Film Review: COCKTAIL (1988, Roger Donaldson)

Stars: 2.9 of 5.
Running Time: 104 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Tom Cruise, Bryan Brown (BREAKER MORANT, THE POSEIDON ADVENTURE '05), Elisabeth Shue (THE KARATE KID, HOLLOW MAN), Laurence Luckinbill (THE BOYS IN THE BAND, STAR TREK V), Kelly Lynch (ROAD HOUSE, ROAD HOUSE, ROAD HOUSE), Gina Gershon (SHOWGIRLS, FACE/OFF). Written by Heywood Gould (THE BOYS FROM BRAZIL, co-writer of ROLLING THUNDER). Directed by Roger Donaldson (WHITE SANDS, SPECIES, THE BANK JOB, THIRTEEN DAYS, NO WAY OUT).
Tag-line: "They thought he was good. They were wrong. HE WAS THE BEST." Also, see review.
Best one-liner: "I don't care how liberated this world becomes - a man will always be judged by the amount of alcohol he can consume - and a woman will be impressed, whether she likes it or not."

I'm not sure what to say. I enjoyed this, yes. For starters, it has one of the greatest tag-lines in film history: "When he pours, he reigns." There's high-fives, an amazing 80's neon font, and a sort of visceral, perverse fascination to be had in watching Tom Cruise and Bryan Brown undulate in unison, doing the Hippy-Hippy Shake as they mix Singapore Slings and what-have-yous.



But there's a key element of revulsion: the bad boy 'counter-culture' facade is easily unmasked to reveal a basic celebration of crass yuppie ideals. And it thusly kinda turns into a ginormous, reassuring pat on the back for yuppie sell-outs.

COCKTAIL says, "Fuck money! Fuck selling out! Yeah! Choose love!," and then cranks up the volume on some Starship before resuming with a business plan for creating a chain of bars for strip malls. It LITERALLY does of all of that. Only a yuppie shithook would think of themselves as a 'Maverick' because they're devoted to trite success manuals and dream of one day franchising NYC ambiance to tools across the land. Only the worst of douchebombs would truly relate to a romantic hero who successfully employs "A guy lays down a dare, you gotta take it!" as a perfectly legitimate, forgivable excuse for cheating on your girlfriend.

"THE BAR IS OPEN!"

But still, COCKTAIL is an important cultural document. The late 80's saw several exposés of yuppie culture. Something like BRIGHT LIGHTS, BIG CITY examines the origins and driving forces, and something like John Carpenter's THEY LIVE attempts to place it in perspective through the lens of outrageous sci-fi action and social commentary. But COCKTAIL exists as the flip side- the dark side- of that coin... almost a yuppie Bible. It's also a lot of fun. But for sheer vapidity, I'd rather be watching CAPTAIN RON, and for vapidity with subsequent meaning, I'd rather be watching AMERICAN GIGOLO. So there you have it. Not quite three stars.

-Sean Gill

Film Review: OUT FOR JUSTICE (1991, John Flynn)

Stars: 4.2 of 5.
Running Time: 91 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Written by David Lee Henry (ROAD HOUSE, THE EVIL THAT MEN DO). Music by David Michael Frank (THE HERO AND THE TERROR). Starring Steven Seagal, William Forsythe (EXTREME PREJUDICE, PATTY HEARST), Jerry Orbach, Gina Gershon, Julianna Margulies (ER), Raymond Cruz (CLEAR & PRESENT DANGER, THE SUBSTITUTE), bit part by John Leguizamo.
Tag-line: "He's a cop. It's a dirty job... but somebody's got to take out the garbage."
Best one-liner: "Yo, fuck nuts!"


Director John Flynn is a master craftsman. He was the kind of detail-oriented, old Hollywood workman who could've become a Steven Spielberg had his proclivities leaned toward family-friendly fare instead of movies where Steven Seagal bashes some dude's brains in with a hard salami.

The salami-bludgeon is hurtling through space with such speed that it made an adequate screencap nearly impossible.

This is why John Flynn is the man. A man of action. And OUT FOR JUSTICE is all about action. Martial arts action. Mafia action. Cop action. Revenge action. Old school, rip-roaring action. Meat cleaver action. Action action action.

YEOWWWWW


It's a gritty slice of the 70's served up on a 90's plate with an 80's garnish. It's the kind of work that should result in Sam Fuller takin' a long drag from one of his token cigars and delivering an appreciative nod, which is really the only kind of work that's worth talking about.

Seagal plays a "wop motherfuckah" named Gino, an old-New York-style cop with deep-rooted ties to the community––but right now, he's got only one thing on his mind: and it's revenge. In particular, revenge against a totally psychopathic, crack-smoking, innocent-bystander-killing, pasty, portly madman played by the one and only William Forsythe.

