Only now does it occur to me... BABE: PIG IN THE CITY (1998)

Only now does it occur to me... that BABE: PIG IN THE CITY is a children's film of uncommon imagination and depth. This is mostly due to the fact that high-octane Aussie auteur George Miller (the MAD MAX series, THE WITCHES OF EASTWICK)––who directed, co-wrote, and co-produced––imbues it with sweeping pathos and frenetic vigor. Basically, it plays like an outré action movie that happens to star a cast of genuinely lovable animals. It's as if Jacques Tati, Steven Spielberg, Hayao Miyazaki, and Michael Winner all collaborated on a movie about a talking pig. It's intense, artistic, and... legitimately good, is what I'm saying.

Set in "Metropolis"––an insane amalgamation of every major city worldwide––

it's an incredible sequence of action setpiece after action setpiece. As a wild sprint from start to finish, it reminded this viewer of Miller's own masterpiece, MAD MAX: FURY ROAD. Following this line of thinking to its conclusion, allow me to present to you "The Nine Ways George Miller's BABE: PIG IN THE CITY most resembles MAD: MAX FURY ROAD."

#1. When the clown Fugly Floom––played by Mickey Rooney, naturally––has silver cake icing on his face,

and it looks as if he's going to have a "Witness me!" moment, shiny and chrome.

#2. When gangs of street toughs threaten murder and mutilation in Babe's Metropolis:

 

and on Fury Road:

#3. When Flealick (voiced by Adam Goldberg), the endearing, disabled Jack Russell Terrier grabs hold of the dog-catchers' truck with his teeth

 

 

and becomes involved in a balls-to-the-wall car chase with a result that, at the very least, tugs at the heartstrings.

#4. When a Bull Terrier becomes trapped underwater by a chain and is unable to free itself,

 

a sequence ending on a note of actual poignancy.

#5. When Babe gets put into bondage wear.

#6. When it seems as if literally everyone is packing heat.

#6. When there's pure junkyard carnage during a chase scene.

#7. When there's a fire at a children's hospital clown-show (many of the children look as sickly as FURY ROAD's war pups)

 

and Mickey Rooney stumbles around in grotesque horror, looking a bit like Immortan Joe discovering an empty vault.

#8. When there's an entire action setpiece built around stylized villains on bungee cords.

 

She's no Doof Warrior, but then again, who is?

Basically, it may be the only film that could fully sate a MAD MAX convention as well as a children's birthday party. You should probably see it.

Only now does it occur to me... THE PROPHECY (1995)

Only now does it occur to me... how in the hell did they succeed in making THE PROPHECY so boring?

Let's begin at the beginning: this is an apocalyptic, supernatural horror movie (from the writer of HIGHLANDER, no less), apparently popular enough to spawn four sequels, starring Christopher Walken as the Archangel Gabriel,

a character with bizarrely 'wig-like' slicked-back hair, who is defined mostly by his propensity for perching on things



and his profound, nearly Trumpian sniffing:


who is probably based on the "Angel of Death" character from a Madonna music video.


In "Bad Girl" (1993), Walken's just sniffin'

and perchin' all over the place.


Did I mention we also also have Eric Stolz (as the Archangel "Simon") looking all Jesus-y and

also perching on lots of things, like the best of them.

We have Elias Koteas lending serious pathos as a priest-turned-detective:


SEINFELD's "Kenny Bania" (Steve Hytner) in an oddly serious role:


Adam Goldberg dealing with some serious limbo/substance abuse:


Virginia Madsen looking seriously sad all the time:

and Amanda Plummer doing some serious gurgling in a hospital bed:

Wait a minute, why is this all so serious?!  This is a movie about creepy-wacky Archangels that sniff and perch on things, it should be kind of fun, right?

When we're given visions of a battle in heaven, I was reminded of ARMY OF DARKNESS

and immediately wished that I was watching ARMY OF DARKNESS instead.  Or at least TALES FROM THE CRYPT: DEMON KNIGHT.

By the time Viggo Mortensen shows up as Satan

Two of Cronenberg's faves sharing a tender, sniffin' moment––Viggo (A HISTORY OF VIOLENCE, EASTERN PROMISES) and Elias (CRASH).

(also perching on things, come to think of it)

we should be having peak fun––it's so patently ridiculous, that no amount of overwrought, inspirational voiceover; no amount of clumsily-delivered Biblical exposition should be able to ruin our fun. And yet. And yet.

Allow me to quote a line from THE PROPHECY:

"And in the end, I think it must be about faith, and if faith is a choice, then it can be lost––for a man, an angel, or the devil himself. And if faith means never completely understanding God's plan, then maybe understanding just a part of it ––our part––is what it is to have a soul. And maybe in the end, that's what being human is, after all." 

