Family is the Drug

CROOKED HEARTS (1991)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

"Crooked Hearts" is an ashamedly forgotten dysfunctional family drama that should have had a bigger audience. With its roster of actors who all come up aces, it should have also had a bigger theatrical release but MGM may or may not have had faith in it. Video and DVD lends to a ripe discovery of an independent film (made in Canada) that should be talked about and discussed. It is that good.

Based on Robert Boswell's even sadder novel and adapted by writer-director Michael Bortman, "Crooked Hearts" focuses on the Warrens, a family that celebrates failure. When Tom (Peter Berg) returns home after barely finishing his first college semester, a party is thrown. The parents (Cindy Pickett, Peter Coyote) take it all in stride, expressing their joy that their son is home though no conversation on why he didn't finish his semester. Noah Wyle is the younger brother, Ask, who has written a set of rules that he follows, such as never throwing water on an electrical fire. Juliette Lewis (prior to her breakthrough "Cape Fear" performance and in her debut performance, a fact shared by Juliette herself) is Cassie who falls asleep at the most inopportune times. And there is the troublemaker, Charley (Vincent D'Onofrio), who has slept with every girl in town and got a bakery girl pregnant! He is the fire that burns in this family, the one who wants to get away but his father will not let him.

"Crooked Hearts" doesn't skimp on how this family hurts each other without really noticing. The Warrens are not capable of speaking to each other or communicating without highlighting failure as some sort of reward. No real insight into why the family behaves this way is given except that secrets must not be divulged to the sleepy daughter of the Warren household, Cassie. This can be frustrating to the viewer (especially after the tragic loss of their home leads to a party at a motor inn) but it is indicative of a family that can't and won't let go of each other. Cindy Pickett as the Warren matriarch wants her husband to let go of Charley, who feels his father's vise-like grip tightening. Charley purposefully screws up so that he can be free but nothing works (he even admits to Tom that he impregnated Tom's ex). One too many tragedies lead to an emotional close that will have you straining to breathe, with the hope that the Warrens can move on. Do they and can they speak in real truths without celebrating who screws up next? Hard to say.

"Crooked Hearts" is a tough, unsentimental picture about how family love can suffocate everyone. The novel by Boswell also drains our emotions and our sorrows but the film deals with its themes through a quiet, unrelenting unease. Despite some humorous touches (such as Jennifer Jason Leigh as a girl who believes in signing a contract before a relationship begins), this is technically one of the bleakest family dramas I've seen in ages. "This family is like a drug and we are all junkies," says Charley. A salient point from an underappreciated gem. 

Super-Neo-Noir, Soulless City

SIN CITY (2005)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Let's get one thing sparklingly clear - I love film noir. I love the look, the feel, the atmosphere. More importantly, I also love how noir exists in a purely existential universe where sin, guilt and immorality run rampant. This is my own definition but I think it clearly defines noir. Since 1990's "The Grifters" and 1997's "L.A. Confidential" (arguably the last official "true" noir films), we have seen the stylized look in many films but not the soul. "Lost Highway" and "Mulholland Dr." had the staples of noir but they exist in David Lynch's own crossbreed of dreams and nightmares. "Sin City" has the look down pat, but this picture exists in a vacuum of such cartoonish, monotonous repetition that it will leave you exhausted and bored out of your mind.

Based on Frank Miller's cult graphic novel, Sin City is actually Basin City, a place where primarily murderers, prostitutes, mobsters, crooked politicians and the police, who seem just as crooked, exist. There is one good cop in this wretched mix of scum and villainy, and his name is Hartigan (Bruce Willis). He is a near-60-year-old crusty man with ambition to solve one last crime involving a little girl who has been molested by a truly evil serial pedophile (Nick Stahl). But then it seems that Hartigan's partner (Michael Madsen) is not such a nice guy either since both are after the same nutcase. I should also mention that Jessica Alba is introduced as a stripper with a heart of gold who works at a sleazy bar where all the characters occasionally pop up.

