Reviews from the Future

The Pyx aka The Hooker Cult Murders (Harvey Hart, 1973)
Adapted from John Buell's 1959 novel of the same title; The Pyx is a largely forgotten horror thriller seemingly dashed on the rocks by that early seventies tidal wave of occult pot-boilers. Later the film fell victim to a series of poorly mastered pan and scan home video and dvd transfers, reducing cinematographer Rene Verzier's artful 2.35 : 1 composistions to impenetrable grainy murk. Subsequently the film has remained a cult curio despite high profile leading actors Karen Black and Christopher Plummer in tailor made roles. Of course this kind of scenario is veritable catnip to a cult movie nerd like me, and the news of a newly remastered anamorphic dvd from Scorpion Releasing had me scurrying for the 'buy with one click' button faster than you can say impetuousness.

The Pyx takes it's name from the small container used to keep the host at holy communion, which is found in the hand of a young woman after falling to her death from a Montreal apartment in suspicious circumstances. The woman turns out to be a heroin addicted prostitute by the name of Elizabeth Lucy (Black) and the rest of the film alternates between the inevitable police investigation headed by wholesome Detective Henderson (Plummer) and the final few days leading up to Elizabeth's death...

Following a disorientating opening crime scene sequence in which the dialogue effectively switches back and forth from un-subtitled French Canadian to English; The Pyx settles in to a lethargic low key pace, style and subject matter not a million miles away from Alan J. Pakula's Klute. We're introduced to Black's high class prostitute turning an adoring older trick in the same detached manner reminiscent of Fonda's watch glancing oscar win. This is as much character study of Elizabeth's empty, Catholic guilt ridden existence, her pushy Madam (a delightfully suspicious Yvette Brind'amour) and the vulnerable young gay man she takes under her wing; as it is intriguing occult mystery. Henderson's frustratingly slow progress gradually uncovers the inevitable shadowy satanists rooted in the echelons of power, but contrasted against their chilling emergence in Elizabeth's immediate past; it reaches an air of poignancy that almost transcends the predictability. Both leads are particularly fine especially Black who composed (along with Harry Freedman) and sings a number of bohemian tinged songs on the soundtrack which lend the film a moving air of hippyish melancholy. Unfortunately The Pyx is just too minimalist on too many levels, with an underwhelming ending that fails to justify a running time just shy of two hours. Despite this I find myself remaining tentative as to the true quality of the film which is sure to divide any audience that can be bothered. For the record I liked it, but that doesn't quite stretch to a recommendation.



Gordon's War (Ossie Davis, 1973) +
I can't help but imagine a dull, union dispute themed episode of Thomas The Tank Engine when I see this title, but Kathy tells me that's too obscure and hence a rubbish joke (it's true though, so in it goes). Anyway this one was a flop with black audiences despite being helmed by Cotton Comes To Harlem veteran Ossie Davies, and the starring of Paul Winfield - still hot on the back of his best actor Oscar nomination for 1971 drama Sounder (only the third such nod for a black actor at the time). Gordon's War even received good notices, but it seems Winfield's distinctly unglamorous protagonist just wasn't cool enough to put bums on seats at the height of the blaxploitation cycle.

Yes this is a vigilante/revenge flick with Gordon back from the Nam to find his impoverished wife has died of a drug overdose, because the streets of Harlem are flooded with smack. We get a brief stint in the park with a dewy eyed Gord mourning the loss of er-in-doors to the strains of Barbara Mason in a sequence that screams poor man's Simon and Garfunkel slushiness. His tears mopped up, it's down to gritty business as our hero enlists the help of three ex army buddies (who include genre regular Tony King) all too eager to risk their well adjusted lives in a street battle for the sake of their buddy. A comic book guerilla war follows as the quartet engage in a series of bloody military manoeuvres against the local pimps and dealers, that sends ripples into Manhattan, and the criminal elite...

Gordon's War is a remarkably optimistic film in that the first thirty minutes almost come off like a public information film on how to rid your neighbourhood of drug dealers. Winfield narrates each move and tactic his small army undertakes with the kind of overly straight sincerity that propels Gordon's War into the realms of unintentional humour. Rather than sink the film this merely buoys a somewhat slow start with things really hotting up once the colourful array of villains retaliate. The action sequences here are above average for the genre with some imaginative choreography for 1973, and the film climaxes with a super cool virtuoso hit involving a garbage truck. I showed this to a friend who'd never seen a black action movie before and he loved it for all the right reasons. Gordon's War is yet another pleasant (if minor) distraction from an all too dismissed period in movie history that still has a lot to offer.



