Guilty Pleasure No. 129: Congo (dir. by Frank Marshall)

Posted on September 5, 2026 by Arleigh

Congo is the kind of movie that makes perfect sense as a guilty pleasure because it is always hovering just above the level of complete nonsense, yet it has enough energy and conviction to remain enormously watchable. Directed by Frank Marshall, the 1995 film turns Michael Crichton’s jungle-thriller premise into a sprawling mixture of monster movie, treasure hunt, corporate conspiracy, technological anxiety, and old-fashioned adventure serial. It is loud, messy, often ridiculous, and loaded with moments that should not work at all. But that is the pleasure of Congo: it commits so completely to its bizarre material that the movie becomes difficult to dislike.

The setup is wonderfully overstuffed. A corporate expedition disappears while searching for a legendary diamond mine in the Congo, apparently after encountering some mysterious, deadly force. At the same time, primatologist Peter Elliot is preparing to return Amy, a gorilla he has raised and taught sign language, to the wild. Amy has recurring dreams—or perhaps memories—of a strange jungle city, and she communicates through a glove that translates her signs into a robotic voice. Before long, Peter, Amy, corporate representative Karen Ross, Romanian explorer Herkermer Homolka, and a mercenary guide named Captain Munro Kelly are all headed toward the same lost city, where diamonds, ancient ruins, and murderous white gorillas await.

That synopsis alone explains why Congo has developed such a devoted guilty-pleasure reputation. It is a movie where satellites, laser weapons, genetically engineered guard apes, corporate greed, sign-language research, volcanoes, and ancient African mythology all exist in the same story without anyone pausing to question the sheer overload of it. The movie treats every development with sincere urgency, even when the audience is watching Amy the gorilla say “Amy good gorilla” through a computerized voice device. It is impossible not to admire the confidence. Congo never winks at the audience, never admits that its premise is wild, and never cuts itself down to a more manageable size. It simply keeps adding more adventure-movie ingredients until the whole thing becomes strangely hypnotic.

Laura Linney’s Karen Ross and Dylan Walsh’s Peter Elliot are meant to anchor all of that craziness, but they are also among the film’s blandest elements. Linney is a talented actress, and she brings a professional focus to Karen’s corporate mission, but the character is written in such functional terms that she rarely feels like more than the person carrying the plot’s technological and business-related exposition. Karen is competent, determined, and occasionally vulnerable, but she never develops a particularly distinctive personality. Linney plays her with a seriousness that fits the film’s overall tone, yet that seriousness can make her feel oddly distant. She is there to make sure the satellite plot, the diamond plot, and the rescue plot keep moving, rather than to provide much spark on her own.

Walsh has an even tougher assignment as Peter. He is essentially the emotional center of Amy’s story, and the film needs the audience to believe in his paternal, almost codependent relationship with her. But Peter is such a mild, generic protagonist that he often gets swallowed by the movie’s more eccentric ideas. Walsh is not bad, exactly; he is simply too subdued for a film filled with volcanic eruptions, killer gorillas, and Tim Curry speaking every line as though he is announcing the end of civilization. His performance has a sincere gentleness that helps the scenes with Amy, but it also makes him feel like he wandered in from a quieter, more conventional family adventure. When the movie becomes bigger and stranger, Peter’s personality does not expand with it.

That blandness becomes especially noticeable because Ernie Hudson and Tim Curry are having such an obviously fantastic time in their roles. Hudson plays Captain Munro Kelly with the relaxed confidence of someone who knows he is the coolest person in the room. Munro is a professional guide, a fighter, a pilot, and a survivor, but Hudson does not turn him into a grim action-movie cliché. He gives the character humor, charisma, and a reassuring calm under pressure. Whenever the group faces another disaster—whether it is hostile terrain, dangerous animals, mercenaries, or the increasingly unhinged situation inside the lost city—Hudson makes Munro feel like the one person who might actually know what he is doing.

Hudson’s performance also gives Congo a sense of fun that the central characters sometimes lack. He has an easy screen presence, and he seems to understand that the film works best when it leans into the pleasures of a grand, pulpy adventure. Munro is not a particularly deep character, but Hudson makes him memorable through timing, attitude, and sheer likability. The movie becomes livelier whenever he takes charge, whether he is negotiating with people in the field or calmly reacting to another completely absurd revelation. If Karen and Peter are the story’s functional leads, Munro is the character who gives the audience someone to enjoy following.

Then there is Tim Curry as Herkermer Homolka, who delivers what can only be described as a masterclass in hammy, scenery-chewing entertainment. Curry does not merely play Homolka; he devours the role with a kind of operatic enthusiasm. Every line is delivered in his grand Romanian accent with the force of a proclamation, and every gesture suggests that Homolka believes he is the hero of the greatest expedition in history. Curry appears to be enjoying himself so much that it becomes infectious. He is not interested in realism, restraint, or subtle characterization. He is there to make every scene larger, louder, and more theatrical.

