Guilty Pleasure No. 126: Alligator (dir. by Lewis Teague)

Posted on August 17, 2026 by Arleigh

Lewis Teague’s Alligator is exactly the sort of movie that sounds like a bad joke until you sit down with it and realize it is having a much better time than most “serious” creature features. The premise is pure drive-in delirium: a baby alligator is flushed down a toilet, survives in the sewer system beneath St. Louis, Missouri, feeds on discarded laboratory animals pumped full of experimental growth hormones, and eventually becomes a gigantic, people-eating urban nightmare. It is absurd from the start, but that absurdity is the movie’s best asset. Alligator is not a good film in the polished, tightly controlled sense. It is too clunky, too broad, and too openly ridiculous for that. But it is never boring, and it understands that a movie about a giant alligator stalking the sewer tunnels under St. Louis should be grimy, nasty, funny, and just a little bit stupid.

The film arrives in that sweet spot between the straightforward animal-attack movies of the 1970s and the increasingly self-aware horror comedies of the 1980s. It has some of the structure of a Jaws knockoff, of course: authorities dismiss warnings, a difficult investigator takes the danger seriously, and a creature grows into an outsized public threat before the final confrontation. But Alligator does not have the resources, atmosphere, or aquatic terror of Spielberg’s film, and to its credit, it does not really pretend to. Instead, it leans into the cheapness of its materials. The alligator is mostly an oversized practical effect, sometimes convincing enough to be threatening and sometimes looking like the kind of thing that should be knocking over miniature buildings in a 1950s monster movie. The difference is that Teague knows how to frame the thing. He keeps the creature partly hidden when that helps, lets the sewer setting do much of the atmospheric heavy lifting, and saves the full ridiculousness of the monster for when ridiculousness is exactly what the audience wants.

There is an immediately appealing trashy logic to the story. The alligator is not simply an animal that wandered into the wrong place; it is a product of environmental carelessness, corporate experimentation, and the city’s tendency to throw its problems underground. The movie opens with a young girl’s pet alligator being flushed away after it bites someone, a cruelly comic act that functions as the film’s entire moral universe in miniature. Humans dispose of an inconvenient creature, neglect the consequences, and then act shocked when the creature becomes a gigantic murderous problem. The idea is broadly ecological and vaguely anti-corporate, but Alligator never becomes preachy. It keeps those elements in the background as an excuse for gore, sewer crawling, and a steadily escalating body count.

Robert Forster plays David Madison, a St. Louis cop with the permanently tired demeanor of someone who has been forced to listen to too many witnesses describe impossible things. Forster is a major reason the movie works as well as it does. He does not play the material like a joke, but he also does not strain to elevate it into prestige horror. His performance is dry, irritated, and completely appropriate for a man investigating missing-person cases that increasingly point toward a subterranean reptile large enough to eat a car. Madison is not a particularly complicated protagonist, but Forster gives him enough weary professionalism that the audience can follow him through the nonsense. His deadpan approach also makes the film funnier without turning it into outright parody.

The supporting cast is a strange, entertaining mixture of familiar character-actor energy and exploitation-movie weirdness. Robin Riker plays Marisa, a reptile expert and Madison’s eventual love interest, and she is better than the role strictly requires. She has a brisk, practical presence, which is useful in a movie where most characters either refuse to believe the obvious or exist to become alligator food. The romance between her and Madison is thin, but it is handled with enough low-key charm that it does not stop the movie cold. It feels like a necessary B-movie ingredient rather than a desperate attempt to convince viewers that they are watching something emotionally profound.

Then there is Henry Silva. Honestly, the presence of Henry Silva alone tells you what kind of movie Alligator is trying to be. Silva plays Colonel Brockman, a professional hunter hired by the evil pharmaceutical company to find and kill Ramon, the giant gator created by its illegal growth-hormone dumping. He is not the mastermind behind the scientific mess; he is the company’s hired cleanup crew, brought in once the whole operation has become too big and too toothy to bury. Silva approaches the role with exactly the degree of swaggering, oily menace it needs. He is here to be Henry Silva in a monster movie, which means glaring, sneering, and acting as though the chance to hunt a massive sewer reptile is simply another profitable afternoon at work. Every time he shows up, the movie gets a little more fun.