Lady In A Cage (Walter Grauman, 1964)
This is the film Olivia De Havilland made before taking over from Joan Crawford in Robert Aldridge's Hush...Hush, Sweet Charlotte; a sort of follow up (not sequel) to his woman in peril gem Whatever Happened To Baby Jane? Though whilst those films cemented a more immediate classic horror reputation; the overlooked Lady In A Cage remains my favourite due in part to the savvy streak of social commentary that so effectively permeates the proceedings.

De Havilland plays housebound Cornelia Hilyard, a somewhat pompous and smug poetess recovering from a partially crippling accident. With her mollycoddled son away on business Cornelia becomes trapped in her private elevator during a power failure with only her panic button (connected to a bell on the outside of the house) for comfort. Unfortunately this attracts the attention of a passing wino George (Jeff Corey) who proceeds to rob her with the aide of over the hill prostitute Sade (superbly played by Ann Sothern). On fencing their spoils to a local gangster; the pair unwittingly arouse the suspicions of a trio of thugs headed by lantern jawed degenerate Randall (James Caan in his film debut). Soon Cornelia's house is overrun with Randall and his stooges intent on robbing and murdering not only Cornelia, but George and Sade...

Cornelia: I am a human being. A feeling, thinking, human being.
Randall: [mocking] Okay. I am all animal.

later in the film Randall speaks to his cronies pointing at Cornelia behind the bars of her elevator.

Randall: [mocking] Come and look at the human being.

What begins as a simple but effective lady in distress picture takes on extra gravitas with smart observations regarding the escalation of violence in society. Lady In A Cage counterbalances these themes with the suspense and frustration generated by Cornelia's predicament even if she isn't the most sympathetic of characters to begin with. The very fact that she starts out a self important snob only serves to accentuate her decline into primitive survival instinct and ultimate animal savagery. Perhaps most interesting is that Cornelia is fully aware this is happening, but powerless to stop it if she wants to survive in the new world around her. The fact that De Havilland manages to perfectly convey every nuanced aspect of Cornelia's transformation ensures Lady In A Cage never descends into camp hokum and maintains a sharp satirical bite throughout. With pitch perfect performances from the rest of an exemplary cast, and a shockingly gory ending that'd make Ray Milland's Doctor Xavier wince; Lady In A Cage is a near perfect thriller that deserves to be rediscovered.




Lady Terminator (H. Tjut Djalil as Jalil Jackson, 1989) Cult rating
At the time of release Lady Terminator was Indonesia's most expensive and highest grossing production, meaning everything prior must have been knocked up for two pence with a cardboard box and a ball of lint. If you've seen any of Djalil's earlier bonkers output (stuff like Mystics In Bali) or anything with Barry Prima in; then you'll know that in Indonesia they like their movies mystical and downright loopy. Lady Terminator was Indonesia's b-movie attempt at tapping into the international film market much in the same way the Italians had done ten years earlier. Yes, I'm barrel scraping here, but if you're going to plumb the depths of dreck, then you might as well plumb Asian style with a plate of Mie Goreng in one hand, and the promise of witnessing the greatest mullet in cinema history rattling around your soon to be dumbfounded brain...

Lady Terminator is of course a blatant rip off of Jimmy Cameron's The Terminator. No, I'm not a genius...just merely pointing out the obvious for the benefit of any recently thawed out woolly mammoths looking to get into grindhouse. The story is also loosely based on the real Indonesian legend of the evil South Sea Queen, who we see at the beginning of the movie sexing various men to death with her vagina dentata, before meeting her match in a particularly virile US Marine. No sooner has he done something unmentionable with a magic snake than she's put a curse on his great granddaughter who happens to be an Indonesian pop star in 1989. But never mind that! We're far more concerned with what's happening to the bikini clad anthropologist who goes scuba diving only to wind up in a foggy disco possessed by the south sea queen, and transformed into an indestructible horny killing machine. Yup she's the Lady of the title quite prepared to raise Jakarta to the ground if it means revenge on Indonesia's answer to Debbie Gibson...



Much of Lady Terminator is so poorly executed (and by that I mean looking like it was shot on home video) that you may well find yourself hitting the fast forward button to get to the good bits. After a woefully inept opening twenty minutes the film thankfully establishes a brisk pace that shamelessly apes several sequences from Cameron's film (the disco shootout, police station massacre and eye removal scenes) whilst incorporating plenty of bare bossoms and goofy eastern mystical touches. The dialogue is dubbed so poorly you'd swear the voice 'artists' were in on some group prank. One classic example is a morgue exchange in which a police officer suggests Lady Terminator's vagina dentata handy work 'could be the work of a small animal'. Barbara Anne Constable (who also worked as a makeup artist on the film - no doubt meaning she applied her own lipstick) snarls, and grimaces up a storm in the lead, making for a memorably tacky b-movie anti-babe you'll be sorry to learn, never appeared in anything else.

Then there's Snake...

