Into the Night (John Landis, 1985)

As with most people, my initial thoughts after watching John Landis' Into the Night revolved around the unequaled chic-ness that is Michelle Pfeiffer's red leather jacket. If you find yourself not enamored with it after watching this film, check yourself in at the nearest morgue, 'cause you be dead, honey. Okay, maybe that's a tad harsh, but you should definitely seek professional help. I mean, it's red, it's shiny, it's fits her perfectly, it has multiple uses (it's used as a pillow at one point), and it's, well, you get the idea. However, as these thoughts eventually subsided, I started to debate with myself about whether or not the iconic red leather jacket would have looked better on Dedee Pfeiffer, Michelle's less famous sister. I know, I just got finished saying that the jacket fit Michelle Pfeiffer perfectly. Yet I couldn't help but imagine Dedee Pfeiffer wearing the much-ballyhooed garment. To make matters worse, Dedee Pfeiffer has a cameo as a prostitute turning tricks outside Frederick's of Hollywood. In case you haven't figured it out, when it comes to the Pfeiffer sisters, I'm on Team Dedee. While Michelle has the haunting eyes and the chiseled cheekbones thing going for her, Dedee has spunk-appeal.

Wow, are my priorities out of whack or what? In a movie that boasts at least a dozen cameos by famous directors, the cameo I decide to focus on is the one by the spunk-laden sister of the film's female lead.

Actually, if you think about it, my priorities are not out of whack, they're kinda in whack. Seriously, who would you rather grope in the backseat of your grandma's sister's cousin's Chevrolet El Camino? Dedee Pfeiffer or Paul Mazursky? (I don't think the Chevy El Camino has a backseat.) Okay, the front seat. Well? Who would you rather grope? Exactly, Dedee all the way.

Of course, if I had said Amy Heckerling (who has a cameo as a waitress) instead of Mr. Mazursky, the question becomes a real mind-scrambler, as Amy is a total babe. But I didn't. Besides, the majority of the directors are middle-aged white men. Not that there's anything wrong with being middle-aged, or white for that matter, it's just that...

Moving on, you could call this the L.A. version of After Hours, but I won't. Why? It's simple, really, all they have in common is that they both take place at night. Sure, Jeff Goldblum and Griffin Dunne (the star of After Hours) have similar character traits, and they both have tedious jobs, but other than that, they're totally different. And I think the main reason has to do with the fact that L.A. is a car town, while New York City is not.

Playing aerospace engineer Ed Okin, Jeff Goldblum drives or is driven in at least six different cars over the course of this movie. Isn't that fascinating? Anyway, the car we first see Ed in is as bland as he is. Stuck in traffic with a co-worker (Dan Aykroyd), Ed says that he hasn't had a full night sleep since the summer of 1980. While he's exaggerating to some degree, his lack of shut-eye is having a negative effect on his work. After blowing it in front of his boss (David Cronenberg) at an important board meeting, Ed decides to take the rest of the day off. When he gets home, he hears his real estate agent wife (Stacey Pickren) making sex noises in their bedroom.

Taking Dan Aykroyd's advice, a despondent Ed elects to hop on a board a midnight flight to Las Vegas. Getting as far as the airport parking garage, Ed meets a woman named Diana (Michelle Pfeiffer), who jumps on the hood of his car screaming for help.

What's that? Oh, the reason she's screaming is because four SAVAK goons (one played by John Landis) are trying to kill her. Why are they trying to kill her? Well, I don't know if they want to kill her, at least not right away. You see, they want what's inside her pussy. I won't say exactly what it is that the Iranians want, but trust me, to them it's worth what they go through to get inside there. And by "there," I mean her pussy.

At this point in the film, Ed makes multiple attempts to extract himself from this sticky pickle of a situation. However, you'll notice that he isn't trying very hard. The thing is, a lot of men find Michelle Pfeiffer to be easy on the eyes. And because of this, Michelle Pfeiffer is able to manipulate almost every man she comes in contact with. The reason I say "almost" is because Diana's Elvis-loving brother (Bruce McGill) is clearly not swayed by her sister's overt attractiveness.

