4 Shots From 4 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 takes a look at New York. It’s time for….
4 Shots From 4 New York Films
Taxi Driver (1976, dir by Martin Scorsese, DP: Michael Chapman)
The Warriors (1979, dir by Walter Hill, DP: Andrew Laszlo)
Escape From New York (1981, dir by John Carpenter, DP: Dean Cundey)
1990: Bronx Warriors (1982, dir by Enzo G. Castellari, DP: Sergio Salvati)
With only one day left until Halloween, I wanted to make sure that I continued an important tradition here at the Shattered Lens by sharing this film with our faithful and wonderful readers. Messiah of Evil was first released in 1973 and, since it’s in the public domain, it has since been included in a countless number of bargain box sets from Mill Creek.
I can still remember the first time that I saw Messiah of Evil. It was on a Monday night, many years ago. I had recently picked up a 10-movie DVD box set called Tales of Terror and I was using the movies inside to try to deal with a bout of insomnia. I had already watchedThe Hatchet Murders (a.k,a. Deep Red) and The House At The Edge of the Parkand, at two in the morning, I was faced with a decision. Should I try to sleep or should I watch one more movie?
Naturally, I chose to watch one more movie and the movie I chose was Messiah of Evil. So, there I was at two in the morning, sitting at the edge of my bed in my underwear and watching an obscure horror movie while rain fell outside.
And, seriously — this movie totally FREAKED me out!
Messiah of Evil tells the story of Arletty (Marianna Hill), a neurotic woman who drives to an isolated California town in order to visit her father. Her father is an artist who specializes in painting eerie pictures of large groups of black-clad people. However, once she arrives at his home, Arletty discovers that her father has vanished and left behind a diary where he claims that a darkness has overtaken the town.
Meanwhile, a mysterious man named Thom (Michael Greer) is wandering about town with two groupies (played by Anita Ford and Joy Bang) and interviewing random townspeople. One crazed man (Elisha Cook, Jr.) explains that “the dark stranger” is returning. After meeting Arletty, they all end up moving into her father’s house.
But that’s not all. There’s also an odd albino man who shows up driving truck and who eats mice….
Messiah of Evil is literally one of the strangest films that I’ve ever seen. It’s shot in a dream-like fashion and the much of the film is left open to the viewer’s interpretation. There are two classic scenes — one that takes place in a super market and one that takes place in a movie theater and the movie’s worth watching for these two scenes alone.
Messiah of Evil is a film that will be appreciated by all lovers of surrealism and intelligent horror and I’m happy to share it with you today.
Though the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences claim that the Oscars honor the best of the year, we all know that there are always worthy films and performances that end up getting overlooked. Sometimes, it’s because the competition too fierce. Sometimes, it’s because the film itself was too controversial. Often, it’s just a case of a film’s quality not being fully recognized until years after its initial released. This series of reviews takes a look at the films and performances that should have been nominated but were, for whatever reason, overlooked. These are the Unnominated.
Why am I talking about 1979’s The Warriors in October?
No, it’s not a traditional horror movie, even though the film does have some creepy moments and it features David Patrick Kelly playing one of the most memorable psychos in film history. At heart, it’s a film about a group of youngish gang members trying to survive the night and reach safety. (The characters are all meant to be teenagers, though that can be hard to remember when two of the film’s main characters are played by Michael Beck and James Remar, both of whom were close to 30 when the film was made.) The other gangs that the Warriors mostly either battle or escape from often feel as if they’ve stepped out of a nightmare. Everyone remembers the Baseball Furies because, as a gang, they were both intimidating and ludicrous at the same time. Myself, I was freaked out by the skinheads who drove around New York in a bus. The gang led by the guy on roller skates was pretty frightening as well. One thing about the rival gang members is that, with the exception of Luther, few of them speak. Instead, they simply show up and attack.
