Scanner Cop (Pierre David, 1994)

Just as I was about to start questioning the logic behind casting Brion James as "Dr. Hampton," a doctor who works at a poorly run mental institution, he goes ahead and describes Zena, the character played by one of my favourite actresses, Hilary Shepard, as an "odd yet attractive brunette." I must say, I haven't agreed with something said in a movie this much in a long time. Oh, the reason I was about to question the logic of casting Brion James is because his role is so small. But that doesn't matter now, for I have seen Scanner Cop, the movie that boasts Hilary Shepard's finest performance. I know, a lot of you will say that Hilary's role as Divatox in Turbo: A Power Rangers Movie is her finest performance, but since I haven't seen that movie... (You call Hilary Shepard one of your favourite actresses, yet you haven't seen Turbo: A Power Rangers Movie? What's wrong with you?) The reason I haven't seen  Turbo: A Power Rangers Movie is complicated and sad. In other words, I don't feel like getting into it at this juncture. Speaking of sad, a quick show of hands: Anyone think it's kinda sad that I've seen Scanner Cop but I haven't seen Scanners? Wow, that's a lot of hands (don't worry, though, I'm working on fixing that).

Loosely based on the David Cronenberg film–which, according to some, is considered a classic (I'm sure it's nowhere near as awesome as Rabid, but I've heard nothing but good things)–about a small segment of the population (called "scanners") who can blow up people's heads with their minds, Scanner Cop is about a cop, who is also happens to be a scanner... You could call him a "scanner cop," but let's not state the obvi... You know what, since I'm feeling a tad impish today, let's call him that. After all, the film's called "Scanner Cop," not "Policeman Psychic," or... well, you get the idea.

Anyway, for a film that looks pretty stupid on paper, Scanner Cop is actually quite good. What am I saying? It's more than quite good, it's phenomenal.

Sure, a lot of this has to do with Hilary Shepard's manic performance as a goth-tinged psychic psycho-hosebeast who wantonly wields a spray bottle filled with what I'm assuming is chloroform, but the rest of the film is just as compelling.

A quick side note: After watching the film a second time, I have since learned that the stuff Hilary Shepard sprays is a "harmless neuro-blocker."

The explanation as to why the rest of the film is so darned compelling can be summed up with these six simple words... (Wait, let me guess: Darlanne Fluegel in a pleated skirt.) Hmmm, I was going to going to say: Help! Deformed baby heads are protruding from my Dad's forehead. But since that's not even close to being six words, I'm going to have to say, yes, the reason this film is so darned compelling is because To Live and Die in L.A.'s Darlanne Fluegel wears a pleated skirt in one scene.

Just kidding. Oh, don't get me wrong, I love pleated skirts (especially when paired with a matching blazer). That being said, the opening scene that features three miniature baby heads protruding from a scanner's forehead is pretty fucking compelling. In fact, it's so compelling, in some markets, the protruding baby head forehead guy is on the poster (and by "poster" I mean the VHS box).

In reality, however, the protruding baby head forehead guy doesn't really have baby heads protruding from his forehead. You see, this is what happens when scanners fail to take their meds. Designed to dampen their power, scanners who wish to lead normal lives take a special pill that will keep the noise that sounds like the music of Zoviet France at bay (the decision to not go see Zoviet France at The Rivoli back in the early '90s still haunts me to this day).

I think I should explain myself a little bit. Um, how should I put this? Okay, whenever a scanner goes into scanning mode, this monotonous droning noise erupts on the soundtrack. Designed to replicate the atmospheric conditions that are taking place inside a scanner's brain while scanning, the so-called "scanner noise" can be added to the list of things that I loved about this movie.

After the protruding baby head forehead guy is shot and killed by a slumlord during an altercation with police, the protruding baby head forehead guy's son, Samuel Staziak (Daniel Quinn), is adopted by Officer Peter Harrigan (Richard Grove), one of the very cops at the scene. Realizing that Samuel will probably spend the rest of his life being experimented by mad scientists, the cop decides the raise the kid, who, like his father, is a scanner, as his own.

Flash-forward fifteen years, and Officer Peter Harrigan, who is now Commander Peter Harrigan, is congratulating his son for graduating from the  police academy.

Meanwhile, a war on cops has just gotten underway, as average L.A. residents are murdering police officers all across the city.

