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.

 

"GETEVEN" (John De Hart, 1993)

If I didn't know any better, I could have sworn that I just watched the eye-opening story of a young woman struggling to come to terms with her own homosexuality. Unfortunately, I do know better. Meaning, I'm going to have to admit sooner or later that I just watched a film written and directed by a trial lawyer named John De Hart. It's true, just because a film is written and directed by a trial lawyer named John De Hart, doesn't mean it can't be about sexual awakening. But let's get real, what do trial lawyers named John De Hart know about coming out as a lesbian? Actually, what do trial lawyers named John De Hart know about directing movies, writing movies, acting in movies and scoring movies? When you ultimately decide to subject yourself to "GETEVEN" (a.k.a. Road to Revenge), a film that is tantamount to watching a ninety minute infomercial for a revolutionary new kind of adult diaper, these are the types of questions you will be asking yourself. Boasting the action chops of Samurai Cop, the hot tubs of Andy Sidaris and the misguided moxie of The Room, John De Hart has made a movie so awkward and sad, that you can't help but root for it. (Yeah, root for it to end. Am I right, fellas?) You're not far off, but I sincerely wanted John De Hart to succeed at whatever it was he was trying to accomplish when he decided to unleash this ego stroke job masquerading as filmed entertainment onto an unsuspecting public.

Speaking of sincerity, I did genuinely pick up on a lesbian subplot amidst all the Wings Hauser-generated insanity and Pamela Jean Bryant-fostered legginess that is sprinkled liberally throughout this movie.

In-between the moments that feature Pamela Jean Bryant drinking wine from a gold fish bowl-size wine glass and John De Hart singing a country and western song at a local tavern (and by "local tavern," I mean the writer-director-trial lawyer's spacious rec room), we get the occasional shot of two women in cowboy hats enjoying the twangy atmosphere of the joint.

Even though these two ladies have nothing to do with the plot, John De Hart's camera seems obsessed with them. Things get even stranger when a woman comes out and starts dancing in nothing but a cowboy hat and a tropical-themed thong. Now, that might not sound all that weird, but it's the reaction of one of the cowboy hat ladies to the thong dancer that's interesting.

Horrified by the sight of the topless woman shaking her thong ensnared butt-crack on the stage, the cowgirl with the shortish brunette hair openly complains to her blonde cowgirl friend ("How disgusting," she says at one point). Basically telling her to relax, the blonde cowgirl dismisses her whining ass with extreme prejudice.

Pushed to the limit, the brunette cowgirl asks the bartender to use the telephone and promptly calls the police ("I need to report public nudity"). Now, you could say the brunette cowgirl is just being a good citizen. But I like to think she was trying suppress her attraction to women.

Sadly, after the call to the police is made, we never see the cowgirls again. Which is a shame, as I really think John De Hart had the makings of a compelling lesbian thriller/coming out movie on his hands. Whether he knew this or not isn't important. What is important, however, I was able to gleam something unexpected from a movie that doesn't purport to be about a closeted lesbian who likes country and western music.

Sandwiched between this non-lesbian coming out drama is a movie. Well, to call "GETEVEN" a movie is an insult to movies. This movie is like watching a Make-A-Wish wish gone terribly awry. When Wings Hauser, Pamela Jean Bryant and William Smith showed up to act in a movie called "Road to Revenge," they thought they were going help a sick little boy fulfill his dream of starring in a movie. Instead, they soon discovered that this sick little boy is in fact a middle-aged trial lawyer.

Too embarrassed to admit they were duped, Wings, Pam and William just went along with it, and the end result is the film you see here.

Starting off with some Manos: The Hands of Fate-style footage of Hollywood, we're not-so quickly ushered to the scene of the drug bust that alters the lives of three cops forever.

Just as Rick Bodie (John De Hart), Huck Finney (Wings Hauser) and Normad (William Smith), their commanding officer, are about to take down a drug den, a gun fight breaks out, one that leaves Huck wounded. When Normad shows indifference to Huck's suffering, Bodie knees him in the gut.

While we should be heading over to the courthouse to find out what the repercussions are for Bodie's ill-advised yet totally justified knee placement, we're instead shown Bodie practicing kung-fu and feeding his pet poodle a snack (if you look closely, you'll notice his poodle is a black belt).

