Trip to the Woods

Eyes of Fire (Avery Crounse, 1983)

Robert Eggers's The Witch (2015) is Dada Debaser's pick for the best horror film of the 2010s. Therefore, when Avery Crounse's obscure eighties folk horror, Eyes of Fire (1983) is referenced by various film buffs as an ancestral forerunner, it becomes worthy of my time. Set in the hostile American wilderness during the colonial era, Crounse's low budget effort comes across as Arthur Miller's The Crucible pollinated with David Lynch's weirdisms; in particular Twin Peaks (1990). It's equal parts a historical tale and also a surreal, trippy nightmare.

Eyes of Fire is framed around a young woman and girl at a French outpost recollecting horrific events they experienced. Kicking this off with a bungled hanging of a David Koresh style preacher, he flees with his congregation to the uncharted wilderness. Amongst this party, is Leah, one of the polygomous Reverend Will Smythe's partners, who may possess supernatural powers after the botch execution. They're all scuttled on a river boat and it's very Aquirre, Wrath of God (1972) and Apocalypse Now (1979) here as events gets much darker for them. They not only have to contend with the indigenious Shawnee tribepeople and French settlers, but also the great unknown. Also in pursuit of Smythe's congregation, is the cuckholded Marion Dalton, the husband of one of Smythe's lovers.

In terms of presentation, Eyes of Fire does its best with its obvious low budget — there are some surprisingly eye catching sequences, like the tree of feathers scene. The cast are relatively unknown, apart from Will Hare, who played the scary grandfather in Silent Night, Deadly Night (1984).  I suppose the biggest name is the actor Rob Paulsen being the voice behind many famous creations. The fact that it looks like some made for television historical play at times, makes the film even more trippy when the weird video effects occur and the batshit surrealism takes over, like the naked spirits prancing about and the strikingly creepy woodland witch emerging from her peat domain are definitely not made for TV, however.

The similarities to The Witch are obviously there — the plot set-up and it's historical setting are the obvious examples. Is it as good as Robert Eggers's modern classic, however? Absolutely not, but it's a very good film all the same. In terms of its existence, it feels like a strange anolomy, due to being such a obscurity, even for horror film afficionados. Therefore, I'm very thankful a film that I was mostly oblvious about for so long actually exists.

Not knowing about Eyes of Fire until only a few years ago, when it was announced as part of Severin's grandiose folk horror boxset, All the Haunts Be Ours: A Compendium of Folk Horror, this was one of the titles that instantly made it onto my watchlist when seeing the trailer. That set is still far too expensive for my liking, but fortunately, the film in question is currently free to watch on Plex (which is even how I managed to see it). Definitely one to cop on Blu-Ray if it's ever released on its own and more affordable. Another reason to cop the Blu-Ray is there's a longer cut of the film with the alternate title Crying Blue Sky that might be worth checking out.

Both Eyes of Fire and Spider Labyrinth (1988) are two recent examples of eighties horror films which prove there are still some unsung gems from that era. It's a refreshing experience discovering this strange oddity that feels ahead of its time.

Demoness Souls

eXistenZ (David Cronenberg, 1999)

Amongst film critics and cinephiles, Crash (1996) is largely regarded as Canadian director David Cronenberg's best film from the nineties. As good as it is, personally, I prefer eXistenZ (1999) over it, as its subject matter is more appealing than a feature focusing on a bunch of pervs turned on by being involved in car accidents. That's just me, though.

The tragedy of Cronenberg's sci-fi body horror was it being overshadowed by the Wachowski's popular blockbuster The Matrix (1999) at the time. Both films tackle the concept of simulated realities; it's just one had Keanu Reeves in school-shooter trench coat swagger and the appeal of bullet time visual effects (a gimmick which would be nauseatingly copied and parodied throughout the following decade), while the other was either remained oblivious to most people, or seen as far too niche for mainstream crowds.

You've got to admire Cronenberg unique artistic vision; eXistenZ has his indelible mark all over it. Aesthetically, the film has the worn, post-modern dystopian look about it which is synoymous with many of his films. Love the organic looking consoles made from mutated amphibian organs with what look like umbilical cords plugged into a bio port at the base of the spine. That's unmistakably so Cronenberg. This is all coming at a time when the Sony PlayStation had shifted the cultural belief that gaming was only meant for a very young demographic. There was also the popular influx of virtual worlds; notably the MMORPGs which were growing popular at the time, where players were completely sucked into.