Snake is a supporting character (pictured above) who may be a police officer, soldier of fortune, or plain old simpleton Guns & Ammo poster boy. He's one part Pheonix Nights' Ray Von, one part Plug from the Bash Street Kids, who could flatten the likes of Chuck Norris with a quick swish of his sweaty ginger mullet. Snake yells things like 'Yeah! Eat it b*tch' whilst spraying machine gun fire at Lady Terminator from atop a speeding armored car. He's the epitome of bad eighties fashion and dialogue worth a thousand straight to video dodgy 'tache sporting unsung heroes. If a finale involving a burnt hag firing lasers from her eyes isn't enough to convince you Lady Terminator is essential trash viewing...oh, I don't know I've already spend too long on this crap. Next!



The Divide (Xavier Gens, 2011) +
One look at my teenage hero Michael Biehn chomping a cigar in a picture on the back of the box was enough to prompt an instant rental of The Divide. I mean where's that guy been all these years? OK, so he was in that crappy cowboy show on TV, and Robert Rodriguez gave him a small part in Planet Terror, but come on! Kyle Reese? Corporal Hicks? Hell, he was even good as the nutty one in The Abyss. So I say again. What the hell happened?

Anyway this is billed as a dark twisted and deeply disturbing post apocalyptic horror film? OK whatever. I've seen Threads so bring it on, yeah. Hold on though. It says directed by Xavier Gens the guy who made French barf bag sicko Frontiers. *Gulp* I'm going to have to wrap this post up sharpish for fear of complete self indulgent overload.

The Divide is a relatively straight forward story concerning a diverse group of survivors who hole up in the basement of an apartment during an (unconvincingly rendered) nuclear strike. Less than happy with the arrangement is craggy caretaker Mickey (Biehn) who already has his own room down there, and looks upon the basement as his home. Elsewhere there's an unstable mother and her needy daughter (Rosanna Arquette and Abbey Thickston). The generic female heroine named Eva (Duh) played by Lauren German. plus a couple of borderline thugs, Josh and Bobby (Milo Ventimiglia and Michael Eklund) who start getting uppity at the mention of rationed baked beans. Guess what happens next. Correct! They don't get on and really nasty stuff happens.

I'm getting tired hence my overly cynical treatment of a film I admittedly enjoyed despite it's predictability. I don't know, maybe I'm easily pleased, but it sure was good to see Biehn flexing his acting chops in a survival themed Sci-Fi horror again. Whilst the writing doesn't really go anywhere new in terms of character development. The acting is as fine as could be expected considering most of the cast look like they're improvising half of the time. Elsewhere Gens handles the confines of the basement well, and even manages to concoct a decent invasion sequence involving an unfathomably sadistic red cross team - the full significance of which is never satisfyingly fleshed out. Instead he goes the gratuitous rape and torture route as the film degenerates into a radioactive spill of depravity. Certainly not as bad as some would have you believe, but not exactly When The Wind Blows either. This is best looked on as a disposable midnight movie rather than genuinely frightening horror. Undeniably grim stuff, but if you really want nightmares then give Threads another spin.

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100 Favourites From The Future: REWIRED

With the exception of Lady In A Cage, I've not seen any of those films and, with the execption of Gordon's War, I'd not even heard of them, so thanks for that. I've fallen foul of thinking GW looked a little dull, but after that review I'll probably take a chance on it the next time the opportunity presents itself.

I might even try The Pyx, given the chance, though mentions of Klute aren't pushing me in its direction.

Nice to see Threads and When The Wind Blows getting plugs. I saw Threads again a few years ago and it still holds up as a powerful apocolyptic nightmare though, as someone who spent time in Sheffield in the 80's, I never thought it'd look that different.

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5-time MoFo Award winner.

Still doing better than me! I've not seen or even heard of a single film in that last post. I do enjoy reading about them though.

I thought you liked Klute no?

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Gordan's War sold me with the 'back from Nam to kick some drug dealer ass' revenge premise, and shouldn't disappiont despite a sluggish opening. I also forgot to mention Grace Jones appears in a state of semi undress for her big screen debut (annoyed at myself for that). I found the lack of posturing from the hero refreshing, plus there's a decent soundtrack and plenty of grit to keep genre fans happy. You should dig it.

The Pyx is the hardest film I've ever rated because it's masterful in some areas (the escalation of dread, Black's sombre performance, and the fantastic soundtrack), but also way too low key with an almost redundant conclusion. I like Pakula's Klute which I'd also rate + (after a recent re-watch), but if you found that one a little too slow then chances are you'll doze off during The Pyx.

Poor old Sheffield. At least we got Cabaret Voltaire before they dropped the big one, eh.

Anyway, Thank you both for reading and commenting.

Ooh, that makes me not want to see the film. I like her screen presence but seeing her in a state of undress is not high on my list of priorities. Sorry, Grace! Don't beat me up!

