3:15 (Larry Gross, 1986)

When I saw Lori Eastside hanging out with the Cobras, the baddest street gang this side of Wilshire Blvd., in the opening scene of 3:15 (a.k.a. Showdown at Lincoln High), I thought to myself: Yay! Add another Lori Eastside movie to my ever-growing list of Lori Eastside movies that I have seen with my eyes. Tickled pink that I had just increased my cinematic output, vis–à–vis, Lori Eastside-based cinema, right out of the gate, I prepared myself for the inevitable letdown that was surely to come when I found out that she was basically an extra. Oh, how wrong I was. Granted, her role is still pretty chintzy, but I have two words for you, my friend: Weaponized scrunchies. That's right, Lori Eastside (Downtown 81, Get Crazy and Fear City), who plays Patch, the leader of the female wing of the Cobras, the Cobrettes, uses her ponytail as a weapon. Now, if you saw a woman employ her ponytail as a weapon, what would you say to them? I'll tell you what you would say... No, wait. Let's let the Cobrette played by Gina Gershon tell us what we should say. Whilst in the ladies room adjusting their hair and make-up, Gina Gershon sees Patches putting the finishing touches on her weaponized scrunchie. And, as any sane person would, Gina Gershon declares Patches to be, and I quote, "so fucking cool."

You said it, honey. And, by the way, you're kind of fucking cool yourself, if you don't mind my saying so. What am I saying? Kind of fucking cool? You're a lot of fucking cool. I mean, it's 1986, you look like Gina Gershon, and you're a member of a gang called the "Cobrettes. Of course you're fucking cool.

Okay, now that we've established that Lori Eastside's Patches and Gine Gershon's unnamed Cobrette character are both fucking cool, we can safely move on to describing the plot or some shit like that.

Or can we? I don't know 'bout you, but the blonde Cobrette in the black stockings looks an awful lot like Christina Beck, the actress who appears in three of Penelope Spheeris' punk rock movies (Suburbia, Dudes and The Boys Next Door); I know, The Boys Next Door isn't technically a punk rock movie, but it has punks in it. At least I think it does...

Anyway, the reason the blonde Cobrette in the black stockings looks an awful lot like Christina Beck is because she is Christina Beck.

All right, let's re-establish where we stand. This movie, which, like I said earlier, is called 3:15, features Lori Eastside, Gina Gershon and Christina Beck as members of the Cobrettes, the all-girl offshoot of the most feared gang in the city.

Most feared in the city?!? That might be pushing it. But if you were to calculate their badness based solely on the swagger they display in the opening scene, they be pretty bad.

Only problem being, the Cobras lose Jeff Hannah (Adam Baldwin), their toughest member, after their leader, Cinco (Danny De La Paz), kills a rival gang member during a rumble outside a hamburger joint.

Even though he still has the Cobra tattoo on his arm, from this day forward, Jeff wants nothing to do with the gang; he throws his Cobra jacket on the ground to signify his withdrawal from the Cobra fold.

After a year passes, you would have thought that Cinco would have forgiven Jeff for leaving the Cobras. But this couldn't be further from the truth. Cinco still feels betrayed. And so does Lora (Wendy Barry), Jeff's crazy-eyed Cobrette girlfriend, who's relationship with Jeff ended the second his Cobra coat hit the cold concrete.

As expected, things are a tad awkward for Jeff while at school, as the halls of Lincoln High, a graffiti-adorned, gang-ridden paradise, are replete with enemies.

Is Lincoln High really a high school? From my vantage point, it looked more like a prison. The way the gangs congregated in this fenced in area reminded of a prison yard. The fact that all the gangs were made up of members of the same race only added to the school's prison vibe.

However, not all the gangs are like this. While the Tams, the school's Asian gang, and the M-16's, the school's black gang (who are lead by Mario Van Peebles and dress like Cuban revolutionaries) are homogeneous, the Cobras have a mixture of Latino and white members.

Breaking up the serenity of this "gangsta's paradise" is a massive drug bust (set to "All Lined Up" by Shriekback). Initiated by Horner (Rene Auberjonois), the school's warden-esque principal, and Moran (Ed Lauter), Horner's police confidante, the bust targets the Cobra's elaborate narcotics operation. Unfortunately, however, the bust does nothing but open up old wounds, as Cinco blames Jeff for his arrest.

