Dune (David Lynch, 1984)

Call me crazy, but I think there might be a connection between the spice and the worms. What that connection is, I'm not entirely sure. But what I do know is... Oh, wait. Virginia Madsen has started talking again. Just a second... Okay, I think she's done. All right, where was I? Ah, yes, the spice and the worms of Arrakis, a sort of spice planet. Since the discovery of the spice back in the year who gives a shit, humanity has longed to control the spice. In fact, according to Baron... What the fuck! (What happened?) You won't believe this, but Virginia Madsen has started talking again. It's my fault. I mean, I had three options at my disposal when it came to watching Dune for the very first time the other night. The first option was the theatrical cut. I said, no way, I ain't watching that. The second option was the extended cut. This option seemed tempting, but director David Lynch famously had his name removed from this version of the film, so, I passed on it. The third option was something called "The Work-print Cut." Cobbled together by a fan(s) of the film, the work-print cut combines both the theatrical cut and the extended cut and uses the notes of David Lynch as a sort of guidepost... I think. Now, I'm not sure if Virginia Madsen's opening slab of exposition is longer in this version. Nevertheless, I just sat through three hours of Dune, and my mind is... throbbing like one of those pulsating pus-laden cysts that litter the right side Baron Vladimir Harkonnen's greasy face. I'm no dermatologist, but I think  Baron Vladimir Harkonnen should start washing with soap that contains tea tree oil. I've read that it helps remove sebum from the skin, thus preventing the chances of your pores from becoming clogged.

Yes, I realize that  Baron Vladimir Harkonnen already has a doctor, played by Leonardo Cimino, who is currently treating his severe case of space acne. But he isn't doing a very good job, now is he?

While I could talk about the Baron's clogged pores for hours on end, Dune isn't really about space acne. It's about spice, baby.

However, it's the acne plagued Baron Harkonnen who says so succinctly at one point: "He who controls the spice, controls the universe."

While the Baron (Kenneth McMillan), the ruler of Giedi Prime and the leader of House Harkonnen, wants to control the spice. He is, actually, under the control of Padishah Emperor Shaddam IV (José Ferrer), the leader of the Known Universe, who resides on the Planet Kaitain. When Duke Leto Atreides (Jürgen Prochnow), the leader of House Atreides on the Planet Caladan, takes over the Planet Arrakis, a.k.a. Spice World, this enrages the Baron, who, along with his demented sons/gay lovers, Feyd (Sting) and The Beast Rabban (Paul L. Smith), plots to bring down House Atreides, and takeover spice production on the Planet Arrakis.

In-between all this scheming, lot's of weird ass nonsense takes place.

Now, with so many planets and so many characters to keep track of, it's easy to see how someone might get lost.

In order to prevent this from happening, we end up spending the bulk of our time following Paul Atreides (Kyle MacLachlan), the duke's son.

I know, what kind of name for a kid is "Paul"? But then again, his mom's name is Jessica (Francesca Annis). What I mean is, in a film populated by characters with names like, Shadout Mapes (Linda Hunt), a shadowy Fremen housekeeper who is always carrying a crysknife, Thufir Hawat (Freddie Jones), House Atreides' bushy-browed head of security, and Gurney Halleck (Patrick Stewart), Warmaster for House Atreides, Paul and Jessica seem out of place.

While the story of Paul's rise from being a wide-eyed duke in training to a spice worm-riding God is super compelling, I couldn't help but be obsessed by the oft-kilter goings-on transpiring on Giedi Prime, the home of House Harkonnen.

Don't get me wrong, Planet Caladan is loaded with talented actors. The aforementioned Jürgen Prochnow, Kyle MacLachlan, Patrick Stewart and Freddie Jones, for example, are all great. As are, Richard Jordan and Dean Stockwell, who plays Doctor Yueh. But Giedi Prime has Kenneth McMillan as the awful Baron Harkonnen, a balloon-shaped tyrant covered in cysts, Jack Nance as Nefud, a Harkonnen lackey...

...Paul L. Smith (Pieces) as The Beast Rabban, a disgustingly vile man who sweats pure evil, Sting as Feyd, a lanky ginger who digs knives and loves doing crunches (the entire planet, by the way, is populated by redheads), and, my personal favourite, Brad Dourif as Piter De Vries (his "juice of sapho" monologue was glorious), the Baron's right hand man, who, strangely enough, doesn't have red hair (edit: Piter de Vries is a Mentat, a human computer employed by House Harkonnen).