The Warriors (1979, directed by Walter Hill, DP: Andrew Laszlo)
The Warriors is a surreal film, which is not surprising when you consider that it was written by Walter Hill. The film takes place almost entirely at night and the streets of New York are eerily empty. Watching the film, I was reminded of the dying Paris from Jean Rollin’s Night of the Hunted and Dario Argento’s claim that Tenebraewas meant to take place in a future where there were far fewer people on the planet. At the same time, there are hints of the real world littered throughout the film. Four teenagers who are obviously heading home from prom find themselves on a train, sitting across from a bruised Swan (Michael Beck) and Mercy (Deborah Van Valkenburgh). Occasionally, we see people in bars or just trying to get back to their own homes. The subway stations are crawling with cops, one of whom throws Fox (Thomas G. Waites) in front of a moving train. Throughout the film, the members of the Warriors keep count of who is still with them on their journey to Coney Island, but no one mentions Fox after his sudden death. One could argue that they don’t want to think about how easily things could go wrong for them. They’re in a fantasy world where there are no consequences. Of course, a more likely reason is because Fox’s death was a last-minute development that was a result of actor Waites proving to be difficult to work with.
The Warriors (1979, dir by Walter Hill, DP: Andrew Laszlo)
Ultimately, The Warriors is a film for Halloween because it’s a film about costumes. The members of each gang are defined by what they wear. Some of them dress up. Some of them dress like they’re doing some sort of Bruce Springsteen-style working-class cosplay. There’s even a group of mimes who wear top hats. I feel bad for any neighborhood that is weak enough to be taken over by mimes. The film’s first great set piece—the meeting in the park—is rightly remembered for Roger Hill’s charismatic performance as Cyrus. (“Can you dig it!?”) But it also deserves to be remembered for the hundreds of extras, all of whom are wearing their costumes and mixing together. That’s the respect that Cyrus commands. The mimes and the pimps and the skinheads and the roller skaters are all willing to come together for Cyrus. And when Luther assassinates Cyrus and then blames the Warriors, the gangs of the city are prepared to destroy the gang of Coney Island.
The Warriors (1979, dir by Walter Hill, DP: Andrew Laszlo)
It’s a great and exciting film that has stood the test of time. It’s not a surprise that it wasn’t Oscar-nominated. The film was controversial when it was released, with some claiming that it glorified gang life and that it promoted violence. Beyond that, the film is unapologetically pulpy. Walter Hill was and is a brilliant genre filmmaker and he’s never apologized for that fact. His films were never obvious award bait. That said, it does seem a shame that The Warriors didn’t even get a nomination for its propulsive score. The film’s cinematography turned a familiar city into an alien landscape and the editing kept viewers on the edge of their seats. It’s rare to see a film that captures the feeling of the world closing in on a group of people as well as The Warriors does. As far as the acting goes, the majority of the cast was inexperienced and there were more than a few times when that inexperience came through. It’s a film that’s more about visual style than deep performances. That said, Michael Beck was likable and had the right look to be a leader and Hill was very smart in how he framed him on screen. James Remar also did a good job as Ajax, playing him as being strong-willed and obnoxious and a bit too obsessed with proving his masculinity but also fiercely loyal to his gang. (As played by Remar, Ajax was the only Warrior who truly seemed like he could handle himself in a fight.) Deborah Van Valkenburgh was effective in an underwritten role. If anyone from the cast deserved a nomination, it was probably David Patrick Kelly. “Warriors, come out to play!” Kelly was a force of pure chaos. In the end, the big Oscar winner of 1979 was Kramer vs. Kramer, a film that might as well have taken place on a different planet from The Warriors.
If I may close on a personal note, I was feeling pretty sick last Thursday. I hadn’t gotten much sleep. I was stressed about getting my Horrorthon reviews written. I had given myself a headache. But then, I watched The Warriors and I got so sucked into its world (despite the fact that I had already watched the film more than a few times) that I forgot that I wasn’t feeling well. My headache went away. By the time the film ended, I was feeling a hundred times better.
Nominated or not, that’s the power of a good movie.
The Warriors (1979, dir by Walter Hill, DP: Andrew Laszlo)
4 Shots From 4 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, Bruce Willis turns 71. It’s time for….
4 Shots From 4 Bruce Willis Films
Die Hard (1988, dir by John McTiernan, DP: Jan de Bont)
Pulp Fiction (1994, dir by Quentin Tarantino, DP: Andrzej Sekuła)
12 Monkeys (1995, dir by Terry Gilliam, DP: Roger Pratt)
Last Man Standing (1996, dir by Walter Hill, DP: Lloyd Ahern II)
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, we here at the Shattered Lens wish a happy 84th birthday to the great director Walter Hill.