Dear lord, I believe I've stumbled upon the problem. I wanted this to feel like PRINCE OF DARKNESS or HELLRAISER or DEMON KNIGHT––hell, I would have even taken END OF DAYS... but instead, watching this movie feels like going to church. THE PROPHECY is not a horror movie. It's a sanctimonious Hallmark Channel drama masquerading as a horror movie. THE PROPHECY tricks you into thinking you're buying tickets to a Black Sabbath concert, but really it's a 'hip' Christian rock festival called Whack Sabbath. THE PROPHECY approaches you at the mall, and you think, wow, you're getting a coupon for a free Orange Julius, but really you're being handed a pamphlet that asks, "Are you saved?" THE PROPHECY is a breaking news alert about "War!" and after you scramble to click the link, you see they mean the War on Christmas. PROPHECY is a better movie, and PROPHECY is a movie about mutant bears directed by a blacked-out drunk John Frankenheimer. I could go on. But I won't. Um, Amen.


[Also worth mentioning: there are a number of elements (including the Weinsteins) that this movie shares in common with Kevin Smith's DOGMA, and while the flavors couldn't be more different, I feel pretty confident that THE PROPHECY served as at least a partial inspiration.]

Only now does it occur to me... EDTV

Only now does it occur to me...  that in the 90s, they totally made a prequel to TRUE DETECTIVE.

It features Woody Harrelson and Matthew McConaughey as two men with a volatile love-hate relationship who spend a great deal of time speaking in front of video cameras; furthermore, Harrelson plays a philanderer, and McConaughey ends up sleeping with Harrelson's girlfriend.  Now whaddya think about that?  Methinks Nic Pizzolatto was taking notes!

Half-kidding aside, this film sorta feels like THE TRUMAN SHOW reimagined as a corporate 90s romantic comedy, but it has a few inspired casting choices– including Martin Landau as McConaughey's stepdad, Adam Goldberg (in what feels like a DAZED AND CONFUSED crossover) as his old pal, and Dennis Hopper as his long lost biological dad.

Perhaps this can be metaphorically applied to TRUE DETECTIVE:  Landau is the Gothic window dressing, but Hopper is the true, secret, Lynchian father figure?

And Clint Howard's in there, too, because this is a Ron Howard movie and it just wouldn't be right otherwise.

I must also give special mention to McConaughey's Houston Oilers-beer-cozy-necklace:

which is pretty wonderful, but, to be clear, I am not recommending this movie.  Carry on.

Film Review: CHELSEA ON THE ROCKS (2009, Abel Ferrara)

Stars: 4.5 of 5.
Running Time: 88 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Abel Ferrara, Ethan Hawke, Milos Forman, Grace Jones, Dennis Hopper, Giancarlo Esposito, Adam Goldberg, Bijou Philips, Stanley Bard, Shanyn Leigh.
Tag-line: None I could find.
Best one-liner: "Couldn't handle fame?! Try handling non-fame!"

Generally speaking, there are two types of tour guides: a stodgy, self-important numbnuts who'll tell you that "in 1879, so and so did blah blah blah," or an unhinged borderline madman who'll tell you who "combined uppers with downers and flung a junkie down these stairs, which is why there's a dent in the wall there, and by the way, don't step on that goddamned dog, he'll bite ya in the ass."

Abel Ferrara firmly falls in the latter category, and you should be able to tell by now if his stream-of-fuckin'-consciousness style will appeal to you.

Abel in action.

With his focus firmly on the ordinary denizens of the Chelsea (though celebs certainly get their due), Abel is far more interested in the organic nature of the space than in name-dropping, which he eschews almost entirely.

We hear tales of idealistic hippies with guitars turning into hookers within two weeks, drug-addled youth listening to the same song on loop for four days straight (until somebody finally noticed 'Heyyy, this song is reallly long'), a man's horrifying account of his own brain hemorrhage, Frankie the dealer in #921, string theory, 9/11, suicides, fires, and what-have-you.

Milos Forman tells an awesome fucking story while Stanley Bard looks on.

We hear of a world where artists could pay the rent with paintings, deadbeats could go years without paying at all, and everything was handled on a case-by-case, humanizing basis. Consequently, the film becomes a rumination on an ever-changing New York that's moving from individualistic sincerity to corporate sterility. Gone are the days where artists can live like Poe or Baudrillard, so unencumbered by traditional concerns (like rent, mail, or credit ratings) that they could allow their genius to thrive precisely in the moment. And Abel's rambling genius exists in that moment, even during ill-conceived detours like bizarre reenactments that involve Grace Jones in a bad wig

Ms. Grace Jones.

or Adam Goldberg as a hardass dealer. (In fact, one of my favorite moments is an edit which implies that one resident's tale of a ghostly encounter was actually a run-in with the spirit of Sid Vicious.)

Regardless, the film's as eccentric, ominous, comforting, and labyrinthine as the Chelsea itself, and that is a true achievement.

-Sean Gill