Dead Man Walking (1987)

After I graduated college and still had some faint glimmer of hope of actually getting to work in film or television production (In all honesty, I was entirely too hardheaded to move where the industry is, and the local filmmaking community tended to be even more insular, unless you were independently wealthy and could afford to not get paid for doing pissant work, which I wasn’t and still am not), I received a call from one of my professors (who was also a documentary producer).  He was shooting a documentary centered on his life and the town in which he was born (hint: it’s where the Dorsey Brothers are from and are now buried), and he needed a production assistant.  I liked the man, and I wanted the experience (and said town is about fifteen miles from my own hometown, thus I was familiar with it), so naturally I replied in the affirmative.  

The producer, the cameraman, and myself filmed a lot in a short amount of time, and at some points, I even got to give a little bit of constructive input, so I was like the proverbial pig in shit.  The time came for the interview with the director’s father, who was something of an alcoholic, which meant it was difficult to pry him away from the local watering hole.  Since the producer still needed some shots, and the light was waning, and I was a self-described raging alcoholic myself at the time, I got volunteered to stay in the bar with the father while the remaining shots were (hopefully) procured, and after which, the father would (hopefully) be interviewed.  So I got to drink for free for an evening while working on a film with people whose company I enjoyed.  I have no idea if the film ever reached completion (though I’m fairly positive it didn’t), but I’d like to think that it will someday.  My experience accompanying the producer’s dad put me in mind of poor Chaz (Jeffrey Combs), the chauffeur and (I assume) valet of a wealthy corporate fat cat; not because I felt like a servant during my short production assistant tenure, but because Chaz and I were happy to do what we could for our bosses, and we both got to chaperone alcoholics for an evening or two.  It’s just mine wasn’t Wings Hauser.   

In Gregory Dark’s (he of the classic porn series New Wave Hookers amongst many others, here using the pseudonym Gregory Brown) Dead Man Walking, corporations have taken over control of the Earth (what, again?) after the bubonic plague made a resurgence and the world fell into chaos.  The Plague Zone is where the victims are shunted off to live out their lives in despair and squalor.  Among the plague victims are Zero Men, who are non-contagious but still terminal, and this is the reason why their behavior is described as “erratic” (which is putting it mildly).  Regardless, Leila (Pamela Ludwig), the daughter of Chaz’s boss, Mr. Shahn (John Petlock) is kidnapped by escaped convict/Zero Man, Decker (Brion James), forcing Chaz to enlist the aid of loner/Zero Man, Luger (Hauser), to get her back.

When the world goes to shit, any cinephile worth his or her salt knows exactly who will seize the reins of power: the corporations.  Standing shoulder-to-shoulder with shadowy government cabals (and similarly uncaring bureaucracies), corporations are the go-to bad guys in many a film, and even moreso in the postapocalyptic genre.  While I don’t disagree with this vilification (though I also don’t think that every corporation spends every moment of every day trying specifically to do evil [emphasis on “trying”]), I’m more interested in the relationship between cinematic corporations like Unitus (get it?) and the people opposed to them.  Typically, this is a twofold interrelation.  First, and most obviously, is that there is a distinct line drawn between the good guys and the bad guys.  Still, even people who work for an evil corporation can be good after having a crisis of conscience (or just having scruples in general).  Leila questions her dad’s plan to build a housing project in the Plague Zone, which he characterizes as crowd control, and she characterizes as crowding them all together and working them to death.  While Chaz works for “The Man,” he’s still considered good, because he cares about Leila enough to place himself in danger to rescue her (it doesn’t matter that he isn’t very adept at it and more than a little weaselly, to boot).  Second, and more intriguing to me, is the representation of the struggle between conformity and personal freedom.  This is where the Luger character comes into the mix.  Luger is individualistic to the point that he is set apart even from the other Zero Men with whom he commiserates and plays variations on Russian Roulette.  He does what he wants, when he wants, and doesn’t give a damn what anyone thinks about it (including, but not limited to, his quasi-girlfriend Rika [Tasia Valenza], who gets fed up [“Won’t you just listen to me?” “No”], but I guess she likes bad boys, just not enough to stick around for the whole runtime).  Luger has no time for Unitus, and he goes about his days taking massive risks like an adrenaline junkie (his Meet Cute with Chaz takes place over a live timebomb).  At this point, Luger is simultaneously free and damned, since he’s got the plague and is soon heading for death (we even get the telltale cough that all terminally ill characters in cinema let loose, so we know time is short).  To gain ultimate personal freedom, Luger needs a reason to live, not just a chance, and this sets up the juxtaposition between himself and the Unitus-controlled world.