Lying to the court, Normad manages to frame Bodie and Huck (he accuses them of misconduct). And as a result of this, he gets them kicked off the force. While I was impressed by the number of extras they had on hand to play the courtroom security guards, the production designer dropped the ball big time when it came to procuring convincing-looking courtroom tables (seriously, I've seen sturdier tables at bake sales). Anyway, while Bodie handles the news of their sacking in a calm and rational manner, Huck is clearly agitated; it's a good thing they had all that extra security on hand, or else Huck would have beat the living snot out of Normad.

Forced to get jobs as limo drivers, Bodie and Huck are doing the best they can given the circumstances.

Since limo drivers need to unwind just like everyone else, Bodie and Huck head over to Lanie's Bar for Cowboy Night. Sitting at the bar, nursing the largest glass of wine in human history, is Cynthia Westport (Pamela Jean Bryant), an old flame of Bodie's. And just as they're getting reacquainted, the other patrons demand that Bodie sing us a song. Five seconds into his song, "The Shimmy Slide," I began to feel uneasy. And, no, it wasn't because Cindy was wearing a sleeveless top with a marching band motif, it was because the song is terrible.

I'm not kidding, I don't know how much longer I can take this. Luckily, a gang of Satanists show up to harass Cindy. I don't want to toot my own horn, but I knew those Satanists were up to no good the moment I laid eyes on the guy with the bolo tie. Anytime you see a man wearing a bolo tie outside of Texas or New Mexico, walk the other way. Oh, and if the colour of the hair on his head is different than the colour of the hair on his beard--no matter what state you're in--run the other way.

Am I crazy, or does the redheaded waitress at Lanie's Bar look like Lisa London? I didn't see her name in the credits, but it definitely looks like her.

"I didn't come here to get grossed out" ~ Closeted Lesbian at Lanie's Bar on Cowboy Night

After bailing Huck out of jail (he got in a fight trying to protect Cindy from the Satanists), instructing the desk Sgt. to buy a personality with the quarter he just tossed in his general direction, and  telling the maître d' at a fancy restaurant two lame doctor jokes in quick succession, Bodie recites the soliloquy from the Nunnery Scene in William Shakespeare's play Hamlet while sitting on a garden swing.

I'm getting the feeling that John De Hart has a check list of all things he's ever wanted to do in a movie (sing a country and western song for an audience made up of mostly closeted lesbians and former Playboy Playmates, check... punch Satanists in the face near a Mrs. Pac-Man machine, check), and I'm, unfortunately, being forced to watch.

I know, my arms and legs are not in restraints. So, technically, I'm not being forced to do anything. If that's the case, why can't I stop watching?

Sure, the promise that Pamela Jean Bryant will appear in black stockings at some point is helping me get through this tripe, but what's keeping me from running screaming from the room in the meantime? Two words: Wings Hauser.

Whether shooting holes in his unpaid bills with a revolver, getting in arguments with bar patrons who have no class...

Wait, is John De Hart paying tribute to Cabaret Voltaire with that shot of a television tuned to a dead channel? (I don't know about Cabaret Voltaire, but it's got a definite David Lynch vibe about it.) Either way, I told you this film was filled with surprises.

All right, where was I? Oh, yeah, Wings Hauser. Whether drinking bleach, getting in theological debates with nuns, promoting the "noble noises of Huckism" whilst standing in a pool with his clothes on flanked by two bikini clad women floating on air mattresses, Wings Hauser is off his meds from start to finish in this film.

(Don't forget photo-bombing Bode and Cindy's wedding ceremony.) Oh, man. I loved that part. The way he keep staggering into frame was so... ahhhh! And he's wearing an orange suit!!!! This can't be happening!

Blah, blah, blah, Bodie storms the Satanist's compound, kicks some ass, the end.

If you like movies, you should do yourself a favour and maybe think about not watching "GETEVEN." However, if you like milf-tastic milfs dancing erotically in milf-enhancing black stockings for the crotch-based benefit of a milf-loving trial lawyer, I'm afraid going to have to insist that you check out "GETEVEN" (pronounced: 'gay-teh-vehn') immediately.

