Cat People (Paul Scrader, 1982)

Dare I fetishize thigh-high hip waders? (What are you talking about? You better fetishize thigh-high hip waders. I mean, I didn't click on your review of Paul Schrader's for you not to fetishize thigh-high hip waders.) Fine. I'll fetishize thigh-high hip waders. If the reason the name "Paul Schrader" sounds familiar, it's because he wrote Taxi Driver. (Hey, what do you think you're doing?) Um, hello? I'm writing about Cat People. (I can see that, but what about the thigh-high hip waders? I'm no brain doctor, but the thigh skin that periodically pokes out from the top of  Nastassja Kinski's thigh-high hip waders while fishing for some crawfish from a Louisina river ain't going to describe itself.) But I read somewhere that it's mandatory to mention the fact that Paul Schrader wrote Taxi Driver when doing a review of Cat People, or any other non-Taxi Driver-related Paul Schrader film for that matter. (Since when do you do what's mandatory? You're going to stand out from the crowd if you blather endlessly about the brief scene where the too luminous for words Nastassja Kinski wears thigh-high hip waders.) But won't I come off as perverted and weird if I do that? (Yeah, but you want to come off as perverted and weird.) I do? (You know it.) Okay, if you say so. All right, let me think, how does one craft a movie review that centres around thigh-high hip waders? (Well, first of all, you should stop calling them "thigh-high hip waders." Think about it, how can they be thigh-high and go up to your hip at the same time?) You mean I should call them thigh-high fishing boots instead? (Or better yet, just drop the "hip.")

You would think Paul Schrader was channeling Jess Franco by the way his camera focuses on Nastassja Kinski as she struggles to deposit some recently caught crawfish into a bucket. (Are you implying that Paul's decision to show Nastassja bending over with her back to the camera was gratuitous? 'Cause if you are, you would be dead wrong. The reason he does this is to show that the curator of the New Orleans Zoological Park is developing amorous feelings towards Miss Kinski.) Don't you think it's obvious that he's developing amorous feelings towards her? He did, after all, land her a sweet job at the zoo's gift shop. (That's true, but nothing sends prudish American men over the titillation edge more than the sight of an ambiguously European woman bending over in thigh-high fishing boots. It's science! Okay, maybe it's not an exact science; more like a loose collection of half-baked theories and asinine brain anomalies. But can you think of anything else that's sexier than the sight of Nastassja Kinski in thigh-high fishing boots?)

Oh, I don't know, how about the sight of Lynn Lowry (Score) in black stockings? (Holy crap, that is sexier.) Told you. And get this, I've always thought Lynn Lowry had a bit of a feline vibe about her. (But she doesn't play a cat person in Cat People.) I know, but she plays a prostitute who attracts a cat person. (I think I get it. She's not a cat person.) Right. (But cat people find her attractive.) Keep going. (Hence, she has a feline vibe about her.) Bingo! (I can't believe I'm about to say this, but that makes perfect sense.)

Cat people might find her attractive, but that doesn't mean they're not going to try to tear her apart. You see, cat people can only have sex with other cat people. No matter how appealing they may look in black lingerie, the desire to rip the flesh from their bones is unstoppable.

Now, someone, like, say, a cynical prostitute with a flat stomach, might have no trouble whatsoever deciding that it's probably a bad idea to get romantically involved with a cat person. But what if you're a mild-mannered curator of an old-timey zoo (one that stills uses cages with bars) who falls in love like it were bodily function, what advice would give them?

Step softly and always have enough rope on hand, as you never know when you might have to tie your cat girlfriend to a bed. (Yikes, that sounds kinky.) Yeah, I guess it sort of does. But then again, I was mildly turned on by the scene where Ruby Dee explains the origin of character's name, so, maybe I'm not the best person to decide what is kinky and what is not kinky.

(Don't worry, you're not in danger of losing your kink cred. The scene where a human male ties up his human/black leopard hybrid girlfriend so he can have sexual intercourse with her without having to worry about being torn apart during the post-coital aftermath is definitely kinky.) That's a relief, for a minute there I thought I was being a fuddy-duddy.

