Straight to Hell (Alex Cox, 1987)

Warning: The following may contain words and pictures that promote the notion that: A) Courtney Love is sexy as a pregnant gangster's moll (sit on that jukebox, you leggy hosebeast, you). And B) Courtney Love is an okay actress. What am I saying, "may contain"? Oh, believe me, this review of Straight to Hell will most definitely contain a crapload of notions that promote the off-kilter shapeliness that is Courtney Love. If that's the case, why am I giving you a warning? Somewhere back in the recesses of my mind, I must know that Courtney Love isn't the type of person you can openly heap praise on, at least not acting praise. I mean, she's not like, say, Mink Stole or Mary Woronov, people who are universally beloved. Show me, by the way, someone who doesn't like Mink Stole or Mary Woronov, and I'll show you one seriously disturbed individual. At any rate, it's obvious that Courtney Love and the rest of cast of Repo Man and Sid and Nancy all answered their phones when the pride of Bebington (Don't fuck with The Wirral!), Alex Cox, called 'em up asking them to appear in his wacked out tribute to Sam Peckinpah and Sergio Leone, because they're all in it.

(Even Zander Schloss and Xander Berkeley?) Yep, even them. Remember all those hot punk chicks who hung around The Sex Pistols in Alex Cox's Sid and Nancy? Well, they're all in it as well. And, yes, that also includes the ultra-gorgeous Michele Winstanley. You might remember her, she makes a great face when that guy at The Sex Pistols concert says he doesn't want to be a punk anymore.

Oh, man, I just realized that having most of the cast of Repo Man and Sid and Nancy in this movie doesn't necessarily mean it's going to be smooth sailing. If anything, the film could be just one long reminder of how good they were in those films.

No doubt leading to moments like: Hey, there's Sy Richardson, wasn't he amazing as Lyte in Repo Man? Or, look, that's Sara Sugarman! I loved her as Abby National in Sid and Nancy ("Sugar man, won't you hurry / 'cos I'm tired of these scenes").

While there's some of that going on for sure. The film does manage to create its own unique universe. In other words, it's not really fair to call this Sid and Nancy: The Western or Repo Man II: The Legend of Otto's Gold.

However, no matter how you spin it, the film is still a mess. Right, Grace Jones and Dennis Hopper?

Just as I was about to give up on this film, along comes Jennifer Balgobin in a pair of pink shorts. Instructed to wash Miguel Sandoval's motorcycle, Jennifer Balgobin, who plays Fabienne, goes outside with a bucket of soapy water. Opening her brown trench coat with much fanfare, Jennifer Balgobin, who is wearing, like I said, pink shorts, and a pink, cut-off tank-top with the words "Hot Property" written on it, proceeds to clean Miguel's bike in an erotic manner.

You gotta envy the eyeballs belonging to Sy Richardson, Joe Strummer and Dick Rude. I mean, to witness such a titillating display up close like that, it doesn't get any better than this. Or does it? I'll get to whether it does in a minute.

I think might have spoke too soon regarding Courtney Love's performance in this movie. Don't get me wrong, the sight of a barefoot and pregnant Miss Love sitting provocatively on that jukebox is a enough to power a thousand misguided erections, but every time she would open her mouth, a small amount of blood would ooze from my ears.

(I thought you liked shrill and unpleasant women?) Yeah, but not that shrill and unpleasant. Where's Chloe Webb when you need her?

Since I can't go back in time and stop Alex Cox from casting her, let's soldier on, shall we? Look, the film stars as Sy Richardson, as the forthright Norwood (the inspiration for Samuel L. Jackson's Jules in Pulp Fiction perhaps?), Joe Strummer as the oily-haired Simms and Dick "Let's Go Get Sushi and Not Pay" Rude plays Willy. In other words, the film is still salvageable as far as entertainment goes.

Oh, it's salvageable, all right... Salsa y ketchup. Salsa y ketchup. Salsa y ketchup. Salsa y ketchup. Salsa y ketchup. Salsa y ketchup. Salsa y ketchup... Salva-fuckin'-geable!

The characters I just mentioned, in addition to Courtney Love, who plays Velma, Norwood's pregnant girlfriend, rob a bank in, oh, let's say, Mexico (the film was shot in Spain), and flee into the desert. When their car breaks down, they bury the loot (about four suitcases stuffed with money), and walk to a nearby town.

