Less Than Zero (Marek Kanievska, 1987)

You could view this film as a highly polished expose on the negative effects drugs had on the W.A.S.P. population during the height of the "Just Say No" era. You could also view it, if you had some serious time to kill, as an eerily accurate foretelling of the emergence of rap metal. However, as someone who has seen Less Than Zero (a.k.a. Unter Null) more times than they care to admit, the proper way to view it is to look at it as the only film to capture the majestic splendour that is Jami Gertz in black stockings in a satisfactory manner. Oh, and I know what you're thinking: "Hey, Yum-Yum. How do you know Jami Gertz was wearing stockings? For all you know, they could have been pantyhose... super-tight, vagina-constricting pantyhose." Trust me, I know. No, I don't have the ability to see through women's clothing (at least not yet I don't). But thanks to the fully-clothed hallway sex scene that takes place near the end of the movie, I was able to ascertain the exact type of hosiery that was affixed to Jami Gertz' slender gams. So there.

(Did you say, "fully-clothed" sex scene? If so, how does that work?) Well, you see... Wait, I'm not going to explain to you how fully-clothed sex "works." But I will say this, if you don't have sex while at least wearing one article of clothing, you're no different than a mentally-challenged emu or some insipid billy-goat trolling the fields for ovulating sheep pussy.

While it brings me great pleasure to go on and on about Jami Gertz, who, seriously, looks amazing in this film, the thought of James Spader stalking L.A.'s hottest night-spots circa 1987 is never far from the back of my mind. I mean, how could it not be? Sure, he's a drug dealing scumbag named "Rip," but he's so darn pretty.

Sporting a brown trench-coat and slicked back hair, James' Rip is the personification yuppism gone awry; not to imply that yuppism was ever symmetrical, but yuppies usually commit white collar crime, they don't sell crack to leggy debutantes and shiftless trust fund layabouts.

Anyway, while Jami Gertz and James Spader provide the eye candy, Robert Downey, Jr. provides the acting chops. His performance as Julian, a drug addicted rich kid, is... What's that? What does Andrew McCarthy provide? Um, I'm not quite sure. I've seen the film, like I said earlier, a shitload of times, but I've never really given him much thought.

As I was saying, Robert Downey, Jr.'s performance in this film is definitely a career highlight. (I thought you said Hugo Pool was his career highlight.) You're joking, right? If anything, Robert's drugged out demeanour in Hugo Pool is eerily similar to the one he displays in Less Than Zero. The only difference being, I don't think he's acting in Hugo Pool.

Filled with hope and junk,  three friends, Clay (Andrew McCarthy), Blair (Jami Gertz) and Julian (Robert Downey, Jr.), graduate high school in Los Angeles in the spring of 1987. While Clay goes to college on the east coast, Blair and Julian stay in L.A. to do cocaine. The end.

While you're probably thinking to yourself: It can't be that simple. Well, actually, it can. You see, 1987 was a simpler time. You went to school, you did cocaine and that was it.

We do learn, thanks to some stylish black and white flashback scenes (accompanied by the warm synths of composer Thomas Newman, Welcome Home, Roxy Carmichael), that things got somewhat complicated for the three friends over the course of the following summer, when Clay learns that Blair and Julian became fuck buddies his back (Clay and Blair were a couple - and, for what I could gather, pretty hot and heavy).

Even though Clay plans on coming home for Christmas (to spend the holidays with his cartoonish-ly waspy family), he is still somewhat shocked when Blair calls up him out of the blue. Thinking that she wants to apologize for her fling with Julian, Clay seems eager to see her (this eagerness is accentuated by the use of The Bangles' cover of "Hazy Shade of Winter," which famously blasts on the soundtrack as he arrives in L.A.).

Oh, and before you point out the unlikelihood that Clay would be a Hüsker Dü fan (his L.A. bedroom has a "Land Speed Record" poster on the wall). Remember, kids, Ferris Büller had a Micro-Phonies-era Cabaret Voltaire poster on his wall. And does anyone actually think Ferris listens to Cabaret Voltaire? 'Nuff said (someone on IMDb pointed this out, and, in doing so, saved me from going on a mini-diatribe).

As for Tia Russell, Jean Louisa Kelly's character from Uncle Buck... now she's a Cabaret Voltaire fan.