The plot is a fairly linear affair; security guard Ted Pikul (Jude Law) is tasked with escorting to safety games guru, Allegra Geller (Jennifer Jason Leigh), after a botched assassination attempt on her life by a fundamentalist. From that point, the film goes down a rabbit hole of Cronenberg's perception of what immersive gaming might entail and extremes of industrial espionage. It's a meta affair, where our leads traverse through the realms of reality. Hardly a unique concept in a Cronenberg film as it's familiar territory for the auteur with the surrealist techno, body horror Videodrome (1983) as it also blurs worlds.

Despite its modest budget, eXistenZ boasts an impressive cast - Ian Holme, Christopher Eccleston and Willem Dafoe as a dodgy mechanic/bio-porter, makes some of the supporting cast. Both Jennifer Jason Leigh and Jude Law display great chemistry together. The highlight for me is when the pair order a special platter of mutated amphibians at a restaurant. Jude Law instinctingly assembles a high powered pistol from the bones of his disgusting meal, capable of firing human teeth for its bullets. It's also worth noting that eXistenZ might be the only film where I've found Jennifer Jason Leigh remotely hot.

Can't help but admire the uniqueness of Cronenberg's grotesque gaming pods parasitically leeching off its human host to be powered. The umbilical cord is also a nice touch. There's also the casual manner of having a bio-port jackhammered into the base of your spine and being compared to having your ears pierced in this dystopian setting. There's also the religious like fervour of Allegra's enemies who see her game as a threat to our world - "Death to the demoness Alllegra Geller!" Everything about it so distinctively Cronenberg, innit?

Sadly, Cronenberg's film was a commercial flop. That might have been the reason why he took an extremely long hiatus from making sci-fi body horror and broadened his wings with A History of Violence (2005) and Eastern Promises (2007). He didn't return back to the fold until relatively recently with the impressive evolutionary tale Crimes of the Future (2022). Still, can't knock any film maker for branching out whilst not selling out.

Today, eXistenZ is something of a cult film. It's aged incredibly well. The subject matter is still relevant today with tech lizard moguls like Mark Zuckerberg championing virtual reality and trying to make the Metaverse a thing. Lord knows how much money he's pumped into that. eXistenZ also serves as a more palatable precursor to Christopher Nolan's metaworld concept from Inception (2010). Proof eXistenZ was way ahead of its time.

gg!

Lancaster Bomber

The Swimmer (Frank Perry, 1968)

Although largely unsung, we can add The Swimmer to the list of gems from 1968 that was a bumper year in cinema. Frank Perry's drama revolves around Ned Merrill, (Burt Lancaster) a middle-aged man with a bizarre obsession of wanting to make his way home by swimming his way home in the pools of his neighbours and fellow residents (regardless of whether they know him or not). Named after his wife, Ned calls it "the Lucinda river", which in turn becomes a fascinating odyssey for its protagonist and the viewer.

Adapted from John Cheever's short story, first published in The New Yorker, it's somewhat mindblowing that this unconventional and largely surreal film was picked up by a mainstream company like Columbia Pictures for distribution. Its doubly bizarre that Burt Lancaster, an actor synonymous with a tough guy on screen persona, would dive completely into this after the likes of George C. Scott and Paul Newman passed on the project. The Swimmer transformed into a personal film for Lancaster. He underwent immense physical training to get in shape for the role by putting on twenty pounds of muscle for his physique. He also ended up spending his own money to fund the last day of filming as the Horizon Pictures could not or would not spend anymore on the film. With such a troubled production which say Sydney Pollack playing an uncredited hand at directing reshoots after Frank Perry was fired from the film, you would think The Swimmer would have spelt an absolute disaster. It kind of did as it sunk without much fanfare, until it was rediscovered years later.

Despite The Swimmer's strange premise, it's an effective way in learning more about Ned during his journey home. Each one of his pool treks serves as a short story in itself, and reveal invaluable details about him. It's obvious from the very start of the film that there's something strange about Ned. The way some of his neighbours react to him seems to tell there's much more going on with Ned than we're let on. That's the beauty of the The Swimmer  – you're picking up these fragmented pieces about Ned's past and playing armchair detective. Despite being such an old film, delving deeper into Ned's journey would effectively spoil the experience. Also, The Swimmer deserves the benefit of not being ruined by anyone as it contains a superb final act with an unforgettable ending.

