Film Review: CON AIR (1997, Simon West)

Stars: 4.5 of 5.

Running Time: 123 minutes (director's cut).

Notable Cast or Crew:  Nicolas Cage (WILD AT HEART, VALLEY GIRL), John Malkovich (EMPIRE OF THE SUN, DANGEROUS LIAISONS), John Cusack (BETTER OFF DEAD, ONE CRAZY SUMMER), Steve Buscemi (KING OF NEW YORK, MILLER'S CROSSING), Ving Rhames (PATTY HEARST, JACOB'S LADDER), Dave Chapelle (BUDDIES, 200 CIGARETTES), Rachel Ticotin (TOTAL RECALL, FALLING DOWN), Danny Trejo (KINJITE: FORBIDDEN SUBJECTS, DEATH WISH IV: THE CRACKDOWN), M.C. Gainey (LOST, FATAL BEAUTY), Doug Hutchison (LOST, THE X-FILES), Fredric Lehne (LOST, DALLAS), Colm Meaney (UNDER SIEGE, DICK TRACY), Mykelti Williamson (HEAT, FREE WILLY, FORREST GUMP), and a possible vocal cameo by Powers Boothe (SOUTHERN COMFORT, TOMBSTONE).  Produced by Jerry Bruckheimer (THE ROCK, TOP GUN).

Tag-line: "Welcome to Con Air.  They were deadly on the ground.  Now they have wings."

Best one-liner:   "Cy..."  –"Onara!"  [man is burned alive]

Alright, ladies and germs.  We all know CON AIR already, and we all know that it's glorious.  Certain elements have been discussed to death, and I'm sure I could zero in on Cage's mullet, his distressingly bad Southern accent, or his doing origami for the love of a daughter he's never met:

or Steve Buscemi being zanily creepy and singing "He's Got the Whole World (In His Hands)":

 or the enormity of all the hare-raising-stuffed-bunny-related setpieces.

But in such cases where a film– notorious for its singular, over-the-top flavor– has been often discussed elsewhere (á la, say, a BLOODSPORT or a COMMANDO), it would likely behoove me to discuss the elements that you don't think about every day when you reach that point in the afternoon that you reserve for thinking about CON AIR.  Therefore, I am proud to present my ten newest and most absurd observations– nay, revelations– that materialized upon my latest viewing of CON AIR.

#1.  Danny Trejo's intention to fuck your whole family.

Playing the rapist "Johnny-23" ("one heart for each of my 23 bitches"), Trejo's had a lot of experience playing convicts– both in real life and in the movies THE HIDDEN, RUNAWAY TRAIN, PENITENTIARY III, LOCK UP, MANIAC COP 2, WEDLOCK, JAKE AND THE FATMAN, LAST LIGHT, AGAINST THE WALL, ANIMAL FACTORY, and a bunch of others.  In fact, after recently seeing him in Cannon Films' KINJITE: FORBIDDEN SUBJECTS, I now am actually afraid that Danny Trejo is going to fuck my whole family. 

Anyway, my point is that I guess it isn't really an action movie unless Danny Trejo is in it, portraying some kind of imprisoned ne'er-do-well. 

#2.  It's not technically an action movie till you blow up a gas station.

I've held this theory for a while, but I'm just impressed that CON AIR, a movie whose logline would lead you to believe that it must take place entirely in a prison and on an airplane, manages to do so by about the halfway point.

#3.  It's not an action movie till there's a vanity license plate.  

One day I'm going to do a feature on vanity license plates in horror and action movies of the 80s and 90s, but until that day, we'll just have to take 'em one at a time.  It's no AWESOM50 from COBRA, but AZZ KIKR firmly receives the Junta Juleil seal of approval.  Here, it doesn't actually belong to John Cusack, it belongs to his hateful boss Colm Meaney, who's playing an aggregate of every bureaucratic authority figure from all of the DIE HARD films combined.

#4.  John Cusack's bizarre cultural references.

