Dune (David Lynch, 1984)

Call me crazy, but I think there might be a connection between the spice and the worms. What that connection is, I'm not entirely sure. But what I do know is... Oh, wait. Virginia Madsen has started talking again. Just a second... Okay, I think she's done. All right, where was I? Ah, yes, the spice and the worms of Arrakis, a sort of spice planet. Since the discovery of the spice back in the year who gives a shit, humanity has longed to control the spice. In fact, according to Baron... What the fuck! (What happened?) You won't believe this, but Virginia Madsen has started talking again. It's my fault. I mean, I had three options at my disposal when it came to watching Dune for the very first time the other night. The first option was the theatrical cut. I said, no way, I ain't watching that. The second option was the extended cut. This option seemed tempting, but director David Lynch famously had his name removed from this version of the film, so, I passed on it. The third option was something called "The Work-print Cut." Cobbled together by a fan(s) of the film, the work-print cut combines both the theatrical cut and the extended cut and uses the notes of David Lynch as a sort of guidepost... I think. Now, I'm not sure if Virginia Madsen's opening slab of exposition is longer in this version. Nevertheless, I just sat through three hours of Dune, and my mind is... throbbing like one of those pulsating pus-laden cysts that litter the right side Baron Vladimir Harkonnen's greasy face. I'm no dermatologist, but I think  Baron Vladimir Harkonnen should start washing with soap that contains tea tree oil. I've read that it helps remove sebum from the skin, thus preventing the chances of your pores from becoming clogged.

Yes, I realize that  Baron Vladimir Harkonnen already has a doctor, played by Leonardo Cimino, who is currently treating his severe case of space acne. But he isn't doing a very good job, now is he?

While I could talk about the Baron's clogged pores for hours on end, Dune isn't really about space acne. It's about spice, baby.

However, it's the acne plagued Baron Harkonnen who says so succinctly at one point: "He who controls the spice, controls the universe."

While the Baron (Kenneth McMillan), the ruler of Giedi Prime and the leader of House Harkonnen, wants to control the spice. He is, actually, under the control of Padishah Emperor Shaddam IV (José Ferrer), the leader of the Known Universe, who resides on the Planet Kaitain. When Duke Leto Atreides (Jürgen Prochnow), the leader of House Atreides on the Planet Caladan, takes over the Planet Arrakis, a.k.a. Spice World, this enrages the Baron, who, along with his demented sons/gay lovers, Feyd (Sting) and The Beast Rabban (Paul L. Smith), plots to bring down House Atreides, and takeover spice production on the Planet Arrakis.

In-between all this scheming, lot's of weird ass nonsense takes place.

Now, with so many planets and so many characters to keep track of, it's easy to see how someone might get lost.

In order to prevent this from happening, we end up spending the bulk of our time following Paul Atreides (Kyle MacLachlan), the duke's son.

I know, what kind of name for a kid is "Paul"? But then again, his mom's name is Jessica (Francesca Annis). What I mean is, in a film populated by characters with names like, Shadout Mapes (Linda Hunt), a shadowy Fremen housekeeper who is always carrying a crysknife, Thufir Hawat (Freddie Jones), House Atreides' bushy-browed head of security, and Gurney Halleck (Patrick Stewart), Warmaster for House Atreides, Paul and Jessica seem out of place.

While the story of Paul's rise from being a wide-eyed duke in training to a spice worm-riding God is super compelling, I couldn't help but be obsessed by the oft-kilter goings-on transpiring on Giedi Prime, the home of House Harkonnen.

Don't get me wrong, Planet Caladan is loaded with talented actors. The aforementioned Jürgen Prochnow, Kyle MacLachlan, Patrick Stewart and Freddie Jones, for example, are all great. As are, Richard Jordan and Dean Stockwell, who plays Doctor Yueh. But Giedi Prime has Kenneth McMillan as the awful Baron Harkonnen, a balloon-shaped tyrant covered in cysts, Jack Nance as Nefud, a Harkonnen lackey...

