Bad Influence (Curtis Hanson, 1990)

Let's say you're a yuppie who has it all. It's 1990, you got a sweet apartment (one that is filled with the kind of stuff yuppies like), you live in a nice neighbourhood, you're engaged to be married to Marcia Cross, your job, while tedious, pays well, and... Wait. Did I mention it's 1990? Or, more importantly, did I mention that you look like James Spader? I know, talk about having it all. Or does he? Have it all, that is. I don't think he does. Let's see. He doesn't really like Marica Cross, he doesn't need half the junk in his apartment, his slacker brother is always asking to borrow money and he hates his job. Sure, he still looks like James Spader, the sexiest man alive as far as I'm concerned. But even that doesn't seem to get him anywhere in Bad Influence, the film that begs the question: If James Spader approached Lisa Zane in a bar, would she really reject him? We'll get to that in a minute. Looking like James Spader can apparently only get you so far in Los Angeles circa 1990. But what if James Spader had a douchebag coach? What I mean is, what if James Spader had a sort of tutor that taught him how to be an asshole. I know, you're thinking to yourself: Isn't being an asshole a bad thing? Not in the world depicted in this film. In fact, the film should really be called "Good Influence." However, since Hollywood doesn't want it to get out that being a total dick/colossal hosebeast is the best thing a person can do for themselves in terms of self-improvement (everyone in Hollywood is either a total dick or a colossal hosebeast), the film turns into a cautionary tale about the dangers of ambition at around the midway point.

Enabling him to ditch his bland blouse-wearing fiancée is just one of the things James Spader's asshole tutor manages to swing for him. He also helps him turn things around at work, and finds a use for some of the stuff in his apartment. For example, the video camera (a purchase his stoner brother dismisses as wasteful) comes in handy in the dumping of his fiancée.

In case you haven't figured it out yet, James Spader's asshole tutor is played by Rob Lowe. Was there any doubt? I don't think so. With the stench of his sex tape scandal still lingering in the air, it made sense to exploit Rob Lowe's newfound bad boy status by casting him as an immoral con man/yuppie whisperer.

While any old con man can fleece a bunch of Hollywood phonies, it takes real skill to rehabilitate an under-performing yuppie. That being said, most of us will continue to ask the question: Does James Spader really need to be rehabilitated? Or, I should say, does Michael Boll (the name of Spader's character) really need rehabilitating? Of course, to most normal people, he's doing just fine. But to those living inside the L.A. douchebag bubble, he's floundering pretty badly. I mean, for one thing, this Paterson guy (Tony Maggio) at work is repeatedly making Michael look like a massive tool.

If Rob Lowe's "Alex," isn't fleecing Michael, why is he helping him? What I mean is, if it's not about the money (which Alex could have stolen from him without much effort), what does he want? Who knows? Seriously, though, I have no idea. Not much about Alex's background is revealed. It's true, the air of mystery that surrounds Rob Lowe's character gave him an almost supernatural quality (his apparent ability to disappear at will also added to this quality), but part of me would have liked to have known what his deal was.

The opening scene, which shows Alex leaving a woman's apartment in the early morning hours under suspicious circumstances, implies that he spends his days drifting from one con to another. But what is it about James Spader that makes him invest so much energy trying to improve his place the L.A. yuppie-verse of 1990?

At the end of the day it doesn't matter why he's helping him, all that matters is that Alex, despite his unorthodox methods, gets results.

And when I say "results," I'm talking about Lisa Zane's dynamic dick-pocket pounding the living fuckitude out of Michael's wayward cock.

As I just said, the film opens with Alex removing himself from the life of some woman in the early morning hours (he painstakingly gets rid of any photo that he's in and trashes all his personal-effects). Meanwhile, Michael is having a bad day at work. Not only does that aforementioned Paterson guy misplace "schedule 47," an important computer file of his, Marcia Cross, his fiancée, has decided to pop-in to tell him that she wants to postpone the wedding to November. You would think things couldn't get worse, but they do. The boyfriend of some chick at a nearby bar picks a fight with him and his brother, Pismo (Christian Clemenson), is asking for money again.

On the positive side, Rob Lowe's Alex steps in to help Michael with the whole bar fight situation. But unfortunately, Alex disappears before Michael can thank him. Oh, wait. There he is. While out jogging in black athletic clothes at night (fuck yeah), Michael spots Alex standing on a pier. After thanking him for saving his ass earlier in the day, Michael begins to wander away... when all of a sudden, Alex takes an interest in Michael's yuppie troubles.