Homolka is already a ridiculous figure on the page: a pompous explorer with a famous family name, an exaggerated ego, and a dramatic flair that makes him seem less like a real adventurer than a flamboyant villain from a lost serial. Curry recognizes that the only correct way to play him is at maximum volume. His performance turns every bit of dialogue into an event. He gives the impression that he has spent years preparing speeches for this exact jungle expedition, waiting for the chance to announce his discoveries to the world. Even when Homolka is making selfish or foolish decisions, Curry makes him too entertaining to hate.

The contrast between Curry and the more restrained leads is one of the reasons Congo feels so odd. Linney and Walsh approach the material with a level of seriousness that suggests they are trying to preserve some emotional credibility. Hudson and Curry, by contrast, seem to recognize that credibility is not really the point. Hudson brings a cool, knowing charm, while Curry turns the movie into a one-man theatrical spectacle whenever he appears. Neither approach is necessarily wrong, but the difference creates a tonal imbalance. The film’s heroes feel flat because its supporting players are so much more alive.

The killer gorillas, of course, are another major source of the film’s guilty-pleasure appeal. These are not normal gorillas defending their territory. They are pale, vicious creatures bred to protect the diamond city of Zinj, and they attack with the exaggerated menace of monsters in a haunted-house ride. The effects have not aged gracefully. The suits and animatronics are visible, the movements can be stiff, and the creatures are often more amusing than frightening. Yet they remain memorable because the movie gives them a distinct, nightmarish look: white fur, glowing eyes, sharp teeth, and sudden appearances from dark corridors or jungle fog.

Frank Marshall directs the action with enough pace and polish to keep Congo from collapsing under the weight of its own silliness. The jungle setting, the ruined city, the expedition equipment, the satellite imagery, and the volcanic finale all give the movie a bigger sense of scale than its reputation might suggest. It feels like a genuine studio blockbuster from a time when Hollywood would spend serious money on an unapologetically strange idea. The film is not elegant, and it is certainly not believable, but it is never boring for long.

As a conventional adventure movie, Congo is uneven. Its African setting is often treated as a vague, dangerous backdrop, and its plot is overloaded with enough corporate jargon and techno-babble to distract from the more entertaining monster-movie material. But as a guilty pleasure, it is hard to beat. The movie is too bizarre to be generic and too sincere to feel cynical. Laura Linney and Dylan Walsh may be stuck playing bland characters at the center of the chaos, but Ernie Hudson and especially Tim Curry make the journey worth taking. Curry’s performance alone is a treasure: a joyous, magnificent display of overacting that turns Congo from a merely strange blockbuster into something genuinely unforgettable.

Previous Guilty Pleasures

Review: The Crow (dir. by Alex Proyas)

Posted on August 24, 2026 by Arleigh

“If the people we love are stolen from us, the way to have them live on is to never stop loving them. Buildings burn, people die, but real love is forever.” — Sarah Mohr

The Crow is one of those films whose reputation has become inseparable from the tragedy surrounding it, yet reducing it to that tragedy misses why it has endured so powerfully. Alex Proyas’s 1994 adaptation of James O’Barr’s graphic novel is a revenge story, a gothic romance, a comic-book nightmare, and an MTV-era industrial-rock mood piece fused into something singular. It is not flawless, and its storytelling is often more archetypal than psychologically deep, but that directness helps its emotional force. The movie does not ask viewers to untangle a complicated moral puzzle. It asks them to feel the enormity of a love violently interrupted, and then to watch that grief return from the grave with black feathers, white face paint, and a very personal sense of justice.

The premise is almost mythically simple. On the night before their wedding, musician Eric Draven and his fiancée Shelly Webster are murdered by a gang of thugs who break into their Detroit apartment. A year later, on Devil’s Night—the annual pre-Halloween ritual of fires and chaos that hangs over the film’s ruined cityscape—Eric rises from his grave, guided by a crow, to hunt down every person responsible. The classic revenge-movie structure is there: identify the killers, stalk them, punish them, move closer to the figure at the top. But The Crow distinguishes itself by making revenge feel less like triumphant macho fantasy and more like an extension of mourning. Eric does not become a cool killer because pain has made him stronger. He becomes an avenging specter because he cannot accept a world in which Shelly’s final moments are left unanswered.

Proyas directs the film like a fever dream built from wet asphalt, broken glass, empty tenements, and perpetual night. The Detroit of The Crow barely operates as a realistic city, but realism is not the point. It is an expressionist landscape, a metropolis that seems permanently trapped between a crime scene and a graveyard. The production design gives the movie its extraordinary visual identity: towering shadows, alleyways lit by flame, apartments that look like mausoleums, and a skyline that appears to have been abandoned by daylight itself. This is Gothic cinema filtered through comic-book panels, German Expressionism, punk fashion, and the darkly romantic visual language of early-1990s alternative music videos. It has been imitated constantly, sometimes lovingly and sometimes clumsily, but the original still feels unusually tactile. The grime, rain, fire, and shattered architecture have physical weight.