Used Future, have you ever seen Vamp (1986), starring Grace Jones? I thought it was a good horror/comedy flick and of course Jones made a super vampire.

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"Miss Jean Louise, Mr. Arthur Radley."

Yes I've seen, and own the Anchor Bay release of Vamp. I like it a lot, and agree Grace makes a super vampire.

I do think Wenk and co. were heavily influenced (in a good way) by Scorsese's After Hours when they conceived the film. It takes on a similar - all be-it sleazier - offbeat tone once the boys become 'trapped' downtown.

I hadn't thought of that. It does indeed invoke After Hours, which is a film I need to see again.

No Blade Of Grass (Cornel Wilde, 1970)
As a fan of seventies dystopian sci-fi cinema; No Blade Of Grass has understandably been on my to buy list since Warner Archives released the film last October. Unfortunately early reviews reported a fault with the discs (a reel mix up resulted in scenes out of order) and I decided to hang fire for a few months until I could be sure Warner had fixed the problem, and recalled faulty stock.

The film was adapted from a 1956 novel by British author Samuel Youd under his pseudonym John Christopher and originally titled The Death Of Grass, before being re-named for the US market. It's a story clearly influenced by John Wyndham's 1951 classic The Day Of The Triffids considering the plant related apocalypse and ensuing cross country struggle for survival. Curiously however Cornel Wilde's film adaptation is equally evocative of Ray Milland's post-nuke adventure Panic In The Year Zero (1962); a film unofficially based on Ward Moore's short stories Lot (1953), and Lot's Daughter (1954).

The plot concerns a deadly virus that kills all types of grain producing land grass, and which spreads from Asia, to Africa and Europe plunging the world into famine. As the crisis grips Britain; architect and ex-military man John Custance (Nigel Davenport) flees London along with his civil servant best friend John Hamill (Roger Burnham), and their families. Together the group attempt to travel north to Scotland where Custance's brother owns farmland in a secluded valley yet to be ravaged by the virus. Along the way they encounter hostile factions both military and civilian as the country descends into anarchy. Custance and Hamill quickly learn they must become ruthless killers if the group are to survive in this new world. A philosophy gladly enforced by Pirrie (Anthony May), a psycho who joins them after murdering a London gun shop owner for much needed supplies...


Marijuana jokes and Wilde's more celebrated The Naked Prey aside; No Blade Of Grass is not a great film for many reasons. Here Wilde approaches the material with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball piloted by Rod Hull and Emu. We get heavy handed shots of factories spewing out pollution, and birds floundering in oil spills; as well as rough shod pacing that sometimes looks as though an editor passed out head first onto the proverbial fast forward button. There's some nice Lake District scenery, and Nigel Davenport delivers a passably stiff upper lipped keep calm and carry on performance as the eye patch sporting leader. But the rest of the 'good guys' veer wildly (no pun intended) between gung ho overbearing melodramatics, and all out hysteria. Fortunately Anthony May is right on the money as Pirrie - the trigger happy lunatic who proves just as useful in a fight as he is a perpetual threat to the group dynamic. Equally entertaining is the late Wendy Richard (Pauline Fowler to us Brits) as Pirrie's trash talking floozy wife. A common-as-muck-cockney-sparra' who'd be more than happy flashing her thrupenny bits whilst her neanderthal beau stamped your head into raspberry mush. It's here I must clarify that we never get to see Wendy's bosoms - though she states in her autobiography that Mr. Wilde did try and persuade her to wear a see through blouse for the role. Yes No Blade Of Grass screams exploitation as we're treated to comic book sleaze and violence from the outset. The film works on these b-movie terms, and is never less than entertaining considering the constant parade of murder, rape-revenge, marauding bikers and Peckinpah-esque shootouts. You could almost argue this is seminal when considering later hard edged post apocalyptic films of the seventies and beyond. Elements of George A. Romero's The Crazies (1973), Dawn Of The Dead (1978) and George Millar's Mad Max (1979) and Mad Max 2: The Road Warrior (1981) in particular would seem to be at least in-part inspired by Wilde's near forgotten film. Not surprising No Blade Of Grass has ended up on grindhouse compilation trailer reels and if you like the look of what you see there; chances are you won't be disappointed.

That is the only Cornel Wilde-directed movie which I haven't seen. I won't pay $20 for the Warner Archives DVDs, and I haven't ever seen it on TV or for rent.

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It's what you learn after you know it all that counts. - John Wooden
My IMDb page

This used to be available on youtube, but it doesn't seem to be there anymore. Probably due to this WA release.

Never would I have imagined there being a movie about killer sheep.....

Yes, UF's threads are full of weirdness, which is why I love them.