Using the first of many nightclub passwords ("Dominate Athletic Woman"), Alex takes Michael to a club to see The Nymphs (an L.A. rock band fronted by Inger Lorre) and hit on Lisa Zane's Claire, the coolest woman... I want to say "the coolest woman on the planet," but let's not get carried away. Let's just say, she's the coolest woman currently in this club. Which is nothing to sneeze at, as the club scenes in this movie are chock-full of cool ass people.

Initially rebuffed by Claire, Michael... I don't know, man. Even though they have tried to make James Spader seem kind of dorky, he's still James Spader. Meaning, Claire should be wetter than an otter's taint. (An otter's taint?!?) What? They're pretty freaking wet. Anyway, after the Claire debacle, things begin to turn around for Michael when he out maneuvers, using advice he got from Alex, that Paterson guy at work the very next day.

Bumping into Alex later that evening, Michael is taken to an art gallery, where Alex introduces Michael to Claire. But instead of introducing him as Michael, he calls him "Dominique." It would seem that Alex (who now speaks with a French accent) has created a whole new persona for Michael. At first I thought, this seems unnecessarily convoluted. But then again, it gets results. And when I say, "results." I'm talking about Michael taking Claire back to his apartment to fuck her brains out.

Did I mention that Claire never leaves the house without a black backless dress and black stockings attached to her legs? I haven't? Well that's weird. The dress Claire wears during the art gallery/apartment scene is my favourite Claire outfit, as it boasts a healthy slit and had these oddly-shaped patterns around the neckline.

Asking what Michael fears and wants most in the world, Alex decides to speed things up, and takes his mentor-ship of Michael to the next level. Sabotaging his relationship with Marcia Cross and "neutralizing" his rival at work, Alex has done more for Michael in the past few days than anyone has in his entire life. However, and this is where things get complicated. You see, Michael has scruples, while Alex clearly does not. These differences in their characters end up clashing with one another and cause their almost brotherly bond to sour some bit.

While it was sad to see their relationship flounder the way it ultimately does, they at least got to attend what I consider to be one of the most awesome L.A. parties ever. Now, granted, the party isn't the wildest, nor does it feature music that I was particularly found of, but the atmosphere is too die for. A sort of late night goth garden party, the party (password: "Gay White Male") is teeming with black-clad denizens of the night. Call me crazy, but I could have sworn I saw Rozz Williams of Christian Death/Shadow Project fame hanging out on the stairs.

If you thought that party was awesome, wait until you get a load of the one where Pismo spies on Alex. First off, the club (password: "Fun Loving Couple Seeks...") is blasting "Who's Laughing Now?" by Skinny Puppy as lingerie-clad performance artists swing fluorescent lights with a reckless brand of abandon. And secondly... Actually, there is no "secondly." What else could you want? I mean, Skinny Puppy and lingerie. As far as I'm concerned, nothing else matters in this world.

It's too bad Michael and Alex couldn't have worked out their myriad issues in a less over the top (i.e. less violent) fashion, as I would have loved to have seen them (with Claire, of course) at this club together. Oh, well.

As with most thrillers of this type, the film gets super-ridiculous during its final third. That being said, the film is aesthetically superior to most of the junk I see on a regular basis. Let me break it down for you: James Spader, Rob Lowe, Skinny Puppy, black clothing, lingerie, slits, club scenes, Rozz Williams(?), and yeah. Wait, I almost forgot, Lisa Zane! I love her look. And, actually, you can thank her for making me aware of this movie. Oh, sure, I had heard of it. But after seeing her in the atrocious Freddy's Dead: The Final Nightmare, I thought to myself: I need more Lisa Zane in my life. So, I looked at her filmography, and the title "Bad Influence" jumped out at me. Thanks, Lisa and Freddy.

The Doom Generation (Gregg Araki, 1995)

For once I'd like to see a Skinny Puppy reference that is actually pertinent to the film being "discussed" on this site. Oh, really? And another thing, I'm getting tired of this, "Oooh, I liked Skinny Puppy in the '80s, I'm so cool," schtick of yours. All we want from you is for you to describe, in intricate detail, of course, the delicate smoothness of Soledad Miranda's thighs and that's pretty much it. We don't want to hear about how the killer in some bargain basement slasher flick reminded you of a super-obscure Skinny Puppy side project that you and maybe five other dweebs know about. Okay, you make some salient points. But what if I told you that the film I just watched features a cameo by the members of the actual group? Get out of here. No, it's true. They were in it. Well then, I guess you have no choice but to mention them. That's all I needed to hear. To the surprise of virtually no-one, Skinny Puppy make their acting debut, credited as "Skinny Puppy," in Gregg Araki's The Doom Generation, the rectal-obsessed road movie that defined a decade. Wait a second, I don't think this film necessarily defined any decade. If anything, it's anti-grunge, pro-Cocteau Twins stance was the complete opposite of what the decade in question eventually stood for. Yeah, I know. It's just that I've always wanted to attach that almost alliterative tag to something, and why not gently lick its festering bottom and stick it to this flick. Just in case you don't know what decade I'm referring to, I'm talking about the 1990s, the caustic puke stain of numerically labeled chunks of time. Oh, please. You loved the '90s. Whatever. Eat my fuck.
 