Tough Guys Don't Dance (Norman Mailer, 1987)

Oh, man! Oh God! Oh, man! It's time to stop beating around the bush and sit down, or lounge seductively with your shapely legs crossed in a manner specifically designed to drive all the men in the room wild with heterosexual desire, and watch Tough Guys Don't Dance, the Cape Cod set film noir from writer-director Norman Mailer, with the fullness of our attention. (It is?) Of course it is. It's got forthright women, the kind you meet in the back of Screw Magazine (the '80's version of Christian Mingle); femme fatales who used to have bright gold pussy hair back in high school; bland Italian women; southern dandies who use the word "imbroglio" unabashedly; blonde women in white gloves; and, for some sane reason, there's a woman who answers the door in nothing but a red thong. (Wow, this film sounds like a real winner.) You got that right. And get this, cocaine is ingested and heads are severed. In fact, some of the heads that are severed in this film were probably under the influence of cocaine when they were severed. (Looking over the list of things you cited as examples why this film needs to be watched, I couldn't help but notice a couple of odd choices. While there's nothing odd about savouring women in white gloves or forthright women with bright gold pussy hair, citing "bland Italian women" seemed a little strange. I mean, the words "bland" and "Italian women" don't really go together.) That's right, they don't. But Isabella Rossellini is surprisingly bland as an Italian woman who gets mixed up with a couple of losers. Or maybe she was just bland compared to the one woman saucy minx symposium Debra Sandlund was conducting in this movie as Patty Lareine, the southern belle who will shoot you in the mouth if you as much as look at her funny. Yeah, that was probably it. You would be a fool to try to compete with the uncut brand of southern-fried sexy/crazy Debra Sandlund (a.k.a. Debra Stipe) puts out there on a semi-consistent basis throughout this film; a fool, I tell you.

(Hmm, it would seem, judging by the words you have typed so far, that you were quite taken with the performance given by Debra Sandlund as Patty Lareine, is this an accurate statement?) Yes and no. Yes, I was quite taken with her performance; one minute, she's uncouth and vulgar, and the next she's the poster girl for elegance and sophistication. And, no. Wait a second, no? Forget I said no. There's no need for no. In other words, your statement is the very definition of accurate.

What I should have said was: Yes, it's true, I was quite taken with Debra Sandlund's performance as Patty Lareine, shameless gold digger/irresistible cutie pie. But the alluring and hella leggy Frances Fisher does give her a run for her money as Jessica Pond, a professional floozy/cocaine enthusiast with a glare so enticing, you will think you have died and gone to heaven the moment you dip your pinky toe in her azure whirlpool-esque eyeballs.

Welcome to Provincetown, Massachusetts, a small town located on the very tip of Cape Cod. Get comfy, we ain't going anywhere else. Seriously, we're not. Following the wacky misadventures of Tim Madden (Ryan O'Neil), a writer of some kind, the film, amongst other things, tries to explain why there's a severed blonde head in a bag tucked away in the place he likes to stash his drugs.

Starting somewhere near the end of the story, Tim limps downstairs one morning to find his father Dougy (Lawrence Tierney) in his kitchen. From there, Tim tells his father how he got himself in this sticky predicament, one that involves sultry blondes, cocaine parties, suave chauffeurs and Wings Hauser.

We're given a taste of three of those things almost immediately when we're ushered to a cocaine party at Tim's house being hosted by his sultry blonde girlfriend, Patty Lareine (Debra Sandlund). (Hold on, that's only two things.) Don't worry, Wings Hauser is about to make his presence felt. Knocking at the door, acting police chief Capt. Alvin Luther Regency (Wings Hauser) is greeted by a topless woman wearing a skimpy red thong. (I say, don't you think calling a thong skimpy is a tad redundant?) I guess, but there was hardly anything to this thong. I mean, it was barely there. (Fair enough.)

Falling in love with Patty Lareine the moment I laid eyes on her at the cocaine party, it's clear that Debra Sandlund is going to be my ticket to making it through this film unscathed. (Is it that grim?) No, it's not that. I just like to latch onto something, whether it be a sultry blonde, a leggy blonde, or a blonde who is both sultry and leggy, in the early going as insurance. And I think I might need some, some insurance, that is, for this film, as I don't know how much more I can take of Ryan O'Neil's mopey-looking mug.