The screenplay comes from John Sayles, which is almost comically overqualified on paper, though it makes more sense once the dialogue starts landing. Sayles gives the movie flashes of wit and an edge of social satire that keep it from being totally disposable. There are jokes about cops, politicians, wealthy elites, and corporate corruption, and while none of them are especially subtle, they have the right bite for a film this grubby. The story’s best satirical impulse is its refusal to make the rich and powerful merely unlucky victims of the monster. The alligator’s rampage eventually collides with a wealthy social gathering, and the movie takes obvious pleasure in turning a fancy event into a feeding ground. It is not exactly The Texas Chain Saw Massacre in its class consciousness, but it does understand that watching an enormous reptile crash through the polished facade of upper-class respectability is satisfying.

Teague directs with the workmanlike confidence of someone who knows that the material only needs to get from one entertaining set piece to another. The sewer scenes are the film’s strongest visual material. They are damp, shadowy, cluttered, and full of the sort of industrial grime that exploitation cinema loves. The setting is inherently creepy because it is both unreal and plausible: everyone knows a city like St. Louis has tunnels, pipes, forgotten chambers, and places where things can disappear, even if nobody really believes a giant alligator lives down there. The movie uses that unease effectively. When characters descend into the darkness, the tension is simple but real. You know something huge is moving nearby, and you know the special effects are not going to hold up to close inspection, but the atmosphere carries you through.

The attacks are uneven, but that is part of the charm. Some are genuinely nasty, particularly when the movie lets the creature strike suddenly from the shadows. Others are so exaggerated that they become funny in ways the filmmakers likely anticipated. There is a particularly memorable moment involving a child and a swimming pool that has the gleefully tasteless punch of old-school grindhouse horror. Alligator is never as graphic as the nastier exploitation films of its era, but it has enough blood, torn bodies, and monstrous chomping to satisfy an audience looking for low-rent carnage. It knows the basic rule of this kind of movie: if you are going to ask viewers to accept a mutant sewer alligator, you had better let it eat some people.

What makes Alligator last beyond its premise is that it does not seem embarrassed by what it is. There are many creature features that feel apologetic, as if the filmmakers know they are making junk and are waiting for the audience to laugh at them. Teague’s film is junk, absolutely, but it is crafted junk. It has actual pacing, committed actors, useful atmosphere, and a screenplay that occasionally has more on its mind than the average monster-on-the-loose picture. It is bad enough that its flaws become part of the entertainment, especially whenever the huge reptile lumbers into view or the plot makes a leap that only makes sense if nobody involved pauses to think for ten seconds. Yet it is not so bad that it becomes a chore. That is the crucial distinction.

By the time Alligator reaches its climax, it has delivered nearly everything its title promises: sewers, corrupt businessmen, cops with guns, practical monster effects, socialites getting their comeuppance, and Henry Silva looking like he would gladly accept a corporate paycheck to hunt an enormous mutant reptile. It is the kind of film best watched with an appreciation for grime, excess, and the noble tradition of exploitation cinema turning a ridiculous idea into a perfectly decent Saturday-night monster movie. Alligator will not make anyone forget the great creature features, but it earns its place as a scrappy, trashy, oddly lovable B-movie. It is not awful. It is not even truly bad. It is just delightfully cheap, mean, and goofy enough to remind you why bad movies can sometimes be more fun than good ones.

Previous Guilty Pleasures

Icarus File #25: 1941 (dir by Steven Spielberg)

Posted on January 1, 2026 by Lisa Marie Bowman

In the year 1979, a young Steven Spielberg attempted to conquer comedy in the same way that he previously conquered horror with Jaws and science fiction with Close Encounters of The Third Kind. Working from a script written by Robert Zemeckis and Bob Gale, Spielberg made a film about the days immediately following Japan’s attack on Pearl Harbor. The name of the film was 1941 and it remains Steven Spielberg’s only attempt to direct a full-out comedy. There’s a reason for that.