While it's clear to anyone with half a brain that Jeff had nothing to do with Cinco's arrest, that doesn't matter, as Cinco has the excuse he needs and plans on exploiting it to the max.

This puts Jeff in a tight spot. You see, Horner and Moran want him to testify against Cinco, but by doing so would expose him as a narc to the rest of the school.

If that wasn't enough, Sherry (Deborah Foreman), his new, non-gang-affiliated girlfriend, doesn't seem realize that the school she attends is a hellhole.

I mean, you're wearing a teal sweater vest?!? I'm not saying your wardrobe should be devoid of teal, or turquoise or cyan, for that matter. I'm just saying it should better reflect the temperament of the school you attend.

No wonder Patches gives Sherry the stink-eye when she sees you walking down the hall. Though, to be fair, I think Patches looks at everyone that way. That being said, Patches does resent the fact that Lora and Sherry have made positive inroads in the dating world. And how do you think Patches expresses these feelings of resentment? You got it, she does so by swinging her weaponized ponytail at those she feels have wronged her.

Call me deranged, but I loved the scene where Patches and the rest of the Cobrettes (including Gina Gershon and Christina Beck) beat up Deborah Foreman in the ladies crapper.

The film's title refers to the time when Jeff must face the Cobras, and once and for all, exorcise the demons of his past. Who will stand with Jeff against the Cobras? The Tams? The M-16's? His floppy and curly-haired friends? Don't count on it. No, the answer to that question might surprise you. A high school movie with prison movie overtones, 3:15 is gritty and overly serious at times. That being said, you'd be nuts to skip this film, as it's an authentic snapshot of 1980s fashion and youth culture.

 

Fear City (Abel Ferrara, 1984)

If a retired boxer, one who currently runs a talent agency that hires out strippers to the city's strip clubs, meets a psychotic kung-fu master in a dark alley, who would win? Okay, first of all, you have to ask yourself: What's at stake? I mean, the victor has to come away something, or else the contest is meaningless. Well, if the former wins, he gets to continue dating a heroin-addicted Melanie Griffith. As for the latter, he gets the opportunity to finish his literally masterwork. Just curious, what might that masterwork be called? It's called "Fear City," which just happens to the title of my latest cinematic foray into the depths of stripper-adjacent misery. And secondly, how did these two men, who, besides being trained fighters, end up at odds with one another? That's simple, their lifestyles don't mesh. The former boxer makes his living exploiting women for monetary gain, the material artist, on the other hand, while he doesn't exactly "make his living" doing this, enjoys doing bodily harm to the women the former boxer is trying to exploit. You're probably thinking to yourself: An ex-boxer who exploits women (he's basically a pimp with an office) and a deranged weirdo who wields nunchucks after dark (he's basically Joe Spinelli in Maniac, you know, without the mannequin fetish), these are the guys I'm supposed to root for? It's true, they're both scumbags. Nevertheless, I found the film's lack of judgment towards them and the rest of its characters to be its greatest strength. Whoa, hold on there, buddy. Let's not get carried away, shall we? You're right, the film's greatest strength is actually the authentic New York City flavour, specifically, the scenes that take place on 42nd Street, it puts out there on a semi-regular basis. But the fact the lead characters were deeply flawed individuals was very appealing.
 

 

The film, directed by Abel Ferrara (The Driller Killer), might not judge the characters, but that doesn't mean Al Wheeler (Billy Dee Williams), a cynical homicide detective, is going to let them off so easily. You think I'm kidding around? If it's your job to provide the strip clubs that dot the Manhattan landscape with able-bodied strippers, Al Wheeler doesn't like you. If it's your job to provide the strip clubs that dot the Manhattan landscape with able-bodied strippers, and you happen to be of Italian extraction, Al Wheeler straight-up hates your ass.
 

 

Now, I was going to add an Italian slur before the word "ass," but I don't want to appear to complacent about Al Wheeler's intense dislike for Italian-Americans. Having said that, I thought Al Wheeler's anti-Italian stance added yet another layer to this morally complex tale about pimps, strippers, and lowlifes. You see, Al Wheeler, who presents himself as a champion of justice, is basically a reprobate with a badge.
 