The Outside Man aka Une Homme Est Mort (Jacques Deray, 1972) +
A French made neo-noir thriller shot on location in L.A. with a raw pulsating jazz-funk soundtrack courtesy of prolific composer Michael Legrand? this one has been practically burning a hole in my Amazon wishlist for the last six months after I naughtily downloaded a VHS rip of the film last year. Safe to say it now sits proudly (and overpricedly) in my dvd collection courtesy of the MGM limited Edition label, and thus vindicating my 'try before you buy' policy on what can often turn out to be retro tat. Not so with Deray's outing however; a distinctly offbeat genre affair for 1972 that makes excellent use of the iconic US location whilst offering a distinctly European flavour.

French hitman Lucien Bellow (Jean-Louis Tritignangt) arrives in Los Angeles and assassinates a mob boss, only to be double crossed and hunted by rival contract killer, Lenny (Roy Scheider). With his passport and documents stolen Lucien is left stranded in an alien city, eventually running into blonde bombshell Nancy (Anne Margaret); an old flame of his boss who agrees to help him get back to France. Ultimately however Lucien must decide between returning home to a city where he might just as easily be killed, or exposing the conspiracy and seeking vengeance...

Set apart only by it's fish-out-of-water protagonist The Outside Man begins as standard fare before sending Lucien on an odyssey of sorts, through not only the L.A. criminal underbelly, but everyday American life. Viewed through a foreigner's eyes it's as much a character study of the monosyllabic Frenchman as it is an outsider's view of US culture. Played with stoic, almost nonchalant cool by Tritignant it's an often funny ride courtesy of a series of character interactions ranging from the seemingly mundane to the downright screwball. Perhaps most amusing is Georgia Engel's housewife Mrs. Barnes, who far from acting hysterical when Lucien kidnaps and holds her hostage at home (they end up watching an episode of Star Trek with her young son); is more put out because he didn't eat the fancy French food she went to a lot of trouble cooking. Nor is she upset at Lucien chastising her boy when he refuses to go to bed. It probably did him some good she intones when later interviewed by the press. In another scene Lucien gives a lift to a drifter in the hope of obtaining directions around town only for the fanatical young man to grill him about Jesus. Jesus and I are just fine replies the Frenchman with dismissive abandon.

It's perhaps these shining vignettes (of which there are many) that partially lay waste to the predictable pulp mediocrity that is the basic plot. The film meanders slightly at times as Deray and company seem unsure if they want to deliver a taut thriller, or sprawling culture clash satire. Elsewhere Roy Scheider's hitman is portrayed as a one note trigger happy dimwit who couldn't hit a bulls behind with a you-know-what. It feels like a missed opportunity considering Mr. Scheider's later career, but may also serve as a reflection of how the French viewed American tough guys at the time. Equally underused is Angie Dickinson as a devious gangster's moll (a woman who I'm sure any red blooded male would be happy to see more of), and genre regular Alex Rocco as a mob henchman with barely half a dozen lines. Anne Margaret as the washed up, but decidedly gutsy topless waitress accomplice is fine, displaying the kind of bust support that could practically carry the whole movie. Add to that a bizarre climactic shootout in a funeral home that takes place around a dead gang boss embalmed in a sitting position, and you have a flawed gem that's never less than entertaining. It's Tritignant's movie and practically every scene with him in is fascinating. I mean who needs perfection anyway right?




Wake In Fright aka Outback (Ted Kotcheff, 1971)
Of all the films mentioned in Mark Hartley's fun documentary Not Quite Hollywood: The Wild, Untold Story Of Ozploitation!, Canadian director Ted Kotcheff's Wake In Fright jumped out as an immediate must see. Recently rediscovered and restored from the Australian archive materials it felt like one of those films lurking at the back of my mind that I'd vaguely heard of and might even have viewed in a previous life. Part Nic Roeg's Walkabout, part Peter Weir's The Cars That Ate Paris, but of course neither, and something I'd definitely never seen before. A film nimbly walking a tightrope between high art and lurid exploitation, and hence a red rag to my bull...which is spoken often and with much conviction I might add...

John Grant (played by Gary Bond) is a mild mannered English teacher trapped by financial bureaucracy at his posting deep in the Australian Outback. An annual holiday trip to see his girlfriend in Sydney forces him to stop off for one night in the equally remote mining town of Bundanyabba (or the Yabba' as the locals call it). Here he's quickly inducted into a downward spiral of excessive beer drinking and gambling by the unfathomably generous local men. Initially prosperous John sees a chance to escape his monetary shackles inevitably gambling away all of his savings leaving him penniless, and in the hands of what he refers to as the local aggressive hospitality. In the days that follow he is reduced to a primitive alcoholic savage, trapped by circumstance in a strange town from where the only escape might be death itself...

