Hudson Hawk (Michael Lehmann, 1991)

While it's not quite Heathers 2, Hudson Hawk is, by far, the only film that I've come across that comes anywhere close to doing a half decent job of capturing Sandra Bernhard's face-melting beauty in a manner I would deem satisfactory. What's that? Why did I compare this action-adventure film to the non-existent sequel to Heathers? Oh, because it's directed by Michael Lehmann and co-written by Daniel Waters. Now, it's easy to dismiss the film's Michael Lehmann did after Heathers (40 Days and 40 Nights... ugh). But the fact that Daniel Waters (Happy Campers), the reason Heathers is remembered so fondly to this day, is involved caused me to think that their follow up might be just as magical. (You are aware that the film stars Bruce Willis and Andie MacDowell, right?) Yeah, I'm aware. However, the prospect of watching Sandra Bernhard and Richard E. Grant spew campy/mildly glib dialogue that was written by Daniel Waters piqued my interest. Sure, it took me over twenty years for my interest to get so piqued that I actually sat down and watched it from start to finish. But still, better late than never. (Are you sure it isn't "peaked"?)  Nah, I think it's "piqued." Anyway, on top of boasting Sandra Bernhard at the height of her sexiness (she lounges in a leggy manner at one point while listening to "The Power" by Snap! on a Walkman - I know, 'nuff said), the film features David Caruso in Andie MacDowell drag and...

(Stop right there. You need to back the fuck up. Did you say, David Caruso in Andie MacDowell drag?) Yep. (Call me a sexually confused armadillo, but my genitals just exploded.) Is that a good thing? (Oh, you better believe it's a good thing.) Okay. But I should warn you, David Caruso is only in Andie MacDowell drag for about ten seconds.

Personally, I would have cast David Caruso as Anna Baragli, a nun who works undercover for The Vatican, and would have cast Andie MacDowell as... well, I wouldn't have cast her in the first place... you know, because she sucks. But that's neither here nor there. I think most people will agree that David Caruso would have been amazing as this film's Andie MacDowell-esque romantic lead.

As I was saying.... On top of Sandra Bernhard at the height of sexiness and David Caruso in Andie MacDowell drag, what else does this film got going for it? Damn, that's a good question. Maybe I should have thought this through.

Oh, if you mention a song to Bruce Willis' titular character, he'll tell you its exact running time. (Huh?) Let's say someone blurts out the title of a song, like, oh, I don't know, "Rhythm Is a Dancer" by Snap!, he would say, without much hesitation, five minutes, thirty-two seconds. It's a cute character trait. And it kept things interesting while we waited for Sandra Bernhard to show up.

The same can be said for Bruce Willis' obsession with cappuccino, his beverage of choice. Which he can never seem to enjoy in peace (circumstances beyond his control always seem to interfere just as he's about to take his first sip).

What else? Um. You know what? Until I come up with some other things I liked about this film, here's a brief-ish recap of the film's plot.

All set on becoming a spatula salesmen upon being released from prison, cat burglar extraordinaire Hudson Hawk (Bruce Willis) is immediately harassed by mobsters and other underworld types who want to exploit his unique talents for they're own personal gain. Teaming up with his partner in crime, Tommy Five-Tone (Danny Aiello), Hudson's first job involves stealing Da Vinci's Sforza, a horse statue.

Oh, and instead of showing Hudson and Tommy simply steal a statue, they have them do so while singing "Swinging on a Star." Which, I'll admit, was somewhat entertaining. It definitely put a new twist on the cliched movie heist sequence.

For reasons that escape me at the moment, the action quickly moves to Rome, where Hudson Hawk is embroiled in a conspiracy to steal even more Da Vinci artifacts. Working simultaneously for the C.I.A. (lead by James Coburn) and two self-described super-villains named Darwin (Richard E. Grant) and Minerva Maryflower (Sandra Bernhard), Hudson Hawk constantly struggles to keep the two groups off his back as he tries to woo Andie MacDowell, a Vatican spy masquerading as a tour guide.

If he can't woo Andie MacDowell, he can always settle for David Caruso in Andie MacDowell drag. Playing a C.I.A. agent called "Kit Kat" (his fellow agents are all named after candy bars), David Caruso's character is a master of disguise and can be seen in multiple disguises throughout the film. My favourite, of course, being his Andie MacDowell costume.

Speaking of costumes, legendary 1980s costume designer Marilyn Vance (Some Kind of Wonderful, Streets of Fire, Fast Times, etc.) has a field day sheathing Sandra Bernhard's lithe frame in a series of killer frocks.

Wearing a total of five outfits (six, if you include the bondage get-up she can be seen wearing in a slideshow), Sandra Bernhard wears wide brimmed hats, turbans, and funky earrings. And dresses that expose her collarbone and rib cage.

(What about her legs?) Relax, I'm getting to those.