Okay, it's not a "war" and it's not exactly happening "all across the city," but the fact that two police officers were murdered by seemingly random people on a single night is somewhat troubling to authorities. Putting Lieutenant Harry Brown (Mark Rolston) in charge of the case, Commander Harrigan hopes to catch the person responsible for these crimes because... well, it's his job. But don't forget, his son just graduated from the police academy and is about to hit the streets as a patrolman.

While the authorities are at a loss, we, the audience, are clued in as to who is responsible for these murders when we see Hilary Shepard's Zena appear onscreen for the very first time. Now, I'm not saying just because Zena is dressed like a Goth, with fortune teller overtones (think Sioxsie Sioux crossed with Stevie Nicks), that she's the one responsible. But let's get real people. Prejudice towards Goths and  fortune tellers runs deep in Hollywood.

Take the scene where Zena sneaks up on Cyndi Pass (who's wearing a leotard, yet she's carrying a tennis racket*). For a minute there I thought I was watching a public service ad about the dangers of Goths, especially Goths who do the bidding of mentally unstable individuals who look like Richard Lynch; by the way, if your horror or action movie doesn't star Richard Lynch, then you're doing something seriously wrong.

Nevertheless, I dig Gothic fashion and think fortune tellers are rad.

Giving the film a much needed splash of campiness, Hilary Shepard injects (literally at times) Scanner Cop with an off-kilter playfulness that Daniel Quinn, Richard Grove, Mark Rolstone, et al were unable to bring to the table.

Despite the fact I haven't seen the original, even I know it's not a scanner movie unless someone's head explodes. I won't spoil it for you by identifying the person whose head goes all kablooey, but everything that leads up to the head ruining scenes is... What was the word I used earlier? Oh yeah, phenomenal. I was particularly impressed with the Clive Barker-esque sequence that takes place in Hell, as some of the imagery is quite disturbing.          

* It's called multitasking, look into it.

Cabin Boy (Adam Resnick, 1994)

Profoundly moving, an inspirational triumph, and a fully-realized journey of self-discovery, these words, when arranged in the order I just put them in, believe or not, are actually being used in conjunction with Cabin Boy, the unfairly maligned masterpiece that makes that bloated trilogy look like a walk in the park. Bloated trilogy? Aren't most of them bloated? Oh yeah, you're right. Okay, you know the one where the short guy with big, hairy feet recycles a gaudy-looking piece of costume jewelry in a volcano at the top of Eyeball Mountain? Yeah. Well, this film, directed by Adam Resnick, makes that one look like... yeah, yeah, a walk in the park. You do realize that's quite the bold statement you just made? It is? Don't be coy, you know it's bold. I don't see how, as this film pretty much tells the same story, an arrogant fancy lad learns a valuable lesson about friendship, loyalty and life in general. Don't forget, he gets to clean his pipes all over Ann Magnuson's gorgeous blue gams. It's true, they don't show specifically where this particular fancy lad deposits his fancy wad, but let's get real, they're shapely, they're long, and, most importantly, they're blue! Do I need to repeat that? They're blue! While I could talk about making a mess all over Ann Magnuson's blue stems until the end of time, I think I better finish making that point I was sort of succinctly making about a minute ago. And what was that again? Oh, yeah, the bold statement. Wait a second, you're not just comparing Cabin Boy with the Lord of the Rings Trilogy because "Melora" means "fellowship" in Yoruba? What the fuck? That's the most preposterous thing I've ever heard. Well, am I right? You're absolutely right. It's just I'm shocked that you were able to come that conclusion so easily. We must share the same brain or something.

The best thing about Cabin Boy is that you don't have sit through over eleven hours of boner-destroying nonsense, as it clocks in at an economical eighty minutes. Besides, does the Middle Earth soap opera feature Melora Walters prancing about in a red bathing suit for a good chunk of its legendarily not-so spry running time? Don't bother checking your The Lord of the Rings: The Motion Picture Trilogy Blu-ray Extended Edition, it doesn't.

You know what else is great about Cabin Boy? I have no idea, but I'm sure you're about to tell me. It features a scene where Chris Elliott gets chewing tobacco spat in his face by a giant, floating, talking cupcake. What's so great about that? You got to be kidding me. It's subversively funny. I don't get it. Cupcakes don't talk, they don't float, and they certainly don't chew tobacco, hence, it's subversively funny. If you're not feeling the example I just gave you, even though you totally should be, there are plenty of other instances of subversive humour peppered throughout this, what did you call it earlier? An unfairly maligned masterpiece? No, not that. A fully-realized journey of self-discovery? Yeah, that's the stuff.

