Eddie and the Cruisers II: Eddie Lives! (Jean-Claude Lord, 1989)

Instead of wracking my brain trying to figure out this film's timeline, I should just listen to Eddie Wilson when he says: "It's about the music, man." While I have to admit, that's some top notch advice. I would still like to know when Eddie and the Cruisers II: Eddie Lives! takes place (and, yes, the exclamation mark in the film's title is totally justified). Okay, let me take one more stab at it before switching to a more stimulating topic. The original Eddie and the Cruisers flipped back and forth between 1963 and 1983, and... You know what, who cares? I mean, so what if Michael Paré was only five or six years old in 1963, I totally bought him as a troubled rock star who faked his death in the 1960s and is now working as a construction worker in late 1980s Montreal. I'm telling you, if you flush away all the doubts in your head regarding the film's wonky timeline, you'll discover that this film kinda rocks. Sure, everyone from the original film except for Michael Paré and Matthew Laurance is missing in action. But again, I have to sort of quote Eddie Wilson: "It's about the music, man."

In other words, it's not about the actors, the script, or even the direction, it's about–you got it–the music... man.

The next point I'm about to make is on the cusp of being timeline related, so please bear with me. Don't get me wrong, I dig your music, Eddie Wilson (or should I say, Joe West), I really do, it's just that I'm having trouble buying that people living in late 1980s Montreal would go nuts for Chuck Berry inspired rock 'n' roll, especially when you take in account the city's synth-pop pedigree (Trans-X, Men Without Hats, Rational Youth). 

It reminds me of that heinous scene from the WKRP in Cincinnati episode, "Dr. Fever and Mr. Tide: Part 2" where Dr. Johnny Fever stops acting like his alter ego "Rip Tide," the host of a televised dance music show, and lashes out against his disco-loving overlords. It doesn't seem to matter that the audience is filled with disco fans, he manages to convince them that disco does in fact suck by merely spinning a rock 'n' roll record.

That being said, I'm not a big fan of realism. And besides, why does a film about a made up band have to reflect the tastes of the period? It doesn't. And just like the film's "wonky timeline," I'm going to have to except the fact that Montrealers love their old time rock 'n' roll.

After opening with a guitar lick, the film, directed by Jean-Claude Lord (Visiting Hours), hits us with the classic piano intro to "On the Dark Side," one of the stand out songs from the first chapter in the Eddie Wilson saga.

Now, when sequels allude to the previous film, it usually backfires, as it reminds us of how great the first one was. And by opening with "On the Dark Side," Eddie and the Cruisers II: Eddie Lives! is at risk of having that exact thing happen.

Well, after seeing the film from start to finish, I can safely say that this sequel has nothing to worry about, as not only are the songs (co-written and sung by John Cafferty) just as good as the one's from the first film, I'd go as far as to say that they're better.

I know, that sounds like kooky talk. But I'm serious, "Runnin' Thru the Fire," "A Matter Of Time," "NYC" and "Some Like It Hot" are all barn-burners of the highest order.

What happened to Eddie Wilson (Michael Paré) after his car crashed through a guard rail and landed in the river in 1964? According to this film, he changed his name to Joe West, grew a mustache, moved to Montreal, and became a construction worker; and get this, he's a Habs fan!

Meanwhile, the legend of Eddie Wilson continues to grow around the world. Eddie's record company, Satin Records (the same Satin Records who rejected his sophomore album for being too arty), are still hoping to exploit the reemerged interest in his music.

When Eddie/Joe hears about an Eddie Wilson lookalike contest being held in New York City, he decides to drive down to take a look-see. I know he has a mustache now, but why didn't anyone recognize him? I mean, the real Eddie Wilson is standing in the crowd at an Eddie Wilson lookalike contest.

Either way, you know almost immediately that Satin Records' Dave Pagent (Michael Rhoades) is not to be trusted the second you see that he's rocking a sports coat with a pair of jeans.