Speaking of DIE HARD, Cusack's function here is basically to be the Reginald VelJohnson (Carl Winslow) role from DIE HARD– a.k.a. the only man on the ground who fights the FBI/DEA bureaucracy and believes in his anonymous action-buddy helper who's trapped in the building/airplane fighting thieves/hijackers, and then, ultimately, proves himself as he saves Willis/Cage from that pesky Godunov/Malkovich who you thought might be dead already but then of course he wasn't.  Whew.  Anyway, I guess my original point was to say that it's an odd choice to have the Cusack character quoting Dostoyevsky and enthusing about the PLANET OF THE APES Pentology, but it's a choice that I appreciate.

#5.  Q:  Are Spike Jonze and Charlie Kaufman CON AIR fans?

A:  Difficult to say, but all of the main characters from Kaufman's first two screenplays to be directed by Spike Jonze (Cusack & Malkovich and Cage & Cage in BEING JOHN MALKOVICH and ADAPTATION, respectively) come from the top billing of CON AIR.  Makes ya wonder.

#6.  I never thought in a million years that I would ever see Dave Chappelle's corpse plummet to Earth

 

and land atop the hood of Don S. Davis' car in a bit intended to be comic relief. 

Also, it's never explicity made clear whether or not Don S. Davis is still portraying his character from TWIN PEAKS, Major Briggs, so for the sake of argument, I'm just going to assume that he is.

#7.  There's an extremely bizarre connection to TV's LOST.  Okay, they're not just both about airplanes that happen to crash.  It goes deeper.  In CON AIR, only two characters actually fly the eponymous airplane: the original, pre-hijacking pilot; and the prisoner who takes the controls post-hijacking.  The original pilot is none other than Fredric Lehne, who on LOST plays the Marshal Edward Mars, the only true authority figure on the plane.
 
After the convicts– or CON AIR's 'Others,' if you will– take over, M.C. Gainey mans the controls.

Fans of LOST will recall him as the memorable, mysterious character Mr. Friendly who is the initial face of the "Others" and one of the primary antagonists throughout several episodes.  Pret-ty strange, I say.  [Also, Doug Hutchison ("Horace Goodspeed" on LOST) has a bit part here, too. ]

#8.  The look in Nic Cage's eyes after he reveals his intention to prove that God exists.  You see, at one point, it doesn't look like Cage's prison buddy (Mykelti Williamson– Bubba from FORREST GUMP) is gonna make it.  He's been shot, maimed, and needs insulin. 

And all he can think about is, like, there ain't no God.

Cage says, "I'm gonna show you God does exist," and then commences to kick some ass and cause a crash landing and a number of slow motion explosions.  But before he commences with the requisite Bruckheimerian antics, he does this with his face:

Maybe Cage attempting to will God into existence, or it's Bruckheimer's kind of deus ex machina, with Nic Cage as literally a god in the machine.  Or maybe it's something else entirely.  Who can say?  Regardless, I applaud it with the same slow-clap used by faux-Gorbachev in ROCKY IV.

#9.  Strange surface similarities to David Lynch's WILD AT HEART.  For those, not in the know, that's another movie with frequent slow motion flames where Nicolas Cage has an ambiguously terrible Southern accent and serves a prison sentence while a blonde waits patiently for him and upon his release introduces him to his own beloved child that he's never met in the flesh before.   

#10.  The idea that this film was born as the filmmakers absentmindedly daydreamed while watching THE SILENCE OF THE LAMBS and decided that wouldn't this be a lot better as an action movie?  Think about it.  Combine Steve Buscemi's gnawin' mask and Malkovich's intellectual psychopath and you've basically got an American Hannibal Lecter.  "Hannibal the Cannibal."

  That's perfect!  Wait-  they couldn't call him that, though– copyright issues!  Damn!  How 'bout "Cyrus the Virus?"

Then– they co-star Colm Meaney as the "annoying, undermining-the-whole-operation-through-his-own-dickery bureaucrat" character.

He functions and looks like the Irish version of SILENCE OF THE LAMBS' American counterpart, Anthony Heald!

However, all of this simply proves that I have too much time/character actor knowledge on my hands.  Ah, well.

Four and a half stars.