One such character is a murderous hulk who defies the laws of gravity named Marv (Mickey Rourke). He has a night of bliss with a prostitute named Goldie (Jamie King), who is afterwards murdered. Of course, Marv is the suspect and he spends the rest of the movie killing every person in his path, including scores of policemen and hit men, trying to find the truth. He also has a confrontation with a mute cannibal with piercing fingernails (Elijah Wood) who moves too fast for anyone. And let's not forget a naked Carla Gugino as Marv's parole officer!

Then there is a prototypically weird story involving Clive Owen as some wanted man who has a prostitute for a girlfriend (Rosario Dawson). Owen is also protecting most of the city's prostitutes from a vicious cop named Jack Rafferty (Benicio Del Toro), and an extended scene in a car in which Toro is in some sort of disembodied state will be discussed in great detail by future avaricious film students (this one sequence is directed by Quentin Tarantino).

"Sin City" has grit and has pure style in great strokes - this is a painterly vision of noir where everyone talks as if they were in a 1940's detective yarn (the voice-over narration certainly amplifies that). Of course, the new additions to the mix are seeing isolated color patterns in a black-and-white world. We see a woman in the first scene wearing a red gown while the rest of her is in black-and-white. Sometimes eyes are illuminated by color, especially green or blue. Sometimes blood is crimson red, and other times it is white or a custard yellow (depending on the character). In terms of visual imagination and the use of rear-screen projection, "Sin City" is not just a comic-book yarn come to life - it is noir as reimagined in all its luster by a film noir addict.

Unfortunately, the characters can't bear such close scrutiny. Marv's story is easily the best and Mickey Rourke steals the movie with his persona and his manner of provoking his enemies ("Can't you do any better than that?") His story is that he wants to know who framed him and who killed his beloved Goldie, whom he didn't know was a prostitute. The story has purpose but no real drive - all Marv does is kill and kill and we lose focus as to whom he's after.

Same with Hartigan, the crusty cop who gets plugged throughout the movie without ever going down. Willis does the best he can with a one-dimensional character but there is nothing to chew on - he is shot and left for dead only to come back for more. His character is trying to find the little girl he saved from the pedophile. His quest takes him about eight years since he's been wrongly jailed for the crime. He finds her and the pedophile, who is now a snarling, ugly creature known as Yellow Bastard (Nick Stahl), the deformed freak armed with a whip who gets an orgasm when a woman screams. Though this story ends with a touching coda, it lacks any real weight.

Director Robert Rodriguez invests this mish-mash with real style but what he has not done is inject the same life into the characters, all of whom are as arbitrary and dull as one can imagine. There is not one character that you feel any real connection with - they exist as pawns in a world of sin and vice. Rodriguez and comic-book creator Frank Miller assume that this central conceit is enough to carry a movie but it isn't. And the narrative style, which feels slightly borrowed from Tarantino's classic goofy crime caper "Pulp Fiction," does little to enhance any of the characters' attributes. Shallowness is the name of the game. People get brutally beaten to a pulp from one scene to the next. Bullets fly everywhere and do little to decimate the main characters, though the supporting players get offed immediately. And there are more fistfights, decapitations, beatings, and so on (at one point, a skinhead gets an arrow pierced through his heart and he just stands around waiting for someone to call a medic). It becomes so repetitive because there is no sense of urgency - it is like watching a cartoon where people jump from great heights and land on their two feet with nary a scratch or a broken bone.

"Sin City" is too long-winded yet it is also too visually arresting to dismiss entirely. It has the style of the genre but not the soul, not the humanism and certainly has no interest in the complex morality of an existential universe. As I've said before, audiences today could care less about such weighty matters - they just want action. Perhaps fans of the comic book will get what they pay for. But even such tough noir pictures like "Chinatown" or "Detour" or "The Big Heat," or even the devil-may-care thriller "Angel Heart," required some emotional investment. Here, the only investment is in seeing how highly-charged Rodriguez's giddy filmic mind can get. Count me out.

