Hudson Hawk (Michael Lehmann, 1991)

While it's not quite Heathers 2, Hudson Hawk is, by far, the only film that I've come across that comes anywhere close to doing a half decent job of capturing Sandra Bernhard's face-melting beauty in a manner I would deem satisfactory. What's that? Why did I compare this action-adventure film to the non-existent sequel to Heathers? Oh, because it's directed by Michael Lehmann and co-written by Daniel Waters. Now, it's easy to dismiss the film's Michael Lehmann did after Heathers (40 Days and 40 Nights... ugh). But the fact that Daniel Waters (Happy Campers), the reason Heathers is remembered so fondly to this day, is involved caused me to think that their follow up might be just as magical. (You are aware that the film stars Bruce Willis and Andie MacDowell, right?) Yeah, I'm aware. However, the prospect of watching Sandra Bernhard and Richard E. Grant spew campy/mildly glib dialogue that was written by Daniel Waters piqued my interest. Sure, it took me over twenty years for my interest to get so piqued that I actually sat down and watched it from start to finish. But still, better late than never. (Are you sure it isn't "peaked"?)  Nah, I think it's "piqued." Anyway, on top of boasting Sandra Bernhard at the height of her sexiness (she lounges in a leggy manner at one point while listening to "The Power" by Snap! on a Walkman - I know, 'nuff said), the film features David Caruso in Andie MacDowell drag and...

(Stop right there. You need to back the fuck up. Did you say, David Caruso in Andie MacDowell drag?) Yep. (Call me a sexually confused armadillo, but my genitals just exploded.) Is that a good thing? (Oh, you better believe it's a good thing.) Okay. But I should warn you, David Caruso is only in Andie MacDowell drag for about ten seconds.

Personally, I would have cast David Caruso as Anna Baragli, a nun who works undercover for The Vatican, and would have cast Andie MacDowell as... well, I wouldn't have cast her in the first place... you know, because she sucks. But that's neither here nor there. I think most people will agree that David Caruso would have been amazing as this film's Andie MacDowell-esque romantic lead.

As I was saying.... On top of Sandra Bernhard at the height of sexiness and David Caruso in Andie MacDowell drag, what else does this film got going for it? Damn, that's a good question. Maybe I should have thought this through.

Oh, if you mention a song to Bruce Willis' titular character, he'll tell you its exact running time. (Huh?) Let's say someone blurts out the title of a song, like, oh, I don't know, "Rhythm Is a Dancer" by Snap!, he would say, without much hesitation, five minutes, thirty-two seconds. It's a cute character trait. And it kept things interesting while we waited for Sandra Bernhard to show up.

The same can be said for Bruce Willis' obsession with cappuccino, his beverage of choice. Which he can never seem to enjoy in peace (circumstances beyond his control always seem to interfere just as he's about to take his first sip).

What else? Um. You know what? Until I come up with some other things I liked about this film, here's a brief-ish recap of the film's plot.

All set on becoming a spatula salesmen upon being released from prison, cat burglar extraordinaire Hudson Hawk (Bruce Willis) is immediately harassed by mobsters and other underworld types who want to exploit his unique talents for they're own personal gain. Teaming up with his partner in crime, Tommy Five-Tone (Danny Aiello), Hudson's first job involves stealing Da Vinci's Sforza, a horse statue.

Oh, and instead of showing Hudson and Tommy simply steal a statue, they have them do so while singing "Swinging on a Star." Which, I'll admit, was somewhat entertaining. It definitely put a new twist on the cliched movie heist sequence.

For reasons that escape me at the moment, the action quickly moves to Rome, where Hudson Hawk is embroiled in a conspiracy to steal even more Da Vinci artifacts. Working simultaneously for the C.I.A. (lead by James Coburn) and two self-described super-villains named Darwin (Richard E. Grant) and Minerva Maryflower (Sandra Bernhard), Hudson Hawk constantly struggles to keep the two groups off his back as he tries to woo Andie MacDowell, a Vatican spy masquerading as a tour guide.

If he can't woo Andie MacDowell, he can always settle for David Caruso in Andie MacDowell drag. Playing a C.I.A. agent called "Kit Kat" (his fellow agents are all named after candy bars), David Caruso's character is a master of disguise and can be seen in multiple disguises throughout the film. My favourite, of course, being his Andie MacDowell costume.

Speaking of costumes, legendary 1980s costume designer Marilyn Vance (Some Kind of Wonderful, Streets of Fire, Fast Times, etc.) has a field day sheathing Sandra Bernhard's lithe frame in a series of killer frocks.