Don't mean to use such a clichéd description like "multi-layered", but it's wholly appropriate here: on one hand, The Swimmer poses as a psycho drama about a man's fractured past; while on the other, it's a satirical critique on the upper middle-class. The latter portrays Ned's neighbours as lazy and hungover good for nothings. While piecing together the jigsaw puzzle that is Ned's past, you're seeing him mingle with people who were once like him. The more you learn about Ned, you start to think that maybe he wasn't always such a great guy afterall; especially when he winds up visiting the home of his former mistress. There's also the distinct contrast he faces when he meets the working classes at the claustrophobically cluttered local swimming pool.

As mentioned earlier, Lancaster wasn't the first pick to play the role of Ned Merrill in The Swimmer, but it  might be one of his best performances, in my opinion. For a middle-aged actor wearing only navy blue swimming trunks for the entirety of the film, he does a stellar transformation of turning from this mildly eccentric suburbanite into a darkly disturbed individual. It's physical too, as his confident posture is  eventually subsitituted with him cowering and limping as the film progresses.  To a certain degree, Ned Merrill might come across as a spiritual precurssor to the likes of Travis Bickle and D-Fens. Personally, I interpret The Swimmer as a critique on the American Dream and on the male machismo.

Found out about the film about a decade ago when Grindhouse Releasing acquired the rights for it which was odd at the time since their catalogue contained notorious horror titles like Cannibal Holocaust (1980) and Cannibal Ferox (1981). Consequently, this stark contrast allowed for The Swimmer to earn a spot on my watch list. However, it wasn't many years later that I finally got off my arse and watched it. An absolute gem that I should have checked out much earlier, but better late than never.

Morlar & Me

The Medusa Touch (Jack Gold, 1978)

Back in the day, Roger Ebert proclaimed Jack Gold's The Medusa Touch (1978) his worst film of the  year. That's one reason, amongst a list of many, why I never cared for his opinions on film. From overrated hack to underrated gem, this is an opportune time to revist the supernatural thriller since it features one of my favourite roles played by Richard Burton. The Welsh actor made amends with this film after the godawful Exorcist II: The Heretic (1977). Other than Morricone's music, there's nothing else worth salvaging from that abomination.

Burton plays misanthropic writer John Morlar; "the man with the power to create catastrophe". The film unfolds as a kind of whodunnit? While Morlar lies comatose in hospital and in the immediate wake of a horrific airplane disaster in London, it's left to French exchange copper, Detective Inspector Brunel, played by a dubbed Lino Ventura (this is a British and French co-production, afterall), to put the pieces together like they were Morlar's brains. 

What makes the film so deliciously enjoyable are the various events from Morlar's life. These are told through a series of flashbacks via people who knew him; mostly by his psychiatrist, Dr. Zonfeld, played by Lee Remick. Burton makes these scenes the highlights of the film; which means alot as he got paid half a mil for three weeks work before bouncin' and there are a bunch of crazy setpieces happening while someone else pretends to be him under all those bandages. Fave of the lot is when Morlar's neighbours are having a domestic over a rotten fish and Burton ends up losing his shit from all the noise leading to a comedic conclusion.

The Medusa Touch shares common DNA with a range of other seventies films revolving around the theme of telekinesis: Carrie (1976), Ruby (1977), The Fury (1978), but most of all, the classic Australian horror, Patrick (1978). The latter moreso, largely because both leads are lying in comatose state while causing mayhem from their hospital bed. The Medusa Touch also shares the whole prophetic doom and gloom associated with Damien: Omen II (1978). Both films also share a classroom scene where the "protagonist" displays the upperhand over their respective teachers. The film also has a common association with the disaster films which were popular during that time; including an Irwin Allen style plane crash, that's surprisingly poignant after 9/11.