 

You'll notice that I called the guys who run the "talent agency" that provide the strippers, or, as they're sometimes referred to, "exotic dancers," for the city's strip clubs as "pimps." The reason for that is I have no idea what to call them. In my mind, if you make money off the exploitation of women, you're a pimp. Not that there's anything wrong with being a pimp. It's just that I don't feel comfortable calling them, oh, let's say, talent agents.
 

 

Looking at the sheer extravagance of the film's opening scene, you might be inclined to think that the producers of Fear City  paid millions of dollars to capture of the seedy charm of 42nd Street in the early 1980s. But I'm sure it didn't cost nothing at all. What I think I'm trying to say is, the director simply has to turn on his or her camera and the energy of the street does the rest. 
 

 

After the opening montage, which included as a dizzying array of garish billboard lights and a steady concourse of thong-ensnared undercarriages gyrating in time to the beat, has finished, the film begins to focus on a blonde stripper named Loretta (Melanie Griffith). Oh, and before you let out a groan. Remember, this is Body Double Melanie Griffith, not Shining Through Melanie Griffith. (The reason I didn't reference Working Girl Melanie Griffith is because I like Working Girl.) Anyway, Loretta, who is wearing full-length blue sequined number with a massive, and I mean, massive, slit down the side, has the audience eating out of her hand.
 

 

Just as we're about to get a close-up shot Loretta pulling down the zipper of her dress, Matt Rossi (Tom Berenger) and Nicky Parzeno (Jack Scalia) arrive at the strip club with much fanfare. If they're not cops, and don't own the joint, what is their connection to this place? I'll answer that question in a minute, Loretta is about to pull on her zipper. Yeah, baby. Great shot, Abel Ferarra; very sleazy. Okay, where was I? The connection. It would seem that Matt and Nicky run the Starlite Talent Agency, the city's premiere stripper emporium. If you need a stripper, these are your guys. Obviously, the owner of this fine establishment, Mike (Michael V. Gazzo), thinks they're his guys, as all his strippers come from their agency. If only he could pay them on time.
 

 

Collecting their weekly commission might be the primary reason they showed up at Mike's club this evening. But judging by the preoccupied look on his face, it's clear Matt's mind is elsewhere. He's thinking about Loretta. You see, the two used to date, and from where I was sitting, they were going at it like bunny rabbits. When their attempt pick up the earnings goes nowhere, Matt decides to pay Loretta a visit in her dressing room. Only problem is, a fellow stripper named Leila (Rae Dawn Chong) has gotten there first; he catches them making out. Leaving in a huff, Matt grouses about what he saw to Nicky, who basically tells him to forget about her.
 

 

It's a good thing Matt has a friend like Nicky he can lean on for support. But more importantly, the actor who plays Nicky, Jack Scalia, also does an excellent job of placating Tom Berenger's non-Italian-ness. I'm serious, if Jack Scalia wasn't in this movie, I wouldn't have bought Tom Berenger as an Italian-American ex-boxer haunted by his past for a second.
 

 

As Loretta is finishing up her performance, and believe me, it's a performance (the crowd reacts to her like she's a disco star), another stripper, Honey (Ola Ray), is dragged into a nearby alleyway by an unknown assailant; who stabs her repeatedly and cuts some of her fingers off.
 

 

Surprisingly, Matt and Nicky are the first to visit her in the hospital. Maybe I was a little harsh on them when I called them pimps. Sure, you could say they're just worried about their property. But they seemed genuinely concerned about her well-being. And I don't know any pimps who can pull off the genuinely concerned routine. In fact, Honey's trauma causes Matt to reflect on an incident that occurred when he was a boxer. In order to help us understand where he's coming from, a flashback sequence is implemented that details the time when Matt killed a fellow boxer in the ring.
 