 

Oops! It looks like I let the "eat my fuck" out of the bag earlier than I originally intended. Well, since it's already running around inside your brain like a verbal typhoon, I might as well mention that, "eat my fuck," the infamous line uttered by Rose McGowan during the film's first, of many, convenience store scenes is probably one of my favourite expressions ever. While people were trying to figuring out how Donnie Darko would go about "sucking a fuck," Rose McGowan was telling folks to eat her fuck five years before any fucks would be sucked by anyone who was a real fuck-ass.
 

 

"Eat my fuck." It has a certain disorienting dignity about it. I can only imagine what a kind of damage a phrase like that might do to the psyche of the person unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of such a perplexing remark. And make no mistake, it will flummox, hell, it may even discombobulate, those who hear it, especially those who haven't heard it before.
 

 

Nowadays, people use fuck in all sorts of different and creative ways. Why, just the other day while riding the subway, I heard a little girl call her mommy a "fucking fuckface fucker." Which she probably got from Brittany Murphy in Spun. But where did Spun get the courage to mix it up fuck-wise? You guessed it, they got it from Gregg Araki, a man who sees crass insults not as flavourless mush to be spread on the whitest bread sixty-six cents can buy, but as an opportunity to stretch his linguistic muscles.
 

 

Most writers view vulgarity through a narrow prism, Gregg Araki on the other hand approaches language with a playful zeal. Sure, it can come across as pompous at times, some might even say it sounds forced in places. But it's obvious, when you listen to the dialogue carefully, that a real effort has been made to make sure each word comes across as a unique ray of oral sunshine.
 

 

The film opens on Rose McGowan's gorgeous face bathed in red light as "Heresy" by Nine Inch Nails blasts over the sound system at some lame ass nightclub. Hey, why are you calling it "lame ass"? What are you kidding? I don't want to hear Nine Inch Nails. Okay, I'll tolerate "Sin," but I don't want to hear angst-ridden lyrics sung in a voice that hasn't been distorted. Anyway, Amy Blue, the name of Rose McGowan's character, agrees with me, and tells her mentally-challenged boyfriend, Jordan White (James Duval), that she would like to vacate the premises immediately. Only, she doesn't say it in such a calm and rational manner. In fact, nothing Amy does in this film could be construed as calm or rational.
 

 

I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that Gregg Araki is a huge Slowdive fan. Since my favourite Gregg Araki film, Nowhere, starts off with a Slowdive song, "Avalyn II," it only makes sense that he include "Alison" during Amy and Jordan's drive-in sex scene. Well, they sort of have sex. What I'm saying is, they don't fuck at all. In Jordan's defense (who currently feels like a gerbil smothering in Richard Gere's butt-hole), I would have been too distracted to have car seat intercourse with Rose McGowan as well. Oh my god! You better be making one helluva point, because what you're saying so far sounds downright stupid. Don't worry, it's not. Now, where was I? Oh, yeah. I couldn't focus on penetrating Rose McGowan's pussy because I would be too tempted to pet her bangs every time I attempted to mount her utilizing my primary thrusting platform. Just for record: my p.t.p. has been humping vaginas since the late 1960s. See, I told you. That wasn't stupid at all.  
 

 

"Wake up, cocksucker! Time to die!" Whoa, did Nivek Ogre from Skinny Puppy just quote Brion James from Blade Runner? Let me check. Holy crap. He did just quote Brion James from Blade Runner. Sure, he put a little mustard on it (Brion James doesn't say, "cocksucker"), but it's essentially the same line. Oh, and in case you're wondering why he said that: The members of Skinny Puppy assault Xavier Red (Jonathan Schaech), a cum-licking reprobate who will test the horizontal fortitude of Amy and Jordan's long term relationship (they have been together for three months). Finding refuge in Amy's car, Xavier escapes their murderous rage. Why did the members of Skinny Puppy want to kill Xavier? Well, as we'll soon find out, I doesn't take long for someone to get to the point where they want to do harm to Xavier's organic structure. What can I say? He brings out the worst in people.
 

 

If you thought Amy Blue was disagreeable before, you should see her when she's has X breathing down her neck. Oh, and he's now called "X." Why? Um, let's just say Jordan found the name "Xavier" to be way too complicated from a letter arrangement point-of-view. After making one too many crude references to her genitals, Amy kicks X out of the car.
 