Never not the focal point of the five scenes she's in, director Michael Lehmann does an admirable job of making sure Sandra Bernhard's yummy stems are always on display. Which, according to my logic, is reason enough to recommend Hudson Hawk.

Now, I know this film was ravaged by critics and a box office flop when it hit theatres in 1991. But I can't help the masses of the early 1990s had no clue how to properly appreciate the off-kilter splendour that is Sandra Bernhard. Seriously, though, her character's sort of heterosexual relationship with Richard E. Grant is a wonder to behold. In fact, if I was a studio exec, I would have said, fuck the box office, we're green-lighting a spin-off about the wacky adventures of Darwin and Minerva Mayflower and Bunny, their ball-obsessed dog. In conclusion... (Thank God.) the movie isn't as terrible as I thought it would be. Which, I guess, is a good thing.

Looker (Michael Crichton, 1981)

As I was busy wracking my brain trying to figure out where Jeana Tomasina (10 to Midnight) and Melissa Prophet (The Van) appear in this movie, I was apparently subjected to an eerily accurate portrait of the future. You could say my obsession with finding two attractive brunettes in a sea of skinny blondes played right into the hands of Digital Matrix Inc. and Reston Inc., the two sinister corporations situated smack-dab in the middle of Looker, Michael Crichton's highly intelligent techno-thriller about a humble plastic surgeon who finds himself embroiled in a vast conspiracy involving fashion models and light guns that freeze time. (How so?) How so what? (How did your obsession with brunettes play into the hands of The Digital Matrix Inc. and Reston Inc.?) Oh, I'm sorry. My explanation regarding the film's plot was so long-winded, that I forgot about the salient point I was in the process of making. Again, forgetting my point is exactly the kind of thing the not-so fine folks at The Digital Matrix Inc. and Reston Inc. would be encouraged to see. That's because they want to control the aim of your focus. In the old days, and by "old days," I mean the late 1970s/early '80s, corporations relied on television to get their message to the masses. And by "television," I'm referring to that glowing box that was usually located in a room called "the living room." Only, there wasn't much living going on in these rooms (unless you count sitting and staring into a flickering void as living).

Hypnotizing the viewer by bombarding their visual cortex with pleasing shapes and vivid colours, the corporations were able to hold the viewer's attention by putting so-called "shows" in-between the commercials for their products. Lulling the viewing into thinking they were using their own freewill by giving them a choice when it came to what shows they watched, the corporations had the powerful tool at their disposal.

(What if you told the corporations there was away to get the viewer to focus on the products they're tying to sell them to an even greater degree, do you think they would jump at the chance?) If it meant making more money, than, yes, they would definitely jump at the chance.

Suffering from a mild form of social anxiety, I used to dread going outside, as it usually meant that I would be subject to the prying eyes of the general public. The feeling that everyone was looking at me used to make me a tad uneasy. (Hey, wait a minute, I can't help but notice that you're using the past tense to describe your disorder. Does that mean you're cured?) Not exactly. But I have noticed that my anxious feelings are not as pronounced as they used to be. Why is that, you ask? Well, I'll you why, everyone is so self-absorbed nowadays, they could careless about those around them.

Remember those glowing boxes I alluded to earlier? Okay, now imagine everyone is carrying one those glowing boxes everywhere they go. In other words, no one is looking at me anymore, as they're way too occupied with their screen to notice me. In a weird twist, now I'm the one who's staring at them.

(What does all this mean?) Well, if the heads The Digital Matrix Inc. and Preston Inc. knew that one day people will be staring at screens all day long, their heads would probably explode. Then again, if they knew that one day people would be able to skip past their precious commercials with the simple push of a button, the part of their head that had already exploded as a result of hearing about humanities obsession with looking at screens would probably explode again.

Wow, judging by some of the words I've written so far, it would appear that I took a lot away from Looker. I don't want to belabour the point, but the way this film predicts the future is downright eerie. The characters, understandably, are shocked and appalled by the things they see transpiring in this movie. However, being a smug prick languishing in the present means that everything the occurs in this film, with a few exceptions here and there, has already come to fruition.

In order to reacquaint myself with my usual perverted self, let's talk about Terri Welles, shall we? Dominating the proceedings in the early going, Terri Welles appears in a commercial for Ravish perfume, exchanges dialogue with Albert Finney, wears a purple over purple leopard print, gets facial reconstruction surgery, puts makeup on to "Looker" by Sue Saad, wanders around her pink apartment in nothing but a black bra and matching panties and carries a small dog.

It's still early on, but I'm declaring Looker to be Terri Welles' movie, as she exudes a...Hold on, someone's at the door. And by "the door," I mean, Lisa Convey's door; which, by the way, is the name of Terri Welles' character. I'll wait to see who it is before I continue singing Terri's praises. Hmm, it would seem that no one was there after all. Did you hear that? It sounded like someone letting the air out of a tire. And what was with that flash of light? Something weird is going on.

