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Saturday, Dec 9, 2006


Harlan Hollis is known world wide as The Junkman, a humble business bloke turned fabulously wealthy multi-media mogul on the back of his scrap auto business. He makes movies, owns diamond mines and oil wells, and lives a jet setting eccentric lifestyle. A widower whose wife was killed by a drunk driver, he divides his time between his mega-buck empire and his teenage daughter. While readying his latest stunt filled film, he makes time to celebrate his child’s birthday, attend a James Dean festival that he has sponsored, and arrange the world premiere of his near completed masterwork. But gathering forces outside his insular life want Hollis dead, and they send a band of highly trained assassins out in cars and planes to kill the trash heap Trump once and for all. Will our high living, fast driving hero make it to the festival on time? Will he ever get to see his child again? More importantly, will his latest cinematic experiment have a boffo box office weekend? Or is it possible that this will be the time that The Junkman joins the rest of the metal in his yard?


Taken at face value, all one can say is - WOW! Junkman is one weird mamma-jamma of a movie. This möbius film strip motion picture functions like an Escher print come to life, cross and direct referencing itself and its makers so many times, and skittering in and out of reality so often it threatens to turn into Ouroboros and consume itself. It’s a true story told as fiction with most of the real people playing themselves. It’s a car crash fiesta formulated as a Citizen Kane style send-up of filmmaker and stuntman H.B. Halicki. The reference to Welles 1941 classic is not co-incidental. Halicki, here as Hollis, uses the same multi-media style (stills, news reports, flashbacks, and interviews) to tell the pseudo story of his life, except in this case, Rosebud is a tricked out Cadillac Eldorado running a supped up V-8 engine under its shiny hood. And unlike W.R. Hearst’s worst nightmare, the future salesman for Paul Mason wines didn’t load his narrative with an extended 45 minute car chase.


That’s right, forty-five minutes of automobile anarchy: chases, crashes, stunts, and impossible moments. Basically divided into four separate sections, kind of like Vivaldi’s Four Seasons except with larger insurance premiums, we get ten or fifteen minutes of fact filled narrative and set-up and then the pedal and the bumpers start hitting the metal as elaborate vehicular feats are hurled relentlessly at the camera for the sake of excitement. This movie is reportedly listed in the Guinness Book of World Records as having the most destroyed modes of transportation (planes, trucks, and cars) than any other movie in history. And while it seems hard to believe it in light of past (The Blues Brothers) and present (Speed) examples of the genre, one thing is for sure—The Junkman sure does have a lot of Detroit’s finest ramming into each other over and over again.


In some ways, Junkman reminds the viewer of Richard Rush’s exercise in inversion, the classic black Hollywood come-tramedy The Stunt Man. Similar in structure (with the “is it a movie or is it real?” ideal in full flower), it differs in that there are no performers the like of Peter O’Toole or Steve Railsback to sell the satire. Instead, Halicki casts himself in the lead, and then wisely as both director and writer, gives most of the dialogue and emoting to the one or two professionals (Hoyt Axton, Christopher Stone) in the cast. Still, there is nothing wrong with the amateur acting antics of the mostly playing themselves persons. Indeed, the natural charm and realistic line readings create an aura of authenticity that helps save The Junkman from sinking under the weight of its lofty ambitions. Sure, Halicki is interested in featuring metal on engine block action, but he also wants to work myth, murder and intrigue into the mix. Frankly, from what we see of Halicki/Hollis real life, a biopic of the eccentric entrepreneur would be an equally intriguing cinematic prospect. In love with all cars, he owned a huge warehouse “office” (the size of a football field) where he housed his mad collection. He also loved toys and had hundreds of thousands of rare and vintage examples.


He was also responsible for the drive-in cult classic, the original 1974 Gone in Sixty Seconds. And he truly started life in the junk business. And yet all of this takes a colorful backseat to the non-stop, no special effects stunt driving and crashing that makes up the vast majority of this movie. And while said action footage is first rate in a kind of late ‘70s early ‘80s shot as it happened fashion, adding more of the bizarre business life of Halicki/Hollis would have moved the entire movie beyond its B-movie roots into something a little more special. But as it stands, The Junkman is unlike any car crash movie you’ve ever experienced. It has to be seen to be believed.