The film's pacing is also a breeze to sit through. Brunel's investigation is rarely stifled by any constant gas lighting once he realises Morlar isn't exactly an innocent victim, and may indeed contain supernatural powers. All too often in any film, particularly in horror, a fantastical concept can often be met with so much resistance, the flow of the film becomes potentially hampered. Not so in The Medusa Touch. Harry Andrews, who plays the Assistant Commissioner, diverges away from the traditional secondary villain you would come to expect in a film of this type, with an act of heroism for the film's big cathedral scene, while Morlar literally brings "the whole edifice down on their unworthy heads". A refreshing break from the traditional norm.

In retrospect, The Medusa Touch serves as another example of that whole dark pessimism which was so prevalent in seventies cinema. What makes the film a notable standout from its other supernatural brethren is its occassional levity. Hardly enough to ruin the film's doomer tone, but it's a welcome breather from all the seriousness going on; giving it a distinctive British charm all of its own. The Medusa Touch is an underrated gem and well worth checking out.

I'm a Convict... Get Me Out of Here!

Terminal Island (Stephanie Rothman, 1973)

Three months into the year and there still hasn't been a 2022 film to have me geeked for (did quite enjoy Hellbender, though). However, an oldie but goodie which I happened to discover this year is Stephanie Rothman's Terminal Island (1973), aka Knuckle-Men. The only other Rothman film I had seen prior to this was The Velvet Vampire (1971); a desert set vampire tale for New World Pictures. Rothman was a talented film maker and much like some of New Hollywood's notable directors, caught her break under the umbrella of producer Roger Corman. Disillusioned with the trappings of working on exploitation film, she went to Dimension Productions, Inc. with the assumption she would get the opportunity to make more intellectual films; turned out she was wrong, but we did get Terminal Island in the process.

Released in the very same year as Franklin J. Schaffner's Papillon, the prison island movie was hardly a new concept, but a draw to movie going crowds, nonetheless. Aside from a bunch of buxom women in daisy dukes, what appealed to me the most about Terminal Island were the two communities vying for power: one large camp ruled by Bobby, a tyranical despot, played by the actor who happened to be the disfigured Christopher Pike from the O.G. Star Trek (1965-1969), while the other camp consists of a nomadic handful of hippie blokes. In terms of writing, Terminal Island does have some notable similarites with the likes of John Carpenter's Escape From New York (1981) and Escape From L.A. (1996), even more so with Martin Campbell's underrated No Escape (1994). It's concept of a not too distant future where capital punishment no longer exists and thus murderers are sent to spend their rest of their lives to survive in the bush on a remote island, piques my interest greatly.

The film's cast is mostly composed of past and future cult TV actors: Don Marshal from Land of the Giants (1968-1970); Marta Kristen from Lost in Space (1965-1968); and Ena Hartman from Don August (1970-1971). There's also Elvis' sidepiece, Barbara Leigh, fresh from Sam Peckinpah's Junior Bonner (1972) and no stranger to prison films, Sweet Sugar (1972) herself, Phyllis Davis. Biggest name of all however is the moustachioed private dick Tom Selleck from Magnum, P. I. (1980-1988), who also happens to have his hench chopper pilot mate, T.C. (Roger E. Mosley) in tow. Kind of ironic how Tom Selleck's character, a junkie doctor wrongfully sentenced to the prison island, also happened to play another innocent man framed by crooked cops and sent to jail in the imaginatively titled An Innocent Man (1989), although not so innocent anymore after the shank scene, innit? A baptism of fire significantly reflected afterwards with Selleck's slicked back hairstyle. The rest of the cast of Terminal Island are your hirsute looking bunch of extras you would expect to see from the seventies; looking like their hair grooming took inspiration from either Tommy Iommi or Peter Sutcliffe as the de facto styles of choice.

Part survival drama, part actioner, this film has plenty to hold me down. With the insurmountable amount of denim on a par with Stezo's Crazy Noise levels on screen and modern day pots and pans, you could be forgiven for thinking it's a post-apocalyptic movie and these are the last vestiges of mankind. Also, prison island movies tend to feel less claustrophobic in comparison to their big slammer counterparts, so they tend to exude a different viewing experience altogether to a degree. It sets itself apart from similar movies that Jack Hill was delivering for Corman's New World Pictures, too. Not that I'm adverse to Hill's prison jungle films, it's just that Rothman's film has a different perspective altogether, despite the obvious visual and contextual similarities between them.