Wake In Fright often feels like a reversal of Roeg's Walkabout in that both films are about freedom, escape and awakening (the girl's father from a life of urban stress, and her to early womanhood, Bond's character seeking a life of urban civilisation but instead finding cathartic madness in a four day bender). But whereas Roeg looks to celebrate the beauty of the outback, and the freedom of nature. It is merely the backdrop to John's internal struggle in Kotcheff's film (infamous Kangaroo hunt aside). Both narratives may come to the same ultimate conclusion about the lack of freedom and what it ultimately does to the human psyche, but the emotional journeys within each story are very different.

In perhaps the first true Australian western (something I think Kotcheff partially set out to achieve) Bond's educated man is initially embraced by local law official Jock (charismatically played by Chips Rafferty) despite his thinly veiled snobbish arrogance. It's a relationship you expect to turn sour, but in finding every local inhabitant so enthusiastically friendly despite Bond's reluctance to fit in, that ultimately leads to his downfall, and the horror at work. This is a place where men are more offended if you refuse their advances of a beer than if you were to kill your own wife (something Bond rants about later in the film). The homoerotic undertones are unmistakable with male bonding consisting of wrestling on the floor as man cries out for human touch in the most primal way, and Bundanyabba becomes a metaphorical prison. Elsewhere Donald Pleasance's debauched lush, and Sylvia Kay's deceptively strong nymphomaniac add to the superbly acted veneer of people seeking escapism from day to day slavery.

It's not hard to see why this caused a furor of controversy in Australia at the time. Kotcheff remarks in a Toronto film festival Q & A that people were seen to stand up and shout at the screen This Isn't Us! Only to be told by others in the audience Shut Up and sit down! It is us! I guess whilst it's easy to recognise the social commentary at work, it's not quite so easy to define the level of exageration unless you were an Australian living in the outback of the early seventies. I simply found this a beautifully raw, honest piece of film making that hit me in the gut and massaged my thinking cap. I couldn't ask for anything more.

Report To The Commissioner (Milton Katselas, 1975)
I'm always looking for gritty urban crime movies from the heyday of the American new wave, and this was another 'skip to the head of the queue' shoe-in considering the source material. Adapted from the novel by James Mills (who also wrote The Panic In Needle Park); it's a no-holds-barred look at seventies police procedure, corruption and politics that reiterated for New York what Joseph Wambaugh and Richard Fleischer's The New Centurions had done for LA, via a firm nod in the direction of Peter Maas, and Sidney Lumet's 1973 classic Serpico; not to mention his later Prince Of The City, and a whole host of similar New York gems such as The French Connection, The Taking Of Pelham One Two Three, and Across 110th Street. The casting of Michael Moriarty, and Yaphet Kotto (the latter of whom being one of my favourite actors) was another prime motivator for seeking out this forgotten film...

By today's post Training Day standards the plot might appear unremarkable. Bo Lockley (Moriarty) is the meek, pacifistic young son of a highly decorated police officer; recently promoted to detective as a part of a departmental drive to connect with youth offenders, and hence totally unsuitable for the job. Richard 'Crunch' Blackstone (Kotto made up to look retirement age) is the hard boiled African American bigot forced to teach him the ropes on the street, where he regularly roughs up his own people. Meanwhile Patty 'Chicklet' Butler (Susan Blakely) is an undercover in the process of seducing local black drug dealer Thomas 'The Stick' Henderson (Tony King) so she can be his live in woman and pass on information to the department. Lockley is ordered by his captain to track down Chicklet in order to reinforce her runaway junkie cover story, without the knowledge of her undercover police status. On finding her cavorting semi-naked with The Stick, he panics and a shootout ensues in which Chicklet is killed. Having understandably not gotten authorisation for such a controversial undercover posting, Lockley's Captain and Lieutenant make him a patsy for Chicklet's murder in order to save their own careers. That is until the Commissioner demands a full report...not a cover up...

Sometimes criticised for a lack of credibility concerning Blakely's role, i.e. the misconception of a white female officer receiving the go-ahead in 1975 to sleep with a black criminal in order to obtain information; not to mention the subsequent validity in court of that information. Report To The Commissioner also suffers from Michael Moriarty's uneven lead performance. In initially playing the character as a whiney unstable hippy, he belies any notion that Lockley could have made the role of detective; regardless of who his father was. As the film progresses however, Moriarty slides into an edginess that serves the burgeoning nightmare perfectly. Here he portrays Lockley with the kind of unhinged intensity Bruce Dern would have been perfect for if the film had been made ten years earlier. This offset against a typically excellent Kotto as the tough aging cop with his own sad-but-true reasons for inverted racism in the face of a white man's police department, gives the film just one side of it's layered and volatile moral center. This is a New York that never looked grimier, and a film without definable heroes. Effectively edited in a flash back style that begins with Lockley's post shootout interrogation, before taking us through prior events, and culminating in a sweaty elevator standoff between Lockley and The Stick (pictured); whilst half the New York police department wait to gun down whoever emerges first. All this accompanied by sporadic narration that amusingly sounds like it was ripped from an episode of Dragnet, but works well considering the police procedural ambiance.

