Modern Cult Classics: Demolition Man

Directed by Marco Brambilla, 1993, 115 minutes, Rated R
“We’re police officers! We’re not trained to handle this kind of violence!”

 

Any fool with a camera can make a post-apocalyptic dystopia. You go out to a rock quarry or a nice stretch of desert, get some bad haircuts and some leather, forget to shave for a couple days, and you’re good to go.

Utopians are tougher – you need lots of shiny things. A dystopian utopia calls for a high degree of difficulty. But a dystopian utopia action film starring Sylvester Stallone? That’s be inconceivable if it weren’t for Demolition Man.

Then again, Demolition Man starts off rather dystopian-y, with a pessimistic view of what the Clinton Era might look like. We open in a version of 1996 Las Angeles where the Hollywood sign can be set on fire and no one cares. Is this supposed to be the future from the Terminator series? It’s like the Rodney King riots never stopped. 

THIS! IS! SPARTAN!

Supercop Sly Stallone – or “John Spartan,” as he’s called here – puts on a sporty beret and prepares to singlehandedly take on a burning building full of baddies. “Takes a maniac to catch a maniac,” Sly Stallones before bungee-jumping out of a helicopter. Clearly, John Spartan is not lacking in confidence.

After punching Terrorism in the face, Spartan comes toe to toe with world-class maniac Simon Phoenix (a blonde Wesley Snipes, a look that inspired Denis Rodman). Smart remarks are exchanged. Predictably, it all ends with Sly running away from big, big explosions in slow-motion. Bad news though: Spartan not only leveled the whole building, he didn’t quite get around to rescuing the hostages. Whoopsie! Now convicted of manslaughter, Spartan is stripped nude, tossed into a giant petri dish and flash-frozen, where he is to remain a Stalloncycle for the next 70 years.

Simon Phoenix also gets the freeze-dried treatment, only his sentence is for “eternity.” And by “eternity,” I mean he gets a parole hearing in 2032. Phoenix surprises the parole board by somehow knowing the password to unlock his shackles. Also, he now knows kung-fu.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking: “If I was in the year 2032 or some Rodman-esque guy started trying to karate kick me, I’d shoot him with my space laser!” Well, welcome to the dystopian utopia of Demolition Man’s 2032: Everything is shiny and happy and filled with shiny, happy people. Voice-controlled cars! Graffiti-proof walls! Rob Schneider is employed! Yes, it’s a particularly hellish sort of utopia.

In a world full of crime-free positivity, Sandra Bullock’s Officer Huxley – literary! – longs for some “real action.” But when real action arrives in the form of the freshly thawed Simon Phoenix, who leaves a trail of redundant “murder-death-kills” in his wake, it becomes clear that the police force isn’t equipped to deal with it.

Seriously? I could buy that crime is way down, that no one has had to deal with a lunatic like Simon Phoenix in years. I could buy that, if I try really, really hard. But to believe that the world of 2032 is so toothless, so neutered that society has completely eradicated all forms of anger, aggression and violence… that law enforcement has institutionally forgotten? That’s a bit much.

But it does lead to the police melting the Stalloncycle, so whatever.

So Spartan is thawed out under the logic that “it takes an old fashioned cop to catch an old fashioned criminal.” The only one not onboard is the police chief, which is strange because you’d think that if you were going to release and immediately deputize a felon, you’d need the blessing of the police chief. Not here! The police chief – who is like a bald John Hodgeman – spends the entire film bitching at Spartan and calling him a Neanderthal. Which is pretty crappy, when you think about it. That’d be like if a guy from 1983 time-traveled to today and the first thing you did was make fun of him for not being able to use a smartphone.

Stay classy, Taco Bell

Yes, we get a full service of “fish out of water” gags as we watch Stallone “react” to the Schwarzenegger Presidential Library and fine dining at Taco Bell. There’s a whole thing where toilet paper has been replaced with three seashells that plays like the screenwriter’s own inside joke.

I seem to have gotten off-track, because there’s a lot more to Demolition Man than bad jokes, cheeky satire and faux Asian attire: ‘90s action sequences! Snipes is allowed to go full Batman villain, complete with mixin’-n-scratchin’ effects for some hip hop flava. Snipes and Stallone exchange gunfire and quips, then blow up everything. Also, Denis Leary shows up to do parts of his stand-up schtick. It is the ‘90s, after all.

It’s all good. Nothing out of the box in terms of action, but it’s silly and over-the-top and plenty fun. Except for Sting’s ear-bleedingly terrible song during the end credits. Seriously, that song is a crime worthy of flash-freezing Sting for eternity.