I thought it was amusing that Michelle Pfeiffer tries to out bluster Bruce McGill in his Elvis memorabilia adorned apartment. Give it up, girl, you can't upstage Bruce McGill. He'll straight-up knock your dick in the dirt. Just ask Wings Hauser ("Wipe that smirk off your face!"). Or even Crocket and Tubbs, who Bruce mops the floor with in "Out Where the Buses Don't Run," one of the best Miami Vice episodes from season two.

"You wanna date? Do you want to party?" and with those memorable lines, we're introduced to Dedee Pfeiffer, prostitute, humanitarian. Her crimped blonde hair glowing in the neon slime, her Retail Slut belts zigzagging across her womanly waste with a clingy form of clingy desperation, her zebra print skirt practically begging to be hiked up during the throes of... Wait, where is she going? Why don't Ed and Diana want to "party" with Dedee Pfeiffer? This makes no sense.

Now, I won't say Into the Night goes completely downhill/off the rails after Dedee Pfeiffer exits stage left; after all, a well-built Kathryn Harrold is still to come. But I was somewhat crestfallen by her departure. That being said, on top of the luminous Miss Harrold, the film also boasts a scene where three extras playing beauty queens are getting their legs polished by a female crew member.

After surviving multiple attempts on their life, including one by an assassin played by David Bowie (it would seem that the Iranians are not the only ones who want to get their hands on what's inside Michelle Pfeiffer's pussy), Ed and Diana begin to... well, you pretty much know exactly what they begin to do. They begin to fall for one another. Despite this cliched turn of events, the movie is still a mildly entertaining mish-mash of comedy and action.

If you're not into comedy and action, you could always play spot the director, as the film, like I said earlier, features numerous cameos by famous directors, including personal faves like, Amy Heckerling (Fast Times at Ridgemont High), Paul Bartel (Eating Raoul) and David Cronenberg (Rabid).

Oh, and the scene where the four SAVAK goons drown one of their victims in the ocean is one of the most disturbing murder scenes in film history. Okay, maybe that's pushing it a bit. Nevertheless, I found the cavalier brutality of the scene to be quite jarring, especially since the film is supposedly a light-hearted buddy comedy.

Scanners (David Cronenberg, 1981)

Imagine not being able to, oh, let's say, ride the bus without the ability to drown out the thoughts of the other passengers. I think most people would agree that the constant of barrage of inner inanity would slowly erode a person's mental well-being. Luckily for us, we have no idea what other people are thinking. However, to a small segment of the population who exist in the world of David Cronenberg's Scanners, the scenario I just described is all too real. It should be noted, however, that, yes, it's true, most people can't read people's minds. But for a brief moment there, I did have to listen to other people's conversations (which are like thoughts, but more verbal). You see, when the mobile phone first started to become an acceptable mode of communication within the non-brain surgeon/non-drug dealing community, I felt like I was being inundated with pointless bather non-stop. It was only when talking on the phone became passe (eventually replaced by texting) that I felt secure that my brain cells would not have to be subjected to such tediousness. Every once and awhile I'll hear someone talking loudly on their phone. But since they're usually speaking a language I don't understand, I try not to get too bent out of shape about it. Oh, and just to let you know, I have a strict "No English Allowed" policy on my bus.

Anyway, getting back to Scanners. Does anyone know if Margaret Gadbois, who plays "Woman in Mall," was wearing a full slip or a half slip underneath her dress? The only reason I ask is because I'm a huge pervert. Just kidding. But seriously, does anyone know?

The reason I ask is because the sight of Margaret's not quite middle-aged, not quite elderly gams kicking and flailing on the floor of a mall food court is the first image to grab my attention in this film, which, should come as no surprise, explores the destructive nature of the human body.

According to David Cronenberg, the human body (specifically the human brain) propels us forward, but ultimately let's us down.

(What caused Margaret's oldish legs to flail so violently?) What are you doing, man? I was trying to make a profound point. (You already made that point in your review of David Cronenberg's Rabid.) I did? Let me check... Well would you look at that...