-Sean Gill

Film Review: FALLING DOWN (1993, Joel Schumacher)

Stars: 3.4 of 5.
Running Time: 113 minutes.
Tag-line: "The adventures of an ordinary man at war with the everyday world."
Notable Cast or Crew: Michael Douglas, Robert Duvall, Rachel Tictotin (TOTAL RECALL, CON AIR), Tuesday Weld (PRETTY POISON, LORD LOVE A DUCK), Barbara Hershey (THE RIGHT STUFF, THE STUNT MAN), Raymond J. Barry (COOL RUNNINGS, BORN ON THE FOURTH OF JULY), and Frederic Forrest (APOCALYPSE NOW, TRAUMA, THE CONVERSATION). Music by James Newton Howard (WATERWORLD, UNBREAKABLE, ER). Cinematography by Andrej Bartkowiak (PRINCE OF THE CITY, Q&A, TWINS, SPEED).
Best one-liner: See review.

Despite its famous rant pertaining to certain golden-arched dining establishment (well, technically it's 'WhammyBurger'), FALLING DOWN is kind of like McTAXI DRIVER.

We've got our white male rage, our paramilitary transformation, and our casual racism; but instead of delving deeply into our hero's mind to see the deadened core, the writhing frustrations, and the bubbling violence firsthand (like in ROLLING THUNDER, HARDCORE, or RAGING BULL), we've got ridiculous situations, clichés, and a parade of one-liners. On an intellectual level, this film is a failure. It tries to mimic the mere trappings of past masterpieces (the Schrader flicks I’ve named, the snowglobe breakage from CITIZEN KANE, the hypnotic traffic jam that opens 8 1/2), in my opinion, so that it doesn't have to ask the tough questions, and instead would sorta just slide into the pantheon of greatness like a slick little puzzle piece. Well, that didn’t work. So why almost three and a half stars?

Well, as Freddy Krueger would attest, I am a sucker for one-liners. And these one-liners are damn solid. And they’re all delivered by a horn-rimmed, wearily psychotic Michael Douglas.

I am also a sucker for scenes that could have easily been culled from a classic Golan-Globus flick. Scenes like this one.

To a convenience store owner, as he trashes his overpriced goods: “I’m just standing up for my rights as a consumer!” To a would-be drive-by artist: “Take some shooting lessons, asshole!”

To a rich, crusty golfer: “You're gonna die, wearing that stupid hat. How does it feel?”


FOOOSH

As such, the entertainment level is where FALLING DOWN succeeds. Most of the time, it feels like a straight-up comedy. Hey––it’s from the director of D.C. CAB, not THE SEVENTH SEAL. And, even in 1993, it adheres to that ironclad rule of 80’s cinema: if there’s ever a fancy, special order cake present, it must not be eaten: someone will be sucker-punched and –KER-SQUASH- land right on top of it. Frederic Forrest gets a horrific bit part as a closeted Neo-Nazi:

Frederic Forrest: terrifying.

Rachel Ticotin plays––gasp––a tuff Latina cop, Tuesday Weld sends a postcard from Nagsville, U.S.A., and Robert Duvall’s a worn out detective on that clichéd last day before retirement (but still manages to imbue his cardboard role with an abundance of humanity) .

Rounding out the talent is hazy, sweltering, evocative L.A. cinematography by Sidney Lumet-lenser Andrej Bartkowiak. I'm getting sweaty just thinking about it. In all, I'll pass along about three and a half stars.

-Sean Gill

Junta Juleil's Summer '10 Movie Series
1. HELL IN THE PACIFIC (1968, John Boorman)
2. KUFFS (1992, Bruce A. Evans)
3. THE OUTFIT (1973, John Flynn)

4. FOR Y'UR HEIGHT ONLY (1981, Eddie Nicart)

5. A*P*E (1976, Paul Leder)

6. BLIND FURY (1989, Philip Noyce)
7. HIS KIND OF WOMAN (1951, John Farrow)
8. HIGH SCHOOL U.S.A. (1983, Rod Amateau)
9. DR. JEKYLL AND MS. HYDE (1995, David Price)
10. MIDNIGHT IN THE GARDEN OF GOOD AND EVIL (1997, Clint Eastwood)
11. 1990: BRONX WARRIORS (1982, Enzo G. Castellari)
12. FALLING DOWN (1993, Joel Schumacher)
13. ...