 

***

Modern Cult Classic: Step Brothers

 

 

Directed by Adam McKay, 2008, 98 minutes, Rated R
“Did we just become best friends?”

 

I teased doing this move a month ago. I figured I was due to take on a Modern Cult Classic – no, I deserved to treat myself to a Modern Cult Classic. So I went poking around my streaming services and Step Brothers was just right there, begging to be reviewed. Awesome, great, and… it’s a month later, and I think this movie defeated me.

Because here’s the thing: It’s a different thing to watch a movie to write about it. You’re not just letting the experience wash over you, getting lost in the story or cinematography and getting swept up in the performances. No, you’re noting things to discuss, looking for angles and approaches to the piece, and waiting to capture the Big Takeaway.

All I took away from Step Brothers, pretty much the only notes I wrote during the film was WHAT IS THIS MOVIE?

A month later, and I still don’t know. I watched the whole film while taking notes, and what I keep coming back to is the fact that – on paper – this movie shouldn’t work.

Here’s the story: Richard Jenkins’ Robert and Mary Steenburgen’s Nancy get married, bringing together their middle-aged sons, newly minted step brothers Brennan (Will Ferrell) and Dale (John C. Reilly). Both Brennan and Dale had been living at home, and both stopped emotionally maturing around the age of 14. They do stupid shit to antagonize each other, then suddenly become best friends and team up to do stupid shit like this:

Just as suddenly, they’re kicked out of the house and blame each other. A short montage shows them separately become semi-responsible adults. Then they meet back up at the Catalina Wine Mixer – which became a real thing because of this movie – reunite and resume doing stupid shit, the end.

So… What is this movie?

Is it a character study? Because Brennan and Dale don’t have particularly distinct personalities. Is this a coming of age story? Is it a story at all? If I squint really hard, I think I can almost see a story arc. And hey, not every movie has to sport a traditional Hero’s Journey, but even such shaggy comedies of the period like 40-Year-Old Virgin and Knocked Up had pretty clear-cut plots. I don’t understand how Step Brothers works. At all. It shouldn’t work.

And yet, it’s fantastic.

With all due respect to the rest of the cast (Jenkins and Steenburgen are joined by Adam Scott, Kathryn Hahn and Andrea Savage, and everyone is great here), Step Brothers works because of the performances of Will Ferrell and John C. Reilly. Their chemistry was undeniable in Talladega Nights – a nice surprise, as Reilly wasn’t known for comedies at that point – and that chemistry is the driving force of this film. Yes they’re both playing the same note, but it’s a very specific note: not slackers, not man-children (men-childs?) middle-school boys, right down to the amplified horny rage and undercurrents of naiveté.

So what else is there to say? I’m sure papers have been written about the ways Robert and Nancy enable their sons’ behavior despite their best intentions, or of what this film has to say about What It Means To Be An Adult. Or I could call out some of the great gags, such as the joint job interviews, the real estate sabotage or the a capella Guns N’ Roses. Instead, I’m just going to give it a bunch of asterisks and recommend watching it for yourself.

****

(and then treat you to the a capella Guns N’ Roses)

 

 

Intermission: Love, 'Bin Style

 

 

Yes, I know I’ve been teasing a very choice Modern CultClassic for a bit, and it’s coming. But today is Valentine’s Day. It’s a day for red roses and candy and winged toddlers firing arrows at people for some reason. You know, a holiday! And to celebrate the day, I want to give you a Very Special Valentine.

(No, not like that, you sicko.)

It probably won’t surprise you that I like my Valentine’s Day the same way I like my movies and Christmas decorations: as absurd as possible. And just like the bad feature films and odd Christmas ornaments, I don’t really have to go out of my way to find these things. If there’s a great big over-arching thesis to The Bargain Bin Review, it’s that the world is choc-full of absurdity; you just have to acknowledge and appreciate it.

Which brings us to this:

I randomly stumbled upon this while at the local discount store the other day and immediately snatched it up. Best three dollars I’ve spent in a while – and I haven’t read a single page yet.

First, let us consider the cover for Her Kind of Cowboy: Tying the Knot in Texas. 

 

The cover art is remarkably tasteful for a romance novel – no stuffed bodices or oily torsos here – just a headless couple embracing by a wooden fence. Would I have liked to see some ten-gallon hats? Sure, but the setting fits the title just fine. Then, inexplicably, there are five puppies lined up by their feet. Why are they there? Is ‘her kind of cowboy’ the kind that wrangles puppies instead of cattle? Because I’m pretty sure that’s not what a cowboy does.