A quick show of hands: Who wanted Wings Hauser's bug-eyed cop to punch Ryan O'Neil in the face? Interesting, that's more than I expected. What's even more interesting is that I bet most of you haven't even seen this movie. Meaning, his face is the very definition of punchable.

Wearing a yellow dress at the cocaine party, Patty Lareine, or I should say, Debra Sandlund, utters a chunk of dialogue that will cause your jaw to hit the floor.

My favourite chunk being Patty's response to when Tim informs her that she isn't a real blonde. All I'll say is two words: Bright gold!

After a séance, Patty, who is now wearing a white dress with white gloves and a white hat, leaves Tim for Lolo (Clarence Williams III), her chauffeur.

In order to keep track of how many days Patty's been gone, Tim writes the number in shaving cream on the bathroom mirror (the first number we see him write is 24). It's sad, but rather touching. It's also apt, as I would be crawling walls too if I had a woman like Patty Lareine in my life and then suddenly didn't thanks to some smooth-talking chauffeur.

Don't feel too bad for Tim, as he's about to meet the leggiest sultry blonde to hit Provincetown since, well... since Patty up and left. Drinking his problems away at the Widow's Walk, Tim spots a blonde named Jessica Pond (Frances Fisher) sitting cross-legged in a white dress at the other side of the pub. Hey, she's leggy and she's sultry, just like Patty. Yeah, and get this, she's wearing white gloves.

His face may be punchable, but his crotch knows first-rate legginess when he sees it, and wisely excepts her offer to join them. (Wait, join "them"?) Yeah, Jessica is with some guy named Lonnie (Stephen Morrow). But don't worry, he's a queer as a three dollar bill. And by "queer," I mean he's sexually attracted to men.

If he's so gay, why is he molesting Jessica's knee like that? Since when can't gay men molest Frances Fisher's knees? I don't want to live in a world where gay men can't feel up their gal pal's shapely knees in public.

Anyway, if you look closely, you'll notice that Frances Fisher is wearing white gloves when she enters the pub, yet they're conspicuously missing as the scene progresses. (Um, that's because she took them off.) Yeah, but, where did she put them? (That's a good question.) What are you talking about, that's a horrible question. The fact that I'm wasting everyone's time talking about Frances Fisher's gloves in Tough Guys Don't Dance is a bloody outrage.

When they finish their drink, Tim takes Jessica and Lonnie back to his place to enjoy some cocaine. And you know what that means? (Cocaine sex?) Exactly.

The next morning, a hungover Tim wakes up to find a tattoo on his arm, bloody clothes in his jeep and a severed head in a bag in the hole out in the woods where he keeps his stash. Now, I don't want to say what the tattoo said or whose severed head it was in the hole, but let's just say Tim's life is about to get complicated.

According to my research, "tallywacker" is slang for penis, so, when Patty tells Tim he's got a tongue like a tallywacker, she means his tongue boasts the same attributes that of a penis.

(Aren't you going to mention Isabella Rossellini?) Why would I do that? She's not blonde (he pussy hair was probably never bright gold), she's not sultry (she wears frumpy sweaters), she doesn't do cocaine (it's 1987, honey, do some cocaine), and she's not leggy (she wears pants in every scene). Ipso facto, you're not going to get any praise thrown your way. If, say, you looked and acted the way you did in Wild at Heart, that would be a different story all-together.

The majority of people who stumble across this film nowadays are probably not interested in Debra Sandlund, Frances Fisher, or even John Bedford Lloyd (he rocks as a southern dandy named Wardley Meeks III). No, I would say most folks are aware of this film's existence thanks to the infamous clip of Ryan O'Neil saying, "Oh, man! Oh God! Oh, man!" While that's as good as any reason to watch this film. However, I think the film definitely has more to offer than awkward Ryan O'Neil line readings. If you want to see an off-kilter film noir that takes place in a one of a kind location and is stuffed with sultry blondes of the leggy variety, make sure to make a date with Tough Guys Don't Dance.