That sense of atmosphere is helped enormously by the soundtrack, which operates as more than a collection of era-specific needle drops. Songs by The Cure, Nine Inch Nails, Stone Temple Pilots, Pantera, and others create a sonic environment around Eric’s grief. The music gives the movie a pulse that is melancholy, furious, and seductive all at once. For many viewers, The Crow became a gateway text for a specific kind of 1990s gothic-alt identity: black clothing, industrial textures, romantic despair, and the conviction that heartbreak could be transformed into style without becoming trivial. Its aesthetic influence is obvious, but it worked because it was attached to an actual emotional core rather than simply a pile of cool images.

Brandon Lee is the center of that emotional core. His Eric Draven is handsome and charismatic, obviously, but the performance’s real strength lies in its shifts of tone. Lee can play Eric as tender and playful in the brief memories of his life with Shelly, then turn him into a creature of eerie stillness and explosive violence. He delivers some of the film’s most famous lines with a theatrical flair that could have become silly in another actor’s hands, but he never entirely loses the sense that Eric is broken underneath the black leather and corpse-like makeup. When he says, “It can’t rain all the time,” it does not land merely as a quotable gothic slogan. It is a declaration of faith from someone trying to recover one small piece of warmth from an overwhelmingly cruel world.

Lee’s death during production makes that performance almost unbearably charged. He was accidentally shot on set during the filming of a scene involving a prop firearm and died at age 28. The production had to regroup, rewrite and restructure parts of the film, and use a combination of body doubles, careful editing, visual effects, and previously filmed material to complete Eric’s story. That practical disruption is visible only in limited ways in the finished product; remarkably, The Crow generally feels cohesive rather than patched together. Still, the tragedy affected more than the logistics of production. It fundamentally changed the public’s relationship to the film. Eric’s resurrection, his grief over a stolen future, and the repeated imagery of a dead young man returning to finish unfinished business all acquired a terrible real-world resonance.

That connection could easily have overwhelmed the movie, turning it into a morbid curiosity. Instead, it made the film feel elegiac. Audiences did not merely see a fictional tragic hero; they saw Lee’s final completed role, an image of an actor whose life had ended before the public had a chance to see where his career might go. The contrast is particularly painful because Lee’s work here suggests enormous range and movie-star potential. He is not just doing martial-arts action or inheriting the legacy of his father, Bruce Lee. He is creating an icon of romantic anguish and dark humor. The public reception of The Crow therefore carried an unusual mixture of admiration, grief, and protectiveness. Its cult status was built partly on its style, soundtrack, and comic-book mythology, but also on the feeling that viewers were witnessing a final gift from an artist taken much too soon.

The supporting cast gives the film much of its flavor, especially because Proyas treats its villains as grotesque figures in a corrupted fairy tale. David Patrick Kelly’s T-Bird is nervy and cruel, Michael Massee’s Funboy has a sleazy unpredictability, and Angel David’s Skank brings a wild, cartoonish energy to the gang. Rochelle Davis, playing Sarah, provides something vital in the opposite direction. She is not merely a child sidekick; she represents the lingering human connection between Eric’s former life and his revenant existence. Her scenes with Eric remind us that he is not simply a supernatural executioner. He is still someone capable of care, humor, and memory.

But Michael Wincott’s Top Dollar is the film’s true villainous masterstroke. Wincott has one of cinema’s most instantly recognizable voices: smoky, velvety, sardonic, and faintly predatory. As Top Dollar, he makes every line sound like it has been exhaled through cigarette smoke in a cathedral. He is not a conventional crime boss in the realistic, procedural sense. He is a decadent king of the city’s underworld, a man who appears to have converted criminal power into a private religion of violence, ritual, and spectacle. His lair, his manner, and his relationship with his half-sister Myca all push him beyond ordinary gangster territory into something operatic and mythic.

What makes Wincott mesmerizing is that he does not overplay Top Dollar’s eccentricities. The character has plenty of theatrical material to work with—occult touches, ominous speeches, a penthouse filled with weaponry and strange décor—but Wincott approaches him with a serene confidence. He rarely seems rushed or rattled, even as Eric systematically destroys his organization. That calm makes him more intimidating. Top Dollar understands the city as a machine of corruption, and he sees himself as the person with his hands on the controls. Wincott’s performance gives the villain intelligence, sensuality, and a distinctly sinister elegance. He is evil, certainly, but he is never bland. In a movie full of striking images, his voice alone becomes part of the visual texture.