Okay, now that you got the image of all those repugnant motherfuckers in your head. Imagine them all in the same green-walled room. I don't know 'bout you, but watching a bunch of repugnant motherfuckers acting all gross 'n' junk was kind of awesome. Did I feel sad whenever the Baron's undulating cysts weren't onscreen? In a way, yes. Yes, I did. There's something about these rupugnant motherfuckers that was quite appealing.

And that appeal seemed to go through the roof when the Baron drains/fucks/absorbs... um... Whatever the Baron did to that boy-toy, who was, for some reason, planting fake purple flowers at gun point, was tremendously discombobulating.

Actually, now that I think about it, if you were to ask me to describe Dune using only two words, I would say it was: tremendously discombobulating. Yeah, I like that.

Kooky wordplay aside. Even though three hours might seem a tad excessive, I couldn't help but be sucked into this unnecessarily complicated world of spice and giant worms. And, in a bizarre twist, I ended up rooting for Paul to defeat my beloved Baron. It's bizarre because I usually loathe these bland Luke Skywalker types. But there was something different going on here. Or maybe it's because Kyle MacLachlan (Showgirls) is awesome. There you go.

I've always wanted to review a David Lynch movie on here. Why I haven't done one is a bit of a mystery. One day, I asked a friend: If I was going to review a David Lynch film, which one should I do? And, without hesitation, they said, Dune. After thinking about it for, oh, I don't know, five whole seconds, I said: You're absolutely right. Dune it is.

Quirky fun-fact: My only connection to Dune up until this point was through the early 1990s techno rave scene. You see, a U.K. techno project called "EON" released two tracks back in '91. And both, "Spice" and "Fear Is the Mind-Killer," sample the movie rather heavily. The spice must flow.

The Hidden (Jack Sholder, 1987)

A super-sexy and more lithe than usual Claudia Christian wields a Steyr AUG and a Mossberg 500 Bullpup whilst wearing a red thong near the middle portion of the totally kick ass 1980s sci-fi action thriller, The Hidden, a staple on Citytv in the early '90s. (Quirky fun-fact: Before television was ruined by infomercials and reality shows, some channels used to show movies.) Okay, now that I got that out of the way (for me to not mention Claudia Christian, her red thong ensnared butt-crack or the sweet ass guns she fires in this movie straight out of the gate would be tantamount to treason), let me quickly take care of some industrial music-based business. When one of the senator's body guards yells, "Back against the wall now!," I thought: Hmm, that sounds strangely familiar. Where have I heard that line before? Oh, who am I kidding? I knew the line was sampled in the Front Line Assembly track "No Limit," taken from their album "Gashed Senses and Crossfire," the instant I heard it uttered. And to think, my "friends" used to tell me there were no benefits to listening to electro-industrial music.

Show me any horror or action film made during the 1980s and I'll be able to identify which electro-industrial group sampled from it within five seconds of hearing it. Yeah, I know, it's a pretty impressive talent. Though, you have to wonder, if I'm so talented, how is it possible that I haven't gotten laid since Donald Igwebuike was kicking field goals, kick offs and extra points for the Tampa Bay Buccaneers? Weird.

Anyway, is this film, directed by Jack Sholder and written Jeff Kouf, a parody of '80s action movies?

In the film's opening chase sequence, a wanted criminal named Jack DeVries (Chris Mulkey), who just robbed a bank and is using a stolen black Ferrari as his getaway car, crashes it through a large pane of glass that was being carried across the street by two men. And get this, moments earlier, he crashes through some construction barriers. And to make the scene even more cliched, the construction workers frantically wave their hands in the air in a futile attempt to stop the out of control luxury sports car.

The fact that the construction workers dodged out of the way at the last minute is definitely cliched. But you'll notice that glass moving guys weren't so lucky. And as anyone who's well-acquainted with the crashing through the pane of glass gag will tell you, the guys (who are usually wearing jumpsuits) don't usually get hurt. Meaning, The Hidden is not ashamed to embrace '80s action movie cliches, but it's not afraid to ridicule them either.

Similar in the way the movie Dead Heat deftly combined the buddy cop movie with a zombie flick, The Hidden is a buddy cop movie crossed with a film about body snatching aliens who dig fast cars, adore trashy women and like to blast Concrete Blonde on their illegally obtained boomboxes.

After the aforementioned Jack DeVries is riddled with bullets and badly burned during a high speed pursuit through the streets of West Hollywood, the slug-like alien that is controlling DeVries decides to use the body of the patient lying in the bed next to him. Only problem being, the body belongs to Jonathan Miller (William Boyett),  a man with some serious gastrointestinal problems.