 

Hearing her girlfriend's birth canal called practically everything listed in the Big Book of Cunt Euphemisms has made Jordan a tad peckish. In order to alleviate this peckishness, Jordan suggests they head to the nearest Quickiemart for some grub. It's at this point in the film when all your taint hairs should be standing at attention. Why's that? What do you mean, "why's that"? Isn't it obvious? Rose McGowan is about to say, "Eat my fuck."
 

 

Told by the Quickiemart clerk, Nguyen Suk Kok (Dustin Nguyen), that there's no smoking allowed in his store, Amy obliges and throws her cigarette on the floor and extinguishes it with one of her black Doc Marten-adorned feet. When the clerk insists that she put the improperly discarded butt in the trash, Amy, without hesitation, tells him to, "Eat my fuck." I get teary-eyed just thinking about it. It's probably one of the most inspirational moments in the history of cinema. Forget about, "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn" or "Here's looking at you, kid." "Eat my fuck." is the greatest movie quote of all-time.
 

 

When Jordan and Amy discover they don't have the 6.66 to pay for his disgusting hot dogs and slush-based beverage, Nguyen Suk Kok pulls out a shotgun and points it at them. Don't worry, X shows up just in the nick of time and blows Nguyen's head off; much to chagrin of Mrs. Suk Kok, played by Margaret Cho. After that act of violence, The Doom Generation morphs into a kind of demented road movie, where X, Amy and Jordan become fugitives. Well, sort of.  There's not much of a police presence in this movie. But their violent antics, or, I should say, X's violent antics (Amy and Jordan don't actually do anything wrong) do make the evening news; anchored by Lauren Tewes and Christopher Knight.
 

 

Hopping from one cheap motel to another (cheap, they may be, but the interior design of each room is stunning), and consuming a lot of bad food, X, Amy and Jordan fuck, kill and eat their way across America.
 

 

My favourite encounters during their cross country journey being their confrontations with Amy's ex-boyfriend, a Carnoburger cashier played by Nicky Katt, and Brandi (Parker Posey), Amy's secret lesbian lover. The highlight of the confrontation with Nicky Katt, besides his Devo-inspired Carnoburger uniform, was when Nicky says the line, "My pearly dewdrops drops." Now, I don't know if Nicky Katt knew where that line originally came from. But the fact that characters in this movie use the names of Cocteau Twins songs as dialogue is pretty awesome.
 

 

Besides John Hughes, are there any other filmmakers out there who come close to touching Gregg Araki when it comes to music? I don't think so. And I'm not just saying that because his obsession with industrial music and shoegazer bands of the early '90s eerily reflected my taste at the time. Okay, maybe I am. So what? You still can't deny that his music choices add a lot of unexpected appeal to his movies. In addition to that, I also like the fact that he prefers to include remixed or extended versions of the songs he uses.
 

 

The act of heading downtown to buy, oh, let's say, the latest Nitzer Ebb 12 inch, is something that I miss greatly. And The Doom Generation, strangely enough, manages to capture that sense of loss perfectly. Watch closely, as you can see it in the face of Rose McGowan as she stares longingly at "1983–1991," the This Mortal Coil box set, during a stop at a record store.
 

 

When Rose says, "I miss my records," I nodded slightly in agreement. In fact, I agreed so much, that after the film was over, I went and spent some quality time with my records. Sure, I have nothing to play them on, but I nestled each one gently against my bosom.
 

 

Just when you thought this film couldn't get any more relatable, Jordan tells X all about that time they lost his mom's car while attending a Thrill Kill Kult concert. It's true, I didn't lose a car at the Thrill Kill Kult concert I attended way back when. But I do remember the band being four hours late, and that my shoes (creepers with skull buckles) were killing my feet. Didn't you have some shoe issues at that late '90s Sisters of Mercy show? Hey, you remember that. Cool. Yeah, I always seem to experience shoe problems whenever I go to concerts. You try to look your best, and what happens? You either end up standing there for hours on end (my shoes weren't designed for standing) or some guy would step on them (I'm looking you, white guy with dreadlocks at the Spooky-era Lush concert).
 

 

Anyway, enough of my jibber jabbing. Just like Nowhere, I seemed to enjoy The Doom Generation more the second time around. I don't know, the reoccurring 6.66 gag didn't seem as lame, the belt buckle scene was adorable (Jordan "tards out" over X's holographic rodeo themed belt buckle), the Heidi Fleiss cameo was better than expected (she says "6.66" the best - half asleep with an air malice), the sex scene between Rose McGowan (whose skin is immaculate in this film) and James Duval (who was at the height of his cluelessness) set to "On" by The Aphex Twin was hotter than I initially remembered. Oh, and, of course, "Eat my fuck" will never lose its appeal.