The action in The Crow is effective precisely because it avoids pretending that Eric’s vengeance is a balanced fight. For much of the movie, he is invulnerable, and the violence plays like supernatural punishment. The standout set pieces—Eric’s assault on the gang’s hideout, his confrontation with T-Bird, and the final tower sequence—have the heightened, almost ritualistic quality of comic-book action rather than the grounded impact of a crime thriller. That can make some of the antagonists feel less like people than targets, but again, the film is working in the language of myth. Eric is a ghost walking through the consequences of someone else’s cruelty.

If The Crow has a weakness, it is that the love story depends heavily on fragments. Shelly is more an emotional presence than a fully developed character, preserved in Eric’s memories as warmth, laughter, music, and suffering. Yet the film understands that grief often works that way. We do not always remember a person as a complete biography when they are gone; sometimes we cling to specific gestures, rooms, jokes, songs, and images. The flashes of Eric and Shelly together are deliberately idealized because they are being recalled by a man who has lost everything. The movie’s romanticism may be blunt, but it is sincere.

More than three decades later, The Crow still works because it is a film of conviction. It believes in the visual poetry of rain and ruins, in the melodrama of eternal love, in the power of a memorable face framed in black-and-white makeup, and in the possibility that a soundtrack can become part of a movie’s mythology. Brandon Lee’s death will always remain a heartbreaking part of its history, and it is impossible to watch the film without feeling that absence hovering around it. But The Crow is not remembered simply because of what happened behind the scenes. It is remembered because Proyas, Lee, Wincott, and the rest of the cast made a pulpy revenge tale feel like a dark romantic elegy—one that still takes flight every time the crow returns to the skyline.

Brad reviews THE COWBOY WAY (1994), starring Woody Harrelson and Kiefer Sutherland!

Posted on December 21, 2025 by Bradley Crain

Happy 59th birthday, Kiefer Sutherland!

Sutherland portrayed my favorite TV character of all time, when he spent 8 seasons playing Jack Bauer in my favorite TV series of all time, 24. Raylan Givens (Timothy Olyphant) gave him a solid run for his money when I got around to watching the JUSTIFIED series a few years back, but I still believe Bauer edges him out. Another of my favorite shows when I was growing up was CHEERS. And a big reason for that is Woody Harrelson. CHEERS ran from 1982-1993, so when it started I was nine and when it ended I was twenty. I literally grew up on the show. I thought Harrelson’s portrayal of the dim-witted, but lovable and sweet character, Woody Boyd, was so funny. I remember being happy when he started making movies and had some solid success. I’ve always enjoyed THE COWBOY WAY, the film that teamed up Harrelson and Sutherland, so I decided to revisit the 1994 action-comedy on Kiefer’s special day.

IN THE COWBOY WAY, Woody Harrelson plays the somewhat dim-witted and overwhelmingly carefree Pepper Lewis, while Kiefer Sutherland plays the more responsible and extremely serious Sonny Gilstrap, two lifelong friends and rodeo champions from New Mexico. The story kicks off when their long-time friend Nacho Salazar (Joaquin Martinez) disappears after going to New York City to pick up his daughter Teresa (Cara Buono), who has been smuggled into the U.S. from Cuba. Pepper and Sonny decide to head to the big city themselves to track down Nacho, and soon find themselves taking on the murderous human trafficker, John Stark (Dylan McDermott), who murdered Nacho and is forcing his daughter to work in a sweatshop. With only their country boy common sense (well at least Sonny’s), their exceptional rodeo skills, and the help of an empathetic NY cop ((Ernie Hudson), Pepper and Sonny will do whatever it takes to find out what happened to Nacho and save his daughter from a life of modern day slavery.

THE COWBOY WAY is silly and unrealistic at times, with shifts in tone that will make your head spin, but I still love it anyway. This type of action-comedy was commonplace in the 80’s and 90’s, but you don’t see movies like this much anymore. I’ll admit that my personal nostalgia, as well as my lifelong appreciation of Sutherland and Harrelson, plays into my enjoyment of the film. It’s a movie that leans into the once popular formula of outsiders from the country being looked down upon by city slickers, and then proving themselves to be more than capable. Think CROCODILE DUNDEE, but without the romance. This is the kind of movie that is trying its best to give us a good time for our box office dollars. Many in Hollywood have forgotten how to entertain, and it’s such a breath of fresh air to watch movies that exist solely for that purpose, even when they’re not perfect.

As is often the case for me, the cast of THE COWBOY WAY plays a big factor in my enjoyment of the movie. Woody Harrelson is certainly over the top as the irresponsible New Mexico cowboy, but he’s also funny at times and more than capable of handling the action scenes. Kiefer Sutherland’s cowboy is the exact opposite, he’s serious, extremely responsible, and very capable. If nothing else, he needs Harrelson’s character in his life to help him remove the stick from his ass at times! Ultimately, it’s their relationship and banter that carries the film for me. Dylan McDermott is good as the sleazy villain, but if you’ve seen many 80’s and 90’s action movies, he’s pretty much exactly what you’d expect. As a fan of spaghetti westerns, I also enjoyed seeing the genre stalwart Tomas Milian pop up as McDermott’s soon-to-be ex-boss. It’s not a big role but this movie buff appreciated it. Finally, Ernie Hudson is just so likable as the kind-hearted and helpful horse-mounted cop. I like to think that he and Kiefer’s character kept a John McClane / Sgt. Al Powell type relationship going after the events of the movie.