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Friday, Dec 8, 2006


Film has always been a visual medium. In the days before sound, the image was all we had. It told our story, established our characters, and accentuated the drama or comedy. Visual flair is as old as movies themselves, and yet so few directors today seem to rely on and relish in the imaginative or outrageous. Since the early ‘60s, Hollywood and its filmmakers have de-evolved style in a vicious cycle real world recreation for the hyper-stylized universe of the big screen, exploiting small events to find the hidden theatrics. Instead of broad canvases of color or rich, dense imagery, we witness the mundane or maudlin. Even those epic dreamscapes woven by complex computers and deranged art designers usually have one foot firmly planted in the easy to recognize and rationalize. But not The City of Lost Children. It harkens back to a more old-fashioned pictographic mindset. In many significant and indirect ways, the wild world of Marc Caro and Jean-Pierre Jeunet is art come to life. As in their previous film together, 1991’s Delicatessen, it is a fairy tale presentation of pure unbridled, wonderfully wicked imagination. It’s the Brothers Grimm as envisioned by Salvador Dali and filmed by Fritz Lang.


This is a lost classic, a film not often discussed when visionary works of imaginative cinema are mentioned. Part of this may be due to its foreign film roots. Or perhaps, for many, the film is too dark, not your typical sweet Saturday morning matinee. There are very disturbing subtexts to City that do not exist in other flights of fancy. The children here are indeed lost, either captured and tormented by a character known as Krank, or forced into a life of juvenile crime by the manipulative twins who run an orphanage. We do not see mothers or fathers. There are no caregivers or guardians, nor do we see orphans or outcasts longing for them. This lack of unconditional love creates youths who are vastly more mature, discussing subjects like love and fear with ferocious intensity and sly maturity. The strongman known as One is the closest we have to any type of parental figure, and even he is not really the older, bigger brother. “No parents” does not equal “no worries” in City. This is also a film that wallows in the subtle beauty of the grotesque, amplifying ugliness to illustrate unbridled absurdity. From Jean Paul Gautier’s Marquis de Sade meets Moby Dick fashion statements to the walleyed, demon-like faces of the child-napping zealot Cyclops, the film takes the long lost look of the circus sideshow and melds it to a nightmarish world of technological and emotional freaks.


Jean-Pierre and Marc are obviously obsessed with the carnival. The entire color scheme seems lifted from a tattooed man’s body illustrations. Like Fellini’s La Strada, which sought to tell a simple tale of love and the human spirit within the unreal realm of the circus, the filmmakers use the fantastical festival setting as a means of expressing their themes. Within its pandemonium pallet are the purity of youth, the pain of age, the wickedness of greed, and the comfort of love. There are also religious philosophies at play, battles with God both figuratively and literally. Krank and his army of clones fight and argue amongst themselves, all in the hope that, one day, the Creator will return to right his genetic missteps. The twins lord over their orphan charges like devils at the seat of Satan’s cloven hoof, waiting for instruction and brimstone beatitudes. Even the Cyclops proclaim their undying faith by blinding themselves, hoping that God will see that through both their devotion and their evangelism how truly gifted with sight (both internal and external) they are. Just like the wistful notion of running off to join the traveling show, The City of Lost Children is a chance not taken, a place where the oppression of maturity, of the stark reality of mortality and responsibility turn adults into monsters, and children into commodities.


The viewer can see many divergent ideals and inspirations at work here. But the most interesting influence to wind its way throughout the entire film is American cartoonist and inventor Rube Goldberg. Goldberg’s ingenious drawings illustrated incredibly complicated and multi-stepped procedures to achieve the most basic of results. Several set pieces in the film apply his principles and influences, and there is a giddy joy when their cause and effect logic draws to its ultimate conclusion. One sequence, involving the animal kingdom and a call to arms, is as beautiful as it is ridiculously complex. Like all other special, unnerving aspects of this movie, from the twisted fable at the core of its narrative, to the subtle pronouncements on love and family, The City of Lost Children is indeed like one of Goldberg’s wildest inventions. It’s a film that hitches its humor to the stinger of a flea, rides it on the heads of circus strongmen, and brings its heartfelt conclusion to rest in the bubbling tank of a talking, sarcastic brain. Yet the movie never gets lost itself. There is a perverse logic in its over symbolic and stylized storytelling.