If that's the case, let's get back to talking about those kicking and flailing old lady legs, shall we? Like I said earlier, the legs belong to an oldish woman who is sitting in a mall foot court with a friend. Noticing a mildly dishevelled man eating scraps of food off the bolted-down tables that have recently been vacated, the woman and her gal pal start to think disparaging thoughts about him. The reason we can hear their thoughts is because the man, Cameron Vale (Stephen Lack), is a scanner, the name given to a powerful group of telepaths.

Except, Cameron doesn't know he's a scanner. Nevertheless, while attempting to block out the women's thoughts, Cameron inadvertently causes one of the women (the leggy one wearing the full or maybe half slip underneath her dress) to convulse on the food court floor.

As she twitches violently (her friend and some passersby try to calm her), two creepy dudes in trench-coats begin to pursue Cameron through the mall. After a brief chase, the men eventually shoot Cameron with a tranquilizer dart and take him to a warehouse run by CONSEC, a Blackwater-style security company, who, in the grand tradition of David Cronenberg films, are shady as fuck.

Lulled into thinking he's amongst friends, Cameron is given a drug that will help him suppress his powers (or "quiet the voices") by Dr. Paul Ruth (Patrick McGoohan), the world's foremost scanner expert.

Meanwhile, over at CONSEC's main headquarters, a scanner is giving an audience a demonstration of what a scanner can do. Asking for a volunteer from the audience, the scanner... oh shit! (Don't tell me, another woman just showed her slip while being scanned.) No, the audience member who volunteered is played by Michael Ironside. (You're right. Oh shit.) This does not bode well for that scanner's mental health. *splaaaaat!* Wow, now that was quite the understatement.

Irked that a scanner was able to infiltrate their organization and cause their scanner (the only one they had on the payroll) severe cranial distress, CONSEC hire Braendon Keller (Lawrence Dane) as their new head of security.

While the hiring of Keller is initially seen as a step in the right direction, Dr. Ruth manages to convince the CONSEC higher-ups that the only way to stop a scanner is to use another scanner. And that's where Cameron Vale comes in.

Sent on a mission by CONSEC to infiltrate the so-called "scanner underground," Cameron Vale goes literally head-to-head with Daryl Revok (Michael Ironside), the world's most powerful and therefore most dangerous scanner.

Culminating in an epic battle, one that will test the structural integrity of his mind, Cameron Vale quickly discovers that not all scanners are socially awkward misfits. Some have plans to take over the world, while others are merely content to look awesome in high-neck knitwear; I'm looking in your general direction, Jennifer O'Neill, from Lucio Fulci's The Psychic.

In one of the film's best scenes, Cameron Vale also discovers that he can hack high security computer systems simply by picking up the phone.

Boasting top-notch make-up effects (especially during the scanner showdown), an appropriately throb-friendly film score by Howard Shore and the always terrific Michael Ironside (in what is easily one of his best roles), Scanners does an excellent job of mixing the silly with the cerebral. Which, and I think most people will agree with this, is the key to making a successful David Cronenberg film.

Rabid (David Cronenberg, 1977)

The mouth attached your face might not thirst the blood of others, but the penis-like object languishing inside your newly acquired armpit anus does. And if it means turning the city of Montreal into a war zone–the kind that won't even let a gruff yet likable Joe Silver visit his infant son in peace–in order to get it the blood it needs to survive, than so be it. Deceptively waifish, she stalks the streets in search of bloody sustenance. Well, that's actually not true. While it looks like she's trolling for the red gold (Texas tomato juice, plasma peyote, Uncle Jim's hemoglobin hacky sack, etc.), the thing living in her armpit is the one doing the actual trolling. The human body, and the many ways it lets us down, is tackled head-on in typical David Cronenberg fashion in the subversively entertaining Rabid, a film that proves once and for all that a man will try to hit on a woman no matter how horrible the circumstances might be. More on how men are perverted opportunist in a second. We like to think that horror lies out in the far reaches of the impenetrable darkness; basking in the shadows, if you will, that lay beneath the surface of our poorly realized nightmares, horror is always something that lives in the realm of the unknown. But the true danger lurks within ourselves. Yeah, that's right. Your body is a threat, and it must be destroyed. Implying that the humanity is its own worst enemy when it comes to the maintenance of their corporeal flesh, David Cronenberg has the end of the world begin in a plastic surgery clinic. Constantly having their bodies altered in a veiled attempt to attain structural perfection, the fact that humanities ultimate downfall–well, at least, greater Montreal's ultimate downfall (who knows how far it will the plague spread)–gets its start at a place filled with people dissatisfied with their outward appearance was not lost on this viewer.

