Only now does it occur to me... THE MACKINTOSH MAN

Only now does it occur to me...  that wonderfully pompous acting genius James Mason has admitted said pomposity, on camera.

It occurs during the final five minutes of John Huston's mostly-phoned-in, Paul-Newman-starring spy thriller THE MACKINTOSH MAN (with a screenplay adapted by Walter Hill!?), and I have to admit that the lines would work just as well, if not better, if he had said them immediately upon wrapping the shoot for his infamous Thunderbird commercial. 

Only now does it occur to me... WINTER KILLS

Only now does it occur to me...  that Sterling Hayden's beard could conquer the world.



Hell, I didn't even know he ever had a beard.

WINTER KILLS is a kinda lukewarm conspiracy thriller/comedy from the 1970s that's peppered with insane old Hollywood and character actor cameos.  But even in a film that has Junta Juleil faves like Jeff Bridges, John Huston, Anthony Perkins, Ralph Meeker, Elizabeth Taylor, Eli Wallach, Toshiro Mifune, Richard Boone, Dorothy Malone, and Joe Spinell, Sterling Hayden and his beard reign supreme.  He shows up (riding around with a complement of tanks), chases Jeff Bridges (who's in a car), exchanges some harsh words with him, gives him a 10 second head start, and then commences to fire shells at him as he zooms away.  The scene lasts under five minutes and doesn't really advance the plot, but damn, I loved it.  I can't truly recommend the film; despite being filled with these kinds of interesting curios and diversions, the sum is decidedly less than the parts.  Plus, it feels a little long.  Not Hayden's beard, that is– the film.  Hayden's beard is "just right."  Here, I'll let you look at it again as you leave:

Film Review: THE LAST RUN (1971, Richard Fleischer)

Stars: 4.5 of 5.
Running Time: 95 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: George C. Scott (PATTON, THE CHANGELING), Tony Musante (THE MERCENARY, THE BIRD WITH THE CRYSTAL PLUMAGE), Trish Van Devere (George C. Scott's wife, THE CHANGELING, THE LANDLORD), Colleen Dewhurst (ANNIE HALL, THE DEAD ZONE), Aldo Sambrell (A FISTFUL OF DOLLARS, THE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE UGLY). Music by Jerry Goldsmith (CHINATOWN, ALIEN, STAR TREK, POLTERGEIST, TOTAL RECALL). Edited by Russell Lloyd (THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING, REFLECTIONS IN A GOLDEN EYE). Cinematography by Sven Nykvist (PERSONA, THE TENANT). Written by Alan Sharp (NIGHT MOVES, THE OSTERMAN WEEKEND).
Tag-line: "In the tradition of Hemingway and Bogart."
Best one-liner: "I don't blow boxes, man, I blow heads. When I say bang, everything gets suddenly dark!"

I was lucky enough to catch this flick on the big screen a few weeks ago during the annual jamboree of two-fisted 70's cinema that is William Lustig Presents. Poorly received by critics upon it's initial release and nearly impossible to get a hold of in the decades hence, THE LAST RUN has nonetheless accumulated something of a cult following, and I was pretty damned excited to see it for myself.
The verdict? It's a hell of a good time, and one of the great pensive n' gritty entries to the driving-movie canon; it easily can join the ranks of THE DRIVER, VANISHING POINT, TWO-LANE BLACKTOP and THUNDER ROAD. The tag-line promises "in the tradition of Hemingway and Bogart," and I think it says a lot when, A. a movie claims to be bringing you the likes of Hemingway and Bogart, B. the movie does not in fact share an actual connection to Hemingway and/or Bogart, and C. said claim does not ultimately piss you off: I suppose it's got a sufficient number of expatriates, fishing villages, hard-asses, face-punchers, and boozers to fit the bill.

Originally set to be directed by John Huston, Richard Fleischer took over when constant brawling between Huston and star George C. Scott (who had both worked together on THE LIST OF ADRIAN MESSENGER and THE BIBLE previously) soared to such heights that Huston stormed off the set and never came back. It's difficult to know precisely what caused the enmity, but Huston makes a point of mentioning his hatred for Scott more than once in this book of interviews. Fleischer picked up the pieces and does the job of a master craftsman– it has the straight-shootin', no-frills feel of a flick by John Flynn or Don Siegel.
George C. Scott plays Harry Garmes, a retired getaway driver living in a Portuguese fishing village, tinkering with cars, living out a pale shadow of a relationship with a local hooker, and, above all, feeling like a man of inaction.

