As some of our regular readers undoubtedly know, I am involved in a few weekly live tweets on twitter. I host #FridayNightFlix every Friday, I co-host #ScarySocial on Saturday, and I am one of the five hosts of #MondayActionMovie! Every week, we get together. We watch a movie. We tweet our way through it.
Tonight, for #ScarySocial, I will be hosting 1987’s Killer Workout!
If you want to join us on Saturday night, just hop onto twitter, start the film at 9 pm et, and use the #ScarySocial hashtag! The film is available on Prime! I’ll be there co-hosting and I imagine some other members of the TSL Crew will be there as well. It’s a friendly group and welcoming of newcomers so don’t be shy!
Today is the birthday of German filmmaker Tom Tykwer. Tykwer directed one of my favorite films of all time, 1998’s Run, Lola, Run! As such, it only seems appropriate that today’s scene that I love should come from that film.
In this scene, Lola shows us all how to win at roulette. Do not try this in Vegas.
4 Or More Shots From 4 Or More Films is just what it says it is, 4 shots from 4 of our favorite films. As opposed to the reviews and recaps that we usually post, 4 Shots From 4 Films lets the visuals do the talking!
Today, the Shattered Lens wishes a happy birthday to director Ryan Coogler! With just a handful of films, Ryan Coogler has made a star out of Michael B. Jordan, redeemed the acting career of Sylvester Stallone, introduced the rest of the world to Wakanda, twice made Oscar history, and changed the way that film viewers talk about race in cinema. With all that in mind, it’s time for….
4 Shots from 4 Ryan Coogler Films
Fruitvale Station (2013, dir by Ryan Coogler, DP: Rachel Morrison)
Creed (2015, dir by Ryan Coogler, DP: Maryse Alberti)
Black Panther (2018, dir by Ryan Coogler, DP: Rachel Morrison)
Sinners (2025, dir by Ryan Coogler, DP: Autumn Durald Arkapaw)
Love of a Lifetime was the third single to be released by Firehouse and it’s been featured at countless wedding receptions. This was one of Firehouse’s biggest hits. The band itself had the misfortune to be a metal band that hit its stride right when grunge was becoming the new big thing but they’ve remained big in Japan and they continue to sell-out shows to this day.
Director Mark Rezyka has also worked with KISS, Winger, RATT, Testament, and a host of other metal bands. He also directed episodes of Monsters and The Hitchhiker.
Welcome to Late Night Retro Television Reviews, a feature where we review some of our favorite and least favorite shows of the past! On Fridays, I will be reviewing Freddy’s Nightmares, a horror anthology show which ran in syndication from 1988 to 1990. The entire series can be found on Tubi!
This week, Mary Crosby returns. And hey — is that Wings Hauser!?
Episode 2.14 “Easy Come, Easy Go”
(Dir by William Malone, originally aired on January 14th, 1990)
In this sequel to Lucky Stiff, Greta (Mary Crosby) is still living in her mansion with her new husband, Eugene (Tracey Walter). She’s married to Eugene so that Eugene won’t turn her in for having killed her previous husband. Eugene says that he’ll leave the mansion as soon as they consummate the marriage. Greta, however, has standards. As a result, Eugene lives in the basement.
When her former brother-in-law, Wes Roscoe (Richard Eden), shows up, it doesn’t take long for a lingerie-clad Greta to seduce him. It soon becomes apparent that Wes wants her money and vengeance for the death of his brother. She makes plans to poison him but, when Wes attacks her, her life is saved by Eugene. Greta realizes that she loves Eugene. She sleeps with him. Immediately afterwards, Eugene accidentally drinks the poison and dies. Sorry, Eugene!
Shortly afterwards, Greta’s sister, Peggy (Jill Jacobson), shows up with her husband, eyepatch-wearing Sonny (Wings Hauser). Sonny is Greta’s ex. In fact, he blames her for the loss of his eye. (They got into an argument in a car and a slap from Greta sent Sonny plunging eye-first into the gear shift.) Greta seduces and then kills Sonny, just as she’s done with every man who has tried to take her money. But then Peggy turns out to be a sociopath herself (“I killed mom and dad.”) and proceeds to shoot Greta.
“Easy come, easy go,” Greta gasps.
This episode was so over-the-top and cheerfully sordid that it was impossible not to enjoy it. Mary Crosby threw herself into the femme fatale role. Wings Hauser, as always, was amusingly disturbed as the bad guy. Both stories were wonderfully sordid. Even without any supernatural elements, this was a truly fun episode.
Welcome to Retro Television Reviews, a feature where we review some of our favorite and least favorite shows of the past! On Fridays, I will be reviewing St. Elsewhere, a medical show which ran on NBC from 1982 to 1988. The show can be found on Daily Motion.
This week, we’ve got a great episode of St. Elsewhere.