Love and Suicide in the time of Cat Stevens

HAROLD AND MAUDE (1971)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Hal Ashby's "Harold and Maude" is one of the most offbeat and humane black comedies of all time. Its subject is dour but its presentation is impeccably bright in every respect, dealing with life and death in surprisingly dramatic and obscenely funny ways.

Harold (Bud Cort) is a seemingly troubled 20-year-old who loves to fake suicide attempts. He does them in front of his mother (Vivian Pickles), who is more annoyed than she is frightened by them. Harold pretends to drown, shoot himself, hang himself, slit his wrists, chop off his hand, immolate himself, etc. None of these attempts work on his mother. All his mother does is arrange computer dates with Harold, each of whom he promptly scares away. We do not learn much about Harold except that he enjoys driving a hearse and frequents funerals of people he doesn't know. One day, Harold meets his match at a funeral. She is Maude (Ruth Gordon), a seventy nine-year-old woman who steals cars and just about everything else. She even steals Harold's hearse at one point which is how they meet. Maude teaches Harold to love life, to embrace it and nurture it. She lives in a train car which is full of flowers, guitar-playing instruments, and other assorted trinkets. She shows him the beauty of sunsets and of stealing planted trees on street corners and putting them where they belong: in the forest. Thanks to her free-spirited and nonchalant manner, they almost get into trouble with a motorcycle cop.

At Harold's home, things are not any better. When Harold's mother finds out about Harold's new friend, she tries to get him in the military by way of his Uncle Victor (Charles Tyner), Douglas McCarthur's right-hand man. Harold's response to war is to mimic shooting the enemy and to enjoy it a bit too much. A priest tells Harold that marrying an older woman with sagging breasts and buttocks makes him want to "vomit." Harold's psychiatrist has the funniest line as a Freud portrait stands in back of him: "You want to sleep with your grandmother." But none of this means anything to Maude - she wants Harold to grow and stick to his dreams, his wants, his needs.

"Harold and Maude" evolves with complete assuredness, thanks to a terrific screenplay by Colin Higgins and unobtrusive direction by the late Hal Ashby. Its blend of the macabre with moments of sensibility and pathos makes for a remarkably emotional experience. It also helps that Cat Stevens' songs populate the soundtrack every once in a while, an ironic counterpoint to Harold's own posh digs. If you think about it, it is rather funny to hear a Cat Stevens song playing while Harold drives his hearse.

Bud Cort ("Brewster McCloud") became forever typecast as the elusive Harold, preoccupied with death but also with trying to get attention from his mother. His performance is minimal in terms of expression but slowly he starts to evolve from a wan looking, inexpressive young man into someone who sees there is a life to live in this cruel world.

Ruth Gordon is the real centerpiece of the film, showing a woman of such joy and fleeting sadness (notice the concentration camp number on her wrist) that it makes a film of nihilistic rebellion (Harold and Maude's) into something much deeper and optimistic. Her ironic last sequence will make you tear up.

"Harold and Maude" is the 70's answer to the classic "The Graduate" but more focused and clever at every turn. Yes, there are some stereotypes and perhaps obvious symbolism yet for a film of such black comic overtones, there is a degree of intelligence and humanity that reigns above any other film of its type (it doesn't survive on black humor alone). Love it or hate it, there haven't been many films like "Harold and Maude."

Kill or be killed - that is Rambo's motto

RAMBO (2008)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

I confess that I am no fan of the "Rambo" series. I liked "First Blood" enough to wish later entries followed its suit of a loner Vietnam vet forced into action who realized that America in the Pacific Northwest was as violent as anything in Vietnam. "Rambo: First Blood Part II" and the unforgivably awful and monotonous "Rambo III" created a superhuman Rambo who was all about blood and guts and mowing down dozens of anonymous and villainous cretins without remorse or consequence (As Rex Reed succinctly put it, Rambo became "Superman with helicopters.") Rambo was considered the ideal Reagan-era, flag-waving, jingoistic hero - the ultra-macho superman of very few words. The new "Rambo" (originally titled "John Rambo") is the same old song and, though it is riddled with flaws, it is far superior to the last two sequels. That is still faint praise.