...Paul L. Smith (Pieces) as The Beast Rabban, a disgustingly vile man who sweats pure evil, Sting as Feyd, a lanky ginger who digs knives and loves doing crunches (the entire planet, by the way, is populated by redheads), and, my personal favourite, Brad Dourif as Piter De Vries (his "juice of sapho" monologue was glorious), the Baron's right hand man, who, strangely enough, doesn't have red hair (edit: Piter de Vries is a Mentat, a human computer employed by House Harkonnen).

Okay, now that you got the image of all those repugnant motherfuckers in your head. Imagine them all in the same green-walled room. I don't know 'bout you, but watching a bunch of repugnant motherfuckers acting all gross 'n' junk was kind of awesome. Did I feel sad whenever the Baron's undulating cysts weren't onscreen? In a way, yes. Yes, I did. There's something about these rupugnant motherfuckers that was quite appealing.

And that appeal seemed to go through the roof when the Baron drains/fucks/absorbs... um... Whatever the Baron did to that boy-toy, who was, for some reason, planting fake purple flowers at gun point, was tremendously discombobulating.

Actually, now that I think about it, if you were to ask me to describe Dune using only two words, I would say it was: tremendously discombobulating. Yeah, I like that.

Kooky wordplay aside. Even though three hours might seem a tad excessive, I couldn't help but be sucked into this unnecessarily complicated world of spice and giant worms. And, in a bizarre twist, I ended up rooting for Paul to defeat my beloved Baron. It's bizarre because I usually loathe these bland Luke Skywalker types. But there was something different going on here. Or maybe it's because Kyle MacLachlan (Showgirls) is awesome. There you go.

I've always wanted to review a David Lynch movie on here. Why I haven't done one is a bit of a mystery. One day, I asked a friend: If I was going to review a David Lynch film, which one should I do? And, without hesitation, they said, Dune. After thinking about it for, oh, I don't know, five whole seconds, I said: You're absolutely right. Dune it is.

Quirky fun-fact: My only connection to Dune up until this point was through the early 1990s techno rave scene. You see, a U.K. techno project called "EON" released two tracks back in '91. And both, "Spice" and "Fear Is the Mind-Killer," sample the movie rather heavily. The spice must flow.

Lifeforce (Tobe Hooper, 1985)

I've got good news for all of you crybabies who are constantly worrying about not being around after you die. Are you sitting down? It would seem that there is life after death. Isn't that great? Unfortunately, the bad news is your everlasting soul is going to be immediately sucked up by the bat-like aliens currently orbiting the earth in their umbrella-shaped spaceship. That's right. If you had hoped to spend the next five or so years haunting the living fuck out of your obnoxious neighbours after you kicked the bucket, you can forget about it. Your spirit is needed elsewhere. To be more specific, your energy, or, "lifeforce" is required to help feed a race of sophisticated space vampires. While all this talk about the after life and vampires from outer space is fascinating, what does the plot of Lifeforce entail? I mean, you're already halfway through your first paragraph and you have yet to touch on the film you're purportedly writing about. Oh, haven't I? What? No. Really? Get out of here. You mean to tell me that Lifeforce, directed by Tobe Hooper (Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2) and produced by Menahem Golan (The Apple) and Yoram Globus, is about space vampires?!? No way. That's impossible. For one thing, the film is filled with classically trained British actors. First of all, I don't know what it is about the cast being predominantly British that makes you to doubt its existence. And secondly, to answer your question, yes, that's exactly what the film's about. Now, you can either remain wrapped in a veil of denial or come with me as I bask in the first-rate insanity Lifeforce was putting out there on a semi-regular basis. So, which is it going to be?