GEORGE C. SCOTT IS MAD AT YOU

He possesses that beleaguered, old-guard toughness, but he feels wrongness, despite his authentic seaside lifestyle– s0 he goes after that storied "one last job," not, as one might assume, for the purposes of a retirement fund, but just to see if he's still got "what it takes," to see if he can still do what he was built to do. His passenger is Tony Musante, playing a cocksure and amazingly douchey assassin who idolizes old gangster movies and has just escaped from prison.

Musante plays the sort of guy who greets acquaintances by cupping his hands over their eyes from behind and shrieking "Guess WHOOOO?"

Completing the circle (or, rather a triangle) is Musante's girlfriend Trish Van Devere, who may or may not be playing a couple of angles. However, the job turns out to be of a larger scope than anticipated, and soon there are police, thugs, and international mobsters jockeying for a piece of the trio– naturally, car chases, shoot-outs, double-crosses, and punches-to-the-gut ensue.
The cinematography by Ingmar Bergman's frequent DP Sven Nykvist is fantastic, only amplifying the existential undertones. He never was one for bright colors, but goddamn, the man knew how to frame a shot. In fact, with all the turtlenecks and brooding, occasionally you'll think you are watching a Bergman film!

The editing by Russell Lloyd (Huston's main editor) is even-tempered and lends the film a subtle sort of rhythm. The lack of editing in the well-staged car chases is a major plus– after seeing so many modern, jerky-cam chase scenes, it was a breath of fresh air; you can tell what the fuck you're looking at! Rounding out the talent, Jerry Goldsmith puts together an occasionally ridiculous, occasionally sumptuous Morricone-style Euro-score which is a great compliment to the action and brooding scenes alike.
In the end, it's a suspenseful, expertly unraveled character study which ends on a note of brutal poetry. And I love seeing flicks like this at the movies– at my screening, during a fairly understated action sequence, an old lady in the audience actually screamed in alarm at some gunplay. I think everyone involved would be proud. Except for Huston, who'd probably be attacking George C. Scott's projected image with a machete. Four and a half stars.


-Sean Gill

I can't tell you how happy I am to live in a world where this is not an April Fool's Day Prank...PART 2!

Last year on April Fool's I examined some VHS covers that seemed almost too good to be true– heartfelt TV-movie dramas with Jamie Lee Curtis and Bette Davis, a Boglin hurling a pentagram in the direction of Fred Ward's balls, a film where Powers Boothe and Rutger Hauer battle for Kathleen Turner's love and for endangered birds, etc., etc.

So today in tribute to a bygone era, let us peruse these dusty shelves once more in search of that elusive 49¢ rental that could change your life forever... or at least give you an excuse to order up a couple of pizzas and a sixer of Schlitz.


Is Peter O'Toole supposed to be God? Is he pouring himself a drink or conducting an experiment? And what sort of furry critter has died whilst reclining upon Mariel Hemingway's head?


I like you, BLOODY NEW YEAR Ghoul. I salute your Crypt-Keeper-y sense of fun, your wobbly eyes, and your insistence on purchasing alllll the trimmings from the Party-o-rama outlet store. But above all... I salute your eyebrows.


Co-starring Lillian Gish, Candy Clark, and O.J. Simpson. No, REALLY.


How have I not heard of this? Durning... standing alone? "The story of a real American hero?" Is this a Durning auto-biopic?! Co-starring Pam Grier and Stacey Keach's brother? I don't think that I can go another minute without seeing this film. And finally- does Dom DeLuise make an appearance?


The pros:
•Bruce Glover.
•Skeletons with guns.

The cons:
•I kind of don't like how the skeleton is wearing chaps. It makes it look as if it's got shapely legs and child-bearing hips. That makes everyone uncomfortable.
•The $79.95 price tag.


"It all started out as a joke..." It all started out as a joke... IT ALL ...STARTED OUT...AS A JOKE!...


Did Oliver Reed realize that he was in a movie? Hard to say. Look at his glazed over, rum-soaked stare. Chilling. And on the other end of the spectrum, look at what care they've taken with the captive- making sure her hair has that ultra-conditioned sheen and even loosening her gag so that it doesn't interfere with her carefully positioned, backlit tresses.


Certainly in the running for having the most generic title of all time, DELTA HEAT boldly opines that "sometimes the truth can be murder." But what have we here? Anthony Edwards rocking out a peroxided coiffure and Lance Henriksen creeping up behind him, holding a gun at an unusual angle. Does Edwards know that he's there? Let's check out the IMDb synopsis: "An L.A. cop investigates the death of his partner in the swamps of Louisiana. Enlisting the help of an ex-cop who lost his hand to an alligator many years before." Yes...yes...and YES! Is that the disembodied hand that Henriksen lost, floating behind Edwards' shoulder? I need to see this as soon as possible.