Brawny-as-ever Sylvester Stallone is back as the Man of Far Less Words Than Usual, Johnny Rambo, who is living in exile in Thailand catching snakes! A group of church missionaries want to bring food, water, prayer and medical attention to the Karen ethnic tribe in Burma (now known as Myanmar). The Karen people are facing a genocidal apocalypse thanks to the murderous Burmese regime who have them under their control. The Burmese soldiers rape, pillage, implode and explode these villagers one by one. The missionaries need a guide, a man who knows how to steer a riverboat, and that is none other than Rambo himself. These missionaries know they are treading into dangerous territory but they have no idea what their musclebound guide had been up to in the old days. Remember that in "Part II," Rambo's mission was to photograph any MIA's. Yeah, right! Now in this movie, Rambo has that thousand-yard stare and a toughness that screams "machine gun in cold dead hands." But no, the missionaries must think he is some sort of liberal Mr. Softy.

Rambo agrees reluctantly to help the missionaries and he must know they might get killed but he leaves them, and then comes back with a few mercenaries who are ready to kill. There is almost some one-upmanship from the mercenaries that is abandoned for the old-school level of gratuitous violence of the earlier pictures. Rambo shows his skills with bows and arrows, slices up abdomens and limbs and other body parts, and uses a machine gun on a turret while roaring in the trademark Stallone roar (he is also handy with explosives). The last half-hour of this film is chock full of graphic violence that includes everything from disembowelment to decapitation to exploding limbs but since the Burmese military are just one-dimensional savages, it is hard to work up much more than righteous applause in seeing them get their eventual just deserts. That is one thing strangely missing from this "Rambo" sequel: a new villain. Here, the villain seems to be the entire Burmese military and that is not satisfying enough for any action movie fans.

Stallone is an able writer and director in his own right but he reduces his iconic war hero to nothing more than a one-man war machine. Yes, I know, the earlier films portrayed the same kind of character but I was expecting more since it was Stallone at the reins and not director George P. Cosmatos. Stallone got more mileage out of Rocky in "Rocky Balboa" than he does out of Rambo. If nothing else, Sly knows how to frame the action with dizzying results (using the kind of frantic cutting, jittery camera and purposeful dust prints of post-"Saving Private Ryan" action pics). And to be fair, the movie doesn't feature endless explosions like most of "Rambo III." But this movie's politics are given short-shrift and we see the violence poured on us from both the good guys and the bad in such grisly detail that it proves to be nothing more than exploitation of a real-life crisis. It is not technically entertaining, just nauseating. All in all, I felt a measure of nostalgia for what is arguably an amped and revved up 80's action picture. But I got more of a kick with depth from 65-year-old Harrison Ford in the last "Indiana Jones" picture than I did from a 63-year-old brawny, taciturn hero who loves to slice and dice.

Rex Reed is the faux film critic version of Don Rickles

REX REED: A MAN OF MANY INSULTS

By Jerry Saravia

For more than forty years, film critic Rex Reed has attacked celebrities of all sizes and shapes. Usually they are pointed remarks, and some might be perceived as pointedly offensive. He referred to Robin Williams' shaved body in the stupefyingly dull "Hook" as resembling "boiled pork butt." He once referred to Madonna's armpits as smelling like "Bloody Marys" in regards to her performance in 1990's "Dick Tracy." (Yeah, they might if we had Odorama in the movie theater and that was not the case with "Dick Tracy") I cannot leave out another criticism of Madonna's features by Mr. Reed - "Her vulgar, raunchy undulation, her execrable music, her white zombie makeup all add up to the specter of an anguished and rather pitifully sexless corpse selling necrophilia wholesale." OUCH! Not even talk-show host Piers Morgan ever went that far in his criticism of Madonna - he just has a problem with her faux British accent.