 

"Get her ass off the bar." And with that line, Billy Dee Williams makes his presence felt in the Fear City universe. Walking into the Metropolitan A Go-Go, a seedy strip club with a wonderfully sleazy atmosphere (much sleazier than Mike's establishment), Billy Dee's Det. Al Wheeler is there to bust Matt's balls and to hurl anti-Italian ethnophaulisms. Getting back to the club for a second. It's true, the waitresses can't seem to get your drink order right (what part of the phrase "no ice" do you not understand?), but the joint is crawling with the right kind of scuzziness. The club's owner, Frank (Joe Santos), a scumbag who loves his new JVC speakers, tries to confront Al Wheeler, who's getting all up it Matt's grill. Big mistake. A visibly annoyed Frank tries to interrupt Al's "conversation" with Matt, to which Al responds, "Am I talking to you, wop?" Frank answers his question with a question of his own, "Then who the hell are you talking to? Al, without missing a beat, says, "I'm not talking to you." It's a great exchange. As it not only does it expose Al's over the top dislike for Italians, but also shows that the people who work in the strip club world don't much care for the cops either.
 

 

The linguistically aware will notice that Al Wheeler has used to words, "wop," "dago," "cesspool," and "greaseball" (a slur he uses twice) during his time at Frank's club. The word "guinea" is uttered, but he unleashes that hateful chestnut later on in the film: "There's nothing I hate more than guineas in Cadillacs."
 

 

With animosity between the victims and the police at at all-time high, it's no wonder the "New York Knifer" (as the local press dub him) seems to have been given free reign to do whatever he pleases. Played by John Foster (though, there's been much discussion about the actual identity of the actor of who plays the killer), the New York  Knifer attacks strippers who look like Rae Dawn Chong (subway platform), Maria Conchita Alonso (apartment), Janet Julian (sidewalk) and Get Crazy's Lori Eastside (the park). If you want to know why the New York Knifer is stabbing his way through the stripper community, look no further than the pages of his manifesto, which, of course, is titled "Fear City." 
 

 

If I had to pinpoint a single moment in Fear City that encapsulates the film's overall appeal, I'd have to say the scene where a heroin-addicted Melanie Griffith enters Metropolitan A Go-Go looking to score some quick cash does the job. Standing in sunglasses in front of a wall of lights that spell out the word "girls" over and over again, Melanie is, in that moment, the poster girl for urban desperation. A state that Abel Fererra manages to capture multiple times over the course the film, but no more so when Melanie is jonesing for a fix. The other thing that made Fear City stand out was the fact that the strippers stopped going to work when the killer started chopping off their heads. I can't tell you how many films of this type that feature clueless characters who continue going about their daily routine despite the fact that there's a killer on the loose. In other words, I appreciated it when they showed the clubs were practically empty.

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Alphabet City (Amos Poe, 1984)

If a character is going to spend a movie wearing the same clothes from start to finish, you better make sure the outfit in question has staying power. Meaning, you don't want the audience to grow bored with what the protagonist has decided to don for the entirety of the film's running time. Do the makers of Alphabet City, a gritty, night time movie in the grand tradition of Modern Girls, After Hours, and Miracle Mile (in that, they take place over the course of a single night), get it right, or do they drop the ball? Normally I would say, "it's too close to call." But thanks to a quick dress up montage, we get a clear sense of the thought and care that costume designer Anna Taylor must have put into the selection of the film's signature ensemble. One of the most frustrating things about watching movies, whether they be exploitative or non-exploitative in nature, is that they never bother to show the characters putting on their clothes. Oh, sure, they will show folks taking them off. In fact, some movies are nothing but a series of scenes that have been assembled for that sole purpose. But they hardly ever take the time to show how the clothes got on in the first place. Starting off the movie in nothing at all, Johnny (Vincent Spano), a drug dealer who works the streets of the titular New York City neighbourhood, decides it's time to head out to collect the day's earnings. What I liked about his wardrobe almost immediately was that he wasn't afraid of accessories. In other words, if it can accommodate a studded bracelet, it will get wrapped in a studded bracelet. On top of wearing studded bracelets on his wrists and around his ankles, Johnny sports a belt, a gun holster (complete with a small caliber pistol), and one fingerless glove.
 

 

Oh, and, before I continue, yes, you heard right, I said studded ankle bracelets. You got a problem with that? You better not, 'cause remember, Johnny is packing heat. Of course, as he's putting on his accessories, we're treated to a barrage of authentic-sounding '80s electro funk (something no dress up montage sound be without).
 