Walter Hill is one of those legendary figures who has a devoted cult of fans but it still seems like he’s never quite gotten all of the opportunities and the acclaim that he deserved. Perhaps because so many of his films are considered to be genre pieces, they were often not appreciated until a few years after they were first released. But for film lovers and film students, Walter Hill is one of the most important directors of the past 50 years.
Today, we celebrate with….
4 Shots From 4 Walter Hill Films
The Warriors (1979, dir by Walter Hill, DP: Andrew Laszlo)
Southern Comfort (1981, dir by Walter Hill, DP: Andrew Laszlo)
Wild Bill (1995, dir by Walter Hill, DP: Lloyd Ahern II)
Dead For A Dollar (2022, dir by Walter Hill, DP: Lloyd Ahern II)
Walter Hill’s Brewster’s Millions (1985) isn’t a perfect movie by any stretch, but it’s the kind of film that sneaks up on you. It may not be sharp enough to qualify as great satire or consistent enough to hit every comedic note, but it has an undeniable charm that pulls you in regardless. It’s loud, uneven, and often ridiculous, yet few comedies from the 1980s are as weirdly entertaining when they’re firing on all cylinders. For many movie fans, it’s that quintessential “guilty pleasure”—a film you know has problems, but that somehow feels impossible to turn off once it starts. And in many ways, that’s exactly where Brewster’s Millions finds its lasting appeal.
The setup alone is too fun to resist. Richard Pryor stars as Montgomery Brewster, a minor league baseball pitcher who unexpectedly inherits the opportunity of a lifetime—to claim a $300 million fortune from a distant relative. The catch? Before he can get it, he has to spend $30 million in 30 days under a bizarre set of conditions that make financial ruin easier said than done. He can’t give the money away, can’t destroy it, can’t buy assets or investments that retain value, and can’t tell anyone why he’s doing it. Fail, and he gets nothing. Succeed, and he becomes one of the richest men alive. It’s the sort of gleefully absurd premise that could only have come from Hollywood in the 1980s, and it’s immediately clear that the film wants audiences to sit back, grab some popcorn, and watch Pryor tear through cash in increasingly funny and desperate ways.
Richard Pryor is, without doubt, the heart and soul of the movie. He imbues Montgomery Brewster with equal parts manic energy and human frustration, giving the character a real emotional arc beneath all the comic spectacle. Pryor’s talent for blending humor with exasperation makes Brewster’s predicament believable, even when it’s insane. Watching him scramble to lose money while the world keeps rewarding him is strangely satisfying. Pryor understood how to play ordinary men caught in extraordinary circumstances, and that quality grounds the film when it could have easily spiraled into total silliness. In scenes where he loses his patience with accountants, schemes wild spending sprees, or watches his good intentions backfire, Pryor’s comic timing keeps the chaos enjoyable.
John Candy adds another layer of charm as Brewster’s best friend and teammate, Spike Nolan. Candy brings warmth, loyalty, and that unmistakable good-heartedness that made him one of the decade’s most beloved comedic actors. The chemistry between Pryor and Candy keeps the film buoyant even through its weaker stretches. Their friendship defines the film’s tone—it’s loose, goofy, and full of bro-ish camaraderie. Without Candy’s infectious energy, the movie’s more hollow comedic beats might have hit the floor with a thud. Together, they create a dynamic that feels real, even inside a premise that’s totally absurd.
As a director, Walter Hill feels like an odd fit for this kind of broad comedy, but that’s part of what makes Brewster’s Millions interesting. Hill, better known for tough, kinetic action films like The Warriors and 48 Hrs., approaches this farce with a surprising amount of structure and visual precision. The film looks slicker and sharper than most comedies of its kind, which gives the excess on-screen an unintentionally epic flair. Hill’s direction keeps the story moving, and though he’s not naturally a comedic filmmaker, his grounded style adds a peculiar edge to all the craziness. It’s chaos with discipline—an aesthetic that somehow works in the movie’s favor.