And if you think that is bad, get a load of Reed's criticism of Juliette Lewis's appearance (not her performance) in Scorsese's lurid, over-the-top "Cape Fear" remake - "This pouting, oversexed, and unfocused brat is the best defense I can think of for having your tubes tied. Played by the dreadful Juliette Lewis, she's a repulsive, retarded little jerk too." DOUBLE OUCH! It is funny how much Mr. Reed used to get away with in the past. These are just some samples.

Now Rex Reed's negative review of "Identity Thief" has this little soundbite that has got everyone in a tizzy - "Melissa McCarthy (Bridesmaids) is a gimmick comedian who has devoted her short career to being obese and obnoxious with equal success." He also refers to her weight as "tractor-sized." To be fair, Reed once said that De Niro's obesity in 1980's "Raging Bull" was "bordering on the grotesque." Clearly Mr. Reed has a problem with overweight people on screen.

Melissa McCarthy in 1999's "Go"

Reed has defended his remarks claiming the following: “I have too many friends who’ve died [from obesity-related issues],” and “I object to using health issues like obesity as comedy talking points.” Well, excuse me but that is hardly what I think of Melissa McCarthy in general. Her TV show "Mike and Molly" does not exploit her weight for laughs - in fact, her weight is never an issue on the show nor should it be. McCarthy is charming, attractive, sensible and simply a joy to watch on screen. I loved "Bridesmaids" which is one of the funniest comedies I've seen in the 2010 era and her guest-hosting on "Saturday Night Live" was an absolute blast of laughs. Neither of these shows or films exploited her weight for laughs (perhaps SNL ever so slightly in a skit where she kept falling down the staircase). I cannot comment on "Identity Thief" but I doubt the film exploits her weight much, if at all (I read one comment from someone who did see the movie and claimed that there are more fat jokes in the review than the movie). And I seriously have not seen McCarthy ever be anything close to obnoxious - when and what character and what movie? Rex probably doesn't recall McCarthy's brief performance as a giggling soap-opera fan in 1999's "Go" - a movie Rex put on his ten best list of that year.

That is what is odd about Rex Reed. He may hate certain actors based on their appearance but he sometimes praises them for certain films. Reed inexplicably loved "The Evening Star," a dreadful sequel to "Terms of Endearment" that starred Juliette Lewis. I am not sure what he said about her appearance or her performance in the review but I doubt it was as insensitive as what he said about her in his "Cape Fear" review. Reed also liked "Evita" which had Madonna in the title role (my favorite role of hers is actually in the little-seen "Dangerous Game" by director Abel Ferrara). So maybe Melissa McCarthy will one day be mentioned in a review of his without regards to her weight, that is if it is a positive review. A negative review? Forget it, all bets are off.  

"It's fair to comment on any actor's appearance if it's relevant to the character the actor is playing, the performance, and how that actor's physical traits add to or detract from the performance," he tells Us. "But this just smacks of mean-spirited name-calling in lieu of genuine criticism." - Film critic Richard Roeper

Rex Reed has made a career out of personal insults. This is nothing new and, though it is insulting to Mrs. McCarthy, I can't say I am surprised by anything Rex Reed says anymore. McCarthy is a huge movie and TV star. If she had been an unknown, nobody would care.

Rated D for Dumb

ALPHABET CITY (1984)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

"Alphabet City" is a great-looking failure. It is an ostensibly gritty crime picture with flashy neon, bright street lamps, and bright and shiny ambulances - even the cavernous drug-dealing dwellings look inviting. It is a glossy crime movie and if only it were made with someone who had a tenth of Michael Mann or Mike Figgis's talent. The director here is Amos Poe, who can't write convincing dialogue or have much ability to direct actors.

Johnny (Vincent Spano) is the resident drug dealer of Alphabet City, a section of New York City that is divided up by Avenues A, B, C and so on. His drug-dealing begins early evening and presumably lasts the whole night. Johnny wears a whole leather get-up that looked cheesy even in the 1980's. His wife (Kate Vernon, her film debut) works on her paintings all night and raises their baby in a gigantic loft.