It's true, I'm guilty as anyone of focusing their attention solely on the superficial side of things, but there was something about the way this film laid out its thoughtful yet direct allegory that caused my inner intellectual to elbow my outer half-wit squarely in the face. Bloodied and bruised, my outer half-wit still managed to savour the sight of Marilyn Chambers writhing on the floor in white cotton panties. However, there was an air of pomposity about the way I admired her scantily clad squirming this time around.  
 

 

I've noticed that there are only a handful of directors who are able to blend to the cerebral with the sleazy with any degree of success, and David Cronenberg is definitely one of the best at doing so. 
 

 

In order for Rabid to get to the point where chaos rules the streets of Montreal, someone's flesh needs to be altered. And that flesh happens to belong to Rose (Marilyn Chambers), the girlfriend of a motorcycle enthusiast named Hart (Frank Moore); though, I have wonder what kind of motorcycle enthusiast can he be if he rides around on a Norton. Sure, you look cool on it, but that's only because you have Marilyn fucking Chambers riding with you. Okay, I'll admit, I have no idea if Norton is considered a good bike or not (motorcycles are not my forte); I just don't like the name. Anyway, two bikers riding on one Norton, are whizzing down a snowy road in rural Quebec, when all a sudden, they come across a van parked in the middle of the road. With barely any time to avoid hitting it, Hart manages steer around it, causing the Norton to fly off the road. While Hart is violently tossed from the bike, Rose is pinned underneath it as it bursts into flames.
 

 

Luckily, or, as we'll soon find out, unluckily, there's a plastic surgery clinic nearby, and Rose and Hart are taken there almost immediately. It's obvious that Hart's injuries, while serious (a few broken bones), are nothing compared to what has happened to Rose; she has severe burns all over abdomen. Up to the challenge and then some, Dr. Keloid (Howard Ryshpan), the owner of the Keloid Clinic, decides to try an experimental skin graft on Rose, taking healthy skin from her thighs and transplanting it to the affected areas.
 

 

A month after the procedure, Rose is in coma, and Hart, who is almost fully healed, heads back to Montreal; which is only an hour away from the clinic, so don't think that he's abandoning her, because he's not. During his month long stay at the clinic, Hart befriends Murray Cypher (Joe Silver), one of Dr. Keloid's business partners, and Lloyd (Roger Periard), a plastic surgery addict. The former plays a big part in Hart's attempt to reunite with Rose, and the latter is the first to receive one of Rose's special hugs. What do these "special hugs" entail? Oh, man. I'm so glad you asked that, as I love Rose's special hugs. In fact, every time Rose would be alone with someone, my buttocks would get all tingly as she toyed with hugging them.
 

 

Take a creep like me, no-one wants to hug me. But if I looked like Marilyn Chambers circa, oh, let's say, 1976, there would be a line around the block to hug my slinky, radiant ass. At any rate, as Lloyd is poking around the clinic after dark, he hears a scream. Noticing that the scream came from Rose's room (she's in the intensive care unit), Lloyd goes to investigate. Finding Rose writhing naked on her bed, Lloyd tries to comfort her.  Asking what happened, where is she, and a bunch of questions in that vein, Rose, who is feeling a tad chilly, asks Lloyd to hold her. Oh-oh, Lloyd, watch out, you're about to be hugged by Marilyn Chambers in David Cronenberg's Rabid, no good can come from this. Armpit anus! Penetrate his unholy flesh, and relish his bodily fluids, this is your moment to shine.
 

 

After some mild post-penetration twitching, Lloyd gets up and wanders from the scene. Rejuvenated by Lloyd's blood, Rose and her new armpit-adjacent friend, sneak out to visit a farm located down the road. Intent on molesting the livestock, Rose's desire changes after a drunk farmer catches her stroking one of his cows. More than willing to give her a hug, the film's second hug is quickly implemented. I'm not sure how much blood her armpit anus was able to extract in such short amount of time, but it will have to do until the next opportunity to hug comes along.
 