Still, Brewster’s Millions can’t quite escape its shortcomings. The pacing is uneven, especially in the middle, where the film loses some steam as Brewster cycles through increasingly repetitive spending gimmicks. The story flirts with satire but rarely commits, brushing up against deeper commentary on wealth, politics, and capitalism before retreating to the comfort of broad comedy. The “Vote None of the Above” subplot, where Brewster’s money-wasting political campaign taps into voter cynicism, is one of the smartest parts of the film—but it’s introduced and resolved too quickly to leave a mark. And while the movie is full of lively energy, not every gag lands; a few supporting performances veer into caricature, and some jokes feel very much of their time.
Yet these flaws are partly what make Brewster’s Millions such a delightful guilty pleasure. It’s the cinematic equivalent of junk food—high on calories, low on nutritional value, but deeply enjoyable all the same. Pryor’s constant exasperation, the sheer absurdity of trying to “waste” money legally, and the exaggerated set pieces (like the overblown parties or his failed attempts to lose at gambling) make for irresistible entertainment. Even when the humor dips into predictable territory, the concept keeps pulling you back in. There’s a giddy satisfaction in watching Brewster try—and fail—to lose money, especially because the universe just won’t let him.
The romance subplot with Lonette McKee’s character, Angela Drake, adds just enough heart to balance the absurdity. McKee gives a grounded, intelligent performance that prevents the love story from feeling tacked on, even if it never fully takes center stage. Her presence keeps Brewster tethered to some kind of reality, and the moral through-line—learning that not everything valuable can be bought—lands gently rather than preachily. It’s not profound, but it fits the breezy tone perfectly.
As a comedy of excess, Brewster’s Millions is very much a product of its time. The slick suits, the gaudy parties, the blind faith in wealth, and the Reagan-era optimism about money’s moral neutrality all ooze from every frame. That time-capsule quality is part of its modern appeal. Watching it today, you can’t help but smile at how on-the-nose it feels—a movie from the “greed is good” decade that accidentally ends up mocking the very mindset it sprang from. It’s self-aware only in flashes, but those flashes are enough to make you recognize the movie’s satirical edge hiding beneath its loud surface.
In the end, that’s what makes Brewster’s Millions endure as a lovable guilty pleasure. It has flaws you can’t ignore—uneven pacing, scattershot tone, underdeveloped ideas—but none of them outweigh its charm. Pryor’s comic genius makes even the weakest joke land better than it should. Candy’s warmth keeps the film light. And Hill’s straightforward direction infuses the lunacy with just enough realism to make it believable. The result is a movie that’s too silly to take seriously but too fun to dismiss. You watch it, laugh at its audacity, shake your head at the logic gaps, and yet somehow come away smiling.
Brewster’s Millions may not be a comedy classic, but it’s easy to see why people keep revisiting it. It’s comfort food cinema—lighthearted, clumsy, and endlessly watchable. And like all the best guilty pleasures, it doesn’t need to be perfect to make you happy. Sometimes, seeing Richard Pryor outsmart the meaning of money for two hours is more than enough.
“This ain’t no god damn way to start a partnership.” – Reggie Hammond
48 Hrs. bursts onto the screen with a gritty prison breakout that sets the stage for chaos in the foggy streets of San Francisco, where a pair of ruthless killers slip away after gunning down a cop’s partner in cold blood. Jack Cates, the surviving detective, is left battered and furious, piecing together a case that points to a slick convict named Reggie Hammond holding the key to the crooks’ whereabouts—and a stash of stolen cash. With time ticking down, Jack pulls strings to get Reggie out on a 48-hour pass, thrusting these two polar opposites into a reluctant alliance that turns the city into their personal battlefield of bullets, banter, and bad blood.
From the jump, Jack comes across as the ultimate rough-around-the-edges cop, nursing a flask under his trench coat, snapping at colleagues, and charging headfirst into danger like a man who’s got nothing left to lose. His apartment is a mess of empty bottles and regret, and his rocky relationship with his girlfriend underscores how the job has chewed him up and spit him out, leaving him more beast than man. Reggie, by contrast, rolls in with street-honed swagger, his prison jumpsuit barely containing the energy of a guy who’s survived by being quicker on his feet and sharper with his mouth than anyone around him. He’s got a girlfriend waiting with that hidden money, and no intention of playing nice with a cop who’s eyeing him like fresh meat.