What is a fancy lad, and how does one become one? While jaunting up Brunswick Ave. the other night, enjoying the blooming gardens flourishing outside row after row of the overpriced row houses that line this historic street, I noticed a man wearing tight orange pants walking ahead of me. Since it was dark out, and the canopy of one-hundred year-old maple trees was blocking the light emanating from the streetlights,  I used the chromatic splendour that were his tight orange pants as a beacon to help guide me through the darkness.

I know, you're thinking to yourself, what's this got to do with, well, anything for that matter? Well, I think the guy in the tight orange pants was a fancy lad. Sure, he wasn't wearing his christening wig, but only a real fancy lad would wear tight orange pants in public. What's this? I'm being told by my fashion consultant Eva von Phabülous that tight orange pants are the hottest item for men this season. Excuse me, I have to ask Eva a follow up question: Did you say, men? Oh, you did. Just checking.

In my day, before the world became inundated with Johnny come lately fancy lads, you had to go finishing school to become a fancy lad. Or, more specifically, you had to attend the prestigious Stephenwood Finishing School, modeling fancy lads since the early 1780s. And that's exactly what Nathanial Mayweather (Chris Elliott) has been doing. And when we meet Nathanial, he's learning the proper way to tip a  bowler hat. You might not think a skill like that would useful in the real world. But don't forget, Nathanial is on his way to becoming a fancy lad. Meaning, he has no use for the real world, or does he?

Upon graduating, Nathanial is given a boarding pass to ride on the Queen Catherine, a luxury liner of some kind. Looking forward to working for his mega-important father in Hawaii, Nathanial's limousine is about to take him to the dock, when all of a sudden, the driver kicks him out of the car. It's implied that Nathanial insults the driver, which shouldn't be a surprise as this fancy boy is a bit of a prick. Forced to embark on his first ever brisk walk, Nathanial comes to a fork in the road. Thinking he picked the right direction, given the helpful nature of the sign leading the way and the confident spring in his step, we actually learn that he went the wrong way; all thanks to a strategically placed cow.

Ending up in a seaside town by the sea, Nathanial consults a grubby street merchant (David Letterman) selling stuffed monkeys for help. Realizing right away that he is in the presence of a clueless half-wit, the grubby street merchant uses emasculating language to belittle the wayward fancy lad. To add insult to injury, the grubby street merchant sends Nathanial in the direction of The Filthy Whore, a rundown fishing vessel.

Even though The Filthy Whore is probably nothing like The Queen Catherine, Nathanial hops aboard nonetheless thinking an elaborate prank is being pulled on him; he declares The Filthy Whore to be "deliciously chic." Greeted by the equally dense Kenny (Andy Richter), the ship's cabin boy, Nathanial makes himself at home in the captain's quarters. When the rest of the crew arrive, they'll be shocked to learn that a fancy lad is accompanying them on their three month long fishing trip.

Shocked? Ya think? Well, let's meet them, shall we? There's Captain Greybar (Ritch Brinkley), who inadvertently spends the night with Nathanial; Big Teddy (Brion James), who intentionally throws Nathanial's christening wig in the ocean; Paps (James Gammon), who, according to Nathanial, is the drunken, abusive grandfather he never had; and Skunk (Brian Doyle-Murray), The Filthy Whore's resident mythology expert.

Whereas the fresh-faced Andy Richter is deadpan perfection as the world's dimmest cabin boy (his harem girl dance is the stuff of dim legend), the rest of the crew ooze an appropriate amount of grizzled boorishness.

Don't forget Ricki Lake as the ship's stoic, weather-beaten figurehead.

Using Kenny's dimness to change The Filthy Whore's course (he wants to go to Hawaii, not spend three months on a fishing boat with a bunch of monstrously insane people), he causes them to head straight toward Hell's Bucket. And judging by its name, it's not somewhere you would want to visit. To punish Nathanial for this act of navigational incompetence, the crew drag him behind the ship on a tiny raft.

Expecting him to die, the crew are surprised when they find out that not only has Nathanial survived nine whole days on a tiny raft, but he managed to befriend Chocki (Russ Tamblyn), a flighty half man-half shark.

You know what this film needs? A little Melora Walters. Coming right up.

As far as cinematic introductions go...

...you can't get any better than Melora Walters' in Cabin Boy.

What about Omar Sharif's introduction  in Lawrence of Arabia? Or Darth Vadar in Star Wars? Fuck that noise. Real cinema buffs know deep down inside that Melora Walters' intro in Cabin Boy has way more going on when it comes to being iconic and junk.

