freddy.

Private School (Noel Black, 1983)

When it comes to cinematic trash, occasionally we all need to take the time and reassess the things we once deemed lame and objectionable. And one of those things in desperate need of being reassessed is the totally awesome Private School, a film I loved as a Betsy Russell-obsessed adolescent, yet recently dismissed as a pompous adult. Well, unfortunately, I'm still an adult. But I like to think I'm a little less pompous. And the moment I realized I was less pompous than I used to be was when I decided to give this unfairly maligned masterpiece a second look. It should also be noted that I had previously never seen this film, directed by Noel Black (Pretty Poison) and written by Dan Greenburg (Private Lessons) and Suzanne O'Malley, in its correct aspect ratio. Now, I'm not one who usually cares about such technical nonsense, but seeing the film for the very first time in "anamorphic widescreen" was a real eye-opener. Of course, we're not talking about Lawrence of Arabia or Doctor Zhivago, where every inch of sand and snow needs to be seen in order to obtain maximum enjoyment. However, many subtle nuances are revealed in this restored version. Most importantly, the shower scene seems more, oh, how should I put this? Okay, I got it. The infamous shower scene seemed more robust this time around. Yeah, robust. I like that. Let's be blunt, you get more tits and ass in the widescreen version. Anyway, using my newfound, less pompous perspective, I jumped head first into this film's juvenile morass with a more pronounced vigor. Grabbing it by the haunches with the fullness of my grasp, I put aside my nonexistent inhibitions and prepared to revel in the underage hijinks of the graduating class of Cherryvale Academy for Women with a lustful brand of enthusiasm. Alright, we get it. You sound like you're ready for some early '80s-style debauchery.
 

 
Some people say that the film opens with the principal characters sitting up straight in class as their teacher comes in, but it actually begins with four students in white knee socks and grey skirts smoking outside. What's weird is that I've seen Private School dozens of times, and this was the first instance I'm aware of that I noticed the girls smoking in their school uniforms.
 

 
Nonetheless, the opening credits are set to a song that features the straightforward lyrics, "You're breakin' my heart / You're tearing it apart, so fuck you." No matter how many times I hear this song, "You're Breakin' My Heart" by Harry Nilsson, open the movie, I'm always taken aback. Not by the song's saucy language, but the fact that a Hollywood movie would allow such a cynical ditty to kick start a major motion picture.
 

 
The film's bold, okay, maybe it's not "bold," but it is on the cusp of being interesting, use of music continues onto the next scene as we watch Jim Green (Matthew Modine), Bubba Beauregard (Michael Zorek), and Roy (Jonathan Prince) hop the fence that surrounds the main sorority house at Cherryvale Academy for Women set to the strains of "Rock This Town" by The Stray Cats. At first, I thought all the young ladies were getting ready for bed. But then it dawned on me, women don't usually put on stockings or apply eye makeup before going to bed. No, what these women are doing is preparing to go out for the evening. And Jim, Bubba, Roy have shown up to watch them. Or, more specifically, watch a goddess named Jordan Leigh-Jenson (Betsy Russell) take a shower.
 

 
Since they didn't bring a ladder, the boys improvise by standing on each other's shoulders. This technique, while ingenious, only allows for one voyeur to peep at a time. I thought it was strange that Bubba, the heaviest one in the group, got to stand on top. But then I realized that that's what made the situation so humourous.
 

 
Noticing Bubba in the mirror, Jordan decides to have a little fun with the boys at the expense of Christine Ramsey (Phoebe Cates), who is reading aloud from an erotic paperback ("Stories of Passion") to her roommate Betsy (Kathleen Wilhoite) in the next room. Pretending to borrow some gaudy nail polish ("naked pink") from Chris and Betsy, Jordan purposefully stands near the window so that Bubba could remove her towel. Now, how did Jordan know Bubba would try to remove her towel? Are you serious? As we will soon find out, it doesn't take much for Bubba to tap into his inner-pervert. And besides, if Betsy Russell is wearing a towel in the vicinity of just about anyone, the urge to remove said towel will be intense no matter what your genitals look like.   
 

 
In order to get back at Jordan for the towel incident, Chris and Betsy leave a flaming bag of horseshit outside Jordan's door. And guess who steps in it? No, not Rita (Kari Lizer), the stepee's blonde roommate, but Jordan herself.
 

 
She better hurry up and clean all the molten poop off her shoes, 'cause it's dance time. It would be seem that Roy is the only one from the trio of guys who  peeped on Jordan who doesn't have a steady girlfriend. Though, he does ask an attractive tall woman to dance. What makes this situation so comical is that Roy isn't tall. At any rate, the other guys from Freemount Academy, a nearby school for men, quickly meet up with their girlfriends. Who, of course, are Chris and Betsy.
 

 
Wait, if Jim and Bubba have girlfriends, why were trying so hard to see Jordan without any clothes on? Man, I can't believe you just asked that question. It's Betsy Russell they were trying to see naked. Girlfriend or no girlfriend, the desire to see Betsy Russell in any capacity, whether she be clothed or not clothed, is something that lies within each and everyone of us.
 

 
Despite the fact that I'm the one who put that way, I have to say, I couldn't have put it better myself. The desire to see Betsy Russell naked is something were all born with. It doesn't matter if you're a man or a woman, gay or straight, Latvian or Estonian, the sight of Betsy Russell without clothes on is what we all long for. You could say, Betsy Russell brings us all together. But I won't say that, even though I sort of just did. No, you know what? I will say that. You want to know why? It's because Betsy Russell is more than just an actress. She's a beacon of truth. Soothing the troubles of humanity for most of her adult life, Betsy Russell's innate gorgeousness has the power to mend fences. And that's not just some crude way of saying that she gives us guys boners. I'm convinced that if you let your child watch any of the handful movies Betsy made during the 1980s, they will grow up to be special.
 