 

Slipping into a pair of dark gray trousers (covered in decorative zippers and superfluous buttons), a black mesh t-shirt, a no-nonsense pair of black boots, and capping it off with a black leather jacket (covered in decorative studs and superfluous buttons), Johnny, before making sure every last button has been snapped and every last buckle has been buckled, looks up and stares at himself in the mirror, and comes to the realization that he is a genuine basass.
 

 

Little does he know, but his career as a drug dealer will probably be over by the time the night is over. Why is that, you say? Well, thanks to circumstances beyond his control, his days as a pusher are about to come to an abrupt end. Didn't you just say that? Yeah, but I worded it differently. In truth, there's not much to say about the film's plot. Actually, it's so sparse, you could probably scribble the entire story on the inside of a book of matches–you know, if you write really small and stuff. No, what the film, directed by Amos Poe (Unmade Beds) does so well is that it captures the mood of the Lower East Side and East Village during early-to-mid '80s in a such way, that things like, "plot" and "character development" do nothing but get in the way.
 

 

You would think that Johnny and his girlfriend, Angela (Kate Vernon), were a normal, everyday couple judging by the way their sex act is interrupted by their crying baby (a common occurrence for new parents). However, that illusion is quickly destroyed when the curtain surrounding their bed is opened to reveal a giant loft covered in paintings. It would seem that Angie is an artist, but as for what Johnny does for a living, it's not so cut and dry.
 

 

As he's getting dressed for work, it suddenly dawned on me: What kind of person gets ready for work at 11pm? I know, lot's of people work the night shift, especially in New York City. But what kind of job requires you to wear a black mesh tank top and studded ankle bracelet? You're right, not that many.
 

 

If I had a general idea what Johnny does for a living as he was getting dressed, this so-called "general idea" quickly became crystal clear the moment he removed the cover on his car to reveal a white 1983 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am. I mean, who else but a drug dealer would drive a car like that in Manhattan? Nobody, that's who. Anyway, even though I wouldn't exactly call myself a "car guy," this is one sweet ride (the white hubcaps are to die for).
 

 

Don't believe me? You should the way it looks while hurdling across the rain-soaked asphalt of Avenue C. Speaking of rain-soaked, I didn't realize before, but now I know why directors like to film the street when it's wet. What it does is it gives what is basically a ho hum scene (a car driving at night) an added sense of drama. In addition to that, there's something eerily beautiful about the way the streetlights reflected light off the puddle-laden pavement.
 

 

I won't lie, I could watch Vincent Spano drive his Firebird up and down Manhattan to electronic music all night long. But, unfortunately, we all know that's not gonna happen. If he did, he wouldn't be a very good drug dealer, now would he? And judging by the way his peers treat him, Johnny is the man. Checking on his dealers (the people who actually sell the shit), Johnny pulls up to where Lippy (Michael Winslow) is pushing his wares. Someone who has been obviously sampling the merchandise, Lippy doesn't seem to notice that a handsome young fellow in the white Trans Am is talking to him.
 

 

Getting nowhere fast with Lippy, Johnny heads to the apartment where his mom (Zohra Lampert) and sister Sohpia (Jami Gertz) live to tell them that his boss Gino (Raymond Serra), even the neighbourhood's premiere drug dealer has a boss, wants him to burn their building down for the insurance money. While I would love to tell you how his mother reached to such news, I was too busy drinking in the excessive length of Jami Gertz's legs. It's true, I noticed their length years ago when they sheathed in black nylons in the film adaptation of Less Than Zero. So, it wasn't like I was unprepared or anything like that. But in Alphabet City, there is virtually nothing obstructing their sheer lengthiness. Even when there is something obstructing them (she eventually puts on a short dress), they're still freakishly long. And I mean, "freakishly" as a compliment.
 

 

Trying to persuade his stubborn mother to leave the apartment before it burns down (even he decides not to torch the place, someone else will - it's not up to him), and telling his sister that just because she works as an uptown escort right this minute doesn't necessarily mean she won't eventually end up a downtown whore, Johnny has obviously got a lot on his plate this evening.
 