Okay- how could they NOT name the movie 'DIRTY HARRIET?'


"We need a title for this flick?"
–"How about SLITHIS?"
"Surely we can come up with something better than that."
–"What, you've got something better?"
"Well not right now– come on, I'm supposed to just think of something off the top of my head? I haven't even had my coffee yet."
–"You can't come up with anything better than SLITHIS either."
"That's not true."
–"Well, okay. But until you do, let's put SLITHIS on the temp artwork."
"Fine. But only until I come up with something better."
–"Yeah, we'll see about that."


Golan and Globus present: FOUR CREEPY DUDES HIDING IN A BUSH TRYING TO SPY ON THE POOR MAN'S GOLDIE HAWN.


"JOE DON BAKER IS LOOKING FOR TROUBLE." Trouble always seems to find Joe Don Baker, from JOYSTICKS to WACKO to the infamous MITCHELL. Well, count me in, JDB. Count me in.


"Okay are you ready...let me lay somthin' on ya: DETECTIVE SCHOOL."
–"Is that all?"
"...DROP OUTS!"
–"Is that all?"
"...A Golan and Globus production."
–"Alright, I'm not gonna lie– you had me at DETECTIVE SCHOOL. But does it have that guy, the guy with the voice...the guy from the POLICE ACADEMYs...what's his name again? I can't get enough of that guy."


–"Alright, that might be a little too much Goldthwait."


It came...it saw...and it burned...a Rutger Hauer-lookalike.


The title and the font are telling me that this is a movie about an inspirational inner-city basketball coach, and yet I'm seeing an image of Peter O'Toole riding around on a tank.


So rule #1 is, predictably, that there are no rules. Fair enough. But is that a stain or the ghost of a buzz saw? And did I mention that this is Chuck Norris' son?


This might be my favorite title since THUNDERGROUND.


So is the GLOVE wanted dead, not alive? How does one kill the glove? Conversely, how does one take the glove alive? Or is the glove worn by the person who is wanted dead, not alive? Or is the glove worn by the person hunting the person who is wanted dead, not alive? Is this somehow related to ROLLERBALL?


"The race that drove Africa wild." I never expected to see Stockard Channing in hot pants bringing an entire continent to its knees. Even the monkey on her back is getting in on the ogling. Grinning David Carradine is still somehow riding the wave of DEATH RACE 2000. And Christopher Lee fits into this somehow as well?


So that wave subsided at some point- Carradine in old lady drag á la THE UNHOLY THREE? Apparently this flick has a devoted cult following and I hope one day to join its ranks.


Gotta love the Barbarian Brothers. Straddling that big truck with masculine intensity, untied shoes, and a slashed-front tee-shirt? And you know the other brother has got cut-offs on (just outside the frame). And who hasn't wanted to see Martin Mull and Richard Moll in the same flick? Plus, more Carradine! That's thinkin' big indeed!


Combine a Xander Berkeley lookalike, a feathered mane, a power drill, and a supporting role by Robert Davi, and what do you get? ...Nothin' but TRAXX!


I'll say no more beyond the fact that...this is a documentary!


I like to think of myself as a well-informed individual, particularly when Harry Dean Stanton movies are concerned. The fact that this one has slipped through the cracks of my awareness leads me to believe I should probably committ HDS seppuku. But maybe forty Hail Marys and a viewing of WISE BLOOD could atone for my sin.


I mean..what can I say? (Besides "I'd like to buy your album.")


Is this the eponymous "return" depicted here on the VHS cover art? Has the big payoff been ruined? Why even rent it now? "Oh, by the way, the finale is just Jan-Michael Vincent embracing a brown-silk-poncho-wearing Cybill Shepherd. THE END."


There have been some pretty enjoyable MAD MAX rip-offs. Everything from THE NEW BARBARIANS to STEEL DAWN to HELL COMES TO FROGTOWN. So was "OSA" really the best title they could come up with? And the best picture was this possible stock photo of desert bikers?


"STRIKE ONE - there's a killer on the loose... STRIKE TWO - you never know where he'll strike next... STRIKE THREE - too late." Look at how mortified Roy Scheider is. The poor guy is one of the finest actors of his generation, and he's starring in NIGHT GAME. My completely uninformed prediction of what the plot is: a psychopathic 'Nam vet baseball player slices n' dices sports commentators, stuffs their remains inside of baseballs and then plays with them. A player smacks a foul ball into the stands which lands on the lap of washed-up private eye Roy Scheider who discovers that...THE BASEBALL IS BLEEDING!