After a violent battle between the two warring factions, which results in a surprisingly high bodycount and a storage hut being blown up, peace finally descends upon Terminal Island. The survivors are now a friendlier bunch and working together. The closing scene of Milford's (Selleck) discovery that he has been acquitted for the crime he was wrongfully sentenced for and his choice to stay on the island, is a similar level of social commentary posed by Carpenter's Escape from L.A; freedom was there all along, or what have you. In the end damnation has become salvation for our motley crew of murderers. Good, innit?

I feel Terminal Island gets wrongfully boxed in with one of the more controversial subgenres in exploitation cinema - the W.i.P. film (aka Women in Prison). They were a popular style of film which usually abided to the formula: new girl is sent to a penetentiary; an alpha female runs the inmates; torture and murder; explicit nudity; possible lesbian romance; a sadistic warden; and of course, the inevitable prison breakout. They may be problematic in today's times, but if Dada Debaser is ever forced to choose a hill to die on, then it might as well go all out with Chained Heat (1983); part of the almost back-to-back Linda Blair classics trifecta from the eighties. Although Rothman's film does contain some nudity, it's rarely for salacious reasons, it's more so to highlight how the female characters are objectified and repugnantly forced into a life of sexual slavery by Bobby to keep his camp running. They're effectively treated as a commodity in his hippie commune. It's worth noting, once they're rescued from the nomadic rival group, the women are placed on an even pedestal to their male brethren - the daisy dukes are no more and bellbottom jeans become the legwear of choice. In any case, I heartily recommend Terminal Island, since it's one of those surprise films that delivered on many levels for me.

Terminal Island (Vinegar Syndrome Trailer)

(Stephanie Rothman, 1973)

Dada Debaser Bonus: 

While various film and entertainment sites might bore you to tears with the quintessential item wholly ingrained into popular fashion, e.g. Audrey Hepburn's black dress from Breakfast at Tiffany's (1961), this blog is having none of that faux sophisticated nonsense. Denim shorts are so synonimous with Daisy Duke from The Dukes of Hazard that they're referred to by her name. Beat that, Audrey! Dada Debaser is a big fan of Bach (both Catherine and Barbara), and it's only right to include Catherine Bach here in this poorly conceived chronological history of the daisy dukes, sandwiched between Phyllis Davis' Sugar and our simpin' for Friday the 13th part 2's Terry McCarthy. Lemmy included for the sake of fairness and any of you out there lurking who might be so inclined. Honourable mentions to that charming lady from the Still D.R.E. video and the former Canuck hockey goalie with an OnlyFans account.

 

EDIT: Can't believe I had to rewrite this review after taking forever to get it done the first time. Blogger auto saved a small change I had made and suddenly the whole review disappeared. F**K!

Dealin' Good For The Man

"The jungle creed says the strongest feed

On any prey that it can

And I was branded beast at every feast

Before I ever became a man"

 

Deep Cover (Bill Duke, 1992)

Always something of a risk returning to a film for a repeat viewing after many years; you really can't expect to feel the same way about it after such significantly long time. In my case, I had not seen Bill Duke's crime thriller Deep Cover (1992) since perhaps the mid nineties. That's a long time, where both taste and perspective can significantly change over the proceeding decades. Definitely was a fan of the film back in the day, but I think it got lost for me during the high output of classics from the nineties. Pleased to report that Deep Cover has aged like fine wine.

The plot of an undercover cop working his way up to the top of the drug distribution chain is hardly unique, but Duke successfully manages to keep it interesting with his conspiratorial take on the war on drugs and the socio-political effects it leaves behind in its wake. It's a thought-provoking spin then that at the behest of his governing superiors, a lawman would commit a 180° turn in his desire to make a positive change. In effect, he becomes the very monster he despises. A character arc that appeals to me greatly. 

