New Morality Sex Comedy

THE LAST MARRIED COUPLE IN AMERICA (1980)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

 An R-rated comedy about marital affairs with the bright, classy movie star Natalie Wood uttering curse words and other obscenities! Yes, indeed. Though Natalie in the 1970's appeared in only a few TV movies and a forgettable dud like "Meteor," she always carried an edge of having lived a bitter , lonely existence. What is sweet about her role as a mother and wife who has a second sexual awakening in "The Last Married Couple in America" is that she sells the role, hook, line and sinker. The movie is hardly revolutionary in concept (it needed more tinkering in the screenplay department) yet it is really Natalie Wood and George Segal who bring the movie the comic energy it needs.

George Segal is Jeff, a successful architect who is happily married to Mari (Natalie Wood), a sculptor who works at home. They have three boys and a pleasant house in Beverly Hills. Jeff and Mari can't help but notice that their friends are divorcing, left and right. Every day, there is news of another divorce and it begins to affect Jeff and Mari (the couples all play football together and after a while, there is nobody left to play with). Jeff considers himself a saint when it comes adultery, yet Mari did have a past affair (nowadays, many of the Me Too movement will scoff at the fact that Jeff mentions that he slapped Mari after learning of the deceit). Before Jeff can discuss the "new morality" and act on it, he is bed hopping with not one but two women (an unrecognizable blonde vixen played by Valerie Harper who is insistent on jumping Jeff's bones, and naturally Priscilla Barnes). Jeff is infected with Gonorrhea ("The Clap?") and once Mari gets wind of his deceit, promptly asks for a separation and goes on her own affair with a younger man.

The film does go off course with the introduction of Dom DeLuise as a (breathe while you read this) porno actor who wants to stage a birthday party with hookers at Jeff's house! Why at Jeff's house when there are kids there I don't know but, then again, I would not be surprised. My parents were a swinging couple and, yes, Moral Majority please note, I was often in another room while activities occurred when I was not much younger than 11.

But enough digressions, "The Last Married Couple in America" is fitfully entertaining though it could've been sharper, deeper without a cop-out ending. Natalie considered it to be an update on one of her best films, "Bob, Carol, Ted and Alice," and I would agree yet that earlier film had a clearer emotional truth to it about sex and naked honesty. This film only parades around such issues without enough emphasis (though Wood has one heartbreaking scene where she complains about her pimple, the kids, her age and how a gas station is replacing a local market. You don't need more proof than that to know Natalie Wood always found a way to pull your heartstrings). Segal and Wood are a believable couple and there are enough crazy situational comic scenes to render the film a slight recommendation. To quote the classic film "Sullivan's Travels," it just needed a little more sex in it.

Roller Coaster ride of a noir movie

BAD TIMES AT THE EL ROYALE (2018)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

A mood of exacting noirish tones is set in motion right at the start of "Bad Times at El Royale." Some man enters a hotel, mostly in silhouette. He takes apart the floorboards and places a bag full of money under them. He covers it all back up, rather neatly, turns on the radio. Another man arrives at his room. He lets him in and BANG! My heart sank for a second watching this sequence, all told in a master shot, because blood splatters the lens (something that has become a tiresome cliche). My heart immediately sprang back to action when we hear on the soundtrack Edwin Starr's strains of "Twenty Five Miles" and immediately I knew this was going to be a decent crime flick. I had hoped for that until I realized midway through that "Bad Times at the El Royale" is actually a great crime movie, full of neatly developed plot twists, strong character types and a blazing energy throughout that slowly develops into a wallop of an ending. Oh, and the blood splatter? It makes sense later on.