Elsewhere vivid, if exemplary support is provided by the likes of Bob Balaban as a double amputee beggar guaranteed to pull your heart strings, and Richard Gere (in his first cinematic role) as a sleazy pimp who doesn't buy Lockley's tough guy act. Blaxploitation star Tony King is intense and intimidating bringing a level of suspense to the film's climax worthy of any classic crime thriller. Whilst Susan Blakely is right on the money as his liberated honey trap. Even William Devane pops up late on in a small role, and Charles Durning briefly appears unbilled. So yes, it's flawed - too much for many - but I wouldn't have it any other way because this is my kind of movie. A world where reprehensible traits such as casual racism, and overt misogyny are the rule of thumb, rather than swept under the carpet and hidden away by media spin. Naturally I don't agree with such values, but their honest portrayal can make for refreshing, challenging viewing in the face of a modern society obsessed with political correctness. I guess that Report To The Commissioner still feels more real to me than the majority of modern movies I sit through. I can't say I would recommend it above any of the films mentioned in the first paragraph of this review (nor a few other seventies gems), but it's up there and still relevant all things considered.

Thanks for the review, UF. I seem to've somehow missed this. Sounds just like my thing.

Reading through this and your 80s Trash thread. It looks like my watchlist just got even longer. Keep up the good work, this is one of the more interesting review threads we have in the forum.

Thanks for the comments guys. Jiraffejustin I hope you find something you like in here ...

Perdita Durango aka Dance With The Devil (Álex de la Iglesia, 1997)
When I see the name Álex de la Iglesia on a movie I know I'm in for something a little different; flamboyantly offbeat, insanely violent, darkly comic and colourfully absurd. Part new-wave Spaghetti Western (see his delightful homage 800 Balas, and the final reel of satirical sci-fi comedy Accion Mutante) part playful - yet no less allegorical - horror (his masterpiece El día de la Bestia, and under appreciated dark fantasy Balada Treste De Trompeta). Yet I was torn over seeking out Perdita Durango; a film based on the third novel in Barry Gifford's Sailor and Lula series. The first of which, Wild At Heart was famously filmed by cult director David Lynch back in 1990. There Perdita Durango is a peripheral character played by Isabella Rossellini, and despite a fervent following; the film (like much of Lynch's oeuvre) just isn't to my taste. Hence the dilemma...would Iglesia's effort be more of the same?

Your quintessential femme fatale times a thousand; Perdita Durango (an alluring Rosie Perez) hooks up with anarchic uber-bad-dude Romeo Delarosa (Javier Bardem looking like a death metal reject) in a Mexican border town before embarking on the kind of debuached crime spree that would have Mickey and Mallory running for the nearest self-help group. When he's not robbing banks Romeo practices a form of Santería/Voodoo that involves hacking up human sacrifices and spitting their blood over his entranced audience. After kidnapping a young Aryan 'gringo' couple for his next gig, the star crossed sadists hijack a truck load of human fetuses for delivery to a Las Vegas crime boss. Hot in pursuit is bungling FBI agent Willie 'Woody' Dumas (James Gandolfini) who'll stop at nothing to see this modern day Bonnie & Clyde from hell meet their maker by any means necessary...

Perdita Durango is about as subtle as a motorway pile up and just as messy. Intermittently cluttered with scene after scene of visualised background exposition, the first twenty or so minutes is as consistently jarring as it is deceptively thin. It's an acid trip killer-couples neo-noir road movie with shades of Jodorowsky's Santa Sangre, and the expected (dreaded in my case) dollop of Lynch homage. Central to the usual trappings is a thankfully fascinating relationship between Perdita and Romeo, which attempts to explore the notion of sadistic murderers experiencing feelings of love (though it's hardly original). Amid the chaotic delirium Perez and Bardem are able to perfectly convey this chemistry even if Iglesia's choice of imagery is often confusing and borderline gratuitous. Perhaps most infamous is a duel rape scene in which Perez's character molests their male hostage (Duane played by Harley Cross) before forcing him to watch Romeo do the same to his girlfriend (Estelle played by Heather Graham's sister Aimee). It often feels as though Duane and Estelle are the pure antithesis of Perdita and Romeo, which may explain the protagonists malice and envy. As the film progresses and the inevitable Stockholm syndrome develops between the quartet; it becomes clear Perdita sees something in this seemingly weak couple that she aspires to and ultimately learns from.