Since it's obvious "it" loves loud music and fast cars, it only makes sense that his first stop after leaving the hospital be a record store. Stuffing cassettes in his pockets with a reckless abandon, Mr. Miller seems somewhat out of place–you know, with him being a paunchy middle-aged man with serious gastrointestinal problems. Serious gastrointestinal problems or not, it doesn't stop him from beating the creeper-wearing record store clerk to death with his own club.

Meanwhile, back at police headquarters, Det. Tom Beck (Michael Nouri) is finishing up the paperwork for the DeVries case, when an F.B.I. agent named Lloyd Gallagher (Kyle MacLachlan) tells the detective that he's been assigned to help catch Jack DeVries. (Doesn't the F.B.I. know Jack DeVries is lying near death in the hospital?) Apparently not.

When Agent Gallagher rushes over to the hospital, it would seem that he's too late, as all he finds there is a dead Jack Devries. It would also seem that Agent Gallagher knows the thing that caused Jack DeVries go on his crime spree (he was mild-mannered family man two weeks ago) is still on the loose.

Figuring that the creature moved into the body of the patient next to him, Agent Gallagher sets his sights on Jonathan Miller. Of course, Tom Beck can't quite understand why Gallagher wants to track down Mr. Miller (he has no criminal record). In fact, from Tom Beck's perspective, none of this makes any sense.

However, when the bodies start piling up (Mr. Miller kills a few people at a Ferrari dealership), Tom Beck begins to think that Jack DeVries and Jonathan Miller might have been in cahoots. Mind you, he doesn't think they're being controlled by an intergalactic space slug, but he's getting there.

As luck would have it, one of the guys Mr. Miller kills at the Ferrari dealership happens to be a gun runner. And when Mr. Miller (using the address on his business card) goes to his office, he stumbles upon a cache of bullpup firearms.

Unfortunately, Mr. Miller's body is slowly becoming a terrible host. Hopping in his brand new red Ferrari, Mr. Miller heads the Harem Club to look for a new body.

Finally, we have Claudia Christian. Dancing on stage at the Harem Club, Claudia's Brenda Lee Van Buren might not know it yet, but her wondrous body has been selected to be the alien's next host.

Call me crazy, but I thought the outfits worn by Harem Club waitress staff were a tad on the skimpy side. (A tad?!?) Okay, they were whatever the opposite of a tad is. The point being, if I was a man who possessed genitals that were fully-functional, I would be down at the Harem Club ogling lingerie-clad goddesses and ordering Mai Tai's like a bandit every night.

The difference between what the women living on the so-called fringes of society wear on a day-to-day basis and what mainstream ladies are wearing is staggering.

The best example of this style variance can be found between the witness to the record store homicide, a.k.a. "Record Store Girl" (Jill Friedman),  and the woman who tells the alien to fuck off, a.k.a. "Rodeo Drive Girl" (Lenna Robinson).

While the Record Store Girl's ensemble is teeming with quirky flourishes, the Rodeo Drive Girl's outfit exudes nothing but staid conformity.

Just for the record, the Record Store Girl is wearing a white tutu, a black bomber jacket and black tights with white socks, and Rodeo Drive Girl is wearing a white shirt with green pants and a chunky belt.

Getting back to Claudia Christian for a minute: Since her character lives on the fringes of society, her wardrobe reflects this outsider status. Though, I thought the coin slot exposing nature of her dress was a bit much. I mean, it's fine to wear inside the Harem Club. But it isn't something to wear to the corner store. Or maybe I'm just being a prude.

Either way, the film's best moments are when Kyle MacLachlan and Michael Nouri go after Claudia Christian, who fires a Mossberg 500 Bullpup and a Steyr AUG at them during an extended chase sequence; one that culminates on the roof of a mannequin factory.

Speaking of guns, when the alien sets its sights on the body of a U.S. senator, we're treated to some excellent Uzi action. The great thing about the Uzi shoot out is that they're being used properly (in close quarters). And the people firing them, for the most part, employ obstacles as cover (most Uzi users in movies fire them wildly in wide open spaces).

Take special note when a cop, played by Law and Order's Richard Brooks, shows Kyle MacLachlan's character a flamethrower he seized during a recent bust, as it will make a significant second appearance later on in the film.

Oh, and did anyone else tear up at the end? I'm not saying I did or anything like that, I'm just asking a simple question. At any rate, I laughed, I might have cried, I saw Claudia Christian's butt-crack. Four stars. 