Nothing is what it seems at the El Royale. A few customers arrive at this Lake Tahoe hotel, somewhere in the middle of nowhere and relatively inexpensive to boot, and are greeted by a bellboy who pretty much handles the whole darn hotel - there are no other staffers. The hotel is unusual in that a line cuts right through it, a line that separates Nevada from California (this makes for some complications about which room to board since smoking and gambling regulations apply). At first, I thought the movie was going to be more comical than serious because it could've mined the shenanigans involved in crossing the line at this hotel, when to get food and amenities, the unusual circumstances involving one solo staffer, etc. Alas, that is not to be because we see that nobody at this hotel is up to much good. Jon Hamm is presumably a vacuum cleaner salesman, Laramie, who remembers when the hotel was kicking with activity, though he is not what he seems. Laramie investigates and rips out listening devices from his room and ventures into a forbidden back room section where we can eavesdrop every room (there are two-way mirrors). Next we have the arrival of forgetful Father Daniel Flynn (Jeff Bridges) who often stands still unsure of where he is; an ex-soul singer named Darlene Sweet (Cynthia Erivo from Broadway's "Color Purple") who has encountered sexism, racism and a whole lot more, and a mysterious woman (Dakota Johnson) who writes an obscenity instead of her name on the guest list who also brings along a bound girl from her own trunk! The bellboy also passes out occasionally after ingesting heroin - not exactly the staffer of the year.

Laramie is not the only one with secrets, practically every other character harbors some well-kept secret. In almost a labyrinthian (with sanguine tones) variation on "Ten Little Indians," we begin to wonder who is really interested in that duffel bag of money and what some of the motivations are behind these characters. It may not be much of a surprise to discover that Father Flynn is not really a priest, but what motivates Darlene Sweet to commit the violent action she perpetrates against him? Why is Laramie so interested in the hotel's surveillance? What about a mysterious reel of 16mm film in the bellboy's sleeping quarters? And how about the virulent Chris Hemsworth who appears as a Manson-like cult leader as he is summoned by the young girl who is bound to a chair in Dakota's room? So many questions.

"Bad Times at the El Royale," directed by Drew Goddard ("The Cabin in the Woods"), is 2 hours and 21 minutes and every minute is packed with tension, humor, unexpected surprises and pathos. With a killer soundtrack that conveniently plays on the main floor of the hotel's jukebox, the film unfolds at a swift though never hurried pace. The performances muster just enough emotion and nuance to get the plot rolling along. Bridges towers above them all and his final scenes with Erivo are amazingly powerful. Ditto the casting of Cailee Spaeny as the bound girl who could easily pass for a Manson Girl - her character is memorably stoic and terrifying. Jon Hamm exudes a lot of the expected charm of a typical 60's salesman - hey, he's got the look down pat especially if you remember TV's "Mad Men."

Though the film is nothing new technically, it is patterned (aside from an echo of "Ten Little Indians") after Quentin Tarantino's own crime oeuvre with a dash of the Coen Brothers from the "Barton Fink" days. Tarantino lately has not been packing much of a punch but who cares - "Bad Times at El Royale" shows a lot more flair and an acute sense of itself without overplaying its hand. That is more than I can say for Tarantino who can push the running time of his films beyond what our patient butts can handle. Goddard packs it in tightly. What a roller coaster ride of a noir movie.  

Mild Dukes of Bournemouth

SPLITTING HEIRS (1993)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Despite the occasional dead spots, "Splitting Heirs" is one diverting oddball comedy that flashes by quickly yet it never elicited anything more than the mildest chuckles from me. I recommend the movie for its sheer liveliness and infectious spirit but I am not sure I found it that funny and yet, and yet, I cannot completely dismiss it. 

Eric Idle is a far too polite banker who is unaware he is the heir to Bournemouth royalty (he was left alone as a baby in a restaurant by his father, a British Lord, and there was an accidental switcheroo with another tot). Rick Moranis is the impostor, the other baby, the heir to Bournemouth as the 15th Duke though he is unaware he's an impostor. Add an attractive sexpot of a mother to Moranis (Barbara Hershey though she is the actual mother to Idle), a social-climbing beauty like Catherine Zeta-Jones who wants to be duchess and the "introduction" of John Cleese and you've got the madcap lunacy of a Monty Python comedy. Alas, not so. The various attempts by Idle to kill Moranis will make you smile, but that is all (the helium-filled scuba gear is hilarious though). Many scenes will make you smile, and some will make you groan but there is nothing here that is laugh-out-loud funny. It's got the cast and occasional humorous situations of an anarchic comedy but not the attitude.

