Fingers (James Toback, 1978)

I'll get to the meat and potatoes this off-kilter slice of Soho-shot weirdness in a minute. I just want to give a quick tip to all those who want to avoid seeing Harvey Keitel's penis. When I saw that Fingers starred Harvey Keitel, I went ahead and assumed that his penis would make an appearance at some point or another. In light of this assumption, I decided to turn on the closed captions... you know, figuring that they might obscure Harvey Keitel's penis from view. And you know what? I think it might have worked. Now, granted, Harvey Keitel's penis could have remained hidden in the shadows (where it belongs) with or without the closed captions switched on, but I wasn't going to take any chances, as I've been forced to look at Harvey Keitel's penis in countless other movies. Just in case your version of this movie doesn't come with closed captions, I recommend looking away from the screen during the urologist scene, as the chances that Harvey Keitel's penis might show up in this scene are pretty high. I mean, I'm no doctor, but I think "urologist" literally means dick doctor in Latin. Oh, and in case you're wondering, yes, I play bass in a Portland-based punk band called Harvey Keitel's Penis. We've opened for PMS 84 (I have a major crush on the bass player) and The Sweaty Taints a couple of times over the past year and have been described as a cross between Smash Mouth and the  Dayglo Abortions. In other words, we're pretty awful.

Okay, that takes care of that. Now, let's talk a little about Fingers, shall we? First off, what I liked most about it was the fact no-one acts like a normal human being. It's true, I'm a sucker for films that shirk normalcy, but this one, written and directed by James Toback, shirks it more than I'm used to.

Hell, even Jim Brown, who plays a pimp named "Dreems," doesn't seem to be playing with a full deck. And it's got nothing to do with the fact that he's wearing a pink shirt either. There's just something about him that seems off.

As the former running back's scene with Harvey Keitel went along, this thought would repeatedly pop into my head: Why hasn't Jim Brown punched Harvey Keitel in the face yet? If I was Jim Brown, I would have punched Harvey Keitel in the face the moment I laid eyes on him. Though, to be fair, if I was Jim Brown, I would be punching people in the face left, right and center. But he doesn't... punch Harvey Keitel in the face. And this, as you might expect, vexed the living shit out of me.

Of course, I don't mind being vexed. However, some viewers might find these kind of unorthodox shenanigans* to be off-putting.

It's one thing to have characters behave strangely, but to have them do so in a mob movie is another story. Of course, it's not really a mob movie. Sure, half the cast is made up of actors who either appeared in The Godfather or would go on to star on The Sopranos, and the film takes place in New York City, but I don't know that many mob movies that feature lead characters who carry around a cassette player blasting songs by The Drifters, The Jamies and The Chiffons.

Mob debt collector by day, concert pianist also by day (he sleeps at night), Jimmy (Harvey Keitel) has two passions: Classical music and pop music from the 1950s and 1960s. Well, he three passions. The one's I just mentioned, and sex.

At first I thought that Jimmy preferred to have sex with women. But then I saw the way he eye-balled those guys at the bar while having lunch with Ben (Michael Gazzo), his shylock father. Is he gay? Or is he merely bi-curious? Who knows. I do know this, Ben's "cream" suit is blindingly yellow, his girlfriend (Georgette Mosbacher) is stacked, and he's got two jobs for his son.

The first job involves collecting four thousand clams from Luchino (Lenny Montana), a hulking pizzeria owner. Not that I sit around listening to 1960s pop music, but "Angel of the Morning" by Merrilee Rush and the Turnabouts will never be same for me after seeing Jimmy pistol whip Luca Brasi in the kitchen of his pizza joint in front of his son as the song blares from his boombox.

The second job... Um, this job, it turns out, is going to be a little more complicated. Sure, it basically involves collecting money that is owed. But Patsy Riccamonza (Tony Sirico) is no pizza chef.

In the meantime, Jimmy tries to enlighten a fellow restaurant diner about music after he tells him to turn his stereo off while having lunch with his father. I know, who in their right mind would confront Harvey Keitel over something as trivial as loud music? But you've got to remember, this is New York City, and it's 1978. In other words, everyone is either mentally-ill or has a severe death wish.

Telling the irate diner: "This is the Jamies, man! 'Summertime, Summertime!' - the most musically inventive song of 1958!" doesn't seem to placate the situation, as a mild shoving match ensues.

His father backs him up, but he does question the logic of playing "Summertime, Summertime" in the middle of winter in the next scene.
 

The other key relationship, if you can call it that, at the center of the movie is the one between Jimmy and Carol (Tisa Farrow), a mysterious sculptress, who James Toback describes as having a "distracted luminosity." Personally, I would classify Carol's disposition more as having an aloof radiance. Nevertheless, she's a strange bird. However, since Jimmy is just as strange (he consoles distraught homeless women in his spare time), they're technically made for each other. The key word being "technically." Nothing in Fingers is straight-forward.
  

As he's trying to procure his pop's money from Riccamonza and penetrate Carol's [hopefully] diaphragm-free pussy (don't ask), Jimmy is agonizing over an upcoming audition at Carnegie Hall. While 1950s/1960s pop music plays a vital role in the film, Bach's Toccata in E minor (the piece he's scheduled to perform), it turns out, is the bane of Jimmy's existence.
  

Figuring that he's pretty much got the Bach piece down pat, he shifts his focus back to Riccamonza. Or, I should say, he shifts his focus to Tanya Roberts, Riccamonza's main squeeze. Tracking him down to a fancy hotel, Jimmy decides to... I'm at a loss for words here. I mean, how does one accurately describe the "sex scene" between Jimmy and Tanya Roberts? Oh, wait. I got it. The "sex scene" between Jimmy and Tanya Roberts in Fingers is one of the worst, most awkward "sex scenes" in movie history. In fact, it's so repellent, I don't even feel like extolling the skimpy virtues of Tanya's super-chic dusty rose bikini.

If you thought that was repellent, wait until you see Jim Brown knock two women's heads together (Three Stooges-style) in a later scene. You know what? I take that back. The sight of Jim Brown roughing up his "bitches" in a comical manner has nothing on the Jimmy-Tanya Roberts "sex scene." I mean, my God, that was some ugly ass shit. Even his pick up line, if you could call it that, made my skin crawl.

Just to let you know. While, yes, I'm currently using a ton of negative-sounding adjectives in correlation with this movie. This, believe it or not, is still a positive review. To put it another way, I loved this movie. Genital warts and all. Seriously, I think Harvey Keitel's character has genital warts. Since we don't get an eyeful of his cock and balls, an exact diagnosis is not forthcoming. At least not from me. And I think everyone should be thankful for that.

* I'm slowly reintroducing the word "shenanigans" back into my vocabulary (the movie Juno turned me off the word to such a degree, that I had it banned)

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.

video uploaded by NiceActorLikeYou