As expected, Nathanial develops a bit of crush on Melora Walters' Trina, who is, or, I should say, was, hoping to swim around the world. You see, by bringing Trina aboard The Filthy Whore, via a fishing net, her attempt to break the world's record is forfeited; something about her not being allowed to touch solid objects, and the last time I checked, The Filthy Whore is a solid object.

After a nasty encounter with an iceberg monster causes severe damage to the ship, the crew of The Filthy Whore are forced to head toward a deserted island to do some repairs.

Deserted? I hope you're joking. I was promised there would be a blue-skinned, six-armed, leggy Ann Magnuson in this film. And since there's only around ten minutes left, she had better show up soon. Don't worry, I don't know why I said the island was deserted, Ann Magnuson is coming soon. Damn straight, I didn't sit through seventy minutes of Chris Elliott acting like an imbecile to not get any Ann Magnuson.

Playing Calli, who, like I said, has blue skin and six-arms, Ann Magnuson teaches inexperienced seaman how to fuck. Don't be crude. Whoops, sorry about that. Well, it's what she does. Yeah, you could have said it in a more genteel manner. Anyway, I liked when Nathanial tells Calli that she must spend a fortune on mittens.

Imagine if Ann Magnuson's character had six legs instead of six arms? Ahh, I can't think about it. You better not think about it, or else Calli's husband (Mike Starr) might decide to cut off your head with a pair of nail clippers.

The future we lay out for ourselves is never what we expect, and Cabin Boy solidifies that unpredictableness in a manner that is both enlightening and masterful. Whether we be fancy lads or humour-challenged cybergoths, we all have choices to make, and this film's underlying message makes a pretty good argument that one should try to exist in a realm that isn't necessarily situated in the vicinity of your comfort zone. A funny, breezy film that temporarily infused my spirit with mirth, whimsy and shitload of roasted pumpkin seeds, Cabin Boy is the Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World of seafaring movies about moronic fancy lads in christening wigs.

Blue Sunshine (Jeff Lieberman, 1978)

You could look at it as a cautionary tale, one that attempts to shine some light on what could possibly happen if some of the more extravagant excesses of the hippie era ever decided to rise up from their incompetently dug hippie graves to haunt (a.k.a. feast on the brains of...) the denizens of the disco age. I'll admit, looking at Blue Sunshine, a hair-raising thrill ride written and directed by Jeff Lieberman, from that particular angle does make me feel awfully smart and junk. But as most people are acutely aware, appearing smart is not what I'm known for. If you really wanted to, you could look at this film as a sinister effort by wig manufacturers to demonize baldness. Think about it, with the fedora long out of style, the unwashed, shoulder length tresses of the aforementioned hippie era languishing in the dustbin of coiffure history, and, not to mention, the fact that the inexplicable rise of the baseball hat as a non-atheltic fashion accessory is still years away from becoming our national nightmare, the wig is ready to make a comeback. Back in the late 1970s, thick manes of jet black hair were all the rage. Thanks to celebrities like, John Travolta, Sylvester Stallone, Al Pacino, and Bert Convy, men could grow their hair long without having to look like they were auditioning to be America's next top drug-addled roadie for Blue Öyster Cult (a band who, by the way, is probably responsible for the whole non-Germans misusing umlauts trend). But what about the baldies? Well, that's where the wig comes in. Of course, the wigs will cause you to become overly sensitive to loud noises (so you can forget about heading down to your local disco to hear the fresh new sounds of the day), and, oh yeah, you might develop the urge to kill some or all of your loved ones. Actually, that makes no sense at all. If anything, the industrial wig complex would probably hate the idea that their clients might turn into disco-hating psychopaths after using their product. It's funny how that happens. You're carrying on like you know what you're talking about, when all of sudden, blamo! Your theory bursts into flames.

In my defense, the wig manufacturers at the time must have looked at Blue Sunshine with some trepidation. I mean, after all, everyone who wears a wig in the movie does eventually go crazy (some even chase small children around with kitchen knives). Which, from a public relations point-of-view, must have a been a nightmare. In other words, my theory does hold a fair amount of murky water.

The only film, at least the only one that I'm aware of, to cause the viewer to constantly question the follicular integrity of every man, woman, and child who appears onscreen–well, all except the fabulous Deborah Winters (there's no freakin' way her finely coiffed hairdo was anything but au naturale), Blue Sunshine is an extremely off-kilter look at the unexpected consequences of taking one too many hallucinogens during the period of free love, and even freer drugs. You'll notice I said "extremely" off-kilter, as supposed to just plain "off-kilter." Well, that because whenever your movie has Zalman King (Trip with the Teacher) as its star, you're bound to detect a slight upswing when it comes to your film's overall weirdness.