Seeing the Eddie Wilson clones lip-sync to his music in black sleeveless t-shirts must have inspired the real Eddie Wilson, because he starts working on songs the second he gets back to Montreal. Obviously a tad burnt out, Eddie decides to unwind by taking in a Habs game with one of his construction worker buddies. It's here that Eddie/Joe meets Diane Armani (Marina Orsini), an artist who wants to paint his portrait.

If you're wondering why Diane, an attractive brunette, would want to paint a portrait of a construction worker she met at a hockey game. It's simple, really, she thinks he has an amazing face. In case you forgot, Eddie/Joe is played by Michael Paré, who is still hunky, still cool and still pleased to meet ya.

Even though Eddie/Joe rejects Diane's offer, she doesn't give up. The following night, Eddie/Joe is at a nightclub. There he buys a drink for  Hilton Overstreet (Anthony Sherwood), the band's sax player. Overhearing their conversation, the band's guitar player, Rick Diesel (Bernie Coulson), challenges Eddie/Joe to put his money where his mouth is (I think I'm using that idiom correctly). Anyway, Eddie/Joe goes on stage and blows everyone away, including Diane, who must have followed him there. Um, stalker much?

After multiple attempts to get Eddie/Joe to join his band, Rick Diesel finally manages to convince him, but only if they hire a new drummer, bass player and keyboardist. These slots are filled by Charlie (Paul Markle), Quinn Quinley (Mark Holmes) and Stewart (David Matheson).

As Eddie/Joe's music career is getting back on track, he also finds time for romance, as Eddie/Joe and Diane become an item. In fact, they become so close, you can drop the whole "Eddie/Joe" charade when referencing them. That's right, Eddie confesses to Diane that he is in fact Eddie Wilson. While I wouldn't say that I got chills when Eddie says, "I'm Eddie Wilson" to Diane, it's still a pretty awesome moment.

The rest of the movie involves Eddie/Joe and Rick Diesel butting heads over the direction they want to the band to take. On the one hand, Eddie/Joe, being a perfectionist, wants the band to practice ("I won't short cut the music!), while Rick Diesel wants the band to start playing gigs. These clashes get a little tiresome after awhile, but the four songs I mentioned earlier manage to smooth things over in the end. Ultimately leading to a highly satisfying conclusion.

Oh, I'd be remiss not to mention that Martha Quinn in this movie. Now, I've said in the past that pointing out Martha Quinn in movies is sort of my thing. But Eddie and the Cruisers II: Eddie Lives! is a little different, in that this is probably Martha Quinn's biggest film role to date.

When she first appears onscreen, as the host of "Rock TV News," I was like, Yay, Martha Quinn! Then, get this, she appears a second time. I thought myself: Two Martha Quinn appearances in the same movie?!? This is crazy. Well, I hope you're sitting down, because Martha Quinn appears onscreen a third time! Three times!!! Can you believe this? Okay, I'm going to go relax.

Streets of Fire (Walter Hill, 1984)

Starting your movie by flashing the words, A Rock & Roll Fable" on the screen and ending with the epic bombast of "Tonight Is What It Means To Be Young" are just two of the many attention-getting touches that elevate Streets of Fire (Walter Hill's phenomenal ode to music and machismo) beyond the realm of store-bought vapidity. Played extremely straight at times, this potentially hokey tale about a trench coat-wearing tough guy who fights for love and money has just the right amount of sincerity to it, that it avoids being a parody at every turn. Filled with neon signs, rain soaked girders, forthright loners and lots of leather, the world Mr. Hill is wallowing in is sort of similar to the one he orchestrated in The Warriors in that there's a kind of dreamlike unreality permeating the proceedings. However, the raucous period piece, that takes place during a nonspecific mishmash of the 1950s and the 1980s, is quite different. For starters, the gang in this film is just one guy. Sure, he employs others to complete the task at hand, but the way he man handled those Roadmaster wimps proves that he doesn't need help from anyone, as it was a thing of ass kicking beauty. (I would wager that at least two of those chumps died of embarrassment during their long slunks home.) And secondly, the soundtrack makes its presence felt from start to finish. From the boisterous crowd pleasers that bookend the film to sweaty biker rock of the Torchy's sequence, the music drives the simplistic narrative hard and fast in the general direction of its righteous conclusion.