 

"Twenty-five thousand for a jacket, wear it once"

 

Of course an intriguing plot alone isn't enough to hold a film down, a worthy cast is also required; in particular a worthwhile actor to play our film's lead protagonist - Laurence Fishburne (credited as Larry Fishburne in this film). That's a win, right there. The man cropped up in some personal favourites of mine like Apocalyspe Now (1979), Death Wish 2 (1982) and A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors (1987). Crazy how versatile an actor Fishburne was back in the day and how he could wear a black and white 8 Ball leather jacket and look cool in it. From White Lines to Perry White, Fishburne caught my main attention with his scene stealing performance as the iconic Jimmy Jump in Abel Ferrara's King of New York (1990), but here, he carries this entire movie on his back. Love his narration that pops in here and there - it's like a complimentary extract read out from an Iceberg Slim novel. Even with a great supporting role by Jeff Goldblum as David Jason (no Del Boy), the shady attorney turned gangster (predating Sean Penn's similar career change as David Kleinfeld in Brian De Palma's final classic Carlito's Way (1993) by a year), before his manifestation as  another quintessential karma piñata actor for r/movies vultures. On the under acknowledgement tip, I'm a big fan of 'roided up, Terminator quoting rival dealer Ivy and his unnamed Ilsa She Wolf of the SS looking partner in crime. Not surprised by the quotes however, since Bill Duke starred in two of Arnold Schwarzenegger's most famous films. Would have loved to have seen a spin-off movie of the pair of them back in the day, especially when killer couples were all the rage back then; even Perdita Durango from David Lynch's Wild at Heart (1990) appeared in a dedicated spin-off movie.

 

Visually, the film is super stylised with an omnipresent application of primary colours to keep the eyes peeled to the screen, which I find reminiscent of early Spike Lee and Pedro Almodóvar movies from the same era. It makes excellent use of dark blues and blacks, too; it's one of, but not the only reason why it's labeled as a neo-noir. Particularlly fond of the framing and composition, especially all the gorgeous angled shots. Dukes' film is incredibly striking, which I didn't initially pick up on during the VHS years, but it's instantly recognisable now from the switch to high definition.

 

"I love the way you talk
(Oh yeah Betty Jean)
Speaking little, saying a lot.
(Oh yeah Betty Jean)"

 

The soundtrack is perhaps even more appreciated than the actual film, since it was the first time most heads were introduced to a young pup named Snoop Doggy Dogg, as he featured on the classic Dr. Dre title single. It also featured the massive Shabba Ranks hit Mr. Loverman, along with two other big time personal faves: Jewell's Love or Lust and Kokane's Nickel Slick Ni@@a. The former of which I regret not adding to my 101 Best Non-Rap Singles Of The 90s list. There's also soundtrack composer Michel Colombier's synth banger John and Betty's Theme which is a nice sample of Death Wish 2's soundtrack and a fitting nod to Fishburne's appearance in it.

Criterion releasing this fine film in their collection is somewhat bittersweet to me: on the one hand, it raises the film's profile and potentially attracts new fans in the process; on the other, Deep Cover is the type of film that has had those very same film snobs turn their nose at it in times past. Seeing this film get the deluxe treatment is a step in the right direction and way better than some of the overrated pretentious shite they normally put out.

Dr. Dre introducing Snoop Doggy Dogg - Deep Cover
(Deep Cover soundtrack, 1992)

Juvenile Hell: Part 2

Class of 1984 (Mark L. Lester, 1982)

The future is here. A generational leap from the previous entry as Mark L. Lester realises an eerily prophetic vision of high school life through the eyes of music teacher Mr. Andrew Norris (Perry King). Set two years in the future, our film's protagonist receives a series of lessons in the school of hard knocks. He's transplanted from his idealistic and optimistic perspective into a run-down, graffiti-ridden education centre where CCTV, security guards and walk through metal detectors are the norm. Far fetched predictions in high school life which eventually came true. It doesn't take long when Norris falls afoul of Lincoln High's kingpin of crime Stegman (Tim Van Patten) and his gang of vicious punks, as he is taken to absolute hell by them. 

Having a film revolve around the teacher as its main protagonist gives it a necessary perspective, as they sensibley serve as an avatar of reason and maturity, which is completely contrasted by the level of chaos represented by Stegman and his  punk thugs. Coming across as a mix of High School Confidential (1958) and Death Wish (1974), Lester's film kills two birds with one stone, as it fulfils both criterias of a juvenile delinquency movie and an all out revenge film. The finished result is a film that both flirts the realms of exploitation and serious drama. 

