Deadfall (Christopher Coppola, 1993)

On top of being the perfect con, it was supposed to be his last con. But what if the perfect con turns out to be not-so perfect? Well, if that's the case, the chances that the not-so perfect con will be your last con are pretty slim. (You can say that again.) The chances that the not-so perfect con will be... (No, it's just an expression. You're not actually supposed to actually say it again. Anyway, how does one go about making the perfect con your last con as well?) I don't know, but not many films have the guts to contemplate such a common con-based conundrum. Then again, the electrifying Deadfall is not many films. A jet black film noir replete with actors, dialogue and sets filled with furniture (tables, chairs, lamps, etc.), this hard-boiled thriller about life on the wrong side of the tracks from writer-director Christopher Coppola will literally blow you away. Everything about a this film drips a gritty form of grittiness. If I didn't know going in that this was only a movie, I could have sworn I had been magically transported to a murky world where even the pretzel vendors are leading double lives. (You mean Mickey Dolenz from The Monkees isn't just peddling pretzels?) Are you kidding? Nothing again is ever as it seems once you enter the dark underbelly that is this two-fisted tale of love, sex, betrayal and Nicolas Cage. (Hey, wait a minute, since when has Nicolas Cage's name been applicable as a noun?) Um, since always. Have you seen a Nicolas Cage movie from the past thirty years? The Nicolas Cage movie is a genre unto itself. Now, this isn't the Nicolas Cage of Valley Girl or even Leaving Las Vegas, subdued strains of Nicolas  Cage, that, while entertaining in their own right, lack a certain bite to them. On the other hand, the Nicolas Cage that appears in this film is pure, uncut Nicolas Cage; in other words, it's pretty potent stuff, snort with caution.

(Aww, c'mon. You sound like one of them fedora-wearing smart asses who repeatedly make exaggerated claims about the power of Nicolas Cage--you know, like he's some kind of scenery chewing monster hell bent on destroying cinema as we know it.) While I'll admit, I'm a tad uncomfortable about the sarcastic tone I'm using at the moment. However, you have got to remember, I'm currently not talking about a leggy Sarah Trigger in black stockings in order to express my opinions regarding the human clusterfuck that is Nicolas Cage's performance in this movie, so, yeah, it's a big fucking deal.

(Hmm, Sarah Trigger. Why does that name sound so unfamiliar?) Oh, I don't know, maybe because this is your first Sarah Trigger experience. (Yeah, I think you're right. By the way, that was an interesting choice of words you used to describe the act of watching a Sarah Trigger movie for the very first time.) You mean, "experience"? It's very apt, as you simply don't just watch a Sarah Trigger film, you experience it. While Nicolas Cage and, to a lesser extent,  Charlie Sheen think they're walking away with this picture, it's actually Sarah Trigger who ends up dominating the proceedings.

I'll explain, in lurid detail, how she goes about doing this in a minute. But first, I'd like to introduce you Joe Donan (Michael Biehn), a con man who uses his All-American good looks to swindle pigeons out of their hard earned cash. When we meet him, he's in the middle of conducting a drug deal for a low level gangster (Michael Constantine) at a rundown warehouse. (I thought you said he was a con man?) He is. (No, he sounds more like a drug dealer.) Oh, I see. The drug deal is all part of an elaborate con. Or I should say, an elaborate con that blows up in his face when the gun that was supposed to contain blanks fires real bullets into the chest of Mike Donan (James Coburn), Joe's con man father.

Crestfallen over the fact that he killed his father, Joe is comforted by Pete (Peter Fonda), one of his father's henchmen. Just for the record, there's no real reason for Peter Fonda to be in this movie; he must have had bills to pay or owed someone a favour.

At the funeral, a mysterious redhead in black shows up to leave a single rose on Mike Donan's grave. I don't know who that is, but check out the slit on her skirt, it's so freakin' substantial, it hurts.

As a result of both movement and the environment, the slit flaps open every once and a while. And when it does, it reveals black nylon-adorned gams.

(Hey, pervert.) Who... me? (Yeah, you. Do you mind not going on and on about that lady's slit, Joe is trying to grieve over here.) But she's currently crouching. Are you aware how sexy that is? Crouching on a breezy day is a slit-lovers dream come true. (I don't care, Joe's father is dead.) Well, maybe he should have checked the gun to make sure it had blanks in it before he shot his father point blank in the chest.