The beauty of their pairing lies in how the film lets their friction spark from the very first shared car ride, where Jack’s growled commands clash against Reggie’s nonstop ribbing, turning a simple stakeout into a verbal demolition derby. Picture them peeling out after a lead goes south, tires screeching through narrow alleys while Reggie gripes about the beat-up car and Jack slams the dash in frustration—it’s these raw, unscripted-feeling moments that make the movie breathe. As they hit up seedy bars, chase informants through strip joints, and dodge ambushes, the script peels back layers: Jack’s not just a bully, he’s haunted by close calls; Reggie’s bravado masks real fear of ending up dead or broke.
One standout sequence drops them into a hillbilly roadhouse packed with hostile locals, where Reggie grabs the mic for an impromptu takedown that flips the room from menace to mayhem, buying them time while Jack backs him up with sheer firepower. It’s tense, hilarious, and perfectly timed, showing how their skills complement each other—Jack’s brute force meeting Reggie’s silver tongue—in ways neither saw coming. The villains, led by a stone-cold Luther and his trigger-happy sidekick, keep the heat cranked high, popping up for savage hits that leave bodies in the gutter and force the duo to improvise on the fly, like hot-wiring rides or shaking down lowlifes for scraps of intel.
Walter Hill’s direction keeps it all taut and visceral, with handheld cameras capturing the sweat and grime of every punch thrown or shot fired, no glossy filters to soften the blows. The San Francisco backdrop shines through rain-slicked hills, neon-lit dives, and shadowy piers, giving the action a grounded, almost documentary edge that amps up the stakes. Sound design punches too—the roar of engines, the crack of gunfire, the thud of fists—layered over a pulsing ’80s score that shifts from funky grooves during chases to ominous drones in quieter beats, mirroring the push-pull between comedy and threat.
Diving deeper into the characters, Jack’s arc feels earned through small touches: a hesitant phone call to his ex, a flicker of respect when Reggie saves his skin, moments that humanize the hardass without forcing redemption. Reggie evolves too, his initial scam-artist vibe giving way to flashes of loyalty, like when he risks his neck to protect that cash not just for himself, but to build something real outside the walls. Supporting roles flesh out the world—the precinct captain barking orders, the sultry singer tangled with the bad guys, Reggie’s tough-as-nails woman who won’t take guff—but they never overshadow the core duo, serving as sparks for conflict or comic relief.
Pacing-wise, the film rarely pauses for breath, clocking in under two hours yet packing in a full meal of twists, from double-crosses at motels to a frantic foot chase across rooftops that leaves you winded. The 48-hour ticking clock adds urgency without gimmicks, every dead end ramping tension as dawn breaks on their deadline. Humor lands organically too, not from slapstick but from character-driven zingers—Reggie calling out Jack’s outdated tough-guy schtick, Jack grumbling about Reggie’s flashy clothes—keeping the tone light even as blood spills.
Of course, watching through modern eyes, the dialogue packs some era-specific punches, with raw language around race, cops, and crooks that reflects ’80s attitudes head-on, for better or worse. It’s unapologetic, mirroring the film’s macho pulse, but adds texture to the time capsule feel, making replays fascinating for how boldly it leaned into taboos. The women, while fierce in spots, often play second fiddle to the bromance brewing, a hallmark of the genre that 48 Hrs. helped cement before it evolved.
What elevates this beyond standard action fare is how it nails the buddy dynamic’s slow burn: no instant high-fives, just gradual thaw from shared survival, culminating in a dockside finale where alliances solidify amid explosions and last stands. The editing zips between high-octane set pieces and downtime breather scenes, like a roadside diner heart-to-heart that reveals backstories without halting momentum. Cinematography plays with shadows and neon to heighten paranoia, turning everyday spots into pressure cookers.
Influence-wise, you can trace lines straight to later hits—the grizzled vet and smooth-talking newbie formula got refined here, blending Lethal Weapon grit with Beverly Hills Cop wit years ahead of schedule. Performances anchor it all: the leads’ chemistry crackles, carrying weaker beats on sheer charisma, while Hill’s lean style ensures every frame earns its keep. Runtime flies because it’s efficient, no fat, just muscle.