Wearing a total of five outfits (six, if you include the bondage get-up she can be seen wearing in a slideshow), Sandra Bernhard wears wide brimmed hats, turbans, and funky earrings. And dresses that expose her collarbone and rib cage.

(What about her legs?) Relax, I'm getting to those.

Never not the focal point of the five scenes she's in, director Michael Lehmann does an admirable job of making sure Sandra Bernhard's yummy stems are always on display. Which, according to my logic, is reason enough to recommend Hudson Hawk.

Now, I know this film was ravaged by critics and a box office flop when it hit theatres in 1991. But I can't help the masses of the early 1990s had no clue how to properly appreciate the off-kilter splendour that is Sandra Bernhard. Seriously, though, her character's sort of heterosexual relationship with Richard E. Grant is a wonder to behold. In fact, if I was a studio exec, I would have said, fuck the box office, we're green-lighting a spin-off about the wacky adventures of Darwin and Minerva Mayflower and Bunny, their ball-obsessed dog. In conclusion... (Thank God.) the movie isn't as terrible as I thought it would be. Which, I guess, is a good thing.

Track 29 (Nicolas Roeg, 1988)

Let's say you're in the middle of giving a rousing speech at a convention that celebrates model trains, you have the crowd eating out of your hand, and your leggy mistress is in the front row beaming with a sense of misguided pride. But what's that? A deranged Englishmen, one conjured by your non-model train enthusiast wife, is currently smashing your expansive, state of the art model train set-up like he were a floppy-haired limey version of Godzilla. I don't know 'bout you, but I think it's safe to say that Track 29 represents every white American male's nightmare. I know, you're thinking, not all white American males like model trains. That's the thing, model trains are just a metaphor. Whether it be distractions like American football or Star Wars, white American males have forgotten what's important in life. Do I have to spell it out for you? Look at Theresa Russell's organic structure. You see it? All right, what's missing? That's right, her husband's penis. Since her husband's too busy playing with his trains, Theresa... or, I should say, Linda Henry, is forced to imagine herself hanging out with her fully grown son, who, of course, is played by Gary Oldman. Not that I approve of his actions, but her husband's mistress is played by Sandra Bernhard, who, as we all know, is not only leggy as all get out, but foxy beyond belief. On top of that, Sandra B. gives Christopher Lloyd's model train enthusiast exactly what he wants. And that is, a good spanking every now and then.

(Wait a second, you mean to tell me that Track 29 features Christopher Lloyd as a doctor/model train enthusiast who likes to get spanked, Sandra Bernhard as a nurse who likes to spank model train enthusiasts who practice geriatric medicine, a floppy-haired Gary Oldman as the adult son of an American woman, and Theresa Russell plays a curvaceous woman with a huge doll collection?) That's exactly what I'm telling you.

How was this movie allowed to be made? I mean, don't they have laws in place that prevent these kind of cinematic anomalies from occurring? To answer my own question, I have no idea.

In the meantime, I have to congratulate myself for going this long without saying it, but I can't hold out much longer. And that is: What the fuck? It had to be said at least once. I try to use the expression, "what the fuck," sparingly, because if you use it too much, it lessons the thing you think is worthy of your fuck-based disbelief and/or confusion. But after giving it much thought, I can safely declare that Track 29 is definitely worthy of a what the fuck.

In truth, I knew I was going to type words about Track 29 the moment I saw Theresa Russell bouncing around in purple exercise clothes. (Hold up, you mean to tell me you don't write movie reviews based on a film's ability to tell a compelling story or on a the quality of the direction?) Uh, no, I write them based on whether or not Theresa Russell appears onscreen within the first five minutes wearing purple exercise clothes, haven't you been paying attention?

In my defense–not that I need to defend myself–I was on the cusp of making a pretty profound point about how this film is in fact a scathing rebuke of the infantilization of the American male. (Where?) In the opening paragraph of this here movie review, that's where.

You can tell right off the bat that this film, produced by George Harrison's HandMade Films, is not going to sport a conventional trajectory the moment we see Gary Oldman standing by a rural bridge with his thumb out. Wearing one of them Peruvian hats underneath a cowboy hat, Gary screams, "Mommy!" at the top of his lungs.

As Gary waits for someone to give him a ride, Linda Henry (Theresa Russell) is at home exercising in purple sweats (dig the matching headband, girlfriend). Drinking vodka-spiked orange juice and watching a science fiction movie on television (she can multitask like nobody's business), Linda (who is also rocking a fierce ponytail), calls her husband Henry Henry (Christopher Lloyd), who is upstairs playing with his model trains. Now, Henry Henry would probably bristle if he heard me call what he's doing "playing." But you know what? I don't care. If you can think of a better way to describe what you're doing up there, please, let me know. Until then, you're a middle-aged man who plays with toy trains.