I'm sorry, that was I uncalled for. (You see what you did. You made Joe take off for the west coast.) I said I was sorry. Hopping on a bus, Joe, with the help of his father's address book, decides to look up Lou Donan (James Coburn), the uncle he never knew he had. And just like his dad, his uncle is apparently a pretty big deal in the world of organized crime.

In order to get in touch with Lou, Joe must first find him. And he does this by hanging out at the local market. Would you look at that, Clarence Williams III (Link from The Mod Squad) is selling veggies, Mickey Dolenz from The Monkees is hawking pretzels, and Adrienne Stout-Coppola is offering cups of coffee in exchange for money.

Never mind them, wearing a pea green suit and a black Beatle wig, Eddie (Nicolas Cage) makes his presence felt in the Deadfall universe in an abrupt manner by instructing Joe to pick a card from the deck of cards he presents before him. Clearly not interested, Joe eventually gives in to his badgering, and picks a card. Even though he's only been onscreen for five seconds, Nicolas Cage has already performed two Elvis Presley-esque hand gestures.

After these hand gestures have been employed, Eddie takes Joe to see Lou, who, much to Joe's surprise, looks exactly like his dad; hence the reason James Coburn plays both parts. While Joe and Lou seem to be hitting it off, it's obvious that Eddie is none too pleased by the burgeoning nature of their chummy relationship. When Lou tells Eddie to take Joe clubbing (show him a good time), Eddie throws Lou a thumbs up. But there's a hint of anger and resentment in the way Eddie threw his thumb in an upwardly direction. This does not bode well for Joe, as Eddie doesn't look like the kind of person you want as an enemy.

Standing on the balcony of her suburban home, Diane (Sarah Trigger) saunters down the stairs with a refined elegance. Her sexy body sheathed in a slinky red dress, her legs lovingly poured into a pair of black nylons, Diane is a bombshell and the definition of trouble. In other words, she's perfect woman for Eddie. Though, I have to wonder, what kind of woman leaves the house without a purse? (Are you sure she wasn't carrying a small clutch?) No, I didn't see a clutch, either. (Well, that is strange.)

Anyway, a purse-less, and, apparently, clutch-less, too, Diana gets in Eddie's convertible, and the threesome hit the road for a night of, to quote Eddie, "fun-time family fun."

When they're finished grifting a bartender (Talia Shire) out of two hundred dollars with the old missing bracelet trick, Eddie, Diane and Joe visit a sleazy strip club. Oh, and before they do that, Joe and Eddie share a moment alone in Eddie's car. The use of neon in this scene was actually quite effective when it came to creating an air noirish cool.

You can tell Diane gunning for Joe's All-American cock, but you have to question her seduction skills. I mean, what kind of femme fatale shows up without nylons attached to her legs? According to the femme fatale handbook, you're supposed to be waiting for the man you want to seduce in his motel room (preferably sitting in the dark). Which you did. But you forgot to wear nylons. Big mistake. Miraculously, you were still able to entice your mark. But you were forced to drag out some sob story in order to lure Joe into your web of deceit.

(How do you know Diane's feelings for Joe aren't genuine?) Well, if look closely, you'll see Diane smile briefly the moment she gains Joe's confidence. (Maybe she was just happy.) Nah, her smile smacked of malicious intent.

Someone should check the record books, because I think Nicolas Cage's utterance of the word "fuck" during the film's second strip club scene might be the longest in film history. (What do you mean, "longest"?) An agitated Eddie yells the word "fuck" for a period of time that was longer than usual. (What's usual?) It shouldn't take longer than 0.5 seconds to say, "fuck," but Eddie takes close to five maybe six whole seconds to finish saying the word. (Fuck.)

I have to say, Diane regains her femme fatale cred when we see her lounging on her bed in a black slip and black heels whilst holding a stiff drink. She gets even more femme fatale cred when pulls a gun on a deranged Eddie moments later.

The contrast between performance given by Michael Biehn and the one unleashed by Nicolas Cage isn't even worth examining; Michael Biehn seems half asleep most of the time, and Nicolas Cage is basically acting like a coked up mental patient. (Is it Tuesday already?) Exactly. However, the contrast between the performance given by Charlie Sheen as ultra-suave pool shark Morgan "Fats" Gripp and Nicolas Cage is quite telling. Like his turn in Ferris Bueller's Day Off, Charlie Sheen manages to steal the movie he's in with minimal effort. Even though I'm a tad uncomfortable saying this, but Charlie Sheen in Deadfall is a straight-up badass. It's a shame Charlie Sheen has become a bit of a reoccurring punchline as of late, because this Charlie Sheen, the one wearing the shiny blazer currently schooling Joe at billiards, is pretty great.