Sticking with the music theme. As anyone who has seen Less Than Zero knows, music plays an important role in shaping the hedonistic, party-obsessed universe depicted in this film. Curated by producer Rick Rubin, the music heard during the film's many club scenes was, for the most part, not to my liking. For one thing, I don't think Kiss (covered by Poison), Jimi Hendrix, Aerosmith and The Doors do a very good job of representing the period. I mean, couldn't they have at least used "Everything Counts" by Depeche Mode? I know, it's a little too on the nose, but still... it's synthy.

On the other hand, I loved the use of Manu Dibango's "Abele Dance." The funky Afro-jazz funk barn-burner also has the distinction of playing when my favourite extra appears onscreen. Holding a portable hand-held television near his face, the way this guy bops back and forth to the track's catchy horn hook never fails to fill me with joy. Wait, joy?!? Yeah, fuck it. Joy!

Getting back to the story for a second. When his disappointment over the fact that Blair called him not to get back together finally subsides, Clay soon discovers that almost everyone is abusing drugs. Including Blair and Julian. But more so in the case of the latter, who owes James Spader's scumbag drug dealer character 50,000(!) dollars.

In a weird twist, IMDb comes through yet again. You know that white shirt Robert Downey Jr. wears throughout most of the movie? Yeah, the one with the giant red splotch on it. Well, I always thought the graphic was a gun shot wound. It turns out it's not a gun shot wound, but a poinsettia; which is fitting since this is technically a Christmas movie.

While it's no Christiane F. in terms of realism, nor in terms of exuding late 1970s West Berlin/Bowie cool, the film does have its moments. And even though most of these "moments" are visual, thanks to cinematographer Ed Lachman and production designer Barbara Ling, I happen to think Less Than Zero is, after all these years, still on the cusp of being watchable.

Quicksilver (Tom Donnelly, 1986)

Would someone get these guys some helmets, was my first thought as I watched Kevin Bacon, Laurence Fishburne (Band of the Hand), Paul Rodriguez and Louis Anderson whiz through Manhattan traffic on their bikes in Quicksilver, the best disgraced stockbroker turned bike courier movie to come out in 1986. Then it dawned on me, people in the mid-80s didn't care about safety. I should know, I suffered a nasty gash to the head after falling off my bike as a kid; I wonder if the scar is still there? (this, by the way, occurred when I was a kid during the mid-2000s, not the mid-80s... I'm not some senile old fuck). Anyway, as this was dawning on me, I suddenly realized that this film would also have us believe that Louis Anderson is a New York City bike courier. I'll let that mental image sink in a bit. Think about it: Louis Anderson, bike courier. Actually, the thought of Paul Rodriguez riding a bicycle is pretty ridiculous as well (he just doesn't strike me as the athletic type). That being said, Kevin Bacon and Laurence Fishburne definitely do some bike riding in this movie. Granted, they probably used stunt doubles in the wide shots, but you could totally tell it was them during the close-ups.

Not seen as a long term career, your average NYC bike courier views his or her (but mostly his -- the film is severely lacking when it comes to showing female bike couriers) time in this particular racket as a stepping stone to something better.

At constant risk of being run over by the thousands of cars that race through the downtown core on a daily basis, the bike courier figures if they survive long enough, they can make enough money to allow them to pursue a less dangerous vocation.

However, in the case of a hot shot stockbroker named Jack Casey (Kevin Bacon), the opposite is true. Falling ass backwards into the fast-paced world of bike couriering all because he lost his so-called "magic touch," Jack is left with nothing. Losing not only all his money, but his parents' savings as well, Jack decides to shave his mustache, let his hair grow long and become the Kevin Bacon we all know and love.

What I mean is, the stockbroker version of Kevin Bacon is someone I don't want to be around. On the other hand, bike courier Kevin Bacon is the bees knees in terms of being likable and shit.

I'd like to circle back to the opening credits before I continue, as to not mention them would be a grave error on my part. While a black and white photo montage of various NYC bike couriers might not sound all that compelling. The way they coloured in certain articles of clothing combined with the music of Thomas Newman managed to turn them into something truly artistic.

Oh, and it should be noted that while an uncredited Thomas Newman does provide the music that appears over the opening credits, the film's score was actually composed by Tony Banks of Genesis.

Okay, now where was I? Ah, yes. Another way they signified Jack Casey's transformation from a putrid slab of yuppie scum to an affable, maroon beret-wearing NYC biker courier was to change the way he moves. The arrogant swagger he displayed as a stockbroker has been replaced by a more playful yet purposeful walk.