 

 

Judging by the fact that you're still here, I take it you're ready to dive headfirst into this film's kooky world of shapely, naked space vampires who are able to woo impressionable astronauts with a nipple-protruding ease. Wait a minute. Hold on. You never mentioned that the space vampires were naked. I didn't? Huh, that's funny. I'm usually quite reliable when it comes relaying details like that, especially when they involve naked space vampires who are purported to be shapely. Anyway, they're naked, all right. Naked for an extended period of time, if memory serves me correctly. Okay, I got it, they're not wearing any clothes. You make me sound like some kind of pervert who only cares about nudity. Well, aren't you? Pish motherfucking posh! I'm a well-rounded movie watcher whose interests are the epitome of multifarious.
 

 

Watching you get all defensive about the space vampires lack of clothing reminded me the way some of the characters behaved when they come face-to-face with the naked space vampires for the very first time. Reduced to a blithering pile of heterosexual inadequacy, most people, particularly males, when they meet the space vampire at the centre of this crafty enterprise can hardly move. Stricken with something I like to call, "erotic dementia," the men in this movie act as if they have never seen a naked woman in the flesh before. Is it because they're repressed? Nah, British people are surprisingly sexual. Which reminds me, is it because they're British? Don't be daft. Perversion is alive and well in Britain (they have photos of topless women next to the five-day forecast in their newspapers).
 

 

I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that the reason the men were so enamoured with the naked space vampire was because she was just that, a naked space vampire. Sure, most guys will go goo goo gaga over a housewife from Surry prancing around a field nothing but a garter belt and stockings, but put them in front of a naked space vampire, and we're talking total sexual subservience up in this girdle factory.
 

 

 

How do I know all this? Just ask Col. Tom Carlson (Steve Railsback), commander of the H.M.S. Churchill, a space shuttle headed to Halley's Comet, he knows all about the intrinsic allure of naked space vampires. His date with a naked space vampire begins when his shuttle approaches the comet, and the crew (a joint mission between British and American astronauts) spot a needle-like structure floating near the comet's tail.
 

 

Measured at around 150 miles long, Col. Carlson decides to lead a team to investigate the strange object. What do they find? What do think you think? That's right, large, desiccated, bat-like creatures. As they're bagging one of the giant bats to take back to their ship, the alien vessel literally opens its umbrella. After that occurs, a door opens. Inside they find three transparent cases containing three naked humanoids. Ignoring the naked fellas, Col. Carlson is drawn to the female (after he puts his tongue back in his mouth, he orders his away team to bring all three of them aboard).
 

 

Jumping forward thirty days, we find out that the Churchill is currently floating in space above the earth and isn't responding to hails from British mission control. Worried, the Brits enlist the help of the Columbia shuttle. And before you can say, "Houston, we have a problem" (something that is actually said in this movie), the rescue team find nothing but charred bodies and three transparent cases containing three...well, you know what they contain. 
 

 

Undamaged by the apparent inferno that took place aboard the Churchill, the three cases are brought back to England to be studied. If a professional astronaut had trouble resisting the womanly curves of the naked female (Mathilda May) under glass, what chance does a lowly security guard have? Let me tell you, he's doesn't have a prayer. And what do you know, a security guard is standing over the encased female with an inquisitive expression on his face that practically screams sex. Instead of biting him, like a normal vampire, she casually sucks out his lifeforce through his eyes, nose, ears, and mouth (i.e. anything with a hole), reducing him to a shriveled raisin of a man. Rejuvenated by the guard's energy, the naked female gets up and heads out the door. On the way out, the space woman grabs some energy from Dr. Bukovsky (Michael Gothard)–who must open at least twenty glass doors in order to get to the lab–but not enough energy to cause him to shrivel up, and she zaps a few guards along the way.
 