The film follows a large group of characters over the course of one day and night in 1941. It’s been six days since Pearl Harbor was attacked and the streets of Los Angeles are full of young men who are preparing to ship out and older man who are paranoid about when the next attack is going to come. However, Major General Joseph Stilwell (Robert Stack) just wants to see Dumbo at the local theater. Meanwhile, his womanizing aide (Tim Matheson, giving the same performance here that he did in National Lampoon’s Animal House) just wants to get Stillwell’s aviation-lusting secretary (Nancy Allen) into an airplane.

Elsewhere, Ward Douglas (Ned Beatty) is happy to allow Sgt. Tree (Dan Aykroyd) and his men (including John Candy) to set up on an anti-aircraft gun in his front yard. Ward’s daughter, Betty (Dianne Kay), is only concerned about entering a dance contest with her friend, Maxine (Wendie Jo Sperber). Cpl. Sitarski (Treat Williams) and dishwasher Wally Stephens (Bobby D iCicco) both hope to be Betty’s partner and their rivalry leads to a massive (and seemingly never-ending) brawl.

While Ward deals with the gun in his front yard, another concerned citizen — Claude Crumm (Murray Hamilton) — keeps watch from atop of Ferris wheel, along with amateur ventriloquist Herbie Kazlminsky (Eddie Deezen).

But that’s not all! Susan Backilinie recreates her role from a previous Spielberg film, skinny dipping while the Jaws theme plays in the background and running straight into a submarine that is commanded by Commander Akiro Mitamura (Toshiro Mifune, trying to maintain his dignity). Mifune decides to attack Hollywood but no one on the submarine is sure where that is. Christopher Lee appears as an arrogant German who is along for the ride. Slim Pickens shows up as a lumberjack who is temporarily captured by the Japanese. John Belushi plays Wild Bill Kelso, who flies his airplane through Los Angeles. Warren Oates yells and laughs. Dick Miller, Elijah Cook Jr. and Lionel Stander show up in small roles.

“Since when is Steven funny?” According to Peter Biskind’s Easy Riders, Raging Bulls, this was the reaction that most of Spielberg’s friends had when he announced that his next film would be a screwball comedy set during World War II. Watching the film, one gets their point. The majority of the film’s humor comes from people looking at the camera and screaming. There’s a lot physical comedy, which would undoubtedly work in small amounts but which grows rather tiring when it’s dragged out to the extent that Spielberg’s drags it out. (A brawl at a USO show seems like it should be funny but Spielberg allows it to go on for too long and the careful choreography takes away any element of spontaneity.) The film attempts to duplicate the style of Animal House (and it’s probably not a coincidence that Matheson, Belushi, and director John Landis all have roles in the film) but Spielberg often seems as if he’s trying too hard. There’s nothing subversive about the humor. It’s more antic than funny.

A huge problem is that there really isn’t much of a story here. Spielberg, who is normally one of Hollywood’s best storytellers, attempts to do a loose, Altman-style ensemble film and the result is that none of the characters feel alive and there’s never any sense of narrative momentum. There are a few performers who manage to make an impression amongst all the explosions and the yelling. John Belushi has the advantage of not having to share the majority of his scenes with anyone else. Warren Oates’s manic energy is more than welcome. Wendie Jo Sperber deserved more screentime. Murray Hamilton and Eddie Deezen frequently made me laugh. There’s a wonderful moment where Robert Stack’s intense general cries while watching Dumbo. But, for the most part, the film never comes together.

That said, 1941 is definitely a Steven Spielberg film. It received three Academy Award nominations, for Cinematography, Sound, and Visual Effects. (All three of those categories, not surprisingly, are more associated with spectacle than with comedy.) The film looks great! Spielberg’s attention to detail is there in the production design and the costumes. Watching 1941, you can see Spielberg’s talent while also seeing why he never directed another comedy.