You could say Jack Casey always wanted to be a NYC bike courier. It's too bad he had to lose everything to find this out. The only reason I mention this is because of the manner in which he obtains his trademark maroon beret. I won't go into too much detail about how he obtained it (let's just say he found it on the street), but the fact that he held onto it speaks volumes about his character.

"Quicksilver" is the name of the NYC bike courier service Jack Casey now works for. However, since he's too busy delivering a package at the moment, it's up to Hector (Paul Rodriguez) to introduce us to his fellow riders. He does so for the benefit of the audience, but also for Terri (Jami Gertz), the new girl on the block.

Other than Louie Anderson, the only "fellow riders" I recognized were Laurence Fishburne, who plays Voodoo, and David Harris (Cochise from The Warriors), who plays, coincidentally, Apache. And judging by the way Hector interacts with Voodoo, it would seem that the latter is a bit of a dick.

While I would love to explain to you why Voodoo is such a dick, I can't right now, as Whitney Kershaw is stretching in a black leotard in Kevin Bacon's loft.

Best known for playing Sillabub in the original 1982 Broadway version of "Cats," Whitney plays Rand, Jack Casey's "friend." Oops, I shouldn't have said that. You see, Jack Casey gets in serious trouble when he calls Rand a friend. To make matters worse, he calls her that in front of Jami Gertz. I know, what a dope.

Nevertheless, the film's best non-bike riding scene is the one where Whitney Kershaw tries to dance (her black nylons pressing tightly against her you know what... *whispers softly* her pussy), but is constantly put off by Kevin Bacon's childish, bike-based antics.

The other cool thing about this scene–you know, besides Whitney Kershaw's outfit–is the fact that it's set to "Casual Thing" by Fiona; who Miami Vice fans will remember Fiona from "Little Miss Dangerous," a.k.a. one of the best episodes of the entire series; "This is what you want, this is what you get."

Since nothing will probably top the greatness of the scene with Kevin Bacon and Whitney Kershaw being sexy and adorable in their loft, I might as well wrap up this review. I don't know, I'm just not feeling the subplot that involves Hector trying to get a loan to buy a hot dog cart. And the scene where some of the couriers show off their skills when it comes to performing bike tricks didn't do anything for me.

In order to give the film some added tension, a nefarious character named Gypsy (Rudy Ramos) is introduced (a lurking enthusiast who drives a lumbering automobile). Using the bike couriers to deliver items of an illegal nature, once Gypsy gets his hooks into you, you're pretty much dead meat if you don't do as you're told ("I call, you come," is his motto). Unfortunately, Voodoo finds this out the hard way moments after a thrilling head-to-head bike race between him and Jack Casey through the streets of New York.

Without Voodoo around to deliver his goods, anyone care to guess who Gypsy envisions as his replacement? No, not Jack Casey, he offers the job to Terri, who naively accepts. Well, since Jack Casey has developed feelings for Terri, and he doesn't want the same thing to happen to her that happened to Voodoo... let's just say, they confront one another. Bike vs. Car, may the best mode of transportation win. My money is Bacon. Mmmm, a bike fueled by bacon. *exaggerated drooling noises*

Special thanks to Digital Orc for recommending this movie.

Alphabet City (Amos Poe, 1984)

If a character is going to spend a movie wearing the same clothes from start to finish, you better make sure the outfit in question has staying power. Meaning, you don't want the audience to grow bored with what the protagonist has decided to don for the entirety of the film's running time. Do the makers of Alphabet City, a gritty, night time movie in the grand tradition of Modern Girls, After Hours, and Miracle Mile (in that, they take place over the course of a single night), get it right, or do they drop the ball? Normally I would say, "it's too close to call." But thanks to a quick dress up montage, we get a clear sense of the thought and care that costume designer Anna Taylor must have put into the selection of the film's signature ensemble. One of the most frustrating things about watching movies, whether they be exploitative or non-exploitative in nature, is that they never bother to show the characters putting on their clothes. Oh, sure, they will show folks taking them off. In fact, some movies are nothing but a series of scenes that have been assembled for that sole purpose. But they hardly ever take the time to show how the clothes got on in the first place. Starting off the movie in nothing at all, Johnny (Vincent Spano), a drug dealer who works the streets of the titular New York City neighbourhood, decides it's time to head out to collect the day's earnings. What I liked about his wardrobe almost immediately was that he wasn't afraid of accessories. In other words, if it can accommodate a studded bracelet, it will get wrapped in a studded bracelet. On top of wearing studded bracelets on his wrists and around his ankles, Johnny sports a belt, a gun holster (complete with a small caliber pistol), and one fingerless glove.
 