Doing a terrific job of sucking you into its kooky world almost immediately, Jeff Lieberman opens the film with three shots of a full moon that are paired with three separate scenes that may or may not be connected with one another. The first features the headache prone Dr. David Blume (Robert Walden) making the rounds at the hospital he works; the second shows Wendy Flemming (Ann Cooper) sitting on the couch reading the story of Rapunzel to the kids she is babysitting (the scene ends with her losing a strand of hair); and the final one has a stressed out Barbara O'Malley (Adriana Shaw)–she yells, "No More chocolate pudding!" to one of her fridge-raiding children–sitting at the kitchen table complaining to Ritchie (Bill Sorrells), a male companion, about her husband Jonhnny O'Malley (Bill Cameron), whose been acting strange as of late. How strange, you ask? Why don't you ask him? He's standing right over there. Obviously eavesdropping on their conversation, Johnny, whose pet macaw is perched on his left shoulder, seems emotionally disturbed.

Meanwhile, in a cabin located somewhere outside Los Angeles, a group of friends seem to be having a blast. And who can blame them? A man who looks like Brion James is doing an impression of Rodan (a mutated pterosaur), Billy Crystal's brother is singing Frank Sinatra's "Just in Time," Zalman King is wearing a sweater with reindeer on it, and Deborah Winters is looking super-sexy in a cream-coloured dress that literally oozed disco chic. Wow, you're right, that sounds like one killer party. Yeah, tell me about it. Oh-oh, it would seem that Billy Crystal's brother has just lost his wig. And, get this, his friends didn't seem to know that he wore one. Funny thing, though, the way Billy Crystal's brother reacts to his wig being accidentally pulled off was quite unusual. You see, instead of being embarrassed like most people would in a situation like this, Billy Crystal's brother seems borderline psychotic.

Quickly realizing that his secret's been exposed, Billy Crystal's brother, his eyes looking as if they're about to leap out of their sockets, clutches at his patchy melon with both hands and runs screaming from the cabin. Staring at each other with confused looks on their faces, the rest of the party guests decide that now is a good as any to call it a night. While most of them do leave, Jerry Zipkin (Zalman King) chooses to stay, much to the displeasure of his stylish girlfriend, Alicia Sweeney (Deborah Winters). While Jerry Zipkin, or as Alicia likes to call him, "Zippy," searches the woods for their balding friend, three women, a trio who are not quite as fashion forward as Alicia, but do have their moments (the one in the red dress sitting with her legs crossed had a snotty grace about her that was quite appealing), remain in the cabin just in case if Billy Crystal's brother decides to come back.

Unfortunately, he does come back. Seething with murderous rage, Billy Crystal's brother grabs the woman in the black dress and pushes her into the fireplace. He did what?!? Yeah, I couldn't believe it, either. As he's doing this, the woman in the red dress and her friend in the white dress try to stop Billy Crystal's brother from burning the woman in the black dress in the fireplace. But it's no use, as the three of them eventually end up in the fireplace when all is said and done. After an intense struggle, Billy Crystal's brother is killed by a truck while fighting with Zippy, who came back from his search only to find his female friends roasting in the cabin's spacious fireplace. However, it's Zippy who gets blamed for the murders. And if that weren't enough, he's shot in the arm by a trucker played by Bill Adler (Van Nuys Blvd.), who, from his point-of-view, sees Zippy as the murderer, not Billy Crystal's brother, who, as I have already stated, is currently roadkill.

Fleeing the scene, Zippy is now a fugitive from justice. The still stylish Alicia tries to convince the detectives working the case that he didn't do it, but all the evidence is pointing in his direction. Luckily, Zippy has a doctor friend in the city he can turn to treat his gunshot wound. You'll notice that Zippy's doctor friend, Dr. Blume, is the same doctor from the film's opening scene. Interesting. It's all coming together. Anyway, treating his injury and providing him with a dapper business suit (smart move, since there's an APB out for a man in a sweeter with reindeer on it, not a man dressed like a banker), Zippy begins his quest to clear his name.