Previous Icarus Files:

Horror Film Review: Alligator (dir by Lewis Teague)

Posted on October 4, 2025 by Lisa Marie Bowman

1980’s Alligator begins in 1968. While on vacation in Florida, a teenage girl named Marisa Kendall purchases a baby alligator named Ramon. When she returns home to Chicago, her jerk of a father flushes Ramon down the toilet.

12 years pass. Marisa (Robin Riker) becomes a herpetologist. As for Ramon, he actually survives being flushed down the toilet and thrives in the sewer. He eats the carcasses of animals that had been a part of an experiment involving a growth serum. The serum had the desired effect of making the animals bigger but it also increased their metabolism to the extent that they became aggressive and had to eat constantly. Evil industrialist Slade (Dean Jagger) is convinced that, by tossing the carcasses in the sewer, he’s ensured that no one will ever find out about the experiments. Instead, he’s turned Ramon into a giant alligator who is always hungry. Soon, the super-intelligent alligator is ambushing and eating sewer workers.

Burned-out Detective Dave Madison (Robert Forster) teams up with Marisa to solve the mystery of why so many body parts are turning up in the sewers. It’s not easy. No one wants to admit that there might be a giant alligator living under the city. Everyone wants to believe that’s just an urban legend. But, after a tabloid reporter (Bart Braverman) manages to snap a few photographs of Ramon before being devoured, the police are forced to deal with the fact that they’ve got an alligator on their hands. As Slade continues to try to cover up his involvement, big game hunter Colonel Brock (Henry Silva) comes to town and announces that he will be capturing the alligator.

Directed by Lewis Teague and written by John Sayles, Alligator is a dark comedy disguised as a horror film. While numerous people get eaten and the film ends on a properly ominous note, Alligator is obviously not meant to be taken seriously. The cast is full of good actors who send up their own images. That’s especially true in the case of Henry Silva, who appears to be having a blast as the hyper macho Colonel Brock. Robert Forster, meanwhile, delivers his lines with a self-aware weariness that seems a bit more appropriate for a noir hero than a film about a detective investigating a giant alligator. One reason why the film works is because Forster, Silva, and the rest of the cast understood exactly what type of film they were appearing in and they delivered their overheated lines with just enough wit to let the viewer know that the film was in on the joke. The big and somewhat stiff-looking alligator may not look entirely real and it may move somewhat awkwardly but ultimately, it’s the most likable character in the movie. It just wants to relax in the sewers but, every few minutes, someone else is bugging him.

When first released, Alligator struggled at the box office but it has since gone on to become a cult favorite. Quentin Tarantino is a self-described fan and he had said he was inspired to cast Robert Forster as Max Cherry in Jackie Brown after seeing him as Dave Madison in this film. That’s not bad for a movie about a giant alligator!

Retro Television Review: Miami Vice 2.22 “Trust Fund Pirates”

Posted on September 16, 2024 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 Mondays, I will be reviewing Miami Vice, which ran on NBC from 1984 to 1989. The entire show can be purchased on Prime!

This week, things get weird in Miami!

Episode 2.22 “Trust Fund Pirates”

(Dir by Jim Johnston, originally aired on May 2ns 1986)

Pirate radio DJ Captain Hook (Richard Belzer) sits on his yacht in international waters and broadcasts music to Miami while, at the same time, brokering drug deals among other yacht owners. His assistant is Noogie (Charlie Barnett), the informant who was all over the place during Miami Vice’s first season but who, up until this episode, was absent from the second season.

On another yacht, a group of Bolivians are gunned down by preppy young men who are led by Ivy League dropout Skip Mueller (Perry Lang). Skip and his buddies brag about being pirates and cheerfully make jokes while standing over the bodies of the men and the women that they killed.

A seaplane pilot named Jackson Crane (a young Gary Cole) raids the Bolivian yacht and takes some of the boat’s equipment home with him. Jackson is a longtime drug smuggler who claims that he’s on the verge of retirement. He’s dating a woman named Lani (Nicole Fosse), who happens to be Skip’s sister.