 

As the survivors of the naked space ladies escape are regrouping, including the aforementioned Dr. Bukovsky and a Dr. Fallada (Frank Finlay), a new character bursts onto the scene. I'll admit, when I first saw Col. Colin Caine (Peter Firth), Special Air Service, arrive to investigate the weird goings on at the spacelab, I thought to myself, who's this pratt? Which is a thought I think a lot when watching movies such as this. You see, I usually cannot stand macho tough guys who think they're so cool. However, I found myself strangely not annoyed by this trench coat-wearing S.A.S. commando. Like most people, I assumed Col. Caine was there to antagonize the protagonists (i.e. be a major dick). But after about five seconds, I quickly realized that Col. Caine is not only a reasonable chap who's only interested in what's best for Britain, but he is, to put it bluntly, a badass. Again, and I can't emphasize this enough, I'm wired to hate this guy, but I thought every decision he made was the correct one. In fact, every time an idea was thrown out there regarding what to do about the naked female vampire who drains people of their lifeforce, I would look to Col. Caine, and if he nodded in agreement, I would nod as well.
 

 

If you thought Col. Caine was a badass as a solo act, you should see him when he's paired with Col. Carlson. Wait, didn't he die in the Churchill? No, apparently he survived. Anyway, Col. Carlson is brought over to England to help Col. Caine piece together the events that occurred on the Churchill. 'Cause if you remember, we're not told what happened after the naked humanoids are brought aboard the Churchill. And according to Col. Carlson, things were quite insane. Actually, some might say what occurred aboard the Churchill is now taking place on earth.
 

 

Leaving shriveled bodies in her wake, the naked female humanoid starts to hop from body to body. My favourite being the body belonging to the gorgeous Nancy Paul, who plays a redheaded nurse named Ellen. Call me crazy, but I much preferred Nancy Paul over Mathilda May. Call me even crazier, but the sight of Nancy Paul walking in a black raincoat is way more sexy than any of the scenes that feature Mathilda May walking around naked. I know, I know, that's a lot of craziness to digest all at once. Buy, hey, I'm just being honest. I should start a support group for people who prefer a fully-clothed Nancy Paul over a completely naked Mathilda May. Yeah, that's a terrible idea.
 

 

Speaking of a fully-clothed redheads, the scene where a hypnotized Col. Carlson enters the mind of the space chick (yeah, he can totally do that) as she's wooing a man in a Volvo in the body of Nancy Paul was the film's sexiest. Now a strawberry-flavoured redhead with seductive eyes, the space girl has to feed on human energy to remain strong. But she doesn't want to leave a trail of wrinkled corpses in her wake. Good golly, what's a peckish space vampire to do? Suck in moderation, that's what. Taking little bits of energy here and there, the space girl feeds on people by extracting only what she needs, leaving the sucked party only a tad groggy.
 

 

In order to entice a male Volvo driver, the Nancy Paul version of the space vampire uses the ashen smoothness of her thighs to lull her victim into a state of erotic complacency. Inviting the male Volvo driver to caress her left thigh by lifting up skirt well above her knees, Nancy Paul is well on her way to getting the energy her supple body needs.
 

 

I think we can all agree that no one wants to see the Patrick Stewart version of the space vampire walking around naked. I have nothing against Patrick Stewart or his body. It's just that, to quote Elaine from the Seinfeld episode, The Apology,  "Whoa! Walking around naked? Ahh…that is not a good look for a man."
 

 

As more and more people come in contact with the space vampire, the more chaotic the situation becomes in Britain. Which is a bit of an understatement really, especially when you consider the fact that London is swarming with wrinkly zombies. You could say that the nation's world renowned stiff upper lip has become in desperate need of some kind of lubricant. But I'm not going to be the one to say something that egregiously lame. If you like movies where respected British actors and Steve Railsback openly talk about being in love with a vampire chick from outer space, you'll love Lifeforce. Of course, Peter Firth does not once express feelings of love toward any of the creature's many incarnations. Though, Peter Firth's character (I love the way he answers the phone simply by saying, "Caine!") does say that's he's a voyeur at heart at one point, which made me like him even more. At any rate, if you like the things I just listed, and dig high concept science fiction that takes itself way too seriously, you need to see this flick pronto. Even more so if your name is Tonto and you live in Toronto.

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