We also learn that this novel is the work of Dylann Crush. Yes, that is a pen name. And yes, I am intensely jealous cuz that is a fantastic pen name. I mean, “nolahn”? Pfttth.

Now let’s get to the back cover synopsis. There’s no artwork and though it’s tempting, I’m not going to transcribe the whole thing. Here are the highlights:

Zina Baxter…

Wow. I feel like I've failed my daughters with their pedestrian given names. You’re a wizard, Dylann Crush.

Zina Baxter has stood on the sidelines during most of the matrimonial mayhem. But when a disaster at the pit bull rescue has her relocating the pups to a space that will be shared with a winter wonderland scene, she finds herself smack dab in the middle of planning the craziest wedding yet.

Well, at least this explains the puppies on the cover. Are those pit bull puppies? I don't know -- I'm not a dogologist. Also, a winter wonderland-themed wedding in Texas is indeed quite crazy.

Alex Sanders…

It’s okay, Dylann Crush. No one bats a thousand all the time.

Alex Sanders ran as far and as fast as he could from his hometown – all the way to Antarctica. But a job opportunity as the penguin handler for an over-the-top wedding entices him back.

The dude is a penguin handler. This melted my brain. Is that a real thing? Apparently it is, though it only pays about $15 an hour.

So to sum up: Her Kind of Cowboy is the story of a woman who rescues pit bulls who meets cute with a penguin handler at some kind of winter petty zoo of a wedding. Got it. There’s a lot going on, but you know what Her Kind of Cowboy doesn’t have? An actual cowboy.

I’m going to devour this book.

 

Have a happy Valentine’s Day!

 

Bargain Bin Review: Hell of the Living Dead

January is the worst. It's the Monday of the calendar year. The best part of January happens in its opening minutes, when you relish in all the optimism and potential of the new year. But then you go to bed and wake up to a gray smudge of a day that continues on for the next month, and your agenda consists of 1) put away Christmas decorations, 2) be cold, 3) wait for February to arrive.

Anyway, I was going to do a Modern Cult Classic this week. But then I thought, January is the worst -- why should it get an enjoyable movie? So instead, I've "remastered" a real stinker on the last day of this stinker month.

Directed by Bruno Mattei, 1980, 99 minutes, Unrated
a.k.a. Night of the Zombies, a.k.a. Virus, a.k.a. Zombie Creeping Flesh, a.k.a. Zombie 2… Call it what you want -- this movie is hell

It's generally a bad sign when the Netflix synopsis refers to the feature you're about to watch as an "impossibly bad movie." But it's a much worse sign when, in the opening scene of said movie, the reactor guy says the needle on the Geiger counter is "going off the scale"... and it is clearly visible that the same actor is turning a dial to make the needle bounce around.

Here's the plot, such as it is: In New Guinea, the HOPE chemical plant is covertly
running one of those terrible experiments that's bound to go badly, stuffstuffstuff ZOMBIES! Meanwhile, our "good guys" consist of a SWAT team in Day-Glo blue uniforms, armed with tommy guns. They're just like the A-Team from The A-Team, except they needlessly kill people. For example, while sneaking into a terrorist-controlled embassy, they quietly creep up behind one terrorist and quietly knock him out... then shoot him a dozen times anyway. Anyway, while the SWAT guys are on vacation(?) in New Guinea, they meet up with a TV reporter and her cameraman. Together, the six travel the countryside, encountering stock footage and packs of roaming zombies everywhere they go.

"Action" scene

It would be quicker and easier for me to talk about what does work in this film. The
visual effects for the gore work nicely in that classic George Romero sense. And
there's a scene where the TV reporter jogs around topless that appealed to the part of me that hasn't matured past the age of 14.

Everything else sucked.

My mother hates that word, but my mother didn't have to sit through this movie. The editing sucked, the acting sucked, and boy howdy, the dialogue sucked. Bad dubbing, too. You want to talk about sound effects? When the zombies bite into someone, it sounds like crunched Styrofoam. Production values? There's a priceless scene late in the film where the U.N. is debating what to do about the zombie outbreak in New Guinea. And by "U.N.," I mean a dozen actors in
cultural garb yelling at each other and throwing papers around in a giant lecture hall – just like the real U.N.!

The face I made while watching this movie

And then there's the stock footage. So. Much. Stock footage. There has to be at least 20 minutes worth of stock footage padding this movie – footage of indigenous rituals, animals running about in the jungle, etc. The footage was certainly nothing that furthered the story, and it made the switch back to the actors in the arid, Clearly-Not New Guinea that much more jarring. At least I had something to fast forward.

Credit where credit is due: this film really surprised me. I always figured, how hard could it be to make a decent zombie movie? Now I know.

*