Into the Night (John Landis, 1985)

As with most people, my initial thoughts after watching John Landis' Into the Night revolved around the unequaled chic-ness that is Michelle Pfeiffer's red leather jacket. If you find yourself not enamored with it after watching this film, check yourself in at the nearest morgue, 'cause you be dead, honey. Okay, maybe that's a tad harsh, but you should definitely seek professional help. I mean, it's red, it's shiny, it's fits her perfectly, it has multiple uses (it's used as a pillow at one point), and it's, well, you get the idea. However, as these thoughts eventually subsided, I started to debate with myself about whether or not the iconic red leather jacket would have looked better on Dedee Pfeiffer, Michelle's less famous sister. I know, I just got finished saying that the jacket fit Michelle Pfeiffer perfectly. Yet I couldn't help but imagine Dedee Pfeiffer wearing the much-ballyhooed garment. To make matters worse, Dedee Pfeiffer has a cameo as a prostitute turning tricks outside Frederick's of Hollywood. In case you haven't figured it out, when it comes to the Pfeiffer sisters, I'm on Team Dedee. While Michelle has the haunting eyes and the chiseled cheekbones thing going for her, Dedee has spunk-appeal.

Wow, are my priorities out of whack or what? In a movie that boasts at least a dozen cameos by famous directors, the cameo I decide to focus on is the one by the spunk-laden sister of the film's female lead.

Actually, if you think about it, my priorities are not out of whack, they're kinda in whack. Seriously, who would you rather grope in the backseat of your grandma's sister's cousin's Chevrolet El Camino? Dedee Pfeiffer or Paul Mazursky? (I don't think the Chevy El Camino has a backseat.) Okay, the front seat. Well? Who would you rather grope? Exactly, Dedee all the way.

Of course, if I had said Amy Heckerling (who has a cameo as a waitress) instead of Mr. Mazursky, the question becomes a real mind-scrambler, as Amy is a total babe. But I didn't. Besides, the majority of the directors are middle-aged white men. Not that there's anything wrong with being middle-aged, or white for that matter, it's just that...

Moving on, you could call this the L.A. version of After Hours, but I won't. Why? It's simple, really, all they have in common is that they both take place at night. Sure, Jeff Goldblum and Griffin Dunne (the star of After Hours) have similar character traits, and they both have tedious jobs, but other than that, they're totally different. And I think the main reason has to do with the fact that L.A. is a car town, while New York City is not.

Playing aerospace engineer Ed Okin, Jeff Goldblum drives or is driven in at least six different cars over the course of this movie. Isn't that fascinating? Anyway, the car we first see Ed in is as bland as he is. Stuck in traffic with a co-worker (Dan Aykroyd), Ed says that he hasn't had a full night sleep since the summer of 1980. While he's exaggerating to some degree, his lack of shut-eye is having a negative effect on his work. After blowing it in front of his boss (David Cronenberg) at an important board meeting, Ed decides to take the rest of the day off. When he gets home, he hears his real estate agent wife (Stacey Pickren) making sex noises in their bedroom.

Taking Dan Aykroyd's advice, a despondent Ed elects to hop on a board a midnight flight to Las Vegas. Getting as far as the airport parking garage, Ed meets a woman named Diana (Michelle Pfeiffer), who jumps on the hood of his car screaming for help.

What's that? Oh, the reason she's screaming is because four SAVAK goons (one played by John Landis) are trying to kill her. Why are they trying to kill her? Well, I don't know if they want to kill her, at least not right away. You see, they want what's inside her pussy. I won't say exactly what it is that the Iranians want, but trust me, to them it's worth what they go through to get inside there. And by "there," I mean her pussy.

At this point in the film, Ed makes multiple attempts to extract himself from this sticky pickle of a situation. However, you'll notice that he isn't trying very hard. The thing is, a lot of men find Michelle Pfeiffer to be easy on the eyes. And because of this, Michelle Pfeiffer is able to manipulate almost every man she comes in contact with. The reason I say "almost" is because Diana's Elvis-loving brother (Bruce McGill) is clearly not swayed by her sister's overt attractiveness.

I thought it was amusing that Michelle Pfeiffer tries to out bluster Bruce McGill in his Elvis memorabilia adorned apartment. Give it up, girl, you can't upstage Bruce McGill. He'll straight-up knock your dick in the dirt. Just ask Wings Hauser ("Wipe that smirk off your face!"). Or even Crocket and Tubbs, who Bruce mops the floor with in "Out Where the Buses Don't Run," one of the best Miami Vice episodes from season two.

"You wanna date? Do you want to party?" and with those memorable lines, we're introduced to Dedee Pfeiffer, prostitute, humanitarian. Her crimped blonde hair glowing in the neon slime, her Retail Slut belts zigzagging across her womanly waste with a clingy form of clingy desperation, her zebra print skirt practically begging to be hiked up during the throes of... Wait, where is she going? Why don't Ed and Diana want to "party" with Dedee Pfeiffer? This makes no sense.