Nonetheless, you don't have to be a marriage counselor to figure out that Linda isn't happy with her husband's obsession with model trains; if you call them "toys" you'll be on the receiving end of one of Christopher Lloyd's trademark exasperated looks.

You'll notice that a water tower looms large over Henry and Linda's home. This reminded me of this guy I knew as a teenager who lived in a house that had a large water tower practically right next to it. One day I asked him: Aren't you afraid the tower will one day come crashing down on your house, killing you and your entire family? Surprisingly, he said no. Yet, despite his reply, the thought that the water tower might come crashing down on us was never far from the back of my mind every time I was over there. (What's this got to do with Track 29?) Nothing, really, I just... (Nothing, eh? Then get to writing about Theresa Russell's knees. No one cares about your irrational fear of water towers.) It's not that I'm afraid of water towers, per se. I just get nervous whenever I find myself in the vicinity of large metal objects that could possibly fall on me.

Am I crazy or is Nicolas Roeg have a thing for Theresa Russell's knees? (Since I've seen Track 29 as well, I can say, without hesitation, that you are in fact not crazy.) Whew, that's a relief. I mean, for a second there I thought you were going tell me I was crazy. (No, there's definitely something going on with her knees.) In case anyone doesn't know what we're talking about, Theresa Russell's knees are the focal point of almost every scene in this film. In fact, there are a couple of instances where her knees are the only things onscreen.

My favourite instance of this type is when Linda's friend, Arlanda, played by the always delightful Colleen Camp, listens to her tell a strange anecdote, and the only thing onscreen are Theresa's knees. It was almost as if Theresa's knees were telling Colleen the anecdote.

As the film went on, and with no let up in the knee sightings in sight, I began to think: Oh, great, the crux of my review is going to be knee-based. (You make that sound like it's a bad thing?) Well, as most people know, I'm somewhat shy when it comes to waxing semi-poetically about certain female body parts. However, this film has given me very little choice in the matter, as it repeatedly shoved Theresa's delicious knees in my face. Oh, and how do I know they're delicious? Trust me, they're delicious.

Actually, forget about her nice knees, everything about Theresa Russell in this movie is delicious. (Aww, that's so sweet... in a mildly creepy sort of way.) The way Nicolas Roeg films Theresa Russell in this movie reminded me of the way Jess Franco films Soledad Miranda or Lina Romay. In that, it's obvious that he's enamoured of her. And who can blame him? She's got a pleasing shape.

If you're wondering how Gary Oldman fits into this story, it's not that simple. From what I gathered, Linda had a baby when she was a teenager. And that baby, if the contents of the flashback are correct, was taken away from Linda upon its delivery. Well, after Martin, the name of Gary Oldman's character, meets Linda at a local diner, the garrulous Englishman drops by her house as she's taking a dip in her pool. Holy crap! Would you look at Theresa Russell in that bathing suit! (Stay focused.) Sorry, um, yeah, Martin is definitely real when we see him in the diner, as the waiter and Arlanda both interact with him. However, I think Martin is a figment of Linda's imagination from this point on.

Giving her some convoluted story about how he's the long lost baby that she had when she was a teenager, Linda seems convinced that Martin is her son. And so begins one of the oddest mother-son relationships in film history.

Now, I've seen my fair share of kooky Gary Oldman performances over the years (his turn in Tiptoes immediately springs to mind), but his work here is beyond kooky. In fact, it's so kooky, I felt a profound sense of unease every time he and his floppy head of hair would appear onscreen. It gets to the point where Gary says, "I'm entitled to an American childhood" (in a mock child's voice) and uses Theresa's diaphragm as fake lips to mouth even more inappropriate gobbly-goop.

She's only in three maybe four scenes, but Sandra Berhard (the real reason I watched this movie in the first place) managed, nevertheless, to impress this viewer. How, you ask? It's simple, really. She's Sandra Bernhard. Seriously, she spanks Christopher Lloyd in one scene and sits cross-legged at a model train convention (Trainorama). I know 'nuff said.

The real reason to see this movie is to witness the stunning performance given by Theresa Russell. Yes, she's sexy, gorgeous, leggy, and all that. But she's also fearless. Reminding me of Kathleen Turner in Crimes of Passion and Cathy Moriarty in White of the Eye, Theresa–in the grand tradition of British directors working in America who bring out the best in blonde actresses born in the U.S.A.–isn't afraid to appear foolish or daft. And because this, the quality of the film inevitably go through the roof. If you're a fan, like I am, of American movies directed by British directors that feature a lead performance by an American actress playing an insane person, than I highly recommend that you seek out this motion picture.