Final stretch ramps to operatic violence on those windswept docks, bullets flying as personal scores settle, leaving our heroes bloodied but bonded in a way that feels hard-won. 48 Hrs. endures as a rowdy blueprint for the genre, blending laughs, thrills, and toughness into a package that’s addictive on first watch and rewarding on revisit. It’s got heart under the bruises, edge in the jokes, and a vibe that’s pure ’80s adrenaline—grab it for a night of no-holds-barred entertainment that still packs a wallop over four decades later.
From 1979’s The Warriors, here’s a scene that I love. Playing the role of Cyrus, the man who could bring all of the gangs of New York together, is Roger Hill. Playing the role of his assassin is the great David Patrick Kelly.
Cyrus knew what he was talking about but the world wasn’t ready for him.
4 Shots From 4 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 takes a look at New York. It’s time for….
4 Shots From 4 New York Films
Taxi Driver (1976, dir by Martin Scorsese, DP: Michael Chapman)
The Warriors (1979, dir by Walter Hill, DP: Andrew Laszlo)
Escape From New York (1981, dir by John Carpenter, DP: Dean Cundey)
1990: Bronx Warriors (1982, dir by Enzo G. Castellari, DP: Sergio Salvati)
Though the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences claim that the Oscars honor the best of the year, we all know that there are always worthy films and performances that end up getting overlooked. Sometimes, it’s because the competition too fierce. Sometimes, it’s because the film itself was too controversial. Often, it’s just a case of a film’s quality not being fully recognized until years after its initial released. This series of reviews takes a look at the films and performances that should have been nominated but were, for whatever reason, overlooked. These are the Unnominated.
1981’s SouthernComfort takes place in 1973. While America tries to wind down its presence in Vietnam, a squad of nine National Guardsmen take part in war games in the Louisiana bayous. The squad is led by the ineffectual Sgt. Crawford Poole (Peter Coyote) while other members include the trigger-happy Lonnie Reece (Fred Ward), the weed-smoking Tyrone Cribbs (T.K. Carter), the cowardly Private Simms (Franklyn Seales), and the tightly-wound Coach Bowden (Alan Autry). Poole may be in charge but most of the members of the squad seem to look up to the laid-back and friendly Private Spencer (Keith Carradine). The newest member of the squad is Charles Hardin (Powers Boothe), a sober-minded transfer from Texas who doesn’t seem to get along with anyone but Spencer.
With the exception of Poole and Hardin, no one takes the weekend maneuvers seriously until they find themselves lost in the bayou and it becomes obvious that Poole has no idea what he’s doing. When they come across some canoes that belong to some Cajun trappers, they decide to “borrow” them. When the trappers protest, Reece fires his weapon at them. Reece’s gun is loaded with blanks but the trappers don’t know that. They fire back, killing Poole.
The national guardsmen now find themselves lost and being stalked by the trappers, a largely unseen force that always seems to attack out of nowhere. The men have no idea where they are. The trappers, on the other hand, have lived in the swamps their entire lives. The guardsmen bicker and argue over the best way to respond. Some want to fight back and some just want to get back to civilization. One-by-one, the men are picked off until only two remain.
Though the film is a somewhat heavy-handed metaphor for the Vietnam War, SouthernComfort is still a deeply affecting and suspenseful mix of horror and action. Director Walter Hill keeps the action moving at a quick pace and the film, which was shot on location and featured scenes shot during an actual Cajun celebration, perfectly captures the languid yet ominous atmosphere of the bayous. As soon as the men see those canoes unattended, we know that they’re going to steal them and that they are making the biggest mistake of their lives. Keith Carradine and Powers Boothe both give powerful performances in the lead roles and the members of the supporting cast — especially Alan Autry and Fred Ward — make a strong impression as well. I especially liked the performance of Brion James, who has a small role as a one-armed Cajun who is more crafty than he looks.
Being a mix of horror and action, it’s probably not a shock that SouthernComfort was ignored by the Academy. At the very least, I would have found room for Ry Cooder’s original score and Andrew Laszlo’s haunting cinematography.