 

Oh, and, before I continue, yes, you heard right, I said studded ankle bracelets. You got a problem with that? You better not, 'cause remember, Johnny is packing heat. Of course, as he's putting on his accessories, we're treated to a barrage of authentic-sounding '80s electro funk (something no dress up montage sound be without).
 

 

Slipping into a pair of dark gray trousers (covered in decorative zippers and superfluous buttons), a black mesh t-shirt, a no-nonsense pair of black boots, and capping it off with a black leather jacket (covered in decorative studs and superfluous buttons), Johnny, before making sure every last button has been snapped and every last buckle has been buckled, looks up and stares at himself in the mirror, and comes to the realization that he is a genuine basass.
 

 

Little does he know, but his career as a drug dealer will probably be over by the time the night is over. Why is that, you say? Well, thanks to circumstances beyond his control, his days as a pusher are about to come to an abrupt end. Didn't you just say that? Yeah, but I worded it differently. In truth, there's not much to say about the film's plot. Actually, it's so sparse, you could probably scribble the entire story on the inside of a book of matches–you know, if you write really small and stuff. No, what the film, directed by Amos Poe (Unmade Beds) does so well is that it captures the mood of the Lower East Side and East Village during early-to-mid '80s in a such way, that things like, "plot" and "character development" do nothing but get in the way.
 

 

You would think that Johnny and his girlfriend, Angela (Kate Vernon), were a normal, everyday couple judging by the way their sex act is interrupted by their crying baby (a common occurrence for new parents). However, that illusion is quickly destroyed when the curtain surrounding their bed is opened to reveal a giant loft covered in paintings. It would seem that Angie is an artist, but as for what Johnny does for a living, it's not so cut and dry.
 

 

As he's getting dressed for work, it suddenly dawned on me: What kind of person gets ready for work at 11pm? I know, lot's of people work the night shift, especially in New York City. But what kind of job requires you to wear a black mesh tank top and studded ankle bracelet? You're right, not that many.
 

 

If I had a general idea what Johnny does for a living as he was getting dressed, this so-called "general idea" quickly became crystal clear the moment he removed the cover on his car to reveal a white 1983 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am. I mean, who else but a drug dealer would drive a car like that in Manhattan? Nobody, that's who. Anyway, even though I wouldn't exactly call myself a "car guy," this is one sweet ride (the white hubcaps are to die for).
 

 

Don't believe me? You should the way it looks while hurdling across the rain-soaked asphalt of Avenue C. Speaking of rain-soaked, I didn't realize before, but now I know why directors like to film the street when it's wet. What it does is it gives what is basically a ho hum scene (a car driving at night) an added sense of drama. In addition to that, there's something eerily beautiful about the way the streetlights reflected light off the puddle-laden pavement.
 

 

I won't lie, I could watch Vincent Spano drive his Firebird up and down Manhattan to electronic music all night long. But, unfortunately, we all know that's not gonna happen. If he did, he wouldn't be a very good drug dealer, now would he? And judging by the way his peers treat him, Johnny is the man. Checking on his dealers (the people who actually sell the shit), Johnny pulls up to where Lippy (Michael Winslow) is pushing his wares. Someone who has been obviously sampling the merchandise, Lippy doesn't seem to notice that a handsome young fellow in the white Trans Am is talking to him.
 

 

Getting nowhere fast with Lippy, Johnny heads to the apartment where his mom (Zohra Lampert) and sister Sohpia (Jami Gertz) live to tell them that his boss Gino (Raymond Serra), even the neighbourhood's premiere drug dealer has a boss, wants him to burn their building down for the insurance money. While I would love to tell you how his mother reached to such news, I was too busy drinking in the excessive length of Jami Gertz's legs. It's true, I noticed their length years ago when they sheathed in black nylons in the film adaptation of Less Than Zero. So, it wasn't like I was unprepared or anything like that. But in Alphabet City, there is virtually nothing obstructing their sheer lengthiness. Even when there is something obstructing them (she eventually puts on a short dress), they're still freakishly long. And I mean, "freakishly" as a compliment.
 