Just curious, am I the only one who thought Ruby Dee was smoking hot in this movie? Interesting, none of you have your hands raised, but I'm noticing some slight nodding here and there. Meaning, I wasn't the only one. Sure, her basement is filled with the half-eaten corpses of hookers and teenage runaways, but her accent is sexy and her bone structure is sublime.

Speaking of bone structure, Nastassja Kinski! Oh my god! Talk about sublime. I can't believe this is my first Nastassja Kinski film. (Are you sure about that? Maybe you should skim through her film credits.) Nah, I don't feel like doing that. Besides, this is definitely the first Nastassja Kinski film I've seen in the past ten years. Either way, I would have loved to have seen this film in theatre when it came out in the early '80s, as I would have loved to have heard the loud gasps coming from the audience the moment when Nastassja Kinski first appears onscreen. She is simply stunning.

Meeting her long lost brother Paul (Malcolm McDowell) at the airport in New Orleans, Irena (Nastassja Kinski) seems excited to start her new life in The Big Easy. Taking her to his fancy house on Weird French Name Street in the Gumbo District (Go Saints, Go!), Malcolm, I mean, Paul, introduces Irena to Ruby Dee's Female (pronounced "fee-molly"), a Renfield-esque woman who takes care of Paul's affairs when he's out busy doing cat stuff.

After some awkward brother-sister closeness (I totally thought they were going to kiss at one point), Irena goes to sleep. But does Paul go to sleep? I don't think so. Donning a black tank-top, Paul, after doing some awkward brother-sister lurking in Irena's bedroom, heads out for the evening.

Even though we don't see Malcolm McDowell for quite some time, I'll go ahead and assume that he has transformed into the black leopard that is currently resting underneath a bed in a cheap hotel. Sitting on said bed is Ruthie (Lynn Lowry), a sexy prostitute who is dressed exactly the way a prostitute is supposed to dress.

Let's give her hooker ensemble a quick once over, shall we? Black bra? Check. Black stockings held up with black suspenders? Check. Black garter belt? Check. Black heels? Check. You see, she's perfect.

(Wait, you forgot to ask if she has a nasty gash on her right ankle.) Why would I ask that? Hold on, the black leopard resting underneath the bed she is currently sitting on is starting to get grumpy. You know what that means? Nasty gash on her right ankle? Check.

Here's a fun-fact: It turns out the gooey residue cat people leave behind when they transform from humans to leopards is edible. Gooey residue, it's what's for dinner...after you have just torn apart the bubbly blonde chick who gives sage advice to not-so bubbly brunettes from The Beach Girls; I'm talking about Tessa Richarde, by the way, she plays Billie, a ditzy gal who comes face-to-face with Paul's inability to get hard when he's with women who are not his sister.

Also struggling to come to terms with the fact she can't have sex with humans without getting the urge to tear them apart afterwards is Irena, who takes a liking to Oliver (John Heard from C.H.U.D.), an easy-going zookeeper. Someone should tell Irena to look somewhere else, but Alice (Annette O'Toole), a fellow zookeeper, is going out with Oliver. Oh, and before you say: Who wouldn't dump someone in order to go on a sexual bender with Nastassja Kinski? Please remember, Alice is played by Annette O'Toole. Who's she, you ask? Um, she's a redhead. And no no bra-wearing piece of Euro-trash can tarnish the intrinsic allure of a well-moisturized redhead.

This "intrinsic allure" could be real, but Oliver is totally making a play for Irena (he got her a job at the zoo's gift shop). I wonder if he knows that she's the descendent of an ancient tribe of leopard people? I don't think it matters, these cat folks have a way about them that causes non-cat folks to lose their kitty litter.

I know someone else who might have a problem with this cross-species relationship, and his name is Paul. Oh, yeah, I forgot about him. Torn between the human world and the animal kingdom, Irena must decide which realm is for her. Actually, the choice is actually between BDSM and incest, if you think about it.

With help of Italians Ferdinando Scarfiotti ("visual consultant") and legendary electronic music producer Giorgo Moroder, Paul Schrader has made one of the sexiest American horror movies of all-time. (So, what you're saying is, if it wasn't for the two Italian men you just mentioned, the film wouldn't have been sexy?) Yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying. I mean, would someone who wasn't under the influence of Italians have Annette O'Toole wear mismatched bra and panties? I don't think so. Featuring vibrant colours and a great location, Cat People is a rarity: A glossy Hollywood movie with a wonderfully perverted European sensibility.