In a trailer park, Jumbo (Tommy Chong) and his wife Fluffy (Denny Dillon) keep a running tally of how many rats they’ve killed while trying to buy drugs and fence stolen goods. Jumbo calls everyone “man.” Fluffy is good with a shotgun.

And, in the middle of all this, we’ve got two aspiring drug dealers named Burnett and Cooper. Burnett and Cooper, of course, are actually Crockett and Tubbs. Just two episodes ago, one of Miami’s fiercest drug lords figured out that Burnett and Cooper are actually cops but I guess he decided not to tell anyone, despite the fact that he still thinks Crockett owes him money.

It’s a bizarre episode, full of strange characters and a plot that has so many double-crosses that it’s hard to keep track of who is betraying who. The episode was originally intended to be a sequel to Smuggler’s Blues, with Glenn Frey once again playing Jimmy the Pilot. When Frey couldn’t fit a return appearance into his schedule, the script was rewritten to feature Gary Cole as a friend of Jimmy’s. That said, it’s still obvious that the script was originally written more to highlight a popular guest star than to tell a totally coherent story.

Fortunately, Miami Vice works best when its a bit incoherent. One the major themes of the show is that no one can be trusted and that everyone is willing to betray everyone else. The world of Miami Vice is often illogical because it’s a world full of illogical people who tend to do whatever pops into their head at any given moment. Another major theme is that everyone either wants to get rich from selling drugs or they’re just adrenaline junkies who get a high from being involved in the underground. Skip and his friends are rich. They just enjoy killing people and pretending to be gangsters. This is one of the more violent and bloody episodes of Miami Vice. Skip and his friends enjoy their work a little too much.

It’s a good episode and well-acted. Gary Cole was considered for the role of Crockett before Don Johnson got the part and, in this episode, it’s easy to see why. Even as a young actor, Cole has a rugged cynicism to him that’s both dangerous and compelling. Perry Lang appeared in a lot of dumb teen comedies in the 80s, usually playing dorky nice guys. He’s absolutely chilling as the sociopathic Skip Mueller. And finally, there’s Richard Belzer, wearing an eyepatch, opening the episode by rapping with Noogie, and encouraging the criminals of Miami to enjoy some good music while breaking the law. Full of strange characters and shocking violence, this episode captures the idea of Miami being a surreal playground for the rich, ruthless, and crazy.

Next week, season 2 comes to an end!

Late Night Retro Television Reviews: Monsters 1.2 “Holly’s House”

Posted on October 11, 2023 by Lisa Marie Bowman

Welcome to Late Night Retro Television Reviews, a feature where we review some of our favorite and least favorite shows of the past! On Wednesdays, I will be reviewing Monsters, which aired in syndication from 1988 to 1991. The entire show is streaming on Youtube.

This week, on Monsters, a creepy robot gets a bit too possessive of its operator. How monstrous is this robot? Read on and find out!

Episode 1.2 “Holly’s House”

(Dir by Theodore Gershuny, originally aired on October 29th, 1988)

This week’s monster is Holly.

Holly is a robot. (Sitting inside the Holly costume was actor Michael J. Anderson, who is best known for playing the backwards-talking Man From Another World on Twin Peaks and The Man Who Secretly Controlled Hollywood in Mulholland Drive.) Holly is the star of an incredibly corny and kind of annoying children’s show called Holly’s House. Every day, Holly deals with her friends, Early Bird and Mike the Mailman.

Mike the Mailman is actually an actor named Lenny (Perry Lang). Lenny is the sometime boyfriend of Katherine (Marilyn Jones), the actress who not only provides the voice of Holly but also controls the robots movements during filming. Katherine has been the star of Holly’s House for four years but she has just discovered that she is pregnant. Katherine wants to quit the show, marry Lenny, and raise her child. Holly, however, has other ideas….