Michael Ironside Fanfiction: "SEE YOU AT THE CAST PARTY, IRONSIDE"

SEE YOU AT THE CAST PARTY, IRONSIDE:

A STORY FROM THE SET OF TOTAL RECALL TOLD IN FIVE CHAPTERS
BY SEAN GILL

1

The year was 1989. The place: Mexico City. A heavyset, scraggly-bearded man strode purposefully though a cavernous soundstage, forcefully clutching a wrinkled piece of paper. The fellow doing the striding was Mickey Jones. Renaissance Man. Drummer for Bob Dylan. Best friend of Michael Ironside.

‘Burly Miner’ in TOTAL RECALL- whose set, as a matter of fact, was the one through which he was stomping with such insolence. It was the last day of shooting, which should have been a day of joy, a day of reflection, a day for the cast and crew to look upon their accomplishments with pride and to feel that tingling satisfaction of a job well done. But none of these things were on Mickey’s mind. Mickey was pissed, and, by God, it took a hell of a lot to get Mickey pissed. He paused at the door marked “Ironside.” No light issued forth from within. Dammit, he’s not here yet. I’ll just leave it, Mickey thought. He turned the knob and gingerly peered inside– a silhouette. Teeth gleaming in the darkness. Shit, someone’s there! Before he could react, the lights popped on with a bang to reveal… Ironside.
“Jesus God, Mike, you scared the hell outta me!”
Ironside chuckled. A deep, dark, throaty laugh. He absent-mindedly picked his teeth with what appeared to be a small metal spike. “Sorry about that…” He lifted his feet up, resting them on the counter as he stared off, deep in thought.
“Have you been here all night, Mike?”
“‘Have I been here all night… Mike?’ Yes, Mickey, I have. Been thinking about CHAINDANCE.”
“Oh, yeah. How’s that script coming along?”
Ironside lowered his feet from the counter and swiveled to face Mickey. “Why don’t you tell me what brings you here in such a state? Talk to me, Mickey.”
“It’s like this, Mike–” and Mickey offered the half-crumpled sheet. Ironside took it, unfolded it on the counter, and smoothed it with his palm. As he read the what the page contained, his eyes widened, then narrowed. His eyebrows contorted with rage. His teeth clenched.
“Jesus, Mike, your mouth!”
Sure enough, Ironside had accidentally bitten the metal toothspike, breaking it cleanly into two halves, which clattered on the counter. “Don’t worry about it, Mickey- worry about this!!!”
Ironside gestured to the paper, which, typed in Comic Sans font, said something like:

“ATTN: Cast and Crew. I regret to inform you that there will be no TOTAL RECALL cast party tonight, at least not in the traditional sense. It will be a Euro-centric private party open only to myself and Mr. Schwarzenegger. B.Y.O. Campari. We regret any inconvenience. Sincerely, your director, Paul Verhoeven.”

The statement was followed by this photograph:


Ironside was up in a flash, his fist already blasting a hole through his dressing room mirror. Slivers of the reflective glass and chunks of wooden frame crumbled onto the floor.

“A lotta people worked on this film, Mickey. THIS IS BULLSHIT!,” Ironside roared.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa- calm, down, man!”
“I even brought several twelve-packs of Labatt Maximum Ice, expressly for this occasion!”
“It’s okay, Mike– we can drink those Labatts in my trailer- watch a hockey game or something. I wouldn’t have told you if I thought it’d make you this angry–”
Just then, a hulking figure appeared behind Mickey in the doorway. It was Arnold Schwarzenegger.
“Hach-hach-ha-ha-ha! Good mohrning,” Arnie remarked. “Seee yew aht the cast pahr-ty, Irohnside! Hach-hach-ha-ha!,” and just as quickly as he’d arrived, Arnie was gone.
“Now that’s not right,” Mickey admitted. “It wasn’t like this on V, was it?”
“No, Mickey, it wasn’t.”
“Are you, okay, Mike? What are you thinking?”
Ironside stared intently at the space where Schwarzenegger used to be. “He’s dead,” Ironside snarled. “He and his Dutch buddy, both.”
“What!?!,” Mickey shouted, incredulously.
“And when I’ve finished… I’m going to eat them.”