Cleese is hysterical every time he appears as an amoral, homicidal lawyer - a bigger role in this mild state of comic affairs would've benefited the proceedings. "Splitting Heirs" is a movie you can't possibly dislike because it is charming and inoffensive. You also can't hate a movie for featuring a car that completely flips over and is carried along by bicycle tires! Yet with such a diverse comic cast of characters, "Splitting Heirs" is only content in being content with itself.

Just the two of us, Mikey and Laurie

HALLOWEEN (2018)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

The "Halloween" series has held a certain fascination with me, I suppose, because every harebrained sequel had the potential to transcend its slasher film cliches. It is easy to forget that the original 1978 shocker, "Halloween," was shocking because of its claustrophobic atmosphere that assumed something more supernatural than the surface reality of another horror thriller about a masked killer (this was before slasher was applied to a disreputable genre where slashing teens became the focus). The young high-school students had a cloud of ambition about them - they were not just disposable, bubble-gum brained girls who had nothing but sex and Mary Jane on their minds (though of course that is mostly what they talk about). There was something cheerfully innocent about them, not knowing what horror awaits. That coupled with the obsessed psychiatrist, Dr. Loomis (Donald Pleasance), who sensed dread was on its way with his runaway patient and mute killer himself, Michael Myers, and an ending that still sends shivers down my spine. None of the sequels matched the original in any aspect but I kept hoping. "Halloween," which arrived in 2018 with no Roman Numerals, discards all sequels and is a purposely direct descendant of the original. Unfortunately, despite some of its strengths, it is occasionally a run-of-the-mill sequel.

Silver-haired Laurie Strode (Jamie Lee Curtis) is back, though now she is an embittered woman and survivalist living in a gated house that is more like a death trap. She is awaiting the day that Mikey Myers escapes and comes after her - she wants to kill him for good and ever. Of course, during a transition to another mental institution by bus, Mikey kills everyone and escapes on Halloween night, eager to obtain his famous William Shatner mask and kill, kill, kill. One truly astounding sequence filmed in an unbroken take has Michael entering two different houses where he acquires a hammer and a knife and brutally kills a couple of unsuspecting women. This sequence reminds one of the haunting sense of menace that Michael has - he lurks, hides in the shadows, and pounces when least expected. It is amazing that nobody has captured that sense of evil in so long. There is also a sequence involving a young kid on a lawn as the lights go off and on and Michael slowly approaches his prey.

"Halloween" has a strong opening with an exacting purpose, that is two British journalists with a podcast who want to interview Laurie Strode and find out what Michael Myers tick. Unfortunately, these characters quickly evaporate and we get an elongated, frustratingly dull excursion into Laurie's granddaughter, Allyson (Andi Matichak), and her escapades with a cheating boyfriend at a Halloween rave party - you'll feel you have entered some teenage rom-com for a minute. We also get a silly inclusion of a Dr. Loomis-type psychiatrist, Dr. Sartain (Haluk Bilginer), who is a little too taken with Michael. On a positive note there is the vivid presence of Will Patton as a frustrated police officer who's on screen for what regrettably amounts to nothing more than a cameo. What I imagine a lot of fans expected, myself included, was the solid return of Laurie Strode and her revenge for what Mikey did to her friends 40 years earlier. Jamie Lee Curtis has such a remarkable turn as Laurie, full of pathos and nuanced with grief over the years she prepared herself and her family for the inevitable (Judy Greer is given short-shrift as her daughter), and yet she is confined to only a few select scenes. What we mostly get are anonymous teens who are set up for a slaughterhouse and, sure, all they care about is sex and some Mary Jane but the characters are more bloodless than animated. Putting it simply, there are no P.J. Soles personalities on hand here - the resurrected pumpkin during the opening credits has more personality.

I am not completely turned off by this "Halloween" sequel/reboot because there are a few scares, some choice moments for Jamie Lee Curtis and a chilling, suspenseful finish. Michael Myers is still depicted as a mysterious phantom of sorts with a precision-like method of killing, sans all the ridiculous psychological insights from Rob Zombie in his remakes. And yet if the filmmakers (including director and writer David Gordon Green along with co-writer Danny McBride) kept their focus on Laurie and less on the mad psychiatrist and all those disposable teens, we might have had an amazing sequel instead of some serviceable reboot.