This episode was basically a variation on the old idea of the ventriloquist being taken over by their dummy. Is Holly the one who is being rude to Lenny and deliberately ruining the show or is it Katherine acting through Holly? And when Holly snaps and starts attacking people, is Holly the one doing it or is it Katherine acting out through Holly? Unfortunately, regardless of whether Holly is acting on her own or not, Katherine is still the one destined to take the blame for all of her anti-social behavior.

Holly was indeed creepy but this episode was still a bit of a let down. I think the main problem was that there was no way that Holly’s House would have been a success. I understand that the show’s portrayal of Holly’s House was probably meant to be a commentary on how vapid most children’s shows were but, even at their most vapid, most children’s shows are still somewhat cute. Holly’s House only has three cast members — an ugly bird, a creepy robot, and an overly cheerful mailman. There’s not a kid around that would watch that. Holly obviously wasn’t happy about Lenny encouraging Katherine to quit the show but seriously, the show was probably on its last legs as it was.

One final note: This episode was directed by Theodore Gershuny, who was the ex-husband of cult film star Mary Woronov and who also directed Silent Night Bloody Night and wrote the excellent book, Soon To Be A Major Motion Picture. While his direction of this episode didn’t really work for me, I do recommend his Christmas film and the book.

Sahara (1983, directed by Andrew V. McLaglen)

Posted on March 30, 2020 by Jedadiah Leland

The year is 1927 and famed automobile designer R.J. Gordon (Steve Forrest) dies before he can enter his latest creation into the Trans-African Auto Race across the Sahara Desert. Wishing to keep her father’s dream alive and prove that she’s just as good a driver as the boys, R.J.’s daughter, Dale (Brooke Shields), enters the race in his place. Since women are not legally allowed to compete, Dale has to pretend to be a man. She does this by wearing a fake mustache, which she tosses off as soon she drives over the start line. It has to be seen to be believed.

Dale and her team set out on the race and they quickly get caught up in a tribal war between two separate factions of Bedouins. Dale is captured by the lascivious Rasoul (John Rhys-Davies), who attempts to have his way with her. Fortunately, Dale is rescued by Rasoul’s nephew, Sheikh Jafar (Lambert Wilson). Jafar is enchanted by Dale’s beauty and wants her to marry him. Dale eventually agrees but, the morning after the wedding, she sneaks out of Jafar’s tent, jumps back in her car, and rejoins the race. When she gets captured by the other Bedouins, they force her to stand on a rock while surrounded by panthers. Like Brooke with a mustache, it has to be seen to be believed.

Sahara was produced by Cannon Pictures. Menahem Golan, who gets a story credit along with his usual producers credit on this film, was a self-described fan of Rudolph Valentino and Sahara was his attempt to pay homage to Valentino’s performance in The Sheik, as well as cashing in on the adventure zeitgeist that had been launched by the box office success of Raiders of the Lost Ark. With a budget of $15 million, Sahara was one of Cannon’s most expensive films and the end result was a mix of high production values and typical Golan-Globus goofiness. The desert cinematography may be impressive but this is still a strangely old-fashioned movie starring Brooke Shields as a race car driver who speeds through the desert without once getting a hair out of place. As attractive as she was, Brooke was never much of an actress and requiring her to show more than one emotion at a time, as Sahara often does, seems like the ultimate act of hubris. Say what you will about the films that Cannon made with Bronson and Norris, the two Chucks always seemed like they were perfectly cast. Shields also has no chemistry with Lambert Wilson, who looks embarrassed at having to pretend to be Rudolph Valentino. On the plus side, Raiders of the Lost Ark alumni Rhys-Davies and Ronald Lacey are both present in the film and seem to know better than to take any of it seriously. Rhys-Davies especially always seems to be on the verge of laughing at his terrible dialogue.

Though the view may be impressive, the script is bad and the lead actors are lost. Avoid Sahara at all costs.

Horror Film Review: Jacob’s Ladder (dir by Adrian Lyne)

Posted on October 22, 2018 by Lisa Marie Bowman

The 1990 film Jacob’s Ladder asks the question, “Who is Jacob Singer?”