 

Trying to persuade his stubborn mother to leave the apartment before it burns down (even he decides not to torch the place, someone else will - it's not up to him), and telling his sister that just because she works as an uptown escort right this minute doesn't necessarily mean she won't eventually end up a downtown whore, Johnny has obviously got a lot on his plate this evening.
 

 

Managing to "fuck up" his sister's evening (he beats up her shotgun-wielding limo driver just as she was about to head uptown), Johnny sits down with her in the building's stairwell and convinces Sophia that is in her and their mother's best interest to leave their apartment immediately. With her sister and mother taken care of, Johnny can continue on his way. Heading to "the store" (a large abandoned building where his product is sold), Johnny picks up small-time hood named Juani (Daniel Jordano). As he's driving him through the neighbourhood, Juani starts to get mouthy (i.e. talking trash about his sister). Shoving his pistol in the punk's face, Johnny sets him straight. It's only 11:10pm, and Johnny has already had two violent confrontations involving firearms.
 

 

How were they able to make a rundown tenement building surrounded by flaming rubble look so elegant? Two words: Oliver Wood. The cinematographer pretty much responsible for creating what we now know today as "the '80s aesthetic," Oliver, whose work includes Neon Maniacs, The Adventures of Ford Fairlane, and, most importantly, the television show, Miami Vice, bathes every building seen throughout Alphabet City in this pinkish light. It doesn't matter if it's a dilapidated hellhole or an architectural wonder, every structure is bathed in pink.
 

 

A mere five minutes after arriving at "the store," a depressing place where Wall Street types commingle with street people to fight to get their fix (you try telling a bunch of junkies to form an orderly line), Johnny finds his operation swarming with cops. Slipping out the back with a large sum of money, Johnny and Lippy observe the chaos that ensues from the relative safety of a building across the way. Informing his boss, on his state-of-the-art car phone (this film takes place during a time when mobile communication technology was reserved for drug dealers), that there was "trouble at the store," Johnny is starting to feel the pressure, as Gino orders him to burn down his mother's building.
 

 

In a veiled attempt to delay that order, Johnny heads over to La Tropicana, a local nightclub, to pick up his share of the night's earnings (club's back then made the bulk of their money via the drug trade). Entering the club with a macho swagger, Johnny surveys the scene. The dance-floor is packed with people dancing in the style of the era (thanks to the choreography of Lori Eastside from Get Crazy and Downtown 81 fame), but Johnny is only interested in money, particularly the money in the pocket of Tony (Kenny Marino), the club's owner.
 

 

While Johnny is waiting at the bar, you can't help but notice that Nandrea Lin, credited as "Tropicana Girl #2," looks at directly into the camera; it's only happens for a brief moment, so pay attention.
 

 

It would seem that stalling tactics are in vogue this evening, as Tony tells Johnny that he doesn't have his money, but will in a couple of hours or so. He tries to pawn off his girlfriend Karen (Martine Malle), a brunette goddess in yellow stockings as collateral, but Johnny is, like I said only interested in money. (Are you mad, Johnny? Her stockings are yellow! Yellow!). Frustrated, Johnny hops back in his Firebird, and leaves. But don't worry, he'll be back.
 

 

If you're wondering what Kate Vernon's Angie is up to while all this going on, she's taking a nap on the world's most awesome couch.
 

 

Even though he makes two trips the La Tropicana, picks up some Huggies, and has a quickie with Angie, Johnny's, and, to a certain extent, Vincent Spano's, shining moment occurs when he needs to access his secret stash. Forgoing the chic comfort of his white Firebird, Johnny navigates the ruins (seriously, some of the streets look like a war zone) on foot. What makes the so-called "Lady Luck" scene in Alphabet City so great, besides the stylish cinematography, is the music by the legendary Nile Rodgers, specifically the pop song that features the lyrics "Life's a gamble...Baby, give me lady luck." Now, I don't know what the song is called (I'm presuming it's called "Lady Luck") or who the singer is. But damn, it is one catchy motherscratcher.
 

 

As his stress-filled evening comes to a close, ending with a showdown at Angie's loft on Great Jones Street (the junkie slang term "Jonesing" is apparently attributed to the NoHo street), I came to the realization that Alphabet City is somewhat lacking when it came to drama. Oh, sure, there's lot's of drama. But it's not very compelling. You''re better off doing what I did, and that is, view it as a cultural time capsule. In terms of capturing the stylistic temperament of a particular neighbourhood during a frightfully specific period of time, you can't do better than this film, as it oozes everything you've been told that was cool about the 1980s.

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