Ultimately, in my opinion, THE COWBOY WAY may not be a great movie by critical standards, but it is a fun movie. If you’re in the mood for 90’s era action-comedy, featuring a great cast, fun stunts (e.g. men on horseback taking on New York City traffic), and a little Travis Tritt on the soundtrack, then you’ll probably have a good time with this one.

Retro Television Review: St. Elsewhere 3.3 “Two Balls And A Strike”

Posted on December 5, 2025 by Lisa Marie Bowman

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, the nurses go on strike. Fire all of them!, I say.

Episode 3.3 “Two Balls and a Strike”

(Dir by David Anspaugh, originally aired on October 3rd, 1984)

It’s another depressing few days at St. Eligius.

When negotiations break down, all of the nurses — except for Shirley Daniels — go on strike. Led by Nurse Rosenthal, they march out of the hospital and join a picket line in the rain. Triumphant music plays on the soundtrack Rosenthal gets on her bullhorn and announces that anyone making deliveries to the hospital will be crossing the picket line and not showing solidarity with the union. Honestly, though? Screw the union. It’s a hospital! It needs supplies. There are people dying inside of that building and they’re not even going to have the dignity of clean linen because of Nurse Rosenthal and her stupid union. And another thing …. Rosenthal is the head of union at St. Eligius. So, why isn’t she marching in the rain and carrying a sign? Why does she get to stand in the doorway and shout at people? Get out there and suffer for your union, you British commie!

Obviously, the show wanted me to be inspired by Rosenthal and the union. Whenever it switched over to the picket line, triumphant music started playing. I’m with Nurse Daniels on this one, though. Daniels didn’t vote the union so why should she have to suffer in the rain? She stays on the job. “Good luck,” Rosenthal tells her, “you’ll need it.” And all I can say to that is that at least Shirley Daniels isn’t deserting the hospital’s patients.

While the nurses are on strike, Dr. Canavero is attacked by a hulking man wearing a ski mask. Canavero is able to fight him off. Westphall and everyone else at the hospital immediately assumes that the man was Peter White but Peter has an alibi. He was in radiology when Canavero was attacked. So, is there a new ski mask rapist haunting the hospital? The first ski mask rapist storyline was pretty disturbing, especially since Peter got away with it. I’m not sure I want to go through a second one.

Dr. Craig and Ellen went to couples therapy. As usual, Dr. Craig got annoyed with the whole thing. There’s really nothing more fun than watching Dr. Craig get annoyed. No one gets annoyed better than William Daniels. Still, it seemed to do Dr. Craig and Ellen some good, with Ellen making plans to go to Hawaii and Dr. Craig acknowledging that he’s not always the easiest person to deal with.

As for Dr. Westphall …. he spent most of this episode depressed. Westphall is always depressed.

This is my final St. Elsewhere review for 2025. Retro Television Review is taking a break for the holidays, so I can focus on Awards Season and Christmas movies! St. Elsewhere will return on January 9th.

Retro Television Review: St. Elsewhere 3.1 “Playing God, Part One”

Posted on November 21, 2025 by Lisa Marie Bowman

Today, we start the third season of St. Elsewhere with some new opening credits!

Episode 3.1 “Playing God, Part One”

(Dir by Bruce Paltrow, originally aired on September 19th, 1984)

The opening of the third season finds that St. Eligius is just as depressing as it’s ever been.

Fiscus leads a group of new residents, including Dr. Elliott Axelrod (played by new series regular Stephen Furst), through the hospital. Fiscus comes across as being an arrogant jackass. I guess that’s the appeal of being a second-year resident. You get to look down on all of the first-years.

Jack is still dating Clancy (young Helen Hunt). When Clancy tells Jack that she’s pregnant, he’s shocked when she says she’s planning on getting an abortion. Jack proposes to her. Clancy says she’s not ready to get married and she’s not ready to have a baby.

Dr. Craig is still yelling at Dr. Ehrlich. Dr. Ehrlich is still annoying the nurses.

Speaking of the nurses, they’re going on strike!

Three firefighters (one of whom is played by Erin Hudson) are injured while on the job and are rushed to St. Eligius with severe burns. Luckily, plastic surgeon Bobby Caldwell (Mark Harmon, without that terrible mustache he wore during season two) is on call.

Dr. Peter White is working in a shady clinic and is still suing for his right to be a resident.

A traffic accident leaves one nun in a coma and apparently brain-dead. Sister Doemnica (Michael Learned) wants to take her off life-support. Westphall (Ed Flanders), who seems even more depressed than usual, disagrees. It looks like there’s going to be some conflict about this. For once, I’m on Westphall’s side. I’m believer in hope.