Showgirls (Paul Verhoeven, 1995)

Is it possible for someone to do everything wrong, yet still manage to succeed in life? What am I saying? Of course it's possible. In fact, I'd say more half the world's population fits neatly into this category. And Showgirls is the ultimate tale of failing your way to success. Now, I don't know if the film's protagonist does everything wrong. I mean, they can sort of walk from one place to another without falling flat on their stupid face. But everything else they do is rife with failure. Turning off the radio station channel that was playing Garth Brooks and switching it to a station that was playing "Vision Thing" by The Sisters of Mercy was the only thing Nomi Malone does right in this movie. Though, changing channels with the pointy end of your switchblade wasn't all that smart. Think about it, she could have missed the buttons, and by doing so, she could have electrocuted herself. (Boy, this Nomi chick sounds like a real dolt.) You can say that again. I know I don't need to sight another example, as you already seem on board the Nomi Malone is a moron express, but I just thought of a doozy. In a scene that appears near the end of the film, Zack Carey, Nomi's slick, floppy-haired Svengali, compliments Nomi's thrusting capacity. Now, most people, when you tell them they fuck good, will throw you a sheepish smile and usually say thank you. But not Nomi. No, she spits in your face. I know, crazy, huh? Her brain does not work like yours and mine. Seriously, there's definitely something off about the way she processes information, and I plan on... (Don't tell me, you plan on examining the mind of Nomi Malone?) You got that right. As I watched this film's toilet seat-esque sheen flicker in front of me, I discovered two things: One, no matter what Nomi said, I would disagree with it. And, two, every time Zack Carey would remove his hair from his eyes, I got a mild yeast infection.

The only character I identified with in Showgirls universe was Melanie Van Betten's Versace Saleswoman. Yes, I realize that's a bit of an odd choice, but hear me out.

After getting a sizable tip for a lap dance she gave to Kyle MacLachlan's Zack Carey  at Cheetahs, the Las Vegas strip club she "dances" at (her spastic gyrating causes him to cream his designer chinos), Nomi Malone (Elizabeth Berkley) and her gal pal Molly (Gina Ravera) go to the mall to celebrate. Passing the Versace store, Nomi decides that she wants that little black dress on display in the window. Being that she is a seamstress, Molly offers to make the dress for her, but Nomi refuses and goes hurdling into the shop with a gangly aplomb.

An excited Nomi comes barreling out of the dressing room and starts posing up a storm in the store's mirror. Giggling loudly and spouting a flurry of girlish nonsense, Nomi is wrapped up in the sight of her long, shapeless legs jutting out from the bottom of the skimpy garment. As this is happening, the Versace Saleswoman tries to approach her. Using her shapely legs, which are sheathed in black nylons, the Versace Saleswoman walks toward her in a stealthy, "I'm about to collect me some motherfucking commission," manner.

Realizing almost immediately that nothing positive can come from her interacting with this non-leggy human female, the Versace Saleswoman lets out a sigh, turns around and walks away from Nomi. Well, when I saw the Versace Saleswoman let out that sigh and begin to walk away, I started jumping up and down on the couch. I was all like, "Yeah! You don't need this shit, Versace Saleswoman. You're leggy and you're stylish. So, fuck her and her switchblade-wielding, gross hamburger eating, Versace-mispronouncing ass.

If only the other characters that populate this ingrown armpit hair of a movie had followed the Versace Saleswoman's lead and walked away. Think about how much better this film would have been.

Wait a minute, that didn't come out right. If everyone walked away from Nomi Malone, there wouldn't be a movie. Excuse me? Did I just hear you mutter the word "exactly" under your breath? Bite your tongue, young man. I don't want to live in a world where Showgirls doesn't exist.

(I don't understand, you sound like you hate Nomi Malone.) First of all, I never use the word "hate" (my momma didn't raise no hater). And secondly, there's more to Showgirls than just Nomi Malone. (More?) I got two words for you... (What? Versace Saleswoman?) No, the two words are Gina and Gershon. (Huh?) If you put them together, what do you get? That's right, Gina Gershon! (Oh, okay, that makes sense.)

However, before Gina Gershon, and, I suppose, the Versace Saleswoman, can appear onscreen, Nomi has to get her blandly-shaped ass to Las Vegas. Hitching a ride from Jeff (Dewey Weber), Nomi, who is wearing a black leather jacket covered in frays, is on her way to Las Vegas. To show her appreciation for giving her ride, Nomi pulls a switchblade on Jeff. I know, that's a pretty funny way to show your appreciation to someone, but, like I said, Nomi can't seem to do anything right.

