Vampire's Kiss (Robert Bierman, 1988)

According to the unofficial film criticism handbook, there are precisely two options you can choose when attempting to construct a review for Joseph Minion's Vampire's Kiss (a.k.a. Поцелуй вампира). The first, and most obvious one, involves feigning mock disbelief over the sheer zaniness of Nicolas Cage's performance as an unhinged yuppie named Peter Loew. Here's an example of what you might stumble across in a review of this type: "The film's biggest surprise comes in the form of Nicolas Cage, whose go for broke performance as mid-level literary agent Peter Loew is a thing of over the top beauty." While I would love to extol the many virtues of Nicolas Cage's "go for broke performance" (it's features Nic Cage at his most Nic... Cagey), I think option number two is more my style. What's that? I haven't said what option number two entails yet. Isn't it obvious? Oh, wait. I said number one is obvious, and both can't be obvious, can they? Actually, option number two is pretty obvious, but only if you're in any way familiar with how my brain works. If you are, then you know what I'm about to say next.

Option number two revolves around Stephen Chen, who plays "Fang Vendor," i.e. the man who sells Nicolas Cage his vampire fangs.

Now, you're probably thinking to yourself: How does one construct an entire film review around Stephen Chen's "Fang Vendor"? Well, you can't. In fact, no one can. That's because I'm kidding (despite my reputation for being ultra-serious, I like to kid around every once and awhile). Anyway, all kidding aside, option number two involves black stockings. I know, what a shocker.

With the exception of Maria Conchita Alonso, every female character who appears in this film wears black stockings. Hell, I bet even Debbie Rochon, who plays Bar Girl #2, is wearing black stockings, and I don't even think I saw her (she apparently appears somewhere in one of the nightclub scenes). But let's be realistic, no woman would be caught dead at a nightclub without black stockings attached to her legs... in 1988.

Nowadays, you're lucky if they're wearing shoes (part of me dies whenever I see someone at a nightclub wearing shorts and flip-flops).

You know what else the film is? It's a feminist allegory, or maybe it's an anti-feminist allegory? It's hard to say. The film is very schizophrenic that way. Nevertheless, keen observers will notice that Nicolas Cage rarely interacts with men in this film. His co-workers are women, his psychiatrist is a woman, his girlfriend is a woman... his "imaginary" vampire lover is a woman.

I don't know why I put the word imaginary in quotes, as it's clear that Rachel (Jennifer Beals) only exists inside Peter Loew's head. I guess part of me kind of wishes she was real. I mean, who doesn't want a biracial woman, whose legs, don't forget, are never not sheathed in black stockings, to come over every once and awhile to suck blood from your neck? Actually, now that I think about it, maybe it's not such a good idea after all. No, not the biracial woman in black stockings part (I'm in favour of both), the blood sucking part. It sounds painful. Of course, maybe pain is your thing.
   

It wasn't always like this. There once was a time, believe it or not, when Peter Loew dated women who simply wanted to have no-nonsense sexual intercourse at the end of the day. And one of these women, Jackie (Kasi Lemmons), seems quite taken with Peter Loew. So much so, that she agrees to go home with him. Unfortunately, the sexual intercourse they engage in when they get there is anything but no-nonsense. And, no, I'm not referring to speed in which Jackie removes her black stockings, I'm talking about the bat that flew into Peter's apartment as they were getting it on. Yeah, a bat. Talk about nonsense.

While most people would lose their wood during an incident like this, Peter tells his shrink, Dr. Glaser (Elizabeth Ashley), that he was turned on by the bat confrontation. She tries to tell him that his erection was simply a hold over from being with Jackie (residual hardness, if you will), but Peter quickly points out that his aroused state was strictly bat-based. In other words, it was a brand-new boner.

Meanwhile, at work, Peter is having a different problem all-together. You see, there's this contract that he can't seem find. Not wanting to waste anymore time looking for it himself (he's got stocking clad vampires to shag), he assigns a woman named Alva (Maria Conchita Alonso) to look for it instead. I think most of you will agree that this subplot probably shouldn't take too long to resolve itself.

So, did you hear? A mid-level literary agent finds bats to be a turn on. Isn't that crazy? I mean, talk about your... Wait a minute. It would seem that Alva is having trouble finding the contract. That's odd. Did she check the right file? (I wasn't gonna say anything, but it could have been misfiled.) Misfiled? How does someone misfile something? What could easier, it's all alphabetical. You just put it in the right file... according to alphabetical order. You know, A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, L, M, N, O, Q, R, S, T, U, V, W, X, Y, Z! Huh? That's all you have to do! I wanted to watch a movie about female vampires in black stockings, not one about misfiling.

To take his mind off the whole filing fiasco, Peter heads down to a nearby bar to unwind. There he meets Rachel, a sexy vampire. Of course, he doesn't know she's a vampire. But he gets a clue that she might be when she bites him on the neck during clothed coitus. The cool thing about Rachel, besides being a vampire, is that she never takes her stockings off. Her stockings, by the way, are like her heart, black as the night sky.

Now, granted, Jackie always wears stockings, too. But she takes hers off occasionally *gasp!* and she isn't a vampire... so, Peter literally ditches her. At an art gallery, no less. He tries to make it up to her, but the lure of a woman who never takes off her stockings is too much for Peter to ignore.