The disaffected Tom Cody (Michael Paré) is called upon to retrieve Ellen Aim (Diane Lane), his rock star ex-girlfriend, at the request of his wide-eyed sister Reva (Deborah Van Valkenburgh) after she is kidnapped by Raven (Willem Dafoe), the leader of the Blasters Bombers, a gang of unruly motorcycle enthusiasts. Even though he's proven that he can handle himself in almost any situation, Tom brings along Billy Fish (Rick Moranis), Ellen's manager, who knows the neighbourhood, and the equally disaffected McCoy (Amy Manigan) as backup.

On top of being fraught with danger (the bikers are renowned for their unpleasantness), their rescue mission will include run ins with The Sorels (a singing group lead by Stoney Jackson), police roadblocks, and adorable groupies (E.G. Daily plays a hanger-on named Baby Doll). Of course, none of the people I just mentioned get along with one another, which leads lots of bickering, humourous put-downs and male posturing.

A colossal slab of uninhibited manliness, Michael Paré's Tom Cody ("Pleased to meet you") is one of the most straightforward, no-nonsense anti-heroes in cinematic history. My pussy seemed to get wetter than a Cambodian toilet every time he would annoyingly turn around to utter uncomplicated verbiage at someone who dared to interrupt his rigorous brooding regiment. In other words, his tough guy act is the stuff erotic dreams are made of. I mean, to be rescued by such an unabashedly masculine figure must have been tantamount to titillation torture to those who saw it during their developmental stage.

Viewed from an expandable penis point of view, the exuberant dancing of Marine Jahan at Torchy's was the definite highlight from a heterosexual male angle. Actually, I think almost everyone, no matter what the shape of your equipment, can appreciate what Miss Jahan brought to Streets of Fire, as the wildly physical dancer swayed and thrust the air like a deranged humping machine.

The sheer villainy of Willem Dafoe as Raven was a menacing tour de force. (Mmmm, leather overalls... and the prerequisite back acne that comes with them.) And the fight between Tom Cody and Raven with those axe/hammer things was topnotch in terms of brute strength and unflashy swinging. The weapon itself was rather frightening. I wouldn't want to be struck by it that's for sure.

To be honest, I don't exactly know what perverted subgroup this particular section is geared towards. But I know for a fact that people who have a rational proclivity for women in fingerless gloves will go nuts for the amount of fingerless-ness that goes on in this flick. This tight-knit cabal who love it when fingers poke through gloves that are purposely missing the material of the glove where the fingers normally go will get to see Diane Lane, Marine Jahan and E.G. Daily all appear in a state of being completely fingerless at one time or another.

All bring the digit-based sexy, but if I had to give the sexy edge to someone, it would have to be Miss Lane. The way the light hit her fingers as she mouthed the words to "Nowhere Fast" in those long leather babies was quite the ethereal sight.

I think that covers everything. Let me see: Michael Paré creates the kind of moisture that your house plants have no use for, Willem Dafoe is an asshole, but looked cool in shiny overalls, Marine Jahan proves that you don't need long hair and large chest melons to be sexy. Fingerless gloves. What else? Oh yeah, I thought E.G. Daily's character could have been fleshed out a bit more. But then again, her Baby Doll technically should have kicked to the curb the moment Rick Moranis told her to scram. And you know what they say, a little E.G. is better than no E.G.