After being schooled at billiards, Joe begins to set the groundwork for his latest con. Only problem being, it bears a striking resemblance to his last con--you remember, the not-so perfect one where he accidentally killed his father. Involving selling a case of uncut diamonds to the claw-handed Dr. Lyme (Angus Scrimm), this con will definitely test Joe's commitment to the grifting lifestyle. When all is said and done, Joe will probably wonder why he didn't just get a job a the post office and settle down with Adrienne Stout-Coppola's coffee pusher. The moral of the story: Never trust leggy blondes. They're trouble with a capital 'T.' Roll credits.

The Boys Next Door (Penelope Spheeris, 1985)

When the two protagonists at the centre of The Boys Next Door started discussing where they would like to go after they're done crashing their high school graduation party, I must admit, I got a little nervous. Throwing around names like, Las Vegas and Phoenix, I didn't like where this conversation was going; I wasn't really in the mood to watch a film where Maxwell Caulfield and Charlie Sheen tool around the desert to the sounds of Great White. My stress, however, began to melt away almost immediately when one of them--Charlie, I think--mentions driving to Los Angeles. Even though the city as it sits right now has no appeal to me, the Los Angeles featured in this film–the neon-adorned, sleazy as fuck, new wave/punk rock mecca that was the L.A. of 1984-85–is very appealing. I'm sorry to interrupt your love affair with mid-1980s Los Angeles, but is it okay if I ask myself a quick question? Sure, go ahead. How could they [Maxwell and Charlie] crash the party if it was for their graduating class? Why, that's simple, the alluring Moon Unit Zappa didn't invite them. Oh, and before you make a comment regarding my sanity, yes, I called Moon Unit Zappa "alluring," you got a problem with that? It's totally cool if you do happen to have a problem with that; it's a free country after all. I just want to put it out there that I am pro-Moon Zappa. More on the alluring Miss Zappa in a minute. Let's talking about unnecessarily heavy-handed opening of the film, shall we? Aw, man, do we have to? Yes, we do. If you want to come across as a normal film critic, you need to touch on the aspects of certain films that rubbed you the wrong way. And judging by the annoyed look on your face as you watched the opening of The Boys Next Door, a film directed by Penelope Spheeris, it's safe to say you had some issues with it.

Come on, dude, can't I just write about Patti D'Arbanville's lacy pantyhose? You can do that; in fact, I can't wait for you to do that. But not until you tell everyone what your problem was with the opening credits sequence. Okay, fine. I didn't like how they used the names of real life serial killers to set up the story. And? And, well, I thought it was a tad tasteless. Isn't "tasteless" your middle name? It is. But still, I thought it was kind of exploitative. I understand why they did it, they wanted to give the film gravitas. But it didn't really suit the tone of the rest film. Which is, don't get me wrong, pretty dark in places. I just thought, well, enough about that.

Despite their conventional good looks, seniors Roy Alston (Maxwell Caulfield) and Bo Richards (Charlie Sheen) seem like outcasts at their small town high school. Looking as if they had just walked off the set of Grease, or, in Maxwell Caulfield's case, Grease 2, Roy and Bo seem out of place in their plain white t-shirt and blue jean ensembles. Actually, I wouldn't use the word "ensemble" around them if I were you, as their attitude regarding the social changes that have occurred over the past twenty years seem mostly negative.

Pivoting her left leg in a manner that will surly send all the boys into a leg-appreciating tizzy/tailspin, Bonnie (Dawn Schneider), the senior class's resident blonde hottie, knows exactly what she's doing as she signs yearbooks in full view of the entire school.

If only Bonnie was a as good at remembering the names of her classmates as she was leg pivoting while signing yearbooks. What does that mean? She calls Bo, "Bob." Oh, I see. Anyway, as the alluring Moon Unit Zappa is telling Bo he's not invited to the big graduation party happening tonight at Joe's house, Roy is talking to a recruiter for The Marines. He doesn't enlist, but you're going to wish–well, at least some of the residents of Los Angeles are going to wish–the recruiter was a little more persuasive by the time this film is over.

You can sort of see that Roy ain't hooked up right during the scene with the recruiter; he basically tells him he wants to kill people. However, the part where he stares blankly at his classmates at Joe's party was when it became clear to me that there's something definitely wrong with Roy; the way the camera lingers on his face is chilling.