From what I gathered, the plan is to stay in the town until things blow over. Only problem being, the town is home to an unruly gang of gun-totting coffee drinkers.

When Norwood, Simms and Willy save two of the gun-totting coffee drinkers (Shane MacGowan and Spider Stacy of The Pogues) from a group of bounty hunters, Frank McMahon (Biff Yeager), the leader of the powerful McMahon Clan, welcomes the outsiders with opens arms.

While trying to buy nails from a local merchant named George (Miguel Sandoval), Simms gets his first glimpse of Jennifer Balgobin's Fabienne. Like any ex-member The Clash would do, Simms leaps on her with an enthusiastic jelonka ogłoszenia. Now, if you're worried about George getting upset by this untoward yet totally reasonable display, fear not, for he is in the back looking for nails.

The next day boasts the scene where Jennifer Balgobin washes Miguel Sandoval's motorcycle in pink shorts. I used to always say that Jennifer Balgobin's best work is in Alex Cox's Repo Man and Stephan Sayadian's Dr. Caligari. Well, now that I've seen Straight to Hell, I feel it's time to change my opinion. That's right, if you love Jennifer Balgobin, and I mean, really love Jennifer Balgobin, than Straight to Hell needs to be injected into your nervous system immediately. I don't care if her accent is a tad on the wonky side, this is the movie to see for all your J-Gob needs.

While Simms is getting all riled up by Fabienne, Willy's motor is more in tune with Louise (Michele Winstanley). Taking her to the local cemetery to visit her grandmother's grave, Willy declares his love for Louise. This, of course, doesn't go as planned, and Willy ends up dirty, sexually frustrated and alone.

It should be noted that almost everyday while the foursome are in town ends with a song: Day One ends with a performance of the song "Delilah" by Kim Blousson (Fox Harris), with Elvis Costello on guitar; day three ends with a performance of "Danny Boy" by Cait O'Riordan; and day four ends with not with a song, but random acts of violence and cameos by Grace Jones and Dennis Hopper.

Which leads to the final day, where Norwood, Simms and Willy wind up taking on the entire McMahon Clan in a large-scale, Wild Bunch-style shoot 'em up.

What's that? I forgot to mention the song that ends day two. That's weird. No, it's just that the song that ends day two just happens to be featured in what I now consider one of the greatest scenes in movie history. And get this, it has nothing to do with the massive slit on Jennifer Balgobin's dress or the robust nature of Michele Winstanley's jet black ponytail.

Everyone be quiet, because someone has requested that Karl (Zander Schloss), proprietor of Karl's Disco Wiener Haven, perform his theme song, "Salsa y Ketchup." Picked on and abused throughout the movie, Karl's unexpected triumph is the epitome of awesome.

Maybe it's because the song has lyrics such as: "Sizzle, they grizzle, you step up to the griddle, Salsa y Ketchup, you tell me and I'll fetch up," or maybe it was Karl's twitchy demeanor. Whatever it was, this scene turned what was up until then a mildly entertaining pseudo-spaghetti western into a genuine cult classic.

Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers (Fred Olen Ray, 1988)

The consistency of the arterial spray may have been erratic at times, the sets sparsely decorated, and the sexual innuendo was not even close to being indiscreet, yet Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers somehow manages to live up to its righteous name. Brilliantly combining the seedy, neon-tinted netherworld that is Hollywood, the cutting efficiency of a gas powered chainsaw, and the compassionate functionality of your average hooker, writer/director/schlockmeister Fred Olen Ray warmly embraces his low budget and lurid premise with an overly medicated brand of gusto. Casting aside pesky little things like refinement and dignity, the surprisingly competent production has a straightforward ambition: Show as many topless women wielding chainsaws as humanly possible without seeming too unsavoury in process. Now, do they succeed in this regard? It's hard to say. I mean, as far as crossing the line in terms of unsavouriness goes, I have no idea. (I lost the ability to distinguish between tasteful and distasteful years ago.) However, the fact that Michelle Bauer, Linnea Quigley, and Esther Elise all appear unclothed while using chainsaws in a non-brush clearing capacity is irrefutable proof that this film delivers on its promise. Which is something that not all cinematic yarns about prostitutes who commit ritualistic murder with chainsaws in Hollywood can attest.