When the synths start percolating on the film's synth-tastic soundtrack, which is composed by Barry De Vorzan, you know something awful is about to happen. However, her killer isn't wielding a drill or carrying a hatchet. No, he's employing a light-based weapon of some kind. We'll learn more about the light gun as the film progresses. In the meantime, what we just witnessed was one of the more unusual murder sequences in film history.

The killer, played by ex-football player Tim Rossovich, who is credited as "Mustache Man," may be only a henchman, but I thought he had a real presence about him. Oh, and the decision to give him no lines was the correct one. Of course, I'm not saying this because I don't think Tim Rossovich can handle scripted dialogue. On the contrary, I'm saying this because it gave his character an added air of mystery.

The following morning we meet plastic surgeon Dr. Larry Roberts (Albert Finney) as he enters his practice in a chipper mood. And why wouldn't he be? Women are paying him ridiculous amounts of money to cut up their faces. Sure, he removes the occasional sebaceous cyst and seems genuinely interested in opening a pediatric burn unit, but the majority of his surgery is purely cosmetic; in other words, completely unnecessary.

After flirting with a patient named Cindy Fairmont (Susan Dey), he was just checking out her face (she had some work done recently), Dr. Roberts is visited by Lt. Masters (Dorian Harewood), who informs him that two of his patients, both actresses who have appeared in commercials, have recently died under suspicious circumstances. If you listen carefully, the name of one of the dead actresses is Susan, and since Jeana Tomasina is listed as "Suzy" in the credits, I can only assume that Jeana's scenes were cut. Boo!

Naturally, Dr. Roberts thinks this is nothing but a tragic coincidence. His attitude changes almost immediately when another actress, a patient named Tina Cassidy (Kathryn Witt), drops by the office demanding that Dr. Roberts change her back. The frazzled woman tells Dr. Roberts that a man with a mustache is killing women who are perfect. Now, you might think someone's a little full of themselves. I mean, perfect? Get real, lady. However, as we'll soon find out, they are perfect, and they have the scientific data to back up their boastful claims.

Instead of showing Tina's inevitable confrontation with the Mustache Man the same way they did with his confrontation with Terri Welles, we see things from outside her apartment building. And so does Dr. Roberts, who rushed after Tina after she left his office in a paranoid haze (plus, she forgot her purse). Falling, like Terri Welles, from the balcony of her apartment, Tina's body crashes violently onto the roof of a parked car like a lifeless rag doll. Only, this was no dummy, the woman hitting the roof was clearly real. It's an amazing stunt.

Inside Tina's purse is a list of women, and three of them are dead. Noticing that Cindy's name is on that list, Dr. Roberts makes it his mission to make sure no harm comes to her.

Tracking her down at a photo shoot for Starting Line Lingerie, Dr. Roberts asks Cindy to accompany him to a fundraiser.

Who is responsible for the deaths of these models/actresses? And more importantly, why are they being killed? I have a sneaking suspicion that John Reston (James Coburn), president of Reston Inc., and the alluring Jennifer Long (Leigh Taylor-Young), president of Digital Matrix Inc., know who's behind these bizarre murders.

Maybe my senses have become dull over the years, but I thought Cindy's falling technique was excellent. Well, the people who run Digital Matrix Inc. don't seem to think so, and make her fall over and over until she's gets right. But then again, who decides what is right? In the world depicted in Looker, every minute detail is important. Hence, the frightfully specific measurements the models/actresses bring to Dr. Roberts for their plastic surgery (right down to the very last millimetre).

When so-called perfection is finally attained, the models/actresses are scanned by a computer. Once her data has been recorded, there's no need for the model/actress. (I don't want to alarm you, but Cindy is being scanned as we speak.) But I thought Dr. Roberts was protecting her? (He is, but he doesn't know what Reston Inc. and Digital Matrix Inc. are up to yet. Besides, he's being given a guided tour of the DMI's headquarters by none other than Jennifer Long, who is my new milf-spiration.)

You're what? (My milf-spiration. Doesn't everyone have one? Anyway, if I was a stylish woman in her late 30s who ran an evil corporation, I would dress and act exactly like Leigh Taylor-Young does in this movie.)

The film's final third is filled with shoot outs, fist fights and car chases. Yet, none are executed in a conventional manner. And how could they be when the aforementioned light gun is the principal tool used in all three?

Even though their only connection is the fashion industry and dead models, I wouldn't hesitate putting Looker on a double-bill with Eyes of Laura Mars, as both ooze style and sophistication. The former, however, has a scathing satirical edge the latter lacks. And it's this edge that makes this film the superior picture. Everything from advertisement and to our perception of beauty is skewered. Open up any fashion magazine or watch any television commercial, and you'll see a series of images that have been so digitally altered, that the people in them don't even look human anymore. They might as well appear as what they really are, a bunch of ones and zeros mindlessly cavorting about in a synthetic environment. And Looker is dead on when it comes to predicting the western world's misguided obsession with perfection.

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.