 
While I would love to pontificate about the rejuvenating powers of Betsy Russell, I think I should get back to the movie for a second. At the dance, Jordan, who is wearing a blue blouse with a black collar, and her friend Rita notice Jim and Chris slow dancing together. After making an offhand comment about how she could easily sway Jim to dump Chris, Rita challenges Jordan to do exactly that. And when she says, "Let the games begin," Jordan has officially started her campaign to lure Jim away from Chris. Little does she know, but Jim and Chris have just agreed to have sexual intercourse for the very first time while slow dancing to Bill Wray's "Just One Touch."  
 

 
I know, you're thinking to yourself, this should be no trouble at all. I mean, all Jordan has to do is look in Jim's general direction, and he'll be hers for the taking. Yeah, but, don't underestimate the power of love. Fuck that noise. This Betsy Russell were talking about.
 

 
Quirk fun-fact: Students at both Cherryvale and Freemount affectionately call Miss Dutchbok (Fran Ryan), the former's principal, "Miss Douchbag."
 

 
After a Paula Abdul-choreographed aerobics montage, set to the hokey strains of "The American Girl" by Rick Springfield, has finished doing its crotch compromising thing and the sex-ed class being taught by Ms. Regina Copoletta (Sylvia Kristel) has ended, it's time for the games to begin.
 

 
The opening move is actually performed by Chris, who doesn't even know she's playing a game. She starts things off by making a reservation at the D'Amour Hotel (it's where Chris and Jim plan on having sex). However, the real first move is implemented by Jordan, who flashes one of her tits at Jim while participating at some sort of horse jumping class. Realizing what she's up to, Betsy, not Betsy Russell, but Kathleen Wilhoite's character, rips Jordan's top off. As expected, Betsy's plan to humiliate Jordan backfires, as the sight of Betsy Russell riding topless atop a mighty steed is the stuff of perversion legend.
 

 
Ask people what they remember most about Private School, and I guarantee that the majority of them won't say the scene where Matthew Modine and Phoebe Cates try to buy condoms from Martin Mull. No, what they will say is, the scene where Betsy Russell rides a horse topless to the sound of "How Do I Let You Know," which is, ironically, sung by Phoebe Cates.
 

 
How is that ironic? Thinks about it. Phoebe Cates gets top billing, is featured prominently on the film's poster, and sings on two songs on the film's soundtrack. Yet, the thing we remember most about the film is a topless Betsy Russell riding a horse. And that particular scene just happens to feature one of Phoebe's songs. The other Phoebe song, "Just One Touch," a duet with Bill Wray, can be heard later in the film during a sad montage.
 

 
What would have to happen for there to be a "sad montage" in a movie like this? It's somewhat complicated. But let's just say, it involves Jim, Bubba and Roy storming the Cherryvale dorm in drag. In drag, you say? Tell me more. My pleasure, as the so-called drag sequence features two of my favourite moments from the entire film. And that is, Bestsy Russell's playful attempt to seduce Matthew Modine in drag, and Michael Zorek's foray into the women's shower.  
 

 
The scene where Betsy Russell rides a horse without a top might be the most memorable, but the scene where Betsy Russell shows off her cellulite-free thighs is the sexiest. Turning up the heat, and I mean, literally (she turns up the thermostat in her dorm room), Betsy toys with the sweaty mound that is Matthew Modine in drag. Asking him, "Why wouldn't men like my legs?" Betsy proceeds to instruct Matthew to feel her calves, which, according to her, are as "tight as a drum." And you know what? I believe her. Oh, and if things couldn't get any hotter, "Nasty Girl" by Vanity 6 is playing on the soundtrack.
 

 
During the previous eight or so times I watched this film, the women in the shower scene (set to "I Want Candy" by Bow Wow Wow) were just faceless extras. Well, now that I have a little more experience under my belt when it comes to exploitation cinema, the women in the shower scene are more than merely extras. In fact, one of them, the one with the amazing ass, is none other than Lynda Wiesmeier (Malibu Express). And if you look even closer, and believe me I have, you'll notice the gorgeous Brinke Stevens is in the shower scene as well.  
 

 
Will Chris and Jim's relationship be able to recover from the thermostat/calve inspection debacle? Honestly, I couldn't careless. There's just too much going on to worry about those bland fucks. I mean, when a scene-stealing Richard Stahl shows up as Rita's perpetually intoxicated dad, you'll be saying Chris and Jim who? It doesn't help Chris and Jim's cause when Julie Payne (she plays a gym coach) decides to get drunk. Other actors like, Ray Walston (he plays a chauffeur), Karen Chase, Frances Bay, Steve Levitt, and Frank Aletter all give stellar supporting performances, leaving Chris and Jim by the side of the road wondering, who's movie is this?
 

 
Even the producers probably thought that Chris and Jim's relationship wasn't that interesting. How else can you explain the fact that they edited Chris and Jim's hotel tryst together with a scene involving Bubba trying to get Jordan out of that blue jumpsuit and into nothing but a pair of zebra-print panties? In other words, to answer Chris and Jim's roadside question, this is Betsy Russell's movie, and don't you forget it.

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