Proudly wearing its debased premise on its freshly shaved bikini area like an itchier than usual rash, you'd think the film would be about chainsaw hookers from Hollywood. Of course, people who think that are naive and a tad decelerated in the intelligence department. On the surface, the film is essentially a detective story about a 1940s-style private dick named Jack Chandler (Jay Richardson) who is hired to locate a runaway teen named Samantha (Linnea Quigley) but ends up sidestepping the creaky chainsaw blades of a chainsaw worshiping cult along the way.

Digging deeper though, one won't find anything else, so don't bother digging, there's nothing down there. That being said, if looked upon utilizing my not-renowned cockeyed point of view, the riches to be found in this deceptively moronic film are galactic in their immenseness. When visually serviced using my untreated brain, the film's outlandish mix of shameless nudity, strange violence, and smart ass dialogue all coalesce to create a powerful elixir, one that somehow renders all the images that dance before you on the screen profound and illuminating.

This unforeseen profundity and illumination is best observed during the film's opening salvo in which the gorgeous Mercedes (Michelle Bauer) seduces a barfly named Bo (Jimmy Williams) and proceeds to take him back to her minimally furnished place of residence. Humorously disgusting, yet playfully erotic at the same time, Mercedes entices Bo with the first-rate shapeliness of her astounding physical structure. This genuinely serene moment gives the rosy-cheeked Mercedes a chance to showcase her wittiness (lot's of saucy comments directed towards his imminent ejaculation). This barrage of drollery lets the enchantress unveil her regulation-size chainsaw without alarming her not-yet dismembered date.

I also liked how Mercedes took the time to cover her painting of Elvis with a plastic sheet and offered her victim a shower cap (to shield his hair from the intensity of his splattering blood). The absurd courtesy of this gesture had me thinking about rolling around on the floor in laugh-fueled stupor for a solid five seconds.

It should go without saying, but I think Michelle Bauer (Café Flesh) is the bee's knees when it comes to being facetious while naked and crazy. Whether she's calling herself Michelle McLellan or Pia Snow, Miss Bauer manages to ooze a well-groomed form of levelheadedness no matter what role she happens to be inhabiting at the time.

Making lacy ankle socks with high heels and a blue micro-mini skirt seem like the sexiest thing on the planet, horror movie veteran Linnea Quigley (Savage Streets) literally emits sparks and billowing smoke as Samantha, a teen runaway who gets caught up with a cult of chainsaw enthusiasts run by a mysterious man in a beard (Gunnar Hansen). Sure, the sparks and smoke were mostly as a result of her chainsaw antics during the unbelievably hot virgin dance of the double chainsaws, but everything else was pure Quigley-based awesomeness. I adored her small scale approach to being sexy (she uses her smallness to great effect) and the off-kilter chemistry she has with Jay Richardson's wisecracking gumshoe.

Adding to the deranged appeal of Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers is the presence of Fox Harris as a baseball bat fetishist named Hermie. The actor best known for Repo Man and, in some circles, Dr. Caligari, does a tremendous job selling his unique perversion to the audience. Employing the toothsomely legged services of a woman named Lisa (Esther Elise and her effervescent eyebrows), Fox demands that she pose sexily whilst holding a brand-new baseball bat, so that he may photograph her. Of course, he doesn't know that his model is a chainsaw hooker, but like majority of the citizens that populate this tawdry world, the last thing they expect is to be killed by an attractive woman wielding a chainsaw. Which, I must say, pretty much sums up the overall appeal of this unpolished turd/endeavour.

Ritualistic Body Paint + Chainsaws = Hesitant Drool.


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Repo Man (Alex Cox, 1984)

Canoodling my subconscious like a gentle virus, Repo Man is a film that has lived with me for almost twenty years. From the days when I would tape snippets of dialogue from off the television and splice them with homemade industrial music to the time I used to be driven around the seedier parts of town in a large automobile made out of metal, this film has been a trusty companion. My thoughts on everything from friendship to employment, to youth culture and faith was shaped by the nonsensicality that transpires in this amorphous teaching tool masquerading as a ninety-minute movie produced by the wool-hatted member of The Monkees. I have even used the film to help boost my self-esteem whenever I've found myself cornered by those who have the gall to think they're hipper than me. Now, I know what you're thinking, and no, I don't use the fact I've seen the film well over thirty times to stymie their shifty, hipness-challenging advances. Nope. I tell them I own the soundtrack. However, this bit of information alone doesn't do the trick. Uh-uh. It's actually when tell them I own the soundtrack on vinyl that their hipster asses begin to crumple under the weight of my overwhelming coolness. The rush of smugness that courses through my retired porn star body as I over enunciate the word "vinyl" is downright exquisite. Educational and life affirming purposes aside, the wonderfully subversive film by Alex Cox still manages, after all these years, to exude the nourishment my undeveloped nerve endings crave so dearly just through the simple act of watching it. The fact that I have it memorized doesn't take anything away from the sheer nihilistic delight the film bestows upon me each time I look at it.