While Nicolas Cage, the cockroach scene, and the glut of black stockings have always gotten the bulk of the attention over the years, I think New York City is the real star of the show. Director Robert Bierman (a Brit) manages to make the city seem more alive than usual. Yeah, I realize that it being 1987-88 (the height of the city's power of as a cultural mecca - The Tunnel is featured in this movie, yo) has a lot to do with it. But I have to say, Vampire's Kiss is definitely up there with movies that make me love New York City.

On a sort of related note, I used to despise the modern, Bloomberg/Giuliani/Fallon corporate cesspool version of New York City (I blame  shows like, Girls, Friends and Sex and the City), but Broad City has softened my contempt for the place somewhat, the "St. Marks" episode in particular.

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.

Valley Girl (Martha Coolidge, 1983)

There are two distinct chapters in my life: The period of time before Valley Girl (a.k.a. Valley Girl - Das Mädchen und der heiße Typ), an appalling netherworld where magenta is nonexistent and everything for as far as the eye can see is covered in a suffocating layer of beige, and the one that existed after Valley Girl, a gleaming, effervescent place in which your average leg warmer isn't just a wooly thing that covers your legs, but a full-bodied cornucopia of bold colours and unique possibilities teeming with nuance and guile; a place where idiosyncratic social groups can commingle with one another to eat complicated sushi without fearing an unexpected kick to the crotch. Now, I don't think I have to tell you which realm I prefer living in, but just in case... Seriously though, I can't believe there was an actually increment of time where Martha Coolidge's seemingly accidental ode to passion and nothingness was not a part of my stunning existence. It baffles me to think that I once lived without knowing about the power of Randy and Julie's love for one another. A love that crosses so many boundaries, that it boggles the mind. I mean, he's a new wave punk from Hollywood and she's new wave preppy from the Valley. I'm no expert on L.A. geography, or alternative subcultures during the early 1980s, but that's got to be one of the most unorthodox pairings in the history of heterosexual dating.

Confounding shapely linguists and unhinged anthropologists since its righteous inception, Valley Girl represents a time and a place in the annals of human history that will never be duplicated. Which is why I treat each screening of the film as a sacred ritual. Sure, the clothes I wear as I watch the film may be the gothiest of jet blacks. But believe you me, and that creepy naked guy inhaling his own genitalia in the corner, my clothing is extremely pastel on the inside.

Ironically, it's colours and clothing that get the characters into so much trouble in this film. You see, when Randy and Julie first lay eyes on one another, they're at the beach and stripped of their tribal uniforms. However, when they meet again at a totally rad Val party, they're sheathed in their respective colours: Hers are light-coloured (lot's of whites, pinks, and soothing blues), while his are industrial (lot's of red and black, or, in much simpler terms, a Mussolini Headkick album cover come to life).

Anyway, this party scene is the nitty-gritty of Valley Girl, as we spend a good chunk of time there. In fact, every nugget of plot is launched at this swanky shindig: Fred's relationship with Stacey, the mother-daughter competition over a guy named Skip, Tommy's manipulation of Loryn, and, of course, Randy and Julie's first up close flirtation.

The way Randy and Fred standout at this Val party, and the way Julie and Stacey standout when the two aforementioned guys take them to a club in Hollywood, is the film's most compelling aspect. In that, everyone can relate to being dragged somewhere and end up feeling like an alien.

This so-called cultural exchange feels natural because the talents of Nicolas Cage and Deborah Foreman as the film's signature couple. I found their looks of longing and desire to be genuine and the heat they generate during their stare downs to "Eyes of a Stranger" by The Payolas and "A Million Miles Away" by The Plimsouls is stuff of teen movie legend.

The switch over sequence, however, is sent into stratosphere in terms of honest-to-goodness whimsicality thanks to the brilliant acting of Heidi Holicker and Cameron Dye as Fred and Stacey. Heidi in particular, whose constant whining is expertly realized through a series of sincere complainants (the music was a tad on the loud side) mixed with obnoxious bellyaching (let Fred grope you, you prude).

On an aesthetic level, I loved Miss Holicker's thighs. They're prominently on display during the infamous sleepover sequence, and, to be perfectly honest, I wanted to Holicker them like you wouldn't believe.

The extended dating montage set to "I Melt With You" by Modern English is the pinnacle of extended dating montages. It's true, the song has lost some of its lustre over the years (it's been used to sell everything from cheeseburgers to low cost fallout shelters), but the moment the songs blasts on soundtrack never seems to fail in jazzing me for some forbidden romance Summing up the awe-inspiring splendour that is Valley Girl in just over three minutes, this montage pretty much shows the blossoming of Randy and Julie's love for one another in a tight little package.

Speaking of tight little packages, never has anyone looked cuter than Elizabeth Daily does when we see her dancing in nothing but pigtails and zebra print underwear.

The soundtrack is one of the greatest ever devised by humankind. The Flirts, Psychedelic Furs, The Plimsouls (the girl with the extra long bangs who is seen excessively dancing to them at the Hollywood club looks exactly like my most prominent high school crush), Felony, and Sparks, (the mother-daughter subplot involving the gorgeous Lee Purcell and Canadian cutie Michelle Meyrink features the most excellent "Eaten By the Monster of Love"), and Josie Cotton and her 1950s accented pop.

In closing, to say that life has been different since Valley Girl would definitely be an understatement. A rewarding cinematic experience like no other, the film changed the way I appreciate things. In other words, it has taught me how to love, like, totally. Ugh.

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