Is Jacob (played by Tim Robbins), a soldier serving in Vietnam who has just been severely wounded in an enemy attack and who is now barely clinging to life in a helicopter?

Is Jacob a withdrawn postal worker who lives in 1970s New York with his girlfriend, Jezzie (Elizabeth Pena), and who is haunted by horrifying visions of faceless, vibrating figures and viscous demons? This Jacob is haunted by ill-defined past incidents. Whenever he gets depressed, Jezzie is quick to demand that he snap out of it and that he stop thinking about anything other than the present day. This Jacob can only watch as all of his old friends either sink into paranoia or die. He hears rumors that they all may have been part of some sort of experiment involving LSD. He’s sure that he served in the army but when he attempts to hire an attorney, he’s informed that the army has no record of him ever having served in combat and that they say he was discharged for psychological reasons.

Or is Jacob the husband of Sarah (Patricia Kalember) and the father of Gabe (Macaulay Culkin — yes, that Culkin)? This is the Jacob who occasionally wakes up in bed with his wife and tells her that he’s been having the weirdest dream, one where he was living with “that crazy woman” from the post office, Jezebel?

Which one of these three realities is the truth for Jacob? At times, Jacob himself doesn’t even seem to be sure. Perhaps the one thing that you can be sure about in this movie is that whenever Jacob closes his eyes, he’s going to reopen them and discover that he’s in a different time and place. Jacob spends almost the entire film trying to work out what’s happening in the present, what’s happening in the past, and what’s just happening in his head.

And, to be honest, it all gets a bit pretentious at times. The film’s script has a lot on its mind. In fact, it might have a little bit too much going on. No sooner have you soaked in what the film has to say about denial and acceptance than you’re suddenly getting a crash course in MK-ULTRA and other mind-control conspiracy theories. Whenever Jacob isn’t seeing demons and faceless apparitions, he’s being kidnapped by government agents. There’s so much going on that this film can get a bit exhausting.

Fortunately, the film itself is such a triumph of style that it doesn’t matter that the script is a bit of a mess. Director Adrian Lyne does a great job bringing Jacob’s nightmarish world to life. Jacob seems to live in a world where the skies are permanently overcast and the streets are always wet after a recent storm. When Jacob makes the mistake of walking down a subway tunnel, Lyne frames it as if Jacob is literally following a tunnel into Hell. When a subway train rushes by Jacob, we catch disturbing glimpses of featureless faces facing the windows. When Jacob sees a demon at a party, Lynne films the moment so that, just like Jacob, it takes us a few minutes to realize what we’re seeing. And when Jacob is kidnapped and taken to a Hellish hospital, the scene is nightmarish in its intensity.

Tim Robbins gives a great performance as the emotionally withdrawn and haunted Jacob. (In fact, he’s so good that it makes it all the more sad that he really hasn’t had a decent role since he won an Oscar for 2003’s Mystic River.) He’s matched by Elizabeth Pena, who constantly keeps you wondering if Jezzie truly cares about Jacob or if she’s just another part of the conspiracy that seems to have taken over his life.

Jacob’s Ladder is an intensely effective, if somewhat messy, horror film. Apparently, like almost every other horror film released in the 20th century, it’s currently being remade, with the remake due to released on February 9th. Just in time for Valentine’s Day!

A Movie A Day #314: Body and Soul (1981, directed by George Bowers)

Posted on November 19, 2017 by Jedadiah Leland

When his little sister falls ill with sickle-cell anemia, Leon Johnson (Leon Isaac Kennedy) has to make a decision. He can either finish his education, graduate from medical school, and treat her as a doctor or he can drop out of school, reinvent himself as “Leon the Lover,” and make a fortune as a professional boxer! At first, Leon’s career goes perfectly. He is winning fights. He is making money. He has a foxy new girlfriend (played Leon Isaac Kennedy’s then-wife, Jayne Kennedy.) But then the fame starts to go to Leon’s head. He forgets where he came from. He’s no longer fighting just to help his sister. Now, he’s fighting for his own personal glory. When Leon finally gets a title shot, a crooked boxing promoter known as Big Man (former JFK in-law Peter Lawford, looking coked up) orders Leon to take a dive. Will Leon intentionally lose the biggest fight of his life or will he stay in the ring and battle Ricardo (Al Denava), a boxer so evil that he literally throws children to the ground? More importantly, will he make his trainer (Muhammad Ali, playing himself!) proud?