As far as villains go, Stegman is the psychopathic son Krug Stillo always wanted, that Junior could never be. A school bully who makes Norman "Gripper" Stebson look like Lucy Van Pelt. There are a bunch of reasons why Tim Van Patten's character is so enthralling to watch: on one hand, you've got to admire any young entrepreneurial whipper snapper runnin' a criminal empire from a grotty rundown hovel, with punks lining up to see him like he was Vito Corleone; the scene where he's on the old joanna playing like Richard Clayderman, revealing his hidden gift (incidentally, that's an original Van Patten joint), is no recompense for his foul rap sheet; and, it just might be that he's a Nelson Muntz turned up to eleven that makes him such as a memorable manifestation of fear for older generations.

Not all the youts are bad seeds, however: there's Arthur, played by a podgy Michael J. Fox, in one of his earliest film roles; and that clarinet girl who looks like that Elliot Page geezer. They represent the handful of fresh-faced do-gooders, who made the mistake of enrolling at Lincoln High. It's not easy for them either, since shankings seem pretty common. It gets to the point that both the faculty and pupils are surprisingly nonchalant after Arthur got stabbed in the cafeteria riot.

Veteran of The Planet of the Apes franchise Roddy McDowell was cast as deflated science teacher Terry Corrigan, and wound up delivering a stellar performance. The scene where he walks into his science classroom where his beloved lab pets are gruesomely slaughtered is truly heartbreaking. Matter of fact, those were real dead animals from a morgue used for that nightmarish scene; not fake props like one would assume these days. According to a behind the scenes interview with a crew member, the smell was completely unbearable, which no doubt helped with McDowell's horror and disgust. Really tragic stuff seeng a character sink to such a depressing low that he resorts to pulling a handgun on his class in order to get the kids learning. Surprisingly, it seems to work. Who would have known that having a gun aimed at your face would be incentive enough to have the cogs in your brain turning and firing correct answers like Mark Labbett from The Chase? Apparently, writer and director Tom Holland remembered McDowell's performance in this film when his first choice as Peter Vincent for Fright Night (1985), Vincent Price had turned down the role. Winner!

Ultimately, the film is very much focused on confronting the viewer with an increasingly opposing force, before the line can finally be drawn and it's time to push back. Corrigan and Norris are two idealistists who thought they could pass on their knowledge to the next generation, little realising those irredeemable punk kids are the progenitors that would be running rampant in Mad Max's world. They both play a game with loaded dice, since the law and justice are driven here on two very seperate lanes, which leads to both teachers reach a breaking point: Corrigan, with the murder of his beloved pets; Norris, with the gang rape and abduction of his wife. One fails by going insane, while the other fights back for his and wife's very survival.

Lester's filmography is very patchy, much of his resumé consists of him producing some straight-to-video shite, although as a director he has delivered some legitimate gems: his underrated take on Bonnie & Clyde  Bobbie Jo and the Outlaw (1976) (Lynda Carter !!!!), Armed and Dangerous (1986) and Showdown in Little Tokyo (1990) are notable highlights. His biggest film however would undoubtedly be the Arnold Schwarzenegger vehicle Commando (1985)- a film with enough testoterone to fuel the eighties action movie scene alone. Lester would go on to helm a non-direct sequel to Class of 1984 with The Terminator inspired Class of 1999 (1990). Nowhere in the same league as its predecessor, but it's entertainingly trashy fun. Pam Grier as a homicidal android teacher is worth your time, if you ask me. However, it doesn't have a villain as good as Peter Stegman, nor does it offer a satisfying build-up and conclusion like its predecessor. Class of 1984 is a great example of the juvenile hell that this blogger loves to death. A cult classic.

Hot Pants

Breathless (Jim McBride, 1983)

One of my favourite ever recurring put-downs, is the use of the 'Allo, 'Allo theme being played whenever a pompous contestant serves up a gallic platter on gastronomic gameshow Come Dine With Me. It's equally relevant here whenever Jean-Luc Godard is brought up in any kind of film discussion. I find Godard boring and utterly pretentious. His films are not for me. The only take aways I got were Anna Karina was mighty tasty back then, and a talking computer with throat cancer will have me reaching for the remote. That's it. Nothing more. Opted to revisit Jim McBride's remake of Breathless since it's a personal go to pick whenever superior remakes find their way in any movie discussion. 