 

Managing to "fuck up" his sister's evening (he beats up her shotgun-wielding limo driver just as she was about to head uptown), Johnny sits down with her in the building's stairwell and convinces Sophia that is in her and their mother's best interest to leave their apartment immediately. With her sister and mother taken care of, Johnny can continue on his way. Heading to "the store" (a large abandoned building where his product is sold), Johnny picks up small-time hood named Juani (Daniel Jordano). As he's driving him through the neighbourhood, Juani starts to get mouthy (i.e. talking trash about his sister). Shoving his pistol in the punk's face, Johnny sets him straight. It's only 11:10pm, and Johnny has already had two violent confrontations involving firearms.
 

 

How were they able to make a rundown tenement building surrounded by flaming rubble look so elegant? Two words: Oliver Wood. The cinematographer pretty much responsible for creating what we now know today as "the '80s aesthetic," Oliver, whose work includes Neon Maniacs, The Adventures of Ford Fairlane, and, most importantly, the television show, Miami Vice, bathes every building seen throughout Alphabet City in this pinkish light. It doesn't matter if it's a dilapidated hellhole or an architectural wonder, every structure is bathed in pink.
 

 

A mere five minutes after arriving at "the store," a depressing place where Wall Street types commingle with street people to fight to get their fix (you try telling a bunch of junkies to form an orderly line), Johnny finds his operation swarming with cops. Slipping out the back with a large sum of money, Johnny and Lippy observe the chaos that ensues from the relative safety of a building across the way. Informing his boss, on his state-of-the-art car phone (this film takes place during a time when mobile communication technology was reserved for drug dealers), that there was "trouble at the store," Johnny is starting to feel the pressure, as Gino orders him to burn down his mother's building.
 

 

In a veiled attempt to delay that order, Johnny heads over to La Tropicana, a local nightclub, to pick up his share of the night's earnings (club's back then made the bulk of their money via the drug trade). Entering the club with a macho swagger, Johnny surveys the scene. The dance-floor is packed with people dancing in the style of the era (thanks to the choreography of Lori Eastside from Get Crazy and Downtown 81 fame), but Johnny is only interested in money, particularly the money in the pocket of Tony (Kenny Marino), the club's owner.
 

 

While Johnny is waiting at the bar, you can't help but notice that Nandrea Lin, credited as "Tropicana Girl #2," looks at directly into the camera; it's only happens for a brief moment, so pay attention.
 

 

It would seem that stalling tactics are in vogue this evening, as Tony tells Johnny that he doesn't have his money, but will in a couple of hours or so. He tries to pawn off his girlfriend Karen (Martine Malle), a brunette goddess in yellow stockings as collateral, but Johnny is, like I said only interested in money. (Are you mad, Johnny? Her stockings are yellow! Yellow!). Frustrated, Johnny hops back in his Firebird, and leaves. But don't worry, he'll be back.
 

 

If you're wondering what Kate Vernon's Angie is up to while all this going on, she's taking a nap on the world's most awesome couch.
 

 

Even though he makes two trips the La Tropicana, picks up some Huggies, and has a quickie with Angie, Johnny's, and, to a certain extent, Vincent Spano's, shining moment occurs when he needs to access his secret stash. Forgoing the chic comfort of his white Firebird, Johnny navigates the ruins (seriously, some of the streets look like a war zone) on foot. What makes the so-called "Lady Luck" scene in Alphabet City so great, besides the stylish cinematography, is the music by the legendary Nile Rodgers, specifically the pop song that features the lyrics "Life's a gamble...Baby, give me lady luck." Now, I don't know what the song is called (I'm presuming it's called "Lady Luck") or who the singer is. But damn, it is one catchy motherscratcher.
 

 

As his stress-filled evening comes to a close, ending with a showdown at Angie's loft on Great Jones Street (the junkie slang term "Jonesing" is apparently attributed to the NoHo street), I came to the realization that Alphabet City is somewhat lacking when it came to drama. Oh, sure, there's lot's of drama. But it's not very compelling. You''re better off doing what I did, and that is, view it as a cultural time capsule. In terms of capturing the stylistic temperament of a particular neighbourhood during a frightfully specific period of time, you can't do better than this film, as it oozes everything you've been told that was cool about the 1980s.

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