Warm Apple Pie Feel

AMERICAN PIE (1999)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

I am not a big fan of gross-out comedies, particularly teenage gross-out comedies a la "Porky's" or the "Animal House" variety. Somehow, the idea that teenagers having nothing more on their heads than sexual promiscuity is not very appetizing. Well, sure, I was once a teenager myself, during the

Republican 80's, and I did think about sex, but there were other things on my mind too. "American Pie" is about teens in the 90's, sharing their zestful quest for losing their virginity on prom night. But I am convinced that sex is not the only preoccupation facing teens of America.

Nevertheless, the film's opening sequence is a classic piece of raunchy humor. Jim (Jason Biggs) is watching a porno channel that is barely registering on the cable channel. But the channel's soundtrack is unmistakably clear, as Jim fondles himself until his parents enter the room and are horrified by his

hormonal desires. He gets comical, expert advice from his father (hilariously played by Eugene Levy), who buys him all the porno mags he needs to understand sex. Still, Jim's curiosity gets to him when he is told that sex feels like "warm, apple pie."

Jim is not the only teen in high school hung up on sex - so are all his buddies, mostly lacrosse players. One player (the winsome Chris Klein from "Election") is not all he's cracked up to be, and feels that he has real sensitivity. He woos an intelligent choir girl (Mena Sevauri), who is taken by

his willingness to sing just to get close to her.

The Jerry Lewis-like Jim may not just be interested in sex, but he has a predilection for its orgasmic innuendoes. In a triumphantly classic scene, Jim broadcasts his bedroom antics with a sexy foreign exchange student on the Internet. Only problem is that he is not aware this is being broadcast to the

whole high school community! Jim struts barechested while the voluptuous female gets aroused by a skin magazine, and all the immature high-schoolers howl with laughter.

"American Pie's" saving grace is that some of these kids are made to seem human, unlike the cardboard cartoon characters of "Animal House" or any other horny teen flick from the late 80's starring Corey Feldman. No, these kids are sweet and human and, uh, oh, sensitive! Jim's one line about how a nerdy, talkative band player (Alyson Hannigan) has something else to talk about

besides sex pretty much sums up the sensitivity factor. Naturally. it turns out she wants to use Jim because of his lusty, Net activity. Jason Biggs, Chris Klein and Mena Sevauri at least seem to come from the real world of teenagers, but the burning question remains: is there more to life in high school than sex? If you have seen "Election" or went to high school, you may be compelled

to agree that there is.

Judge is jury and executioner

THE STAR CHAMBER (1983)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Michael Douglas playing an idealistic judge who can't combat the L.A. judicial system that allows criminals to get off scot-free after committing heinous murders sounds like a promising idea. Even more promising is the idea of an idealistic judge who unethically decides to secretly play judge and jury with a group of other judges - that sounds almost inspired. Call it Judge With a Death Wish except it is Douglas and a few other judges playing Charles Bronson. Call it whatever you want yet "The Star Chamber" is one of the few seemingly inspired movies that quickly becomes so tiredly uninspired.

The problem is the undernourished screenplay by Roderick Taylor and Peter Hyams (who also directed) that becomes dependent on contrivance. For one, Douglas's Judge Hardin is mostly left on the sidelines, wondering if he can continue to play by the rules of the L.A. court system that lets murderers go (thanks to some very able defendant lawyers who can determine that placing garbage in a garbage truck can't be evidence obtained without necessitating a warrant before the trash is scooped into the truck compartment!) At first, the idea of a crooked judicial system (which was nothing new even in 1983) is intriguing because we sense Hardin's disillusionment and frustration. Everything becomes suspended on a tangled web for Hardin when the father of the one of the murdered boys (James Sikking) attempts to shoot the freed killers only to wound a guard instead. After that same father commits suicide (and another kid is found murdered in a similar fashion), Hardin reluctantly joins a star chamber, a group of judges that meet at Judge Caulfield's house (Caulfield is played by that most reliable actor, Hal Holbrook) to kill selective freed criminals with the aid of a professional hit man.