One of my favourite parts of Blue Sunshine were the many clandestine rendezvous that take place between Zippy and Alicia throughout the film. Oh, and not for the reasons you're probably thinking. I liked them because they gave us a chance to savour Deborah Winters' urbane fashion sense in the light of day. Up until now, we've only got see Deborah in dim log cabin lighting. But when Zippy starts his life on the lam, things take a turn for the jaunty. Approaching Zippy at their prearranged meeting point with a brash spring in her step, Alicia makes it abundantly clear that she is going to be force to be reckoned with when it comes to exuding high style in this movie. Sporting a striped red and white turtleneck sweater and a pair of tan pants, Alicia tries to tell Zippy that running makes him look guilty, but he seems convinced there's something sinister afoot.

He's absolutely right, there is something sinister afoot. But I don't think he has any idea how dire things are about to get. Learning the details of another homicide involving a bald individual, zippy travels to Glendale to find out more. Holy crap! It would seem that the guy from the opening scene–you know, the guy with the macaw–has just killed himself and his entire family. Does this mean that everyone who is either bald or going to be bald will eventually turn into mindless killer? What about Wendy the babysitter? Her hair is falling out. Is she a killer, too? Fascinating! At any rate, I wonder if he killed his macaw? Actually, it's good thing he didn't, as the bird gave Zippy some vital information regarding the particulars of this wacky mystery.

Another clue is acquired while snooping around Billy Crystal's brother's photography studio. Leading him to Edward Flemming (Mark Goddard), an oily politician running for congress and the ex-husband of one Wendy Flemming (the babysitter who is losing her hair), Zippy has a chat with him while he's campaigning in the parking lot of a local mall. On top of introducing us to Edward (whose genial demeanour disappears the moment the words "blue sunshine" leave Zippy's lips), this scene also gives us a chance to meet Wayne Mulligan (Ray Young), Edward's ex-college football star campaign manager, and, of course, allows us to see what fabulous outfit Deborah Winters is wearing today. The ensemble she models over the course of the next couple of scenes is probably my favourite out of all of Alicia's many stylish looks. A black cowboy hat (yeah, that's right, a black motherfucking cowboy hat!), designer shades, a red turtleneck, a striped jacket, and a grey skirt with a slit down the front, this getup is bold yet conservative at the same time (which are the hallmarks of a true style icon).

It's obvious that Wayne Mulligan, despite coming across as a crude jock, knows style and sophistication when he sees it, because he sneaks away from one Edward Flemming's speeches to hit on Alicia by the side of the road. While flattered by the attention, the only reason Alicia decided to humour the hulking ex-football player was to help Zippy's cause. In addition to being a fashionable woman on the go, Alicia is the ultimate girlfriend. In fact, if you look up "girlfriend" in the dictionary, you won't find a picture of Alicia Sweeney. Which is clearly a mistake on the part of the dictionary people, because Alicia's steadfast loyalty and unyielding dedication when it came to trying to exonerate Zippy went way beyond the thinly defined parameters of what constitutes a girlfriend.

As Wayne is asking Alicia to meet him at Big Daddy's, a local discotheque, you can't help but notice that there's something fishy going on with Wayne's hair (his eyebrows seem a little wonky as well). This fishiness carries over to the scene where Zippy attempts to extract some information from Wendy regarding "blue sunshine." Of course, there was no doubt about the genuineness of Zippy's hair; in fact, Zalman King's thick mane of a dark hair was as profound a hair statement you'll ever see in a motion picture). But as for everyone else, there was definitely an air of suspicion surrounding the authenticity of their respective locks.

The only exception I made when it came to scrutinizing the hair of the characters in Blue Sunshine was whenever the gorgeous Marcy Hanson would appear onscreen as a lithesome campaign worker wearing a red vest. The sheer skimpiness of her white pleated skirt must have distracted me, because it took quite some time for me to realize that she even had a head.

Whether trying to memorize the operational mantra that came with his recently purchased Walther LP3 air pistol ("Hold the baby...") or scoring tranquilizers in the park, Zalman King is the definition of unhinged paranoia as Jerry Zipkin, the most unusual "everyman" to grace the silver screen. In most cases, the hero is typically a sane man trying to come to grips with a world gone mad. But in Blue Sunshine, it was like watching an insane man in a world that is just as insane as he is. This unorthodox technique gives the film an eerie quality that might leave some viewers feeling a tad alienated. However, those who can accept Zalman King as a dashing hero, and Deborah Winters as the woman who will do just about anything to help him out (she even utilizes the soul rejuvenating power of disco to get him out of a tight jam at one point), will find much to love in Blue Sunshine, a creepy thriller that manages to demonize baldness and celebrate Barbra Streisand in puppet form simultaneously.

video uploaded by brujaria
...