A surreal tonic for the disaffected soul, Repo Man is one of the few films that can unify the members even the most adversarial of subcultures. Well, except Mods, they never seemed to "get it" (even though there are actual Mods in it). But for everyone else, it's like watching deranged poetry.

A punk rock-fueled opus that appeals to new wavers, rude boys, industrial freaks, astrochemists, car thieves, Stacey Q fans, and linguistics majors, the film teaches us that life can be intense sometimes and that excessive driving can cause brain damage.

Lacking the proper parental guidance necessary to survive in the city of Los Angeles circa 1984, the film follows the misadventures of Otto (Emilio Estevez), an aimless juvenile delinquent who finds the structure he needs under the guise of Bud (Harry Dean Stanton), a street smart fella who repossess cars from people who have fallen behind in their payments. Learning the ropes from Bud, and to a lesser extent, Lite (Sy Richardson), Otto finds the repo business to be tough yet lucrative (it sure beats stacking cans of beans). Things are complicated slightly for Otto when he meets Leila (Olivia Barash), a UFO enthusiast and a young lady who just happens to possess a severe form of cuteness. Anyway, she's looking for a Chevy Malibu with space aliens in the trunk, and asks the rooky repo man to help.

Called me jaded, but that sounds like an easy enough task. Only problem is a secret arm of the U.S. government (lead by a metal-handed, leg-tastic Susan Barnes), the Rodriguez Brothers (Del Zamora and Eddie Velez), Otto's repo co-workers, and Debbi (Jennifer Balgobin), Duke (Dick Rude) and Archie (Miguel Sandoval), a trio of crime-obsessed punks, are also looking for the much sought after Malibu. Which is being driven by J. Frank Parnell (Fox Harris), an unstable individual whose mind might already be starting to erode.

Despite many attempts to sully his status as a cult movie hero with multiple acts of out-and-out lameness since its release, Emilio Estevez manages retain an air of blank dignity as Otto (his wide-eyed defiance and hatred of authority still reverberate). However, this air is no doubt retained due to the fact he gets to rub shoulders with the legendary Harry Dean Stanton, whose Bud has the temperament of a sage. Extolling handy wisdom at the drop of a drink (none of the products in this film have names that go beyond what they actually are), Stanton is quietly brilliant as the gruff and weary car taker backer.

Speaking of quietly brilliant, my two favourite performances are just that, quietly brilliant. The dishevelled Fox Harris (Dr. Caligari) and the equally dishevelled Tracey Walter are tremendous at displaying calmness in this topsy-turvy world. As well reciting the films most memorable monologues: Mr. Harris' being the one about the wonders of the neutron bomb and his overall mental, while Tracy's focused on the origins of humanity.

Comedically, I'd say Dick Rude's Duke and Zander Schloss as Kevin (Otto's pre-repo friend and co-worker) are the funniest characters in Repo Man. Spewing some of the films most quotable lines ("Let's get sushi and not pay" and "There's room to move as a fry cook."), Dick and Zander prove themselves to be adept comics whenever they appear on-screen.

On a non-comedic level, nothing quite beats the image of mohawked Jennifer Balgobin (Dr. Caligari) pointing a gun while in a silver raincoat. The super-adorable Olivia Barash brings a playful femininity to her plucky fruitcake role. Vonetta McGee shines whilst kneeing one g-man in the crotch and chairing another in the face. ("Shut up, Plettschner.") And I was surprised to find myself drawn to the steely presence of Susan Barnes this time around, and just like Miss Balgobin, the sight of a leggy Susan pointing a gun was just as alluring. (On the film's DVD commentary track, Sy Richardson sanely points out Susan's great legs as well.)

Gliding though the cockeyed proceedings like a drunken research scientist is the dreamlike music score by The Plugz. Sure, the film features songs by the likes of Black Flag, Circle Jerks and Iggy Pop, but it's The Plugz that make the film literally soar into the stratosphere. Their surf tinged guitars and electronic knob twiddling create a terrific aura, especially during "Reel Ten."

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