After Jeff steals Nomi's suitcase when they get to Las Vegas, she runs into the parking lot and starts smashing one of the cars. It just so happens that the car she's smashing belongs to Molly. Unamused by this display, Molly tries to stop her from wrecking her car. This causes Nomi lose her bearings and she runs into oncoming traffic. Just as a car is about to run her over, Molly pulls her to safety. For some inexplicable reason, Molly offers to buy Nomi something to eat at a fast food joint. (Oh, you thought that was inexplicable, eh? Don't look now, but Molly is offering to let Nomi stay at her place.) I don't get this, she smashes your car, doesn't thank you for saving their life, and has a fully-body conniption fit when you ask her a simple question. Are you sure you want this waxy, barely lifelike creature living under the same roof as you?

Flash-forward six weeks and Nomi and Molly are best buds. Living in a trailer park on the outskirts of town--or maybe the trailer park was on the inskirts of town, what do I know?--Molly is a seamstress at the Stardust Casino and Nomi has since got a job as a stripper at the Cheetah Club. Told to wear her pink dress with the fringe, Molly takes Nomi to see where she works. Backstage at a show called "Goddess," Molly is busy fixing g-strings before the show is about to begin. Watching from a balcony, Nomi gets a birds eye view of the homosexual nightmare that is this stage show. Now, whereas most people would dismiss Goddess as lurid trash--even I thought it was garish and vulgar--Nomi dreams of being a part of it.

Of course, she blows her first opportunity to do so when she tells the show's star, Crystal Conners (Gina Gershon), that she doesn't know shit after Miss Conners dares to question whether or not she's a dancer (she's of the mind that strippers aren't dancers). And not only that, she nearly cost Molly her job in the process. After all, it was Molly who introduced this mentally unstable jizz jar to the star of the show.

Speaking of getting people fired, Nomi gets James Smith (Glenn Plummer) fired from his job as a bouncer at a nightclub. It's true, James put his job jeopardy when he decided to dance with Nomi (bouncers are supposed to bounce the customers, not dance with them). But when Nomi knees James in the groin, this causes a fight to break out. And get this, the reason she knees him in the groin is because he offered to give her dancing lessons. First of all, why are all these black people bending over backwards to help this unattractive sociopath? And secondly, no, forget secondly, why are they doing this? It's driving me insane.

Anyway, it's not just black people who seem to want to help her, white people want to help as well. Case in point, Crystal Conners and Zack Carey (Kyle MacLachlan), the entertainment director for the Stardust, show up at the Cheetah, and give Nomi 500 dollars to grind all over all Zack's lap.

Oh, and before the lap dance scene, we see Nomi strip/dance for the first time, and I must say, her performance was the complete opposite of sexy. Employing these fast, jerky, aggressive dance moves, Nomi, whose body is an amorphous slab of sweaty skin, proceeds to hurl herself across the stage like a deranged lunatic. As I sat there, unmoved by Nomi's routine, I thought to myself, maybe I am gay? Then it dawned me. The reason I wasn't moved by her routine had nothing to do with sexual orientation, but the simple fact that she just doesn't do it for me. Everything, from the way she thrusts her pelvis, to way she eats a hamburger, was off-putting.

Taking the money she earned from the Kyle MacLachlan lap dance, Nomi buys a skimpy black dress at the local Versace store. You know what that means, right? Yep, it's time for the Versace Saleswoman (Melanie Van Betten) to make her brief yet profound appearance. Approaching Nomi as she's trying the dress on, the Versace Saleswoman says, "It looks quite good on you." To which Nomi responds, "It doesn't suck" (a phrase Nomi uses at least three times over the course of the film). Upon hearing this, the Versace Saleswoman turns around, rolls her eyes, lets out an exasperated sigh and proceeds to walk away. Congratulation, Versace Saleswoman. You're the only character in this movie to see Nomi for what she really is: A selfish, entitled, spoiled brat.

While the Versace Saleswoman is the smartest character in the film, in a strange twist, Al Torres (Robert Davi), Nomi's boss at the Cheetah Club, is the film's most sympathetic. It's true, while on the surface, he might come off as a real scumbag. But the scene where he visits Nomi, who has since landed a spot in the Goddess cast, is just teeming with pathos. I'm not kidding, I nearly broke down in tears when Al tells Nomi, "It must be weird, not having anybody cum on you."

In terms of acting, I would have to say that Gina Gershon gives the film's strongest performance, as she is the only one in the cast who seems to know what camp is (she says, "I used to love Doggy Chow" while sipping a glass of champagne). As far as sexiness goes, this film is limp and unmanageable (the sex scene between Nomi and Zack in his pool is so awful that it actually caused my junk to unattach itself from my torso and leave the room in a huff). That being said, Rena Riffel is smoking hot as the perpetually confused Hope/Penny, a stripper/dancer who's new to the whoring racket. Miss Riffel has a natural allure, and she doesn't make me physically sick when I look at her. And in the world of Showgirls, that's the nicest thing you can say about a person.