Elsewhere the film delivers the usual post Tarantino shoot-out histrionics, and fever dream occult rituals punctuated by Iglesia's eye for off-the-wall detail. A running joke involving James Gandofini's character getting run over is very funny, as is the somewhat self indulgent 'vying for cult status' casting of Alex Cox as his eager to please subordinate (though it's no secret Cox is a huge fan of films from this part of the world having made Highway Patrolman and written Spaghetti Western retrospective 10,000 Ways To Die). Even with it's envelope pushing knowing sense of rebellion however, Perdita Durango just can't quite escape being a muddled hotchpotch despite fine performances from Perez and Bardem. Which leads me on to another minor criticism. For a film called Perdita Durango, and as convincingly smouldering as Perez is; Bardem somehow manages to overshadow her with a monstrously charismatic performance of epic preportion. He plays Romeo with such maniacal giggling enthusiasm that I couldn't wait to see what he'd get up to next, which may be my only reason to recommend this film to anyone beyond Lynch and Iglesia fans.



Diva (Jean-Jacques Beineix, 1981)
One of the first films in what has been described as the Cinéma du look movement; A style of French film making which originated in the early 80's, and is preoccupied with visual aesthetics, disaffected youth protagonists, and subterranean, often derelict Parisian backdrops. Beineix's Diva might seem like a cup of cold sick to my usual grit seeking sensibilities, but then I'm certainly appreciative of his later Betty Blue, and fellow movement trailblazer Luc Besson's films such as Subway, The Big Blue, and Nikita. Heck! Even fond memories of those fire breathing street performers in Leos Carax's Les Amants Du Pont-Neuf are still vividly lodged in there, so why not a film about opera?

Jules (Frédéric Andréi) is a quiet young motorcycle postman who spends all his money on fancy stereo equipment to indulge his love of music. Obsessed with critically acclaimed Opera singer Cynthia Hawkins who refuses to have her music recorded (real life soprano Wilhelmenia Fernandez); he subsequently bootlegs one of her live performances before later stealing a gown from her dressing room. Unbeknownst to Jules his clandestine recording has been observed by a couple of Taiwanese gangsters determined to acquire the priceless tape. Shortly afterwards a prostitute fleeing from hitmen drops a second incriminating tape into the oblivious Jules' mail bag which subsequently makes him the target of a corrupt police official. Despite these events an unlikely relationship develops between Jules and Cynthia, who is somehow flattered by his stalker like attention, and drawn to his passion for her art; unaware of his betrayal. As events begin to catch up with Jules it seems only new found poet friend Gorodish (Richard Bohringer), and his iconoclastic muse Alba (Thuy An Luu) can save his life, and prevent the fantasy from shattering around him...

Pure romantic fantasy is the only way I can describe and fully appreciate Diva. Jules' budding relationship with Cynthia who sees past his 'endearing' flaws always feels like a product of his imagination, rather than a credible reality. Yet despite this it is the most compelling aspect of the film, endearing beautiful and devastatingly suspenseful when considering the magnitude of his actions and their potential to destroy her trust in him. This is the only thing driving the somewhat meandering secondary 'thriller' plot with Beineix happy to focus on elaborate spectacle rather than taut narrative. The inclusion of the second tape often feels like an unnecessary afterthought as the story already has a moral compass in Jules' bootleg and his cat and mouse with the Taiwanese. Yet oddly this more compelling thread only really develops in the final third of the film which is at least twenty minutes too long.

Diva initially tantalises then oddly veers off course as Jules befriends riddle talking Alba, and in turn her arty lover come guardian Gorodish. Here the proceedings take on a self conscious posturing air with bizarre beatnik dialogue, and preoccupation with ensuring every shot looks like a post punk album cover. The vivid colour palette is pretty and humorous offbeat touches distracting (I'm thinking Dominique Pinon's weird looking hitman), but it's all a bit unsatisfying in the face of what came before. Then things begin to fall into place beginning with a hypnotic motorcycle chase through the Paris metro accompanied by an ethereal jangling score, as Beineix threatens to turn Diva into action thriller whilst reminding us this is still a dream.

Despite the somewhat saggy midsection, Diva thankfully concludes with a delightfully noble musing on the cathartic and therapeutic value of art appreciation. The worth in capturing something beautiful and what often motivates a truly great artist to turn away from their work in the physical presence of others. It feels like sharing one's soul rather than having it stolen, and justification for trusting a stranger with an odd sense of chivalry. In all a welcome return of focus and deeply satisfying reward after some labyrinthine showboating down foggy paths.

It's been ages since I've seen Diva, Betty Blue and The Moon in the Gutter. I guess I should try to rectify that. I still haven't watched a de la Iglesia picture, but The Oxford Murders has been on cable lately.

I've not seen The Moon In the Gutter but the synopsis does look interesting so who knows. Diva was just a nice change of pace for me after so many hard boiled crime movies. It was nice to escape into something beautiful for a change.

I've not seen The Oxford Murders yet, but still recommend starting with The Day of the Beast as far as Iglesia is concerned. It's just the best example of what I love about his films. Perhaps your brother has a copy you can watch together?