"An insane Hollywood makeup man kidnaps a woman, keeps her prisoner in his warehouse full of props. " Co-starring Keenan Wynn. I must say that I'm a little unnerved by how much psycho-Rooney resembles the elderly Richard Dreyfuss.


I've actually seen this movie. It has nothing to with a shirtless white man punching you in the face and everything to do with a shabby, middle-aged Leo Fong bopping dudes in the Bazzinis. I feel like your average viewer would be more inclined to see this if it were accurately advertised.


"I don't want to see that new movie, INTERFACE. It just looks like 'another fantasy game movie.'"
–"Ohhhh-ho-ho... that's where you're wrong."
"Whaddya mean?"
–"It's not just another fantasy game. These players are serious... dead serious."
"Well...."
–"Did I mention it's also got Lou Diamond Philips playing Punk #1?"
"Alright...fair enough."


"People are funny– and the 'Big Gag' proves it!" In that case, let's hope that space aliens don't get their hands on this looking for proof that human beings possess some kind of innate, uh, humanity, because I'm willing to bet that not only does the 'Big Gag' NOT prove that people are funny, but in fact proves that we are sickening degenerates, possibly beyond all help. (On the other hand, a New World Picture has never let me down yet.)


MASTER CLASS with Sho Kosugi?! But damn– He was gonna be live in person at the IVE Booth at the VSDA show!? I have no idea what that means, but I'm forced to believe that I've already missed the boat on this one.

But I don't feel too bad, because I now know that the disparate worlds of RETURN OF THE NINJA and WOLFEN once did collide...and the Word was called WOLFEN NINJA, and the Word was good.


In the name of all that is holy– John Huston plays God on judgment day, raining hellfire, brimstone, and wing-flapping slo-mo doves onto the populace, flanked by Mel Ferrer, Glenn Ford, Lance Henriksen, Shelley Winters, and Sam Peckinpah... ...WHAT?!!? "HE CAME TO SAVE THE WORLD FROM THE DEMON CHILD!"


This movie is so uninspired that it names its main character The Rider and his enemy The Omega Force. And he's not even The Rider, he's "The Rider." He's already, pre-emptively been put into scare quotes by the marketing team. That's how little respect they have for "The Rider." Oh, and you know Donald Pleasence? No? Not ringing any bells? How about Donald 'Halloween' Pleasence? Oh, you know that guy, right? What about Persis Khambatta? No? Oh, sorry, what about Persis 'Star Trek' Khambatta? Oh, you still don't know who that is? Fair enough.


I don't know where the Brothers Grimm are buried, but I can pretty much guarantee that they were spinning pretty hard in their graves until they heard that Brad Dourif was gonna be in this. It co-stars James Earl Jones and William Atherton, the full title is actually GRIM PRAIRIE TALES: HIT THE TRAIL TO TERROR, and IMDb reviewer Lee Kelly calls Dourif and Jones "a 'buddy' pairing to rival Riggs and Murtaugh. Give them their own series!" Alright, I'm sold.


Anyway, enjoy your April Fool's, everyone–may all your Brads be Dourifs, all your Lances be Henriksens, all your Ollie Reeds be drunk, all your dogs be named Hambone; and whenever there's a Cannon pointed in your direction, pray that it's operated by a couple of whacky cousins named Golan and Globus, and is easily procurable on Betamax, Laserdisc, and VHS! Amen.

–Sean Gill

Film Review: FAREWELL TO THE KING (1989, John Milius)

Stars: 3.7 of 5.
Running Time: 117 minutes.
Tag-line: "In the midst of war, one man vanished into the jungle, and emerged as king."
Notable Cast or Crew: Nick Nolte, Frank McRae (RED DAWN, 48 HRS.), James Fox (PERFORMANCE, PATRIOT GAMES), Nigel Havers (EMPIRE OF THE SUN, A PASSAGE TO INDIA), Gerry Lopez (CONAN THE BARBARIAN), Aki Aleong (KUFFS, THE HOUSE OF SAND AND FOG), Marilyn Tokuda (ALL OF ME, XANADU). Based on the novel by Pierre Schoendoerffer (THE ANDERSON PLATOON). Music by Basil Poledouris (ROBOCOP, CONAN THE BARBARIAN).
Best one-liner: "No one moves very far out of line. When you're young you think you're blazing a trail. When you grow older, you realize you're beating a path."