 

Even though I had a feeling she was doomed the moment I laid eyes on her, I still thought that Judy Glasberg (Terry Schonblum), a young girl at the clinic to get another nose job, was gonna avoid getting hugged. Who am I kidding? She has the words "hug me" tattooed on her forehead. If Marilyn Chambers asks to get in a hot tub with you, there's only one reasonable reply, and that is: yes. But if she tells you that her, "body aches all over," immediately raise the red flag, this chick's up to some no good. And that no good usually involves a hug. That's right hug #3 just happened, and, despite the fact it featured two attractive ladies, it wasn't pretty.   
 

 

It's obvious that the armpit anus is doing the majority of the malevolent cuddling, as Rose is desperate to make contact with Hart, with the hope that he will get her the hell out of this awful place. In other words, she has no idea what her hugging has wrought. All she knows that she feels a lot better after she's embraced someone. Take the scene where Dr. Keloid examines Rose's armpit anus, she hugs him (hug #4), but there's no bloodsucking. Meaning, Rose can hug without there being dire consequences. That being said, poking her armpit anus until it became dilated was probably a mistake on the doctor's part, as hug #5 causes the penis inside her dilated armpit anus to emerge from its festering anus screaming for blood.
 

 

What happens to the people after they have been hugged? Excellent question. Since being hugged by Marilyn Chambers doesn't give you an extra anus, you're stuck with biting the people you want to lash out against. But don't feel too bad about your lack of a new anus, you're a foot soldier in a new pandemic that is about to sweep the city of Montreal. Hitching a ride to Montreal, and, of course, infecting everyone she meets along the way (a truck driver named "Smooth Eddie," who, apparently, "always looks good," receives hug #6 off-screen), Rose stays with her stylish friend Mindy (Susan Roman), who gets a non-lethal hug (hug # 7 for those keeping track) at the door of her apartment.
 

 

Since she doesn't want to drink her friend's blood, at least not yet, Rose decides to use her innate foxiness to satisfy her hunger. Grabbing a fur coat from the closet, Marilyn Chamber showcases her animalistic strut as she stalks the streets of Montreal. Stopping at a movie theatre, the Eve theatre (a woman's legs make up the sign's letter 'v'), Rose goes in, not to catch the double feature "Party Swapers" (sic) and "Models for Pleasure," but to lure a predator to press up against her armpit anus. And judging by the patrons at this particular screening, that shouldn't be too hard. As expected, a man volunteers to receive hug #8 mere moments after Rose has taken her seat. (The world, it would seem, is full of perverted men who are more than willing to rub up against Marilyn Chambers in an erotic fashion.)
 

 

Getting back to her strut for second, the way Marilyn Chambers walked down the street in her fur coat was hands down my favourite image from Rabid, as it not only summed up Rose's appeal as a monster, but proves once and for all that you can in fact be sexy in sub zero temperatures. Sure, the sight of a shopping mall Santa Claus being riddled with bullets or Marilyn writhing on the bathroom floor in a pair of super-tight white panties and a matching undershirt were pretty iconic and junk, but there's something alluring about a mid-1970s era woman on the prowl in a garish fur.
 

 

The infamous Santa Claus take down, while awesome beyond belief, is actually made more so, if that is humanly possible, by the fact that the mall (one that has a Le Château) employs scantily clad female helpers. The sight of a leggy woman placing small children on the lap of an old man reminded me why I love the '70s so much. The reason Santa is blown away is because a "crazy" bites a man (a dork in brown riding boots) who was supposed to get hug #9.
 

 

Desperate for blood (her appetite has become more and more insatiable), Rose is running out of people to hug. Which, if you think about it, could be a metaphor for a society that has grown colder, more impersonal over the years. Anyway, I won't spoil hugs nine and ten. (Keep an eye for Allan Moyle, the writer-director of Pump Up the Volume, as "young man in lobby.") But I will say, they both end tragically. Not to imply that the other hugs didn't end in tragedy. It's just that, in the end, Rose, like all of us, needs to stand up to her armpit anus, and finally say, enough is enough.

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