But it is precisely at this point that "The Star Chamber" falls apart completely. Hardin joins the Star Chamber, okays every hit, and then is wracked with guilt. Over what, his complicity or that he can't shoot the criminals himself or that this secret chamber is the wrong approach? Hard to say because Michael Douglas's performance is so subdued to the point of nonexistence - he comes alive in the latter third of the film when he tries to warn two despicable killers that the chamber wants their blood. Yeah, okay, as if this scenario makes any sense - it is completely contrived. Why bother warning the cold-blooded killers when he may be thinking of dismantling the chamber anyway? Douglas and his Hardin character are so aloof in this film that I never intuitively felt the character possessed any moral right to rectify the abuses within and outside the judicial system. He is the same indifferent sourpuss from beginning to end - watching Michael Douglas's moody character can be an endurance test. So is "The Star Chamber."  

Life, love and Wine-Tastin'

WINE COUNTRY (2019)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

It is not often that a film about a few middle-aged women in the middle of sunlit vineyards talking about love, life and wine can inspire anyone. With former SNL alums engaged in much banter and slowly serving as a support group for each other, men may hesitantly approach "Wine Country," Netflix's new film. Eradicate all hesitation: "Wine Country" is deliriously funny and contains moments of real humanity. I will not call it the female version of Alexander Payne's "Sideways" but who needs to - it exists on its own honest terms and both films couldn't be further apart in comparison.

A getaway to Napa Valley is planned to a tee by organizing whiz Abby (Amy Poehler) where all her pals (who used to work at a Chicago pizzeria) are gathered to celebrate Rebecca's 50th birthday (she's played by Rachel Dratch). They get to stay inside a rented beautiful house with a sumptuous view of the countryside while sipping wine. Sounds perfect, well, only if these women were generic and bland with no ambitions or drive. Thankfully that is not the case as we are introduced to Catherine (Ana Gasteyer, one of the more underappreciated presences on TV and film), who longs for her phone and business opportunities though the cell reception is not 100%; Val (Paula Pell), a boisterous single woman with a new knee looking for a new missus; Naomi (Maya Rudolph), who desires this time the most, away from her children, and finally grumpy Jenny (Emily Spivey, who co-wrote the film) who loves to sing along to pop tunes but, heaven forbid, any Quentin Tarantino movie soundtracks - she had to coerced into going on this trip.

Most of "Wine Country" has a rhapsodic looseness to it, almost the feeling of disconnected episodes that are not meant to converge in any unifying way until the end. That is the beauty and warmth of it, the innate feeling of closeness to women who you would definitely want to spend a day with (and in what better place than the wonders and endless vineyards of Napa Valley). None of the characters are unappealing or unlikable - they are a more-or-less spirited group who all have emotional issues in their current separate lives yet when they are together, it takes a while before they admit their hangups. That is crucial to the film's success - they are great friends that learn to value their friendship so as to not to lose what they had. Whatever exists in their own world now, they accept and move on as only they can. We see a lot of movies about teens and twentysomethings learning those same valuable lessons yet seeing middle-aged women engaged in them is a rare and welcome opportunity.

There is much to like and admire in "Wine Country." I love the scene where Naomi and Jenny walk in a vineyard where they are not supposed to be, walk away, then walk back awkwardly and then walk away again; the moment of realization that Val's interest in a part-time waitress and graphic artist (who has a Warhol penchant for Fran Drescher) is not mutual; an elongated take where Abby considers having sex with Jason Schwartzman's cook/chauffeur character; Tina Fey as the house owner who has seen everything, and the sad shenanigans of Rebecca whose back goes out on her and spends an entire night laying flat on the floor, carefully considering her marriage. There is also much tomfoolery involving rolling down a hill and drinking wine at various wine-tasting soirees without caring about the nuances of flavors. See, not quite at all like "Sideways" where nuance of wine-tasting was everything.

"Wine Country" is delightful and humanely funny (thanks to writers Spivey and Liz Cackowski) with a sparkling cast that brims and bubbles along with the visual charms of Northern California. I would not call this film vividly great yet, so far, I cannot imagine a more entertaining film in all of 2019.