Men carried by the waves. Breakers dwarf their vessel, toss them to and fro like a child's toy. One could say that the winds of war have delivered them to this point, but their final destination depends on the whimsies of that fickle, briny deity known as The Sea.

The sole survivor of a Pacific shipwreck and subsequent massacre by the Japanese, Nick Nolte's 'Learoyd' wanders the dark and hostile rainforest. He is a man, disintegrated. On the outside, raging in the ocean and surrounding lands, is manmade chaos- The Second World War. On the inside is anxiety and despair, further aroused by natural chaos- the untamed jungle. He renounces his connection to his so-called civilization and throws away his pistol. Soon thereafter, he is captured by the indigenous people, 'reified,' and reborn.

On the verge of execution, Nolte's intricate tattoos prove serendipitous, and not long afterward, he is crowned their king. He builds a life for himself, and for his people. It is a genuine way of life, something Hemingway might refer to as "afición."

The jungle no longer teaches Herzogian lessons of darkness, but rather poses Hemingway-esque opportunities for redemption and transcendence- a way to recapture an authentic existence. Before long, the British and the Japanese rudely trespass upon Nolte's idyll, and each actively desires something from him: The British- cooperation and corruption; The Japanese- death.

"I quit your world," says Nolte- but the High Command, the politicians, and the bean-counters haven't quit Nolte, and so long as he draws breath and can hold a weapon, he's useful to the war effort. There's wheeling and dealing; Nolte wants guarantees, and he doesn't want his people bulldozed and redacted from the impending final reports and postscripts of the Second World War. James Fox is Colonel Ferguson, a man flummoxed by and dismissive of Nolte's 'peculiar' requests.

Nigel Havers is Captain Fairbourne, a man who begins to see Nolte's point-of-view, though he never truly graps the idea of an authentic existence- it's already been tainted by the war before he arrives (or, more accurately, just as he arrives).

John Bennett Perry plays Douglas MacArthur, another of Milius' "great men of history" who waft through his films, often portrayed as idealized, patriotic spirits, more abstractions than men. "History is written by unusual men, some who become kings, and some who make no more mark than a stone thrown into the ocean"- MacArthur, as channeled by Milius, is initially sympathetic to Nolte's cause.

But he still doesn't understand. The very way that these men exist brands them as incapable of understanding, because it is inauthentic.

War's about as discerning as the swells of the ocean, and, naturally, Nolte is sucked into the breathless void of bayonet-chopping, machete-stabbing, shotgun-blasting combat.

It is here, and not in the initial world-quitting, that Nolte embraces the hideous animal within. That pure black chaos from the deep which is as alien to the transformed Nolte as the "prim and proper" bureaucracy of destruction. To watch him do it is remarkable and terrifying.




In a way, FAREWELL TO THE KING might be John Milius' most John Hustonian flick, combining the culture shocks and "adventure" of THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING with the 'aw shucks' benevolence with which Walter Huston's character becomes a full-time medicine man in THE TREASURE OF THE SIERRA MADRE. Milius was a longtime admirer of Huston, and even had the opportunity to write for him (THE LIFE AND TIMES OF JUDGE ROY BEAN) and direct him (THE WIND AND THE LION).

Despite all of this, I cannot label FAREWELL TO THE KING as a masterpiece. Milius is an excellent writer and director, but he cannot wring the realness from his situations that someone like Huston (or Herzog) can. Another problem is the score by Basil Poledouris. I very much appreciate his work in films like CONAN THE BARBARIAN and ROBOCOP, but here, when the narrative stakes are a little higher, it comes across as oddball Oscar bait. Sometimes the music made me feel like I was watching DANCES WITH WOLVES when I should have felt like I was watching AGUIRRE, THE WRATH OF GOD. This was also a problem for me in RED DAWN. Something like Arnold swinging a battle-axe in CONAN THE BARBARIAN is not a sacred image, it's a pedestrian one. And it's one which benefits from sweeping music. I'm not reachin' for the hanky when I see Arnold swinging the axe to Basil's majestic strains, but I'm grinning and sippin' my Schlitz and having a heckuva time. In FAREWELL TO THE KING, I see Nolte replaced by the primeval beast which resides in the pit of mankind's deepest fears. This is a powerful image. This image speaks for itself. When sumptuous strings interrupt this image, they are as profane as the British army which so brutally barges in on Nolte's Shangri-La.

Nearly four stars, but not the quite the tour de force it could have been.

-Sean Gill