Auschlander is still battling his cancer.

In other words, it’s another day at St. Eligius. The third season premiere did a good job of re-introducing viewers to the hospital. The snarkiness of Fiscus’s tour nicely balanced all of the more dramatic moments in the episode. If anything has me worried, it’s the possible return of the loathsome Peter White. How is the hospital going to deal with the return of a man who they all know is a rapist, even if he was somehow acquitted? I guess we’ll find out.

Going Berserk (1983, directed by David Steinberg)

Posted on January 28, 2025 by Jedadiah Leland

John Bourgignon (John Candy) is a man of many talents. He’s a limo driver. He’s a drummer. He is an occasional actor, having starred in Kung Fu U. for his friend, director Sal DiPasquale (Eugene Levy). John is also improbably engaged to Nancy Reece (Alley Mills), the daughter of Congressman and presidential candidate Ed Reese (Pat Hingle). As the wedding approaches, John deals with a number of things. He chauffeurs around a group of Spanish Beatles impersonators. He finds himself handcuffed to a fugitive (Ernie Hudson) who dies at an inopportune time. A cult leader (Richard Libertini) attempts to brainwash John into assassinating Ed, though the process might just turn John into a “schmuck.”

Going Berserk was John Candy’s first lead feature role and it was obviously designed to play to Candy’s popularity as one of the stars of SCTV. Going Berserk doesn’t gave a plot as much as it’s a collection of skits, some of which work better than others but all of which are held together by Candy’s comedic timing and amiable presence. Going Berserk is disjointed and wildly uneven but it’s also frequently funny and that is a testament to Candy’s talent. Even an overlong parody of The Blue Lagoon raises a smile because John Candy is just so committed to playing out the joke.

Going Berserk also features several familiar faces, like Richard Libertini, Pat Hingle, Ernie Hudson, Dixie Carter, Kurtwood Smith, Paul Dooley, and two of Candy’s SCTV co-stars, Eugene Levy and Joe Flaherty. I especially liked Levy’s performance as the sleazy director who blackmails his way into filming the wedding. Going Berserk was frequently stupid but, more often than not, it made me laugh.

Film Review: The Jazz Singer (dir by Richard Fleischer)

Posted on January 9, 2025 by Lisa Marie Bowman

In the 1980 remake of The Jazz Singer, it only takes the film seven minutes to find an excuse to put Neil Diamond in blackface.

Of course, the film was a remake of the 1927 version of The Jazz Singer, which featured several scenes of Al Jolson performing in blackface. In fact, Al Jolson in blackface was such a key part of the film that it was even the image that was used to advertise the film when it was first released. Back in the 20s, Jolson said that wearing blackface was a way of honoring the black artists who created jazz. (As shocking as the image of Al Jolson wearing blackface is to modern sensibilities, Jolson was considered a strong advocate for civil rights and one of the few white singers to regularly appear on stage with black musicians.) Regardless of Jolson’s motives, less-progressively minded performers used blackface as a way to reinforce racial stereotypes and, to modern audiences, blackface is an abhorrent reminder of how black people were marginalized by a racist culture. You would think that, if there was any element of the original film that a remake would change, it would be the lead character performing in blackface.

But nope. Seven minutes into the remake, songwriter Jess Robin (Neil Diamond) puts on a fake afro and dons blackface so that he can perform on stage at a black club with the group that is performing his songs. The group’s name is the Four Brothers and, unfortunately, one of the Brothers was arrested the day of the performance. Jess performs with the group and the crowd loves it until they see his white hands. Ernie Hudson — yes, Ernie Hudson — stands up and yells, “That’s a white boy!” A riot breaks out. The police show up. Jess and the three remaining Brothers are arrested and taken to jail. Jess is eventually bailed out by his father, Cantor Rabinovitch (Laurence Olivier). The Cantor is shocked to discover that his son, Yussel Rabinovitch, has been performing under the name Jess Robin. He’s also stunned to learn that Yussel doesn’t want to be a cantor like his father. Instead, he wants to write and perform modern music. The Cantor tells Yussel that his voice is God’s instrument, not his own. Yussel returns home to his wife, Rivka (Caitlin Adams), and tries to put aside his dreams.

But when a recording artist named Keith Lennox (Paul Nicholas) wants to record one Yussel’s songs, Yussel flies out to Los Angeles. As Jess Robin, he is shocked to discover that Lennox wants to turn a ballad that he wrote into a hard rock number, Jess sings the song to show Lennox how it should sound. The arrogant Lennox is not impressed but his agent, Molly (Lucie Arnaz) is. Soon, Jess has a chance to become a star but what about the family he left behind in New York? “I have no son!” the Cantor wails when he learns about Jess’s new life in California.