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Eddie and the Cruisers (Martin Davidson, 1983)

He doesn't believe shirts should have sleeves, and she thinks the entirety of one's legs should be unadorned by pesky fabrics such as denim and corduroy, yet somehow they manage to make sweet music together in the wonderfully melodious Eddie and the Cruisers, a raucous look-see into the brief existence of an early 1960s rock and roll band that starts to gel after their charismatic leader and a Rimbaud reading, piano playing songwriter see eye-to-eye in a New Jersey bar. Jumping back and forth between the past and the present, the film chronicles the lives of the surviving members of the short-lived group. Well, actually, its main focus is the post-Cruiser life of Frank "Wordman" Ridgeway (Tom Berenger). Now an English teacher, the one-time rock star finds his musical past making a come back in a big way, as the Eddie and the Cruisers get caught up in the '60s nostalgia wave. Interest in their lost second album "A Season in Hell" and the mystery surrounding death of Eddie (his body was never found) has grabbed the attention of Maggie (the gorgeous Ellen Barkin), a reporter for a music magazine of note. Now, I've never seen an episode of Behind the Music (parodies not included), but the structure of this film by Martin Davidson has all the elements of your classic rise and fall music story: artistic differences (Roxy Music), dead saxophone players (Einstürzende Neubauten), conspiracy theories (Nirvana), the troubled, yet highly innovative follow up record (The Beastie Boys), and inter-band ass fucking (Frankie Goes to Hollywood). However, since the film lacks many of the key ingredients that usually go into making your average rock and roll motion picture (drug abuse and drunken violence being the two big ones), the tuneful enterprise comes across as strangely original.

I also liked how Eddie (Michael Paré) and his band were treated when they perform at a seemingly squarer than square college. This campus sequence is setup as your typical: let's mock a bunch of buttoned-down, unhip cardigan wearers. But it turned out to be the complete opposite in terms of tone and tempo, and of course, proved once and for all that the power of rock, and not to mention, Paré's dreaminess, is incendiary.

The sight of Tom Berenger belting out a rough version of "On the Dark Side" and clutching a book by fancy pants word writer Arthur Rimbaud may have been a bizarre one, but the tough guy definitely shines as the reluctant songwriter. He's got a quiet, restrained quality about him that worked well with the magnetic Paré. It's the kind of non-showy performance that doesn't garner much attention, but it's sort that keeps the film grounded in reality. Though, I must say, I was genuinely surprised by how he was able thwart the leggy assault thrown at him by Ellen Barkin's reporter character. I mean, what kind of man ignores that kind of gam-based onslaught? Truth be told, the fact that Berenger's character wasn't coerced by this shameless display was on the cusp of being impressive.

A crotch moistener if I ever saw one, Michael Paré is freaking hot as Eddie Wilson, the energetic front-man of the film's titular group. Yeah, so what he doesn't do any of his own singing, the amount of sheer manliness Mr. Paré puts forth in Eddie and the Cruisers is off the charts. Again, like Berenger, he doesn't overdo in the histrionics department. This control adds to his overall coolness, and justifies the legend status of character.

Oh, and by not delving too deeply into Eddie's personality, the filmmakers elevate his mystique; a rare case where the less we know, the better.

On the surface, the many scenes that featured the gorgeous Helen Schneider wearing short-shorts seemed like a blatant attempt to curry favour with the smattering of perverts in the audience. Deep down, however, this material-challenged situation turned out to be one of the more brilliant ways to convey on-screen aging that I gave ever seen. You see, most films seem to go overboard when comes to aging characters. This particular film, on the other hand, simply used age appropriate clothing to signify the passage of time: the short-shorts equaling youthfulness and slaphappy whimsicality, while a modest lavender dress and with matching heels signifies practicality mixed with dignity.

Anyway, Helen Schneider reminded me of a cross between Annabella Sciorra and Juliet Landau. In other words, a tantalizing screen presence. Her scene with Michael Paré at the Palace of Depression (a junkyard fortress made out of outmoded automobiles) and the subsequent embrace in front of his turquoise Chevy convertible was my favourite non-musical sequence in the film.

Overly nostalgic for a period of time I'm not really that interested in, and sporting synthesizer-free music from start to finish, Eddie and the Cruisers manages to pull off a minor miracle by making the trials and tribulations of a lame bar band seem compelling, and, dare I say, mildly inspirational.

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