Episode 3.21 “Murder, She Rote”
(Dir by Mark Tinker, originally aired on February 27th, 1985)
This week, Mrs. Hufnagle dies!
After spending the entire season getting on the nerves of the doctors and the nurses, Mrs. Hufnagle died in this episode. She is found dead and apparently crushed in her bed. (Hufnagle could never figure out how to properly lower and raise the front and back of it. In this episode, it appears that she raised both at the same time.) “Hufnagle in a half-shell,” Ehrlich says. Meanwhile, the perpetually angry Nurse Lucy (Jennifer Savidge) blames herself for not responding when Hufnagle was desperately pushing her help button. Gee, Lucy, you think? Isn’t it your job to respond?
Now, I should note that this episode features both Westphall and Craig calling out the doctor for the treatment that Hufnagle received. Both let it be known that doctors can’t just take care of the likable patients. Everyone who enters the hospital deserves quality care.
What did Hufnagle die of? That’s what Craig is determined to find out. His first instinct is to blame Ehrlich. Then he tried to blame Kochar (former serious regular Kavi Raz, making a guest appearance). He tries to blame the nurses. But, in the end, Craig examines his notes from Hufnagle’s heart surgery and he discovers that he’s the one who made a mistake.
In a wonderfully acted moment, Craig tells the residents that the mistake was his. William Daniels does an excellent job of showing that Craig, for all of his arrogance, is not one to shirk responsibility. When he explains how he made the mistake that led to Hufnagle’s death, it’s a brave moment for both the character and the actor.
That said, Craig is lucky Hufnagle didn’t have a family or he would definitely be getting sued.
While Hufnagle died, Shirley Daniels returned to the ER:
Given that Shirley has confessed to killing Peter White (even though she hasn’t gone to trial yet), clearing her to work at a hospital seems …. odd. That said, a psychiatrist says that Shirley is not a threat to others and Auschlander seems to be oddly eager for her to get to work.
It doesn’t take long before Shirley pulls a gun on a patient. She also points the gun at Fiscus and then Morrison. She pulls the trigger and a little flag pops out that says, “Bang!”
It was a joke! Oh, Shirely!
Shirley laughs and then leaves the hospital.
Elliot has a date:
Dr. Axelrod goes out on a date with Nurse Rosenthal’s odd daughter, Marcy (Jeannie Elias).
Marcy is impressed with Elliot’s goofy sense of humor.
A sudden fire breaks out. Elliot heroically saves the life of the restaurant’s owner.
Marcy explains that she liked Elliot because he seemed goofy and harmless. Now that he’s a hero, she respects him too much to sleep with him.
This was a great episode! William Daniels gave his best performance in the role of Dr. Craig so far. Ellen Bry, in the role of Shirley Daniels, got one of the all-time great exits. And the underused Stephen Furst got a storyline where he did something more than just get insulted. I do feel sad for Mrs. Hufnagle, though. She wasn’t that bad.
There is a specific, almost alchemical quality to the late 1990s and early 2000s era of Nicolas Cage as an action star. Before the internet turned every one of his performances into a meme and before his financial troubles led him down the rabbit hole of direct-to-video oddities, Cage was genuinely one of the most exciting and weirdly compelling action heroes on the planet. From The Rock in 1996 to Con Air in 1997 and Face/Off in 1997, he delivered a holy trinity of high-octane insanity that no other actor could have pulled off. By the time the calendar flipped to 2000, Cage was at the peak of his powers, and director Dominic Sena’s Gone in 60 Seconds arrived as both a victory lap and a slight exhale. It is not as unhinged as Face/Off nor as tightly wound as The Rock, but it is a perfect snapshot of its moment: a glossy, MTV-infused car heist flick that smells like gasoline, leather, and late-90s hubris. And while it has plenty of shortcomings, Gone in 60 Seconds has earned its place not in the pantheon of great action cinema, but in that more beloved hall of fame: the Guilty Pleasure.
The plot is as simple as a carburetor. Cage plays Randall “Memphis” Raines, a legendary car thief who has supposedly gone straight, now living a quiet life designing hybrid engines. But when his reckless younger brother Kip, played with sweaty desperation by Giovanni Ribisi, botches a job for a ruthless British gangster named Raymond Calitri (Christopher Eccleston at his sleaziest), Memphis is forced back into the life he left behind. The task is absurdly impossible: steal 50 specific luxury cars in a single weekend, or Calitri will kill Kip. That’s right, fifty cars. In three days. The film never really bothers to explain the logistics of storing or delivering that many vehicles, but that’s not the point. The point is the ride, the revving engines, and the way Cage stares at a 1967 Shelby GT500 named Eleanor like she’s the ghost of a lost lover. That car is the real star, and the film knows it.