C.H.U.D. (Douglas Cheek, 1984)

What do the letters C.H.U.D., when placed in that comical-sounding order (no-one can say the word "chud" without giggling a little bit), stand for exactly? That's easy, they stand for "Cannibalistic Humanoid Underground Dwellers." Next question. Really? Yeah, they're just a bunch of drug-addicted derelicts running around the vast network of underground tunnels that snake through the bowels of New York City. Sure, they occasionally like to eat human flesh (hence the word "cannibalistic"), but they mostly consume their fellow derelicts. In other words, they don't eat "real people." You know what? I'm not buying that. And you wanna know who else isn't buying that? I know I'm going to regret asking this, but who? I'll tell you who. Do you see that crazed-looking individual standing over there? You're going to have to be more specific. After all, this is New York City: If you ain't crazed-looking, you ain't from around here. Okay, see that dishevelled guy in the stained t-shirt? The tall, lanky fella? Yeah, him. What about 'em? His name is Daniel Stern and he's not buying any of your bullshit. Oh, he isn't, eh? Why the hell not? According to Daniel Stern, who, in actuality, is playing a character named A.J. Shepherd, a.k.a. "The Reverend," this whole thing about homeless cannibals running amok in the sewers is all a part of an elaborate cover-up, a smoke-screen, a ruse, a vast conspiracy, if you will. No, there's something sinister afoot. And the only people who seem to care enough to expose the truth are a fashion photographer, a model, a guy who runs a soup kitchen, and a police captain.
 

 

If you think that's an odd group of people, wait until Graham Beckel starts waving his big knife around in a soup kitchen setting. Wait a second, Graham Beckel. Why does that name sound familiar? He played Winona Ryder's dad in Welcome Home, Roxy Carmichael, one of the most unfairly overlooked entries in Winona Ryder's teen angst filmography. That was him? Yeah, yeah, that was him. He looked so different. Well, that's because he's playing a mentally-ill homeless man living on the mean streets of New York, not a Clyde, Ohio carpet salesman. It's called acting.
 

 

Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah. The motley crew assembled to uncover to the conspiracy at the centre of C.H.U.D., a surprisingly intelligent eco-horror flick, will stop at nothing to prevent their beloved city from becoming overrun with radioactive sewer monsters. Actually, A.J. (Daniel Stern), the soup kitchen guy, and Captain Bosch (Christopher Curry), the police captain guy, have the most the lose if these subterranean creatures start popping up topside.
 

 

They're not coming up yet, but they will be soon. In the meantime, stay clear of manhole covers. Telling New Yorkers to stay clear of manhole covers is like telling sophisticated Ukrainian milfs to stay clear of borscht. In other words, it's not going to happen. Besides, no-one is telling them to stay clear of manholes. They should be, but they're not.
 

 

Unfortunately, "they" don't even know what they're dealing with. And neither does the woman (Laure Mattos) seen walking her dog late at night during the film's opening scene, as she is pulled into a manhole by an unseen entity. Judging the dermatological makeup of the hands that grabbed her, I'd say the chances that she survived the ordeal with all her body parts in tact are pretty slim.
 

 

Speaking of dermatological makeup, oh, to be a pimple on Kim Greist's ass. What?!? She mentions that she has a pimple on her ass. What did you expect me to think? At any rate, Kim's introduction to the C.H.U.D. universe is pretty memorable. Wearing a pair of pink and white panties with a short-sleeved orange turtleneck sweater with white sleeves, and a black belt, Kim Greist plays Lauren Daniels, a fashion model, who lives with her fashion photographer boyfriend, George Cooper (John Heard); though, I should say, "former fashion photographer," as he seems to be making the transition from snapping fashion pics to taking more arty shots.
 

 

Unable to resist the twinkling eyes peering out from underneath her frizzy blonde bob, George agrees to take some fashion pics of Lauren for a perfume ad.
 