Dead Man Walking has one of the most casual apocalypses ever put to film.  Every character is utterly non-nonplussed by everything in their lives.  Partly, this is to play up the angle of a nihilistic existence where “No Future” has essentially come true and is completely ineffable.  From the perspective of people like Luger, there is the need to flirt with death because any moment could literally be your last.  The suicidal games the Zero Men play is the only way to go out on one’s own terms.  It’s also the only way to feel alive when an assumedly even uglier death from the plague is assured.  By that same token, characters like Leila want to go slumming in the Plague Zone to see what all the fuss is about, but she’s quickly disillusioned, and you get a sense of disappointment that the plague victims don’t live down to her expectations.  After Decker asserts dominance over her body (in a truly disturbing scene), Leila becomes even more dispassionate.  Though she cannot catch the plague from Decker, she gives herself over to the fact that she’s as good as dead in his company, and shuts her personality down (this is not to say she had tons of personality to begin with).  Mirroring the Zero Men, her future outlook is nothing but grim, so she may as long go along with it.  The societal scales are balanced.  Yet, for as much as there is in the film with this theme of finding a reason to cling to life (or not), I never felt like any of the characters were committed to it.  In trying to convey a life of forbidding apathy, more often than not, I simply got the feeling that no one really cared (with the exception of James, who gives it his sleazy, bug-eyed all every moment he’s onscreen).  Even while this is part of the point of the film, and it does come across well enough, Dark and company never got me to care about the characters breaking free of their lethargy.  There’s no tension or stakes, because everyone is so devoted to not caring, and Leila and Chaz’s relationship is never defined well enough that I wanted to see her rescue actually succeed.  The film is an okay way to pass ninety minutes, but the indifference it delineates so well is, unfortunately, just a bit too contagious.

MVT:  The locations in the film do an admirable job of creating a postapocalyptic world.  I fully bought that everything had gone to hell.

Make or Break:  The first scene we get in the Zero Club involves Luger and some guy competing to see who will start a chain-suspended chainsaw first.  A true example of necessity being the mother of invention, I’d say.

Score:  6.5/10      

Vice Squad (1982)

I have been offroading maybe a handful of times (I may have talked about this before, so bear with me if this is old news for you).  The first once or twice was voluntary, but subsequent outings were forced upon me (to the point of kidnapping).  In fact, one time my “friends” went so far as to tell me we were going to a party (in a house, like normal humans do), only to swerve off the paved roads and out into the woods before I could make good my escape.  Never mind that I find it difficult to drink a beer while I’m bouncing around like the G-14 ball in a Bingo cage, my main grievance with these sojourns was that the vehicles we would take would invariably become stuck, stalled, or otherwise take a shit and always at the worst possible time.  This turned something which had a small potential for enjoyment into an impromptu workshop on how not to fix an automobile in the rough.  My dislike of the great outdoors has been documented in previous entries.  These trips are one of the things that soured me on them.  Because one of the last things I wanted to do after getting a good drunk on was trying to figure out how to get the fuck out of the woods before some animal decided I might make a tasty snack (actually, back then I was heftier, so I’d likely have been more like a three course meal).  Maybe if we had a badass truck like Ramrod (Wings Hauser) does in Gary Sherman’s Vice Squad, things would have turned out differently.  Then again, I don’t see Ramrod (an urban cowboy if ever there was one) as the type to take his cherry ride into the wild to begin with. 

Princess (then-Mrs.-Kurt-Russell, Season Hubley) is a prostitute working the weird streets of Hollywood.  When her friend and colleague Ginger (MTV VJ Nina Blackwood) calls in a panic, Princess fails to help out her pal before Ginger’s pimp (the aforementioned Ramrod) beats the woman to death.  After being strong-armed into aiding in a sting operation by douche bag cop Sergeant Walsh (Gary Swanson), Princess goes about her nightly routine, unsuspecting that her troubles are far from over.   