Does anyone want to lay down some odds on whether Forsythe is actually smoking that crack?


This one speaks for itself.


WILLIAM FORSYTHE WILL BREATHE IN YOUR FACE, AND YOU WILL HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO LIKE IT


I still want to see a movie where Forsythe plays Richard Masur's evil twin. 


During the apocalyptic final duel, Seagal accidentally broke Forsythe's nose for real. Forsythe likely responded by laughing maniacally and lapping up his own blood.

Now, whether or not this movie remains faithful to the codes, operations, and minutiae of neighborhood organized crime in Brooklyn is not for me to say. I will say that I was completely convinced- and in the context of this movie, isn't that all that matters? Flynn's matter-of-fact style and David Lee Henry's brawny screenplay lend themselves to this kind of verisimilitude––each anecdote and interaction possesses the plain ring of truth; every character seems perfectly capable of meting out the necessary violence and/or tough talk. It's peppered with old school New Yorkers like Jerry Orbach and Sal Richards, there's a few nods to classic NY crime movies like MEAN STREETS and FRENCH CONNECTION, and the violence has a sort of sordid, bone-crunching, back alley aesthetic to it.

The brothel shootout in the last act even hearkens back to the barbaric finale of Flynn's own ROLLING THUNDER.

The supporting roles are solid and believable, from Julianne Margulies' despondent neighborhood prostitute to Gina Gershon as Forsythe's spitfiery sis:

to Jerry Orbach as a "gettin' too old for this shit" cop.


In other words, Jerry Orbach, do you mean you're... too old... to... dress like THIS:


Our hero has a ponytail, a penchant for wearing berets and vests, and, at one point, uses a pool cue to duel a martial arts expert aptly named "Sticks" ("POKE HIS EYE OUT!").




He even saves puppies. He's a dedicated follower of fashion. He's a well respected man about town, doin' the best things so conservatively. Apparently he is the culmination of human perfection, according to Kinks lyrics.

I wish I had the balls to gallivant about Coney Island with a beret upon my crown and a puppy within my grasp.

In other words- yes, this movie has moxie. I mean, look at how Seagal defuses potentially volatile situations––how many movies end with a minor villain rolling around on the ground groaning "My balls, my balls..." as a puppy takes a piss on his face?



I say: only the best ones. A little over four stars.

Film Review: FACE/OFF (1997, John Woo)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: 140 minutes.

Notable Cast or Crew: John Travolta, Nicolas Cage, Joan Allen, Margaret Cho, Nick Cassavetes, CCH Pounder, Gina Gershon, John Carroll Lynch (of ZODIAC and DREW CAREY), Alessandro Nivola, Dominique Swain (of Adrian Lyne's LOLITA), Matt Ross (THE LAST DAYS OF DISCO, BIG LOVE), Thomas Jane (that makes two Patricia Arquette husbands in this movie), Chris Bauer, Tommy Flanagan (the scarred heavy from SIN CITY and SMOKIN' ACES), Kirk Baltz (the cop who loses an ear in RESERVOIR DOGS).

Tag-line: "In order to catch him, he must become him."
Best one-liner(s): "It's like looking in a mirror. Only... not. "

"Hello, Doctor. I hope you don't mind: I took a few of your groovy painkillers. I'm just enjoying some of your greatest hits here. Oh God, this is excellent. Oh, bravo. Bra-fucking-vo." So it's TANGO AND CASH meets DEMOLITION MAN meets FREAKY FRIDAY. And it's been directed by Tony Scott on a meth binge- John Woo. Damn! This movie really takes it up a notch. It's a symphonic ballet of particles; Woo's genius lies in the simplicity by which the film itself can be reduced to just objects in motion- tumbling men, flying glass shards, rotating debris, flapping doves, hurtling papers, cascading bullet casings. There would be no MATRIX without this. It's Peckinpah to the Nth degree, choreographed and concocted by a true mad scientist of cinema. The performances beg for hyperbole that goes beyond "over the top"- Cage and Travolta seem entwined in a battle to gorge themselves, to voraciously devour as much scenery as possible.



And Woo ensures that they never run out of scenery to chew upon. Joan Allen and Nick Cassavetes even get in on the action with, respectively, some ridiculous gasping,

and the probably ad-libbed line "THEY'RE LIKE COCKROACHES!"

There's WILD AT HEART references, inappropriate use of "Over the Rainbow," and lots of talk about 'tongue sucking.' In closing, this film perhaps should have been titled, FACE/TOUCHING.

There is more face touching than in any other movie I have ever seen. So try the FACE/OFF drinking game; take one drink every time someone touches someone else's face, and by the close, I guarantee you will be almost as crazy as Nick Cage.

"If I were to send you flowers where would I... no, let me rephrase that. If I were to let you suck...my tongue, would you be grateful?"

-Sean Gill