Dominic Sena, who previously directed Cage in the underrated road thriller Kalifornia, brings a music video sensibility to the proceedings. Gone in 60 Seconds is drenched in late-90s visual tics: slow-motion shots of hubcaps spinning, golden sunsets glaring off polished chrome, and a soundtrack that alternates between nu-metal grooves and bluesy rock. The editing is fast but not confusing, and the heist sequences have a rhythmic, almost choreographed feel. You never believe for a second that Memphis and his crew—a motley collection of oddballs played by Robert Duvall, Vinnie Jones, and a very underutilized Angelina Jolie—can actually pull off fifty thefts without the entire LAPD catching on. But the film operates on movie logic. Cars are hotwired in seconds, police radio chatter is effortlessly avoided, and every chase defies the laws of physics. It is pure fantasy, and that is exactly why it works as a guilty pleasure.
Now, let’s talk about Cage. In 2000, he was still riding the high of that legendary late-90s run, and Gone in 60 Seconds fits neatly into his brand of action star as tortured romantic. Memphis Raines is not the coked-up lunatic Castor Troy or the shouty Stanley Goodspeed. He is weary, melancholic, and trying to be honorable in a dishonorable profession. Cage plays him with a hangdog sincerity that is surprisingly effective. When he talks to Eleanor, stroking her steering wheel and whispering about how she tests her drivers, he is utterly committed. There is no irony, no winking at the camera. That is the secret to Cage’s enduring appeal in this era: he treats absurd material with the same intensity he would bring to a Shakespeare soliloquy. The action sequences—especially the climactic chase where Eleanor leaps over a drawbridge—showcase Cage’s physicality and willingness to do real stunt work. He sells the danger and the desperation. You believe that this man would risk everything for a car, and that belief makes the film’s silliness palatable.
But let’s be honest about the shortcomings, because Gone in 60 Seconds has plenty. The middle act drags considerably. For a movie about stealing fifty cars, there is a surprising amount of standing around in warehouses and having conversations about “respecting the machine.” Angelina Jolie’s character, Sara, is Memphis’s ex-girlfriend and a fellow thief, but she is given almost nothing to do except look cool in leather and exchange tepid romantic banter with Cage. The chemistry between them is nonexistent. Christopher Eccleston’s Calitri is a one-note villain who likes opera and cruelty, and his final defeat is laughably abrupt. Delroy Lindo plays a dogged detective, but he is so incompetent that he never generates real tension. The film’s central gimmick—the ticking clock of fifty cars in three days—is inconsistently tracked, and by the final act, you have no idea how many cars are left or why it still matters. The dialogue is also gloriously corny. Lines like “Ride or die” and “Respect the car, man” are delivered with such straight faces that they circle back around to being endearing.
And yet, Gone in 60 Seconds earns its status as a guilty pleasure because it understands exactly what it is. This is not a sophisticated heist thriller like Heat or a gritty crime drama. It is a shiny, high-budget B-movie about a man and his car, and it leans into that identity without apology. The final twenty-minute chase sequence is genuinely thrilling, with real cars being destroyed and practical stunts that modern CGI could never replicate. Eleanor getting airborne, landing hard, and somehow still running is a moment of pure cinematic joy. The sound design—the roar of that V8 engine, the screech of tires on asphalt—is visceral and satisfying. And Cage’s performance, even when the script lets him down, holds the whole thing together. He is the anchor that keeps the film from floating away into utter nonsense.
Looking back from today’s perspective, Gone in 60 Seconds is a time capsule of a very specific moment. It captures the tail end of the late-90s obsession with extreme sports, tuner culture, and the idea that cars had souls. It also captures Nicolas Cage at a fascinating crossroads: still an A-list action star, still capable of opening a blockbuster, but already showing the signs of the wonderful weirdness that would later define his career. This film is not his best, not by a long shot, but it is one of his most rewatchable. You put it on when you want to turn your brain off, hear some great engine noises, and watch a sweaty, sincere Nic Cage talk to a Shelby like she is his long-lost sweetheart. That is the definition of a guilty pleasure. It is not good in the traditional sense, but it is fun. And sometimes, fun is enough.
As some of our regular readers undoubtedly know, I am involved in a few weekly watch parties. On Twitter, I host #FridayNightFlix every Friday and I co-host #ScarySocial on Saturday. On Mastodon, I am one of the five hosts of #MondayActionMovie! Every week, we get together. We watch a movie. We tweet our way through it.
Tonight, at 10 pm et, I will be hosting #FridayNightFlix! The movie? 1993’s The Sandlot!
If you want to join us this Friday, just hop onto twitter, find The Sandlot on Prime, start the movie at 10 pm et, and use the #FridayNightFlix hashtag! I’ll be there happily tweeting. It’s a friendly group and welcoming of newcomers so don’t be shy.
Through the Shattered Lens 