This film is not especially kind to women (and not that this was an expectation I had going into it).  The very first shot of the film is a camera tilt up the body of an anonymous hooker; the high heels, the leg warmers, the short shorts, the knit halter top, and finally her impassive face.  This type of shot will be repeated at several points in the movie.  First is when Princess finishes off her ensemble for the evening, again traveling from the ground up.  It’s an interesting way to reveal the character and what she does, because just one scene previous, we have seen her dressed very conservatively, so the switch works nicely.  Later, there is a shot traveling up the body of a woman from feet to head, although this time, the woman is lying down, her clothing torn, her face bloody.  Hauser slaps women at the drop of a hat (and he really connects, to boot), and even takes a stool to a woman’s head at one point.  His specialty, though, is whipping their naked bodies with a wire hanger.  A character is rolled by a trick who‘s dissatisfied with the service.  Even our supposed hero Walsh will snap a band and fly into a rage at the drop of a hat, going so far as shoving Princess’ face at Ginger’s corpse.  He screams, then comforts.  In this respect at least, he is the exact opposite of Ramrod.  In fact, had he not coerced Princess into trapping Ramrod, Princess’ life would likely have gone on as usual, for better or worse. 

 

The issue is that if part of the film is supposed to be about how mean the streets are to women (and especially women in this profession), that’s fine and dandy.  However, by leering as this film does at these female bodies, as objects of both sexual and violent urges, it takes some of the air out of that theme.  After all, prurient and empathetic feelings will often collide when placed in juxtaposition to each other.  I would also argue that if that’s not a partial reason why this film was made (especially considering we’re told at the outset that this story was culled from multiple actual events, though using the truth to sell the exploitative is nothing new), why spend so much time following Princess around, picking up her oddball tricks (and they are genuinely oddball), and not paying off on the more salacious elements?  If it’s nothing more than pure exploitation, the material could certainly use sprucing up in that regard (not that it isn’t an entertaining film; I’ve definitely seen movies like this done more poorly).  No, we’re supposed to feel something for Princess.  We’re supposed to sympathize with her troubles.  After all, she works “outlaw” (i.e. without a pimp), so she has no protection from johns who would take advantage of her.  It’s never indicated that she enjoys her work, but by that same token, it’s never indicated that she is ever anything less than professional.  She is, in effect, just a working stiff (pardon the pun).  That she and her colleagues have it so rough is lamentable.  That we linger on their curves one minute and their anguish the next is a bit creepy.

The film is in some ways also about duality and performances.  As stated above, our two male leads seesaw between rage and consolation, and both switch between the two instantaneously.  They can be dangerous or beneficial, though the situations under which they change posit them where they need to be on the friend or foe scale.  If someone in a film has a tongue coated in purest silver, nine out of ten, they will have the blackest of souls.  By contrast, people who start off coarse will usually wind up showing you their soft, endearing side.  Princess has a house in the suburbs and a daughter she is raising by herself, but she keeps her worlds separate (she even dislikes the babysitter calling her daughter “princess;” no surprise there).  She dresses primly for appearances to her friends and neighbors, but on the Strip, she dresses to impress.  It’s implied that all of her tricks involve her doing things she wouldn’t normally do (golden showers, roleplaying a bride at a funeral [shades of Buñuel’s Belle de Jour], et cetera) with people she (likely) wouldn’t do them.  She puts on an act for her clients (that is part of her job description, naturally).  Nevertheless, since we see far less of her in her home life, and in both of her aspects she lies to the people she encounters, one has to wonder which of these faces is the true one?  Our predisposition would be to the one she shows at home.  We expect the masks to come off when a person has entered their personal sanctuary.  Yet, she shows a mask to everyone in the film with the exception of Walsh, and even then she’s not totally forthcoming.  This leads me to the conclusion that there is no “true” Princess.  She is both of these things, mother and whore, when she needs to be, and because she can never be completely herself (whatever that may be), either to protect herself or to protect those she cares for, she will never find peace.  Like she states at the film’s close, “You’re never gonna change the streets…”

MVT:  Hauser gets the award.  He is one hundred percent psychotic for the entirety of the film, and even when he tries to disguise it (which is not often); it’s with the thinnest of veils.  The brazenness with which he rampages is something to behold.

Make Or Break:  The best example for me of Ramrod’s untethered nature is in the scene when Princess helps to ensnare him.  He goes off the rails like twenty freight trains.  And then he keeps going.