2

“Whaat do you think of this wuhnnn?,” Arnie inquired, as Sharon Stone apathetically thumbed through a series of glossy photographs.
“It’s fine, they’re all fine,” Sharon replied. Her motivation in saying so was an attempt to escape the conversation as quickly as possible.
“Yesss, but which one do you like the behst??”
“What are you two looking at?” said Rachel Ticotin, interrupting. She was immediately sorry that she had asked. But it was the perfect opportunity for Sharon Stone to make a break for it, and she did precisely that.
“Thaaank you for ahsking. Paul und I just had these tah-ken at Kayy-Mahrt. Which one do you like thee behst?” Arnie held up two photos which looked like this:




Rachel examined the photos for close to a minute, unsure of what to say. “Well, actually, they’re both fine. I like them both.”
“Meee too.” Arnold smiled in genuine contentment.

~~~

“Did he pull any shit like this on ROBOCOP?,” inquired Ironside.
“Well. Not really,” answered Ronny Cox. “It’s just… maybe just don’t take it so personally. If you got into acting for the cast parties- I, uh, think you’re gonna end up disappointed.”
“That’s not why I’m mad- it’s the principle of the thing. I’d just as soon go back to roofing.”
“Come on, Michael. Don’t talk like that. Calm down. Let me tell you a story...."

"I was working on this flick called TANGIERS with Ronald Lacey. He’d just gotten off of a Spielberg shoot- RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK. He played Toht, the Nazi with the coat-hanger- yeah, you know who I’m talking about. Well, anyway, the whole time we’re shootin’, he just can’t drop it. ‘Oh, Spielberg’s craft services were so much better,’ and this and that and the other. And I just got to thinkin’ about Spielberg’s craft services. My mouth is watering. We’re out in the middle of nowhere in Morocco, and all I can think about is some other director’s caterer. Anyway, yeah, it affected my performance a little bit. And I learned a valuable lesson about acting that day… about myself.”
Just then, Sharon Stone strode in. “Talkin’ about craft services, huh? Best I ever had- you’re not gonna believe this– POLICE ACADEMY 4: CITIZENS ON PATROL. Of course you had to eat it while sittin’ across the table from Bobcat Goldthwait…”
“We’re not talking about craft services– we’re talking about this cast party bullshit!,” exclaimed Ironside.


“Well, I think it’s all a cheap shot at you, actually, Mike,” said Sharon with a touch of maleficence.

“He’s rubbin’ it in that you were his third choice for Richter. You know he called Kurtwood and Robert Davi first, right?”
Ironside bared his teeth.
Ronny frowned. “Whoa-whoa- that’s out of line, Sharon, and you know it. Apologize to Michael.”
“No,” said Sharon, snidely. Then she spun on the balls of her feet and promptly strolled out the door.
“Is that true, Ronny?”
“Noo…I don’t think so.”
“I’m crashing that party tonight, Ronny. Are you in?”
“Ehhh, I got a flight back at 6 PM. You should come, too. You got HIGHLANDER 2: THE QUICKENING coming up, right? That’s exciting, right? Maybe you should focus on that. It’s not good to get wrapped up in all this negative energy, Mikey.”

3

Ironside sat in his dressing room, dejected. It was almost 8:00 PM. The shoot was over. Crews were tearing down the last of the set, and soon, they’d be taking away the makeshift dressing room. Ironside stared at the broken mirror. They’ll probably take that shit outta my paycheck, he mused. He contemplated his next move. Sure, he could do Labatts and hockey with Mickey. He could work a little more on CHAINDANCE. He could even get an early start on those wig-fittings for HIGHLANDER 2. But Arnie’s taunting words hung over him like a poisonous shroud: “Seee yew aht the cast pahr-ty, Irohnside! Hach-hach-ha-ha!” Son of a bitch must pay, thought Ironside. He clenched and gritted his teeth as a sound emerged which approximated that of several grinding millstones gone haywire. Something clicked in his mind, and he flashed back to NOWHERE TO HIDE- on one of the days when Amy Madigan’s husband, Ed Harris, had visited the set. “Let me tell you something, Mike,” Ed had said.