The King of Comedy (Martin Scorsese, 1982)

As stand-up comedian Rupert Pupkin began to do his much ballyhooed act in front of a live audience for the very first time, I started to experience a whirlwind of emotions. First of all, I was constantly praising the movie–which is directed, of course, by Martin Scorsese–in my head for not letting us hear Rupert Pupkin's act up until the end. Oh, sure, there are plenty of allusions made to said act over the course of the film, but we don't get a real sense of what it actually entails. It's true, Shelley Hack thought it could use some work after hearing a tape Rupert Pupkin made for her to listen to. But then again, what does Shelley Hack know about comedy. I mean, her name is "Hack" for cryin' out loud. (Um, I think you're mistaken. Shelley Hack is the name of the actress, her character's name is Cathy Long, and she's a big shot television producer.) Don't bore me with facts, I'm on a role. When I realized that we were going to see Rupert Pupkin's act in its entirety, I began to get anxious. I'm not only deathly afraid of public speaking, I get physically ill whenever I watch others do it; mind you, I don't puke my guts outs out or anything like that, I just feel sick. I'll make exceptions for people like, say, George Carlin, Bill Hicks and Richard Pryor. But only because they're seasoned professionals who are no longer with us. No, for the most part, I tend to avoid situations where people speak on stage.

The other reason I felt uneasy when the untested Rupert Pupkin (Robert De Niro) hit the stage of The Jerry Langford Show was because Sandra Bernhard, who plays Masha, the biggest Jerry Langford fan on the planet, was chasing Jerry Lewis (who plays Jerry Langford) down the street in nothing but her bra and panties. (Hold on, say that again.) Bra and panties. (Now say it in conjunction with Sandra Bernhard's name.) Huh? (In conjunction! Say them in conjunction!) Get out of my head, I'm trying to make a point here. God, this a Martin Scorsese film I'm writing about. In other words, try to behave with a modicum of dignity.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, you try to concentrate on Rupert Pupkin's stand-up debut when the thought of a deranged Sandra Bernhard running down the street late at night in nothing but her bra and panties is bouncing around inside your head. (What colour were her bra and panties?) I'll get to that in a minute. (Why do I have to wait a minute?) Could you just be patient, I said I'll get to that. (Why can't you just tell me?) Because I'm trying to give the fine folks out there an idea of where my head was at as I watched this darkly humourous satire about celebrity and fame. (How's about giving us a hint? Forget that, let me guess, were her bra and panties black? And were her panties pressing tightly against her pussy? I bet they were.)

Oh. My. God. Sandra Bernhard's bra and panties were white. Are you happy now? (You didn't say if her panties were tight or not.) Can you believe this guy? Yes, they were tight. In fact, her panties were so tight, they caused her pussy to pulsate at an alarming rate. (Pulsate sounds so antiseptic, could you use a different word to describe Sandra's pussy as it pressed tightly against her white panties?) How 'bout "throb"? (Yeah, throb. I like that. I can just picture her juicy maw throbbing in and out like a pink wad of glistening chewing gum.)

What's Martin Scorsese going to think when he reads this? (You think Martin Scorsese is going to read this? Ha! Ha! Ha!) He might. (Are you high? He's got better things to do than read about some perverts obsession with Sandra Bernhard's panties.) Oh, really? If that's the case, then I don't want him to read it. Those who can't appreciate a good-natured back and forth of a schizophrenic nature regarding Sandra Bernhard's panties in The King of Comedy are the kind of people I try to avoid in my every day life.

Which reminds me, what kind of jackass runs away from a scantily clad Sandra Bernhard? Maybe I ain't hooked up right, but shouldn't you running towards her, not away from her? (What are you babbling about?) At one point in the movie, Jerry Lewis can clearly be seen running in the opposite direction of a half-naked Sandra Bernhard. This baffled me beyond belief. Though, if you take in account what occurred during the previous scene, it might make sense. But you know what? It actually doesn't. As Sandra Bernhard wears a slinky black dress with a massive slit in the so-called "previous scene." (Massive slit, eh?) Massive!

In fact, you could see the entire length of one of her legs in that slinky black dress. (You sound like a bit of an expert when it comes to Sandra Bernhard's legs.) It's funny you should mention that, as back in the 1980s I used to consider myself the world's preeminent Sandra Bernhard leg aficionado. (Watching her many leggy appearances on Late Night with David Letterman doesn't make you an aficionado.) Doesn't it? Oh, wait, you're right, it doesn't. Either way, watching Sandra on Letterman is what I did during the 1980s. Yep, while most people were doing cocaine and not finding a cure for AIDS, I watched Sandra Bernhard not take any of David Letterman's shit.