Score:  6.75/10      

The Carpenter (1988)

I’ll give David Wellington credit. He takes a simple plot, that of a psychotic carpenter haunting his unfinished dream home, and tries to do something more with it. He takes the slasher mold and tries to craft a psychological thriller out of it. I say tries because he’s not quite successful. It should be noted he’s working off a script by Doug Taylor, though I’m not sure if that was written as a traditional slasher. There are moments in the film that play out as such, making me question how much of Taylor’s script was changed.

I have a feeling that Taylor’s script didn’t start out with Alice Jarett (Lynne Adams) going to a mental ward. Her husband, Martin (Pierre Lenoir), checks her in and stays at her side during visiting hours until she’s released. When she is, he takes her to their new home in the countryside. It still has some renovations, so a crew of carpenters will be working there.

Alice is awoken the first night to the sound of drilling in the basement. She goes down to discover Ned (Wings Hauser), a carpenter who she believes is one of the gang. She doesn’t think this for long, as she witnesses Ned’s short temper explode on one of the sleaze balls when he makes a move on Alice. He saws his arms off and she watches nonchalantly. That’s right, she seems perfectly fine with this unknown carpenter hacking and slashing her hired carpenters. She is crazy!

She soon learns from a local cop (who I believe gave her a visit to check in on the missing carpenter, though I don’t remember him specifically stating so) that Ned was a successful carpenter who slowly went insane. The house she resides in is the one he previously owned. He worked round the clock to craft his perfect house. This resulted in him not taking any actual paying jobs. His wife left him because of this and his house was repossessed. He snapped and slaughtered those who tried to take him down. He got the electric chair for this.

Instead of freaking out, Alice confides in Ned (she even tells the cop he sounded like a nice man, which is absolutely creepy considering all she heard from him was that he was a psychopath). Wellington hints at the possibility that Ned is a figment of her warped imagination. She’s stated that her mental problems sometimes make her see things that aren’t there. The only inherent problem with this theory is that the carpenters recognize Ned’s work and think scabs are picking up their overtime. Unless Alice is doing the construction overnight herself, Ned has to exist.

Wellington gives Alice more emotional baggage by turning her husband into a douche bag. He seemed nice enough from the start, but we shortly learn after they move in that he’s a prick. He’s rude to the carpenters (though most of them are drunks who constantly goof off, so his attitude is justified) and he’s cheating on his wife. He even gets his mistress (who’s also his student in college) pregnant. Lenoir pulls off the character well and makes you hate him. The issue at hand is that it all unravels like a cheesy soap opera.

It may sound like I’m knocking “The Carpenter”, which I slightly am. It has a few more faults than it does pluses. I appreciated the attempt to do something different with the slasher genre, even if it didn’t all work out. Those coming in expecting a balls to the wall slasher won’t be completely satisfied, but Ned does off his victims in gruesome ways (and takes out a few rats with his nail gun). Wings Hauser is fantastic in his role, playing a goofy psychotic spouting off one-liners when dealing with his foes, but being gentle and kind towards Alice. Their brewing romance could have been hokey, but the two had tremendous chemistry and it worked out well.

Though I’m giving David Wellington credit, he does fumble as I mentioned. The finale starts strong, but slowly turns ludicrous. The film also suffers from pacing issues. The reason I believe Doug Taylor’s script was refurbished (pardon the pun) is because the actual slasher scenes feel off compared to the rest of the film. They move fast and are quite witty. The rest of the film moves slow, like a methodical thriller. This causes some lulls and slows the film down.

Depending on how you perceive it, “The Carpenter” is a better film than it sounds. If the idea of a psychotic carpenter haunting his old home sounds enjoyable (which it did to me), than this film may actually be lesser in your eyes. If the idea sounds laughable, than you’d be surprised to see there’s some craft behind it. For me, I appreciated the craft, but don’t feel it quite suited the slasher feel. I may appreciate the effort, but there’s parts of me that kind of wishes this was a crazy slasher flick.

MVT: Wings Hauser. He turns in a swell performance and can actually balance the mood swings the film goes through. He’s a hoot to watch!

Make or Break: It’s hard to pinpoint. I’ll go with the opening in the mental ward. I’m of the feeling that is slightly above average, so I’ll say this made the film. Even if it didn’t, it’s the perfect scene to choose as Wellington automatically shows you this isn’t a run of the mill slasher.

Final Score: 5.25/10