 

Lounging in a leggy manner is a good look for Kim Greist, as it brings out the aforementioned twinkle in her eyes.
 

 

Meanwhile, down at the 33rd Precinct, Captain Bosch is trying to understand why a bag lady (Ruth Maleczech) tried to steal the gun from one his officers. (The officer, by the way, is played by none other than Sam McMurray. Also, keep an eye out for John Goodman and Jay Thomas, they play police officers as well.)
 

 

Why is a police captain so interested in this bag lady? I don't know, it seems beneath him. Sure, attempting to steal a police officers gun is a serious offense, but I don't think it warrants the attention of a police captain. No, I think something fishy is going on. It gets even fishier when Captain Bosch heads down to the local soup kitchen to respond to a missing persons report made A.J., the guy who runs the joint. We soon learn why Bosch is so concerned about a bunch of homeless people (mostly "undergrounders," called so because they live primarily underground) have gone missing over the past couple of weeks.
 

 

The indifference displayed by Bosch's superiors surrounding the disappearance of the so many undergrounders reminded me of the indifference that greeted the AIDS epidemic in early-to-mid 1980s. Now, whether that was the film's intention is debatable. But it should be noted that Daniel Stern and Christopher Curry, who are great together (the former uses the expression, "This Ain't No Disco" at one point - a blatant Talking Heads reference, if I've ever heard one), re-wrote much of the script themselves.
 

 

You can clearly see the influence of their rewrites in the scenes where Daniel and Christopher are trying to get expose the government's, or more specifically, the Nuclear Regulatory Commission, or N.R.C.'s, wrongdoings. The highlight being when Bosch and A.J. bring their evidence to a meeting with the chief of police, the mayor, and the head of the N.R.C. (played by the always evil George Martin). In fact, this particular scene is Daniel Stern's shining moment, as he gives good paranoid hippie (only, his paranoia is completely justified).
 

 

Another instance where their rewrites are obvious was the scene where Lauren tells George she's pregnant. I liked how they used the word "alternative" instead of abortion when discussing their plans for the future.
 

 

I'm not complaining, but I started to wonder when this movie was going to start living up to its name. I mean, it's called C.H.U.D., "Cannibalistic Humanoid Underground Dwellers," not C.H.U.D., "Caring Human Urban Drama."
 

 

Which reminds me, out of all the movies to do a reference to A Chud Convention, the obscure one-off side project between Belgium's à;GRUMH... and Canada's Skinny Puppy, it should have been this one. Why can't you reference A Chud Convention in as many movie reviews as you want? I don't know. I guess don't want to overplay my A Chud Convention card. At any rate, the reason to allude to A Chud Convention in a movie review for C.H.U.D. actually goes beyond the fact that they both use the word "chud." Are you sitting down? There's a C.H.U.D. convention in C.H.U.D. No, really. Daniel Stern stumbles across a bunch of C.H.U.D.'s convening together in what could be construed as a convention. Did it ever occur to you that the members à;GRUMH... and Skinny Puppy named their side project "A Chud Convention" after watching the C.H.U.D. convention scene in C.H.U.D.? After all, Skinny Puppy are famous for their love of horror movies.

 

 

Judging by the frazzled look on your face, I'll take it that I just blew your mind a little bit. If you really want to repair damage I caused, you should try to imagine Kim Greist lounging in a leggy manner in Central Park. Even though I'm mentally unsound, I find it to be the best remedy for curing a blown mind.  
 

 

Did you know that film's amazing synth score was composed by Martin Cooper of OMD fame? It's true. And it reminded me of the Liquid Sky score on several occasions.
 

 

As the glow-eyed creatures start to emerge for their subterranean lair, C.H.U.D. becomes more of a conventional horror film. Again, I'm not complaining. It's just that you can totally tell that producers probably insisted that there be, to quote The Simpsons (who reference C.H.U.D. like it were a bodily function), less chat and more splat. And we get it, more splat, that is, when Kim Greist goes mano-a-mano with a C.H.U.D. in her apartment. A cautionary tale about the dangers that can arise when one cut corners when storing radioactive waste (radioaktivität), while, at the same time, yet another entertaining New York City set horror film, C.H.U.D. isn't as dumb as its name would suggest.

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