99,44% muerto

John Frankenheimer's post modern stab at the crime genre comes hot off the heels of Michael Ritchie's Prime Cut (from the same author no less), only the tone is more cutesy and the body count is nearly tripled. After a Pycal-inspired opening and an excellent underwater graveyard montage, we are introduced to pearly pistol gripped gangster Richard Harris who's en route to Chicago (?) to help win a dangerous mob war. The substandard mafia plot sits second tier to the film's sporadic comedy spoofing and mugging, much of what both fails and succeeds simultaneously at the hands of its dramatic director who must have been at the peek of his well publicized cocaine binge. Harris, with his balding curl mullet and wide-brimmed glasses resembles a young Michael Caine or Woody Allen depending on the lighting and camera angle, but performs his actions and delivers his dialog like a stone cold stoic; the juxtaposition is startling and dare I say cool as hell. Action scenes come out of nowhere and are framed and executed with professionalism, including a crazy ambush on an elevated bridge, and Chuck Conner's interchangeable James Bond claw which can alternate between knives and sex toys given the occasion. Much maligned and obscure gem. The skeletal dead humans and accompanying narrator reminds me of the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland.

The Spiegelman-esquire comic book artwork that promotes this film really enticed my curiosity, but the film overall didn't turn out to be as "far out" as the many reviews I read for it. It's good--Harry's cool, and the characters were fun, but the plot points are cliché and only the soundtrack really makes this a tongue-in-cheek satire of movie violence (it's Harry Mancini ala Pee Wee Herman). So, if you're looking for a really strange, arty, Mod satire watch Modesty Blaise, They Call Her One Eye, or A Clockwork Orange. Or, if you want amputees with strange devices watch Deadfall or any Alejandro Jodorowsky movie. The effort to track down and pay for a copy of this will perhaps disappoint.

The critics hate this movie (Maltin included) because they can't place it in a category. It is not a serious mob film (Godfather) nor is it a comedy (Johnny Dangerously) nor is it bumbling mob dark comedy (a la the recent Bruce Willis - Matthew Perry vehicle). Rather this is a cartoon. Note the introductory cartoon credits. The opening underwater scenes (two) and closing scene (envelope construction) are absolutely unique to American filmcraft and you don't know whether to laugh or be horrified. The lead character is an Englishman, brought over by an American mob boss and who must take off his glasses to shoot and carries automatic pistols with flowers carved in the ivory grips. Is this over the top or what? The enemy hitman has a hook (due to an amputation at our hero's hands) which he replaces with a wine bottle opener, artifical flowers, pruning shears, etc. Our hero also has a much younger, beautiful girlfriend (daytime teacher - nighttime club dancer wearing a feather top) who waits for his return hoping that this time he will make her his own (see 1000 other movies with that same device). Our hero tutors the younger mob wiseguy and both their girlfriends are kidnapped and abused by Mr. Big. Okay, so some of the movie is cliche and some is esoteric. The ambush at the bridge sequence is as visually stunning as any serious mob film. The shootout at the laundry scene is as good as the same scene in The Fugitive or the ending to Terminator. The sequence where Harry is pinned down by a sniper and his boss resces him by pulling up in an armored Rolls-Royce is great as the actors have their conversation while rounds skip off the roof. This is then followed by driving down a would be bomber who carries a bundle of dynamite like Wyle E. Coyote. Being filmed in Seattle, Florida and Los Angeles you never know whether you are supposed to be in New York or Chicago or where. Look for a Confederate Battle Flag during the parade scene where Harry re-enters the crowd. Look for Burt Young (Paulie from Rocky) as an uncredited mobster escorting Harry to see Bradford Dillman. You will be watching a one-of-a-kind movie, maybe not great or even good, but a movie unlike any other. Enjoy it for what it is.

Robert Dillon's script was considered by producer Joe Wizan to be a black comedy along the lines of Dillon's earlier one for "Prime Cut" (1972: d. Michael Ritchie). Director Frankenheimer, on returning to the USA after much time in France, was faced with a situation wherein years of bad reviews of his films were taking their toll. He accepted this project, and wanted Robert Mitchum for the main role, but the producers wanted Richard Harris, fresh from the hit film "A Man Called Horse".

Critically however, the released film was felt to be a total fiasco, many reviewers holding that it represented the director's career at rock bottom. The film's dark, bleak humour and use of caricature were considered testimony to a certain sadism on Frankenheimer's part, and evidence of his growing contempt. In later years, even the great director plays down this most unusual gangster satire.

It concerns a hitman trapped between rival gangs, and takes place in a vaguely futuristic city, which seems spatially to constantly re-define itself. It is filmed obliquely, so one is never on sure footing as to how to react. What is most interesting about this peculiarity, are the number of bizarre, surrealistic pop-culture set-pieces in a world of futile violence and rampant egos. Only despair and nihilism at the absurdity of it all enables the characters to hold on to whatever shreds of honour they can maintain although they all succumb to personal pride at the expense of everything else.

Frankenheimer directs with a stylistic over-kill at times which sits uneasily with a certain lethargic quality, although it probably guarantees the film a cult audience in the future. Perhaps the film is best seen as a failed, but intriguing attempt to reconcile the director's frequent recourse to stylization with genre-based social satire. Still, the film seems uncertain of its aims, and tends to flounder in its often considerable visual panache. The remarkable opening sequence however, is amongst the oddest ever put to film, and typifies the film's sense of comic despair. A curio.

99 and 44/100ths Percent Dead is the story of a mob war between two rival bosses, Edmond O'Brien and Bradford Dillman and the two hit men working for them, Richard Harris and Chuck Connors. The film is enjoyable but it can't seem to make up its mind whether it's a spoof of the genre or a straight out action film.

Richard Harris is hired by O'Brien to help him in his war with Dillman over the Los Angeles territory. O'Brien needs Harris bad especially since Dillman has Connors on retainer. Harris and Connors have some history with Harris leaving Chuck with a permanent reminder.

Which is in the form of a handy/dandy claw which has various attachments for whatever need you have at the moment. When I saw this in the theater back in the Seventies it was that claw I remembered. Connors who first started in films playing villains like Buck Hannessy in The Big Country went to television and became a hero in The Rifleman and Branded. Personally I always thought Connors was better as a bad guy.

Bradford Dillman though I had forgotten, his was an incredibly hammy performance as the rival gang boss. It would have been appropriate and would have succeeded if the satire that might have been intended had come off.

The film while not memorable in his career did furnish Richard Harris with a wife. Tall and leggy Ann Turkel made her second film and was billed as being 'introduced' here. The old adage about having no attachments is certainly true as the bad guys can get to Harris through Turkel and nearly succeed.

Sadly this was the farewell film for Edmond O'Brien who was another victim of Alzheimer's Disease and spent the last ten years of his life losing his career and memories thereof to that terrible curse. He could have probably done something better, but at least it was no Cuban Rebel Girl that terrible film Errol Flynn capped his career with.

99 and 44/100ths Percent Dead is still enjoyable, but could have been done a lot better by director John Frankenheimer.