I’ve often seen the 1980 version of The Jazz Singer referred to as being one of the worst films of all time. I watched it a few days ago and I wouldn’t go that far. It’s not really terrible as much as its just kind of bland. For someone who has had as long and successful a career as Neil Diamond, he gives a surprisingly charisma-free performance in the lead role. The most memorable thing about Diamond’s performance is that he refuses to maintain eye contact with any of the other performers, which makes Jess seem like kind of a sullen brat. It also doesn’t help that Diamond appears to be in his 40s in this film, playing a role that was clearly written for a much younger artist. Still, when it comes to bad acting, no one can beat a very miscast Laurence Olivier, delivering his lines with an overdone Yiddish accent and dramatically tearing at his clothes to indicate that Yussel is dead to him. Olivier was neither Jewish nor a New Yorker and that becomes very clear the more one watches this film. It takes a truly great actor to give a performance this bad. Diamond, at least, could point to the fact that he was a nonactor given a starring role in a major studio production. Olivier, on the other hand, really had no one to blame but himself.

Still, I have to admit that ending the film with a sparkly Neil Diamond performing America while Laurence Olivier nods in the audience was perhaps the best possible way to bring this film to a close. It’s a moment of beautiful kitsch. The Jazz Singer needed more of that.

October True Crime: The Grim Sleeper (dir by Stanley M. Brooks)

Posted on October 7, 2024 by Lisa Marie Bowman

It’s not known, for sure, how many people Lonnie David Franklin killed.

A residenct of Los Angeles and a former enlistee of the U.S. Army who was given a dishonorable discharge after doing time in prison for taking part in the gang-rape of a 17 year-old girl in Germany, Franklin was convicted of 10 murders but he was suspected of much more. His earliest known murder was committed in 1984 and he was apparently very active up until 1988. Then, much like the BTK Killer, Franklin appears to have taken a break for nearly two decades before returning to his murderous ways in 2002. (It could be just as likely that Franklin was still killing but his victims were either not discovered or he was never linked to the crimes.) Franklin’s murders didn’t get much attention, with the police not acknowledging that they were dealing with a serial killer until 2007. Some of that can be blamed on the fact that many of Franklin’s murders were committed before DNA testing became a commonplace thing. However, it has also been acknowledged that Franklin escaped detection because he targeted black women and tended to prey on sex workers, neither one of whom were a priority for the LAPD in the 80s.

2014’s The Grim Sleeper stars Dreama Walker as Christine Pelisek, the journalist who first reported on the existence of the Grim Sleeper and Ernie Hudson and Michael O’Neill as the detectives who investigated the murders and ultimately arrested Lonnie Franklin. Franklin (played by James R. Baylis) only appears briefly in the film. As The Grim Sleeper was made before Franklin had actually been convicted and sentenced to death for his crimes, the film does not actually state that the police arrested the right man. Indeed, the film discusses very little about the man who was arrested for the crimes.

Instead, the film focuses on Pelisek and her attempts to get someone to take her seriously when she argues that there’s a serial killer on the loose and that the public has a right to know. At first, everyone is skeptical of her claims. Her editor tells her that she doesn’t have enough for a story. The police tell her to mind her own business. Her fellow reporters order her to get coffee. The only people who really support Pelisek’s attempts to uncover the truth are the families of the victims, some of whom have spent over twenty years waiting for someone to tell them what happened to their loved ones.

The film is at its best when it focuses on the pain of the families, all of whom feel that they have been ignored and forgotten by the people who are supposed to be protecting them. It’s at its least interesting when it focuses on Pelisek and her efforts to be taken seriously. (Deama Walker has given good performances in films like Compliance and Once Upon A Time In Hollywood but she’s miscast here.) Though flawed, the film honors the memories of those victimized by the Grim Sleeper and it reminds viewers that no one should be forgotten.

As for the real Grim Sleeper, he died suddenly while on Death Row. The cause of death has never been released but he died in March of 2020, around the same time that COVID was spreading throughout the nation’s prisons and I’ve always assumed that he was an early fatality. Regardless of the cause, the Sleeper met the Reaper and will never awaken again.

October Positivity: To Hell and Back (dir by Christine Swanson)

Posted on October 17, 2023 by Lisa Marie Bowman

The Book of Job is a bit of a Biblical Rorschach test.

Job is a prosperous man who always obeys and give thanks to God. The Devil claims that Job’s faith is only due to the fact that he’s successful and has a large family. The Devil boasts that, if he’s allowed to ruin Job’s life, Job will respond by cursing the name of God. Instead of asking the Devil what he’s doing outside of Hell, God says, “Go ahead, just don’t kill him.” The Devil kills Job’s family. The Devil kills all of Job’s servants. The Devil takes away all of Job’s wealth and afflicts Job with terrible sores. Job’s friends tell Job that he should blame and reject God but, because Job refuses to do so, he is rewarded with a new family and even more servants.