On the other hand, the part where the alluring Moon Unit Zappa says, "Excuse me, I think I'm going to be nauseous," while "I Ain't Nuthin' But a Gorehound" by The Cramps plays in the background, was anything but chilling, it was downright awesome. It was right then I decided that I wanted more Moon Unit Zappa in my life. In a misguided attempt to rectify this lack of Moon Unit Zappa in my life, I played Frank Zappa's "Valley Girl." Unfortunately, I couldn't get through ten seconds of it. That being said, the search for Moon Unit Zappa-related content continues unabated; wish me luck.

You mean to say that Moon Unit Zappa isn't going to Los Angeles with Bo and Roy? Ugh, like, gag me with a spoon. Moon Unit Zappa wouldn't be caught dead with these two losers. But you know who is going to L.A. with Bo and Roy? That's right, Joe's tiny dog Bon Bon. After causing a scene at the party (Roy pees in the pool and Bo asks Bonnie if she ingests seminal fluid when she performs head), Bo and Roy grab Bon Bon, hop in their grey [unpainted] 1973 Plymouth Satellite, and head to Los Angeles for a weekend of fun.

Supposedly set to start work at a factory come Monday morning, Bo and Roy see this adventure as one last blow out before becoming a couple of cogs in the wheel of industry. Renaming Bon Bon, "Boner the Barbarian," they're just about to enter the greater Los Angeles area when Roy tells Bo about this "stuff inside me." Call it rage, call them anger issues, Roy displays some of this "stuff" when he nearly kills an Iranian gas station attendant over two bucks worth of gas and a few packs of gum.

As Bo and a shirtless (yes!) Roy relax in their motel room, Detective Woods (Christopher McDonald) and Detective Hanley (Hank Garrett) investigate the crime scene they had a hand in creating.

I would love to tell you more about the detective subplot, but this woman just walked by wearing a blue zebra-print bikini.

Where was I? Oh, yeah, I remember. Getting trouble wherever they go, Bo and Roy unleash the ire of three women after Roy hits an old lady in the head with a beer bottle while hanging out at Venice Beach. The part where one of the irate women rides on the hood of their car for an extended period of time reminded me of that movie with Kurt Russell–you know, that one that begins with "Death" and ends with "Proof."

After taking a break at the La Brea Tar Pits, Bo and Roy hit the streets of Hollywood. Engaging in behaviour that was, and still might be, typical of suburbanites, Bo and Roy yell at people (a wondrous collection of authentic-looking punks and freaks) as they cruise up and down the strip. I loved it when one of the punks tells them to go back to the Valley. You loved that, eh? Wait until Bo and Roy come across Christina Beck (Suburbia) walking down the street with a friend. What happens? C'mon, tell me. Are you ready? Yeah, man, let's go! She tells Bo to eat her fuck. You mean? Yep, she says, "Eat my fuck!" But isn't that the line Rose McGowan says so memorably in The Doom Generation? That's the one. Oh, man, this changes everything. You see, I thought Gregg Araki was the one who came up with that line. And judging from what I just saw, he clearly didn't. Boy, this is awkward.

I don't think it diminishes the impact of the iconic line uttered by Rose McGowan, but it does lessen its standing as one of the greatest lines ever to be hurled in the general direction of the Asian guy from 21 Jump Street somewhat. Either way, Charlie Sheen's confused query after being told to eat Christina Beck's fuck, "What exactly does 'eat my fuck' mean," is classic. I would say, besides his cameo in Ferris Bueller's Day Off, that that particular line reading is Charlie Sheen's finest moment ever to be captured on film.

Enjoy the frivolity while you can, because it's going to get dark. Oh, sure, the darkness is lightened a tad when Bo and Roy watch street performers, the gorgeous Pinkietessa (The Blitz Club), Texacala Jones (Dr. Caligari), Maggie Ehring (Twisted Roots) and Tequila Mockingbird (she plays the wall tongue in Dr. Caligari), do their thing. But mark my words, the boys in The Boys Next Door are done fooling around.

It doesn't matter if they're hanging out at a gay bar in West Hollywood, stalking a yuppie couple, or spending time with a hippie barfly in lacy pantyhose (Pattie D'Arbanville), Bo and Roy leave a trail of death and destruction wherever they go. Or, I should say, Roy leaves a trail of death and destruction. Not to imply that Bo is some sort of innocent bystander, far from it, he's just as culpable. It's just that Roy is clearly the more deranged of the two. God, I'm starting to sound like Bo's lawyer. Anyway, featuring an excellent performance by Maxwell Caulfield, scenes of violence that were actually difficult to watch, Moon Unit Zappa, and a great location, The Boys Next Door is a definite hidden gem; "hidden" because I had never heard of it up until now.