Bad news has arrived in Johnny's life when his boss tells him to torch an apartment building. The problem is that Johnny's little sister (Jami Gertz), an escort in the making, and his oblivious mother (Zohra Lampert) are living in that building! Meanwhile, Johnny spends the rest of the night collecting money from lowlifes and has to contend with a young kid who wants Johnny's way of life. Worthwhile mention is Michael Winslow (the motormouth sound-effects man from the "Police Academy" series) as a drug dealer who mimics the sound of police sirens!

There is one scene that works in "Alphabet City." Johnny speeds down the New York streets without looking at the road ahead to intimidate a hotshot kid who idolizes his lifestyle. Beyond that, "Alphabet City" is wayward and laughable, and the limited screenplay leaves out a lot of potential with Johnny's family, especially his sister. It is a shallow independent film with not one honest bone in its narrative body.

Sweet Horror Musings by Donald Pleasance

TERROR IN THE AISLES (1984)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

 "Terror in the Aisles" is one of my favorite horror documentaries from the 1980's, a movie I watched religiously when it was televised on weekday afternoons. It has Donald Pleasance and Nancy Allen inside a movie theater, along with scared audience members, giving commentary on everything from horror films to slashers to thrillers. Some of it might be a little uneven when it shows clips from 1981's thrilling "Nighthawks" and only a brief clip from "The Silent Partner," not to mention "The Exorcist" and odd clips from "Alone in the Dark" that eventually segue to "The Food of the Gods" (why?) to "Marathon Man", etc. You will still have a grand time savoring over everything horror and beyond - a chill will travel through your spine.

Clearly terror is the name of the game and there are choice clips from David Cronenberg's "Scanners," and there are unsavory clips from the largely forgotten 1982's "Vice Squad" with a killer pimp played by Wings Hauser (king of B movie during the 1980's). I rather forget "Vice Squad" and 1982's atrociously unwatchable "The Seduction" with Morgan Fairchild, which have little purpose beyond having their voyeuristic clips shown next to the truly scary "When a Stranger Calls," where Carol Kane is informed that the stalker on the phone is calling from inside her house. There are, however, various clips that come together with the right kind of selections. For example, clips from 1941's "The Wolf Man" are juxtaposed with "An American Werewolf in London" and "The Howling," showing how werewolf transformation scenes have changed substantially in thirty years.

Donald Pleasance has one of those distinct voices that makes you want to listen to his every word. It is fascinating in retrospect that Pleasance discusses real violence versus movie violence, showing a couple of so-called degenerates or undesirables in the audience and how real-life violence doesn't intrude upon the communal viewing experience (who could have anticipated the Aurora, Colorado movie theater shooting in 1984?) Then Nancy Allen shows her dismay for showing clips of women in peril - pardon, Ms. Allen? One of her own movies is shown, the fantastically suspenseful "Dressed to Kill" where she plays a vulnerable prostitute.

Interestingly, Ms. Allen also discusses how a filmmaker like Alfred Hitchcock would show more style and finesse in his own classic thrillers such as "Psycho" and "Strangers on a Train." There are clips lifted from the terrific Hitchcock documentary by Richard Schickel (as part of the "Men Who made the Movies" series), "Inside Hitchcock," where the Master of Suspense himself speaks on what makes a thriller work. In retrospect, Hitch never had use for gore and seeing how he terrified audiences versus the 80's slashers is a cinema lesson everyone needs to hear. Incidentally, I would've loved to have heard some comments from other directors such as John Carpenter but that is just pure nitpicking.

"Terror in the Aisles" is occasionally haphazard with selection of film clips overall and its annoying use of a mediocre re-recording of the Halloween theme played during clips from "Halloween II," but the movie is still spine-tingling fun.  It is probably the last documentary on horror films released theatrically and it is a bit of a shame that the rest that have been made since (such as the hair-raising "The American Nightmare") have been given a direct-to-DVD life.