“These people will shit on you. They will hire you, they will work you like a dog, and then they will shit on you. They will even dress you in cardigans. But you must not let that happen. You must kill them. And you must kill them with your bare hands… Alright, let’s go have a drink.” Ironside smiled. He missed hanging out with Ed Harris. But then he felt something sharp prickling the palms of his hands. He looked down, only to realize that he’d been thinking so intensely about Ed Harris that he’d shattered the armrests on his chair. He released his grip, and the floor was sprinkled with two handfuls of splinters and sawdust. Ironside stood up, and began the long walk to the trailer marked “Schwarzenegger,” his course of action now clear.

4

“Doez yowhr person prefehr me in RUNNINGH MAN or TWINZ?,” Schwarzenegger inquired. Verhoeven stared at the card in his hand.
“Umm… RUNNING MAN, I guess.”
Arnold Schwarzenegger and Paul Verhoeven were locked in a rousing game of Subjective “Guess Who.” Schwarzenegger flipped down a few faces, faces who looked like they wouldn’t enjoy having the sort of good time that TWINS had to offer. After a moment, Verhoeven asked, “Is your person Peter?”
“No,” replied Arnie, “It’s Claire.”
“Wait a fucking second, I turned down Claire like six questions ago.”
“Whutt wus the quest-schun?”
“Uhh…uhh…it was, uh– that’s right- it was ‘Does your person wear panties?,’ and you said YES, when clearly she doesn’t.”
“I am sorry, Paull. I deed not mean to ruin your game.”
“No, it’s alright, it’s just uh- just, uh, don’t worry about it. Get me some more Campari.” Arnie reached across the couch and grabbed Paul in a bear hug.
“I am so sorry I have roo-inned your game, Paull.”

But just then, the door to the trailer was separated from its hinges through sheer force of Ironside, who stood in the doorway now, his eyes wild and teeth gleaming. He approached Arnie and Paul, who quivered senselessly in fear. They had never seen Ironside look quite this terrifying during the entirety of the shoot.

His shadow loomed over the couch. But suddenly, Arnie let loose with an enormous, goofy smile. Ironside rumpled his eyebrows in brief bewilderment.
“Loook behindh you, Mike-ahl!”
Ironside knew better than to fall for this pitiful deception, yet he couldn’t resist. He turned around, and through the trailer’s doorway saw: the rightful TOTAL RECALL cast party.
“Hach-hach-haa-haaa! We really goht Mike-ahl, didn’t we, Paull!,” Arnie shouted with babyish exuberance. Verhoeven shivered uncontrollably, unable to shake the image of a murderous Ironside from his mind’s eye.

“Uhhh…yeah. Yeah, we did,” Paul muttered.

5

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before,” said Mickey Jones as he sipped on a Labatt Maximum Ice.
“It’s alright, Mickey, I, uh, knew the whole time,” replied Ironside, “by the way, did you know that only Labatt possesses the power of ice brewing, and only ice brewing can create Labatt Maximum Ice?”
“Yeah,” said Mickey, “I know.”
“Hach-hach-haa-haaa! We really goht you, Mike-ahl, didn’t we! Hach-hach-haaa, what fun!,” Arnie exclaimed, as he walked over to Ironside.

Arnie chomped on a piece of cake covered in red frosting and blue lettering, the full extent of which was undecipherable (but if it had been, you could see it once said, “Get your ass to Mars”). With one calculated movement, Ironside flipped up the bottom of Arnie’s plate, dunking his face in the frosting. Ironside smiled.
“Hach-hach-haaa-haa! Now you haf got-ten meee back! Hach-hach-haa!!”
“Something like that,” said Ironside coldly.
“Hey loook, it’s Benn-y!,” declared Arnie as he spotted Mel Johnson, Jr. making his way through the crowd.
“Hey, Arnold, you remember me, I’m Mel Johnson, Junior!,” screamed Mel Johnson, Jr.
“Hach-hach-hach-haaa! I lovve you guys!,” announced Arnie as he enveloped Mickey, Ironside, and Mel with an enormous hug. Ironside pursed his lips. A sensation of melancholy washed over him. He hadn’t had this much fun in a long time, and he hated to see it all end. But then Ironside winced and perished the thought because he knew CHAINDANCE would be just as much- if not more- fun, and he wouldn’t even need to leave Canada to have it. Ironside took a swig of his Labatt Maximum Ice. Life was good.

THE END