Leon Isaac Kennedy, Muhammad Ali, and Peter Lawford all in the same movie!? No surprise here, it’s a Cannon film. Leon Isaac Kennedy was best known for playing a jailhouse boxer in the Penitentiary films and he was a good actor with charisma to burn so it probably made perfect sense to not only cast him in a remake of John Garfield’s Body and Soul but to let him write the script too. The end result is a film that is too heavy-handed to be taken seriously but it is still an entertaining movie. Body and Soul leaves not a single sports cliché unused but Kennedy was a convincing fighter and the boxing scenes are well-directed. Muhammad Ali did a better job playing himself here then he did in The Greatest. All in all, Body and Soul is a good movie for fight fans.

Body and Soul was not a box office success and Kennedy ended his film career a few years after it was released. He is now the head of Leon Kennedy Ministries, Inc of Burbank, California.

A Movie A Day #165: Big Wednesday (1978, directed by John Milius)

Posted on June 22, 2017 by Jedadiah Leland

If there is a male bonding hall of fame, Big Wednesday has to be front and center.

This episodic movie follows three legendary surfers over twelve years of change and turmoil. Jack Barlowe (William Katt) is the straight arrow who keeps the peace. Leroy “The Masochist” Smith (Gary Busey) is the wild man. Matt Johnson (Jan-Michael Vincent) is the best surfer of them all but he resents both his fame and the expectation that he should be some sort of role model for the younger kids on the beach. From 1962 until 1974, the three of them learn about love and responsibility while dealing with cultural turmoil (including, of course, the Vietnam War) and waiting for that one legendary wave.

After writing the screenplays for Dirty Harry and Apocalypse Now and directing The Wind and The Lion and Dillinger, John Milius finally got to make his dream project. Big Wednesday was based on Milius’s own youth as a California surfer and he has said that all three of the main characters were based on different aspects of his own personality. Expectations for Big Wednesday were so high that Milius’s friends, George Lucas and Steven Spielberg, exchanged percentages points for Star Wars and Close Encounters of The Third Kind for a point of Big Wednesday. The deal turned out to be worth millions to Milius but nothing to Lucas and Spielberg because Big Wednesday was a notorious box office flop. Warner Bros. sold the film as a raunchy comedy, leaving audiences surprised to discover that Big Wednesday was actually, in Milius’s words, a “coming-of-age story with Arthurian overtones.”

I can understand why Big Wednesday may not be for everyone but it is one of my favorite movies. It is one of the ultimate guy films. Some of the dialogue and the narration may be overwrought but so are most guys, especially when they’re the same age as the surfers in Big Wednesday. We all like to imagine that we are heroes in some sort of epic adventure. The surfing footage is amazing but it is not necessary to be a surfer to relate to the film’s coming-of-age story or its celebration of the enduring bonds of friendship. Katt, Vincent, and Busey all give great performances. Considering their later careers, it is good that Big Wednesday is around to remind us of what Gary Busey and Jan-Michael Vincent were capable of at their best, before their promising careers were derailed by drugs and mental illness. Be sure to also keep an eye out for infamous 70s character actor Joe Spinell as an army psychiatrist, a pre-Nightmare on Elm Street Robert Englund, playing a fellow surfer and providing the film’s narration, and Barbara Hale, playing the patient mother of her real-life son, William Katt.

One final note: At a time when the shameful stereotype of the psycho Vietnam vet was becoming popular and unfairly tarnishing the reputation of real-life vets, Big Wednesday was unique for featuring a character who not only joins the Army but who appears to return as a better person as a result.