Generally find the changes made over the original work a lot better for me; namely the leads' origins and the location are vice versa to Godard's film. Don't know about you, but eighties America looks way more appealing to me than sixties era France. Our remake's couple also happen to be far more stimulating than the other two dossers. I find Valérie Kaprisky's character, Monica far more endearing compared to Jean Seberg's Debbie Downer beatnik; also helps that she's smoking hot. Richard Gere's rock 'n' roll outlaw Jesse is what ultimately makes the movie such a joy to watch. How he can pull off wearing Rodney Dangerfield's tablecloth checkered trousers and still look cool doing it, defies all belief. It's also a remarkable achievment playing such a larger than life character, who might possibly be on the spectrum, infinitely less annoying than Jean-Paul Belmondo's wannabe American gangster from the original. Also, it helps matters that Richard Gere doesn't resemble a smoking chimp when taking puffs from a cigarette, either.

Breathless vs. Breathless

(Kermode Uncut, 2010)

 

A favourite scene between the two love birds is Jesse's explanation of the tragic plight of The Silver Surfer to Monica. It's one of the most intimate scenes between the couple and foreshadows events that occur later on. Jesse identifies with Mavel's Herald of Galactus because he sees himself as equally misunderstood. An example of which is displayed in a newstand scene early on in the film.

McBride's film makes excellent use of music, which really compliments Jesse's erratic persona. No real surprise that he would eventually direct the Jerry Lee Lewis biopic a few years later, since his music features so prominently. The biggest musical highlight for me however, is the incredible use of Link Wray & The Wraymen's Jack The Ripper incorporated to perfection in a car theft scene. 

This film deserves way more love, in my humble opinion. Glad that a respected critic like Mark Kermode was brave enough to put his neck on the chopping block back in the day and claim it was better than Godard's original. Only people who still feel outraged today by this statement are so far up Godard's arse that it puts Richard Gere's gerbil to shame. McBride's film is the superior version and will always be.

Hypnotise Minds

Looker (Michael Crichton, 1981)

Sandwiched in between what are arguably two of Michael Crichton's most famous creations (Westworld and Jurassic Park), his 1981 tech-thriller Looker never got much love. Personally, the world is sleeping on this underrated gem, as it carries a poignant message that is still relevant today. The concept of a sinister omipresent corporation hypnotising the masses to sell products, and get them voting cherry-picked politcal candidates, appeals to me greatly. It carries over that prevalent seventies paranoia, as exemplified by the likes of The Parallax View (1974) and The Conversation (1974), with a Californian aesthetic. 

Hard to relate with a West Coast plastic surgeon as your everyman, but Albert Finney's Dr. Larry Roberts, is a rather likable protagonist, and serves us well as the avatar in the conspiracy plot rabbit hole. Susan Dey works really well with Finney, and brings a degree of depth with what could have been just a typical Californian bimbo. She has the best scene in the film, which is a very early example of CGI mapping and why I consider it a pandora's box that leaves me feeling uncomfortable today. We're seeing dead stars now brought back to life with CGI to sell products, it makes you wonder where we might go from here? Worth noting, James Coburn serves it up well as the film's villain, who could have been a worthy James Bond antagonist, in my estimation.

 For me, this film was ahead of its time in a lot of respects: We see the shadowy veil lifted from a nefarious corporation masquerading as a benefit to society and our needs; It might have been going on decades earlier, but the true beginnings of cosmetic surgery becoming a cultural norm, became very apparent after the film's release; Human behaviourial experts and science boffins working in marketing of products and services, are way more noticeable today; Our dependancy and influence by television, is perhaps the biggest factor of the lot, however. An example further explored and developed in John Carpenter's seminal They Live (1988); which makes it the perfect candidate for a great double-bill with this film.

Can't sign off without mentioning how superb the soundtrack is. Barry De Vorzon knocked it out of the park with his amazing synth production. His compositions help with the tone and tension within the film. It's a soundscape that is not lost on bedroom producer millennials and zoomers in the retrowave scene. The title song, Looker sung by Sue Saad is easily another strong highlight in the movie's repertoire and a personal favourite eighties jam. It was released as a single, but it sounds different compared to the movie version; better than that horrid Kim Carnes version, regardless.

Fingers crossed one of the big boutique labels brings this film back to life with a quality remaster, instead of it lanquishing with an awful Warner Archive release. Would also be a huge bonus if we have the deleted scene spliced back in, even if it only serves as an exposition dump.

Sue Saad - Looker

(Looker Movie Version, 1981)