Some people look at the story of Job and they see it as being a story about the importance of having faith, even in the most troubling of times. Job refuses to surrender his faith and he is rewarded. Even though Job cannot understand why bad things are happening to him, he refuses to surrender to despair and anger and puts his faith in the idea that God has a plan.

Others look at this story and see Job as a pawn in some private game between God and the Devil. Job keeps his faith and is ultimately rewarded but his family and his servants still all die. Job may be rewarded but why should he have to suffer just to prove a point to the Devil? Indeed, what is the Devil doing in Heaven, debating with God in the first place. I mean, the Devil got kicked out of that place. He’s in Hell for a reason.

The 2015 film, To Hell and Back, is a modern-day retelling of the Book of Job. Joe (Ernie Hudson) is a successful businessman, a man who built his company up from nothing and who now lives in a mansion with his wife (Vanessa Bell Calloway) and his five children. Joe gives money to worthy causes and he is never without his Bible. God and the Devil are heard in voice-over, debating the sincerity of Joe’s faith. God agrees to allow Joe to be tested. One tragedy after another befalls Joe and his family. One son is killed during a burglary. One daughter commits suicide. A car crash leaves another daughter dead and another son in a wheelchair. Joe’s company is driven into bankruptcy by a lawsuit while the last of Joe’s sons leaves to start his own company. Abandoned by even his wife, Joe grows ill and soon finds himself homebound.

Even if the film leaves us wondering why God would hurt someone just to prove a point, To Hell and Back is a well-directed and well-acted film. Ernie Hudson gives a heart-breaking performance as Joe, a man who always tries to do the right thing and is basically punished at every single turn. Joe definitely deserves better than to just be a pawn in a cosmic waver but at least Ernie Hudson gets a chance to show off what a good actor he can truly be.

Film Review: Champions (dir by Bobby Farrelly)

Posted on May 9, 2023 by Lisa Marie Bowman

In Champions, Woody Harrelson plays Marcus Marakovich.

Marcus is a basketball coach. He believes that he has the talent and the ability to be a coach in the NBA and he’ll tell that to anyone who will listen. Unfortunately, Marcus also has a reputation for being self-destructive and temperamental. He has sabotaged his career with too many public fights. As his friend and fellow coach Phil (Ernie Hudson) tells him, Marcus knows everything about basketball but he doesn’t know how to connect with the players. Marcus is so concerned with winning that he never gets to know the people that are playing for him.

Of course, Marcus has more problems than just his inability to connect with players. An on-court brawl leads to Marcus losing his assistant coaching job. A drunk driving incident leads to Marcus landing in jail. Phil bails him out but Marcus will still have to do community service to avoid serving time. Marcus is assigned to spend the next 90 days coaching The Friends, a basketball team made up of players who have learning disabilities. Though at first reluctant, Marcus doesn’t want to go to prison and, after a rough start, he and the Friends start to bond. Marcus becomes a better coach and the Friends become a better team and soon, it looks like they might even be playing in the North American Special Olympics Finals in Winnipeg. Along the way, Marcus also falls for Alex (Kaitlin Olson), the sister of one of his players.

Champions is a heartfelt film that suffers from the fact that there’s really not a single surprising moment to be found within it. As soon as Woody Harrelson shows up as a hard-drinking and cynical basketball coach who is looking for one more chance to make it to the NBA, most members of the audience will know exactly what to expect. It’s not a shock that he eventually bonds with his players. It’s not a shock that he falls in love with Alex nor that he eventually calls Alex out for using her brother’s needs as an excuse to not get close to anyone. It’s not even a surprise when Cheech Marin shows up as the cheerful manager of the rec center where the Friends practice. And it’s certainly not a surprise that Marcus’s work with the Friends leads to him getting an offer from an NBA team, an offer that might not be as altruistic as Marcus wants to believe. (The team is mired in a scandal and feels that hiring Marcus would bring them some good publicity.) Marcus is faced with a big decision and the choice that he makes won’t surprise anyone. At one point, Marcus specifically mentions the film Hoosiers, as if the simple act of acknowledging the fact that Champions isn’t exactly breaking new ground will somehow make up for the film’s predictability.

That doesn’t mean that Champions isn’t a likable film, of course. It’s a crowd pleaser. The actors playing the Friends actually are all learning disabled and the film portrays them all as individuals with their own unique personalities and abilities. It’s hard not to get excited for them when they succeed on the court and the film refuses to use any of their disabilities for cheap laughs. The film’s heart is in the right place and there’s always something to be said for that. But, as I watched Champions, I became very much aware that this was a film that I wanted to like more than I actually did. It was hard for me not to compare Woody Harrelson’s well-meaning but self-destructive coach to the similar character than Ben Affleck played in The Way Back. The Way Back worked because it took a familiar character type but then allowed that character and the story to go in an unexpected direction. Watching Champions, it was hard for me to not wish that the film had been willing to take a few more risks.