Now, I won't say Into the Night goes completely downhill/off the rails after Dedee Pfeiffer exits stage left; after all, a well-built Kathryn Harrold is still to come. But I was somewhat crestfallen by her departure. That being said, on top of the luminous Miss Harrold, the film also boasts a scene where three extras playing beauty queens are getting their legs polished by a female crew member.

After surviving multiple attempts on their life, including one by an assassin played by David Bowie (it would seem that the Iranians are not the only ones who want to get their hands on what's inside Michelle Pfeiffer's pussy), Ed and Diana begin to... well, you pretty much know exactly what they begin to do. They begin to fall for one another. Despite this cliched turn of events, the movie is still a mildly entertaining mish-mash of comedy and action.

If you're not into comedy and action, you could always play spot the director, as the film, like I said earlier, features numerous cameos by famous directors, including personal faves like, Amy Heckerling (Fast Times at Ridgemont High), Paul Bartel (Eating Raoul) and David Cronenberg (Rabid).

Oh, and the scene where the four SAVAK goons drown one of their victims in the ocean is one of the most disturbing murder scenes in film history. Okay, maybe that's pushing it a bit. Nevertheless, I found the cavalier brutality of the scene to be quite jarring, especially since the film is supposedly a light-hearted buddy comedy.

Grease 2 (Patricia Birch, 1982)

Bursting onto the screen like an unwanted skin condition, Grease 2 is a film that exists solely as an excuse extract money from saps and half-wits. However, since I just watched it for free for the first time on a channel that caters to saps and half-wits, I wasn't given the opportunity to throw any cash in its general direction. Which is something I will no doubt regret for the rest of my life, as the peppy sequel is a phenomenal example of to properly convey whimsy and frivolity in a cinematic context. (You see what did there? I started off like I was gonna trash it, then I switched gears and began to extol its virtues.) A dangling branch–a life preserver, if you will–to those drowning audience members who felt John Travolta was too narcissistic and Olivia Newton-John too pristine, this Patricia Birch-directed do over tries to not only to correct those faults, but attempts to improve on the magic of the first film. Jettisoning everything that made the original flick soar into the stratosphere (catchy songs, sneaker-assisted choreography, poodle skirts, sexual innuendo and tight pants), this version's success is exclusively dependent on the probably creamy shoulders of an unknown named Michelle Pfeiffer (Into the Night). She plays a reluctant Pink Lady named Stephanie Zinone, an attractive high school student who is on the outs with Johnny Nogerelli (Adrian Zmed), the leader of the T-Birds (a pretty lousy bike gang, if you ask me).

You might remember that The Pink Ladies wore pink jackets and were mainly made-up of women, hence the name. But the real reason they're called that is because their plausibly pulsating pussies are as pink as a prickly porcupine that has been spray-painted pink. (Just a little kernel of knowledge I felt like flinging.)

Anyway, as someone who has never been impressed by Michelle Pfeiffer or her unamused expression (though I hear she's quite funny in Married to the Mob), I thought she was borderline charming as the senior who desires a "cool rider." Increasingly indifferent towards Johnny and his sycophantic followers (their suck-uppery was embarrassing at times), Michelle's Stephanie expresses this boy frustration through the majesty of song. Picking up on this song-based frustration is Michael Carrington (Maxwell Caulfield), a fresh faced student from England.

The handsome, but slightly awkward newbie doesn't stand a chance with Stephanie as is. (Just for the record, I thought his handsomeness should have been enough to win over her over.) However, if he buys a motorcycle, never leaves the house without goggles, and gets in touch with his inner rebel, he should be able to attain the keys to fair young maiden's heart. It would also help if he sang songs and romped about gayly while wearing jeans. Chicks dig guys who can dance in denim. In fact, it's the cornerstone of western civilization (look it up).

Now, is Grease 2 as good as Grease? I have no clue. I mean, they both have catchy songs and feature choreographed dance numbers where counterfeit high school students frolic in unison. But other than that, they're pretty much the same. Only difference is the first film has the advantage of being deemed a classic by some unaffiliated group of pompous piss drinkers, while the sequel has been relegated to the pop culture dustbin. Which is, like, totally unfair. The amount of multicoloured pantyhose worn by Lorna Luft, Maureen Teefy and Alison Price alone should at least elevate the film's status to misunderstood cult oddity.

I think the fact that Pamela Adlon (nee Segall) was underutilized as the spunky Dolores Rebchuck (a Pink Lady wannabe) was the sequel's downfall. Early on, the pint-size Pamela shares a moment with Maxwell Caulfield outside the bowling alley that was, of course, cute as hell, but also sharp in terms of dialogue and overall tone. I'm probably the only person who thinks this (and this contrarian stance fills my aura with smugness), but I thought Pamela should have been the lead, not Michelle. Sure, the age and height difference between Pam and Maxwell would have made things kinda creepy. But creepy sells tickets, or at least it does in my neck of the woods.

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