If that sounds sad and pathetic, it's nothing compared to Robert De Niro's Rupert Pupkin. (Hey, man, that was like a professional segue.) Thanks. While walking down Bloor St. a couple of years ago, I recall passing Janeane Garofalo near Spadina. I didn't realize it was her until the last minute, so nothing really happened. And I remember thinking to myself: If only I had noticed her sooner. Now, most people in my situation would be thinking about what they're going to say to her. I, on the other hand, wished I had noticed her sooner in order that I could cross to the other side of street. (Huh?) I don't want to meet celebrities, they make me uncomfortable. This also applies to the people who want to meet celebrities. And when we meet Rupert Pupkin, he's engaging in the kind of behaviour that makes me cringe.

Hounding talk show host Jerry Langford (Jerry Lewis), along with countless others outside the studio where they tape his show, Rupert Pupkin manages to get inside his limo. Showing him the cut he received on his hand keeping the [other] crazies at bay, Rupert convinces Jerry to not throw him out and goes into a sales pitch that promotes, who else, Rupert Pupkin. Listening to his spiel, Jerry tells Rupert, an aspiring stand-up comic, that he needs to start at the bottom.

While most of us can clearly see that Jerry is trying to get rid of him, Rupert seems blind to all of this. Telling him, as he enters his building, to "call his office," Jerry doesn't realize it yet, but by saying that, he just gave hope to a delusional man who will stop at nothing to become famous.

Nowadays, you upload a video, and, boom, six days later, you're famous. But back in the old days, you had to get past a complicated maze of gatekeepers if you wanted to attain fame and fortune. And one of these gatekeepers is played by Shelley Hack. Oh, sure, these people still exist, but their power isn't as great as it once was. Anyway, she might not look it, but Shelley Hack is not an easy gatekeeper to bypass.

(I don't know, Rupert Pupkin seems to doing all right. I mean, look, he's having lunch with Jerry Langford at a fancy eatery in the very next scene.) Ah, it looks like you just discovered this film's clever habit of melding reality with fantasy. Sprinkled liberally throughout the movie are these fantasy sequences that show what's going on inside Rupert's head. Now, when you think, "fantasy sequence," an off-kilter universe that seems to exist on a different plane all-together is the first thing that usually comes to mind. However, the great thing about the fantasy sequences in The King of Comedy is that you're never quite sure if they're really happening or a product of Rupert Pupkin's imagination.

Take, for example, the scene Rupert Pupkin and Rita (Diahnne Abbott), the attractive bartender who Rupert is infatuated with (the feeling isn't mutual), show up uninvited at Jerry's home in The Hamptons. I thought for sure this was yet another fantasy sequence. But as the scene got gradually more awkward (all you have to do is look at Jerry's body language to come to the conclusion that he does not want them there), I started to realize that this is really happening.

If showing up at Jerry's house was an act desperation (all his many attempts to meet with Jerry at his office ended in failure - thanks to Shelley Hack), Rupert's plan to kidnap him, with the help of the deranged Masha (Sandra Bernhard), a fellow Jerry Langford devotee, is the act of someone who has gone completely over the edge. Though, calling Rupert Pupkin a "devotee" of Jerry Langford's is a bit of a misnomer. Sure, he admires him, but he really wants to destroy him. Or, in less harsh terms, he wants to be him. Leaving Jerry in the care of Masha, Rupert sets in motion a series of events that will hopefully lead to him becoming the next... king of comedy. Damn, now that was a good movie.

(What about Sandra Bernhard?) I'm sorry, I got a little carried away there, didn't I? Yes, Sandra Bernhard. Where to begin? Well, the scene where her character's alone with Jerry Langford in her townhouse was definitely sexy (like I said earlier, she appears in a slinky black dress with a massive slit in the front).  However, the part where Masha confronts Rupert on the street (near or in Times Square) is actually my favourite. The way Sandra and Robert De Niro played off each other was exhilarating (the topic of their argument being, of course, Jerry Langford). It also helped that the scene was shot on the street with authentic-looking New Yorkers (the manner in which they gawked at the two bickering nut-jobs added so much to the scene) and for some strange reason, The Clash.

The other stand out scene is the one where Sandra's Masha gets in a heated debate with Rupert over who's been talking too much during their kidnapping of Jerry Langford. The forceful way in which Sandra Bernhard expresses herself might intimidate most people, but I've always found it to be quite alluring. And she's never been more alluring than she is here.