No discussion of City would be complete without a word or two about the film’s music and its wonderful performances. As he has done in so many other films for auteurs like David Lynch and Paul Schrader, Angelo Badalamenti creates the perfect score, adding the clarion call of the calliope and the lonesome moan of the strings to underscore the strangeness and the sadness. This is a town under fire from within (the gangs of mercenary urchins) and without (the abductions), and Badalamenti creates a theme and an aural presence for every ideal. Sonically, The City of Lost Children is a near seamless matching of music to moving image. As for the actors, Ron Perlman has always seemed like a stunt waiting to be cast. Usually unrecognizable in face altering or obliterating make-up, he normally essays roles as unreal as the location in this film. But interestingly enough, he is the very human core of the film, a strong, faithful muscleman whose basic needs match his simpleton intellect. His is a perfectly modulated, understated performance. Among the child actors, little Judith Vittet stands out as Miette, a child who carries an incredible amount of adult soul and beauty within her delicate, French bisque features. And as usual, Jeunet regular Dominique Pinon applies his elastic facial features to the creation of six distinct characters, all out of minimal dialogue and elegant pantomime.


A movie like The City of Lost Children doesn’t really want to show us where the secrets of youth are hidden. It buries its message of adulthood and its perils in elaborate sets and visually arresting images. It symbolizes the dead end of avarice, the importance of familial bonds, and the painful loss of innocence through dreams in wonderful, paint box strokes. But it still leaves us wondering if such a place actually exists. For some, the manufactured wonders of Disney World or Universal Studios theme parks offer a glimpse into the sacred village of eternal childhood. Still others find it in the magic of their offspring at play, in their riotous laughter. Many see it in the eyes of their son or daughter as they light up in loving response. And there are those who, no matter how hard they try or how long they look, will never find the City. It will pass them by, or they will look over or through it in pursuit of a more complicated, unimportant goal. Jean-Pierre Jeunet and Marc Caro have at least provided a roadmap to the mythological place in their film La Cité des Enfants Perdus. Just turn right at your dreams, be on the lookout for your heartstrings, and ride your imagination all the way to where the sea meets the sky.


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Thursday, Dec 7, 2006


Three weeks and counting. Pressure is really on now. Family and friends you hoped would forget the annual card (and thus, requiring a reciprocal response) have actually sent you a gift this year, and you drew the boss as your “secret Santa” recipient. The kids have finally learned that not one but TWO new video game systems have hit the market, and have made your life a living Heck by demanding to own both. So while your stuck on eBay bidding away on overpriced technology, perhaps you can take a moment or two and experience the less than spectacular offerings on your favorite premium pay movie channel. Just don’t expect a quartet of considered masterpieces and you’ll be just fine. In fact, three of the four films presented are pretty pathetic – even the so-called smash starring a favored Daily Show dude. No, your best bet for some manner of retail relief this holiday maelstrom is a zippy zombie pic from some koala-loving fright fans. Like fake familial intimacy and gift certificates to stationary stores, nothing spells Christmas better than a living dead epic. And what if reanimated corpses don’t float your Noel boat? Here’s the other choices arriving the weekend of 9 December:


HBOThe 40 Year Old Virgin

This may be going against the commonly held opinion of this so called ‘classic’, but SE&L just didn’t get this unrealistic look at a middle-aged man whose intact virtue supposedly makes him hilarious. All minor laughs aside, the biggest problem with the slightly surreal story is how unrealistic it is. Steve Carell lives like the ultimate dork (call him Pee Wee Herman with better career goals) and has more support than anyone lacking a sex life should. That he manages, through the typical series of setpiece sequences, to discover the reasons behind his rejection and finally find an outlet for his libido makes the story even more shallow. Basically, Virgin argues that individuality only works when karma carves out a soul mate for you – not necessarily the most apropos foundation for funny.


PopMatters Review


CinemaxDate Movie

It’s time to declare an obligatory moratorium on all these loathsome spoof films. Airplane! got it right. Top Secret took it to another level of laughs. And the Naked Gun movies made Leslie Nielsen commercially and cinematically relevant again. But ever since the Wayans worthless Scary Movie, the notion of directly ripping off current pop culture elements has lost all its invention. Instead, these motion picture crapshoots usually result in one or two laughs followed by long periods of shoulder shrugging obviousness. This version is no different, attempting takes on Meet the Parents, My Big Fat Greek Wedding and dozens of other routine rom coms. Under the auspices of Aaron Seltzer, a veteran of all the “X Movie” mediocrities, there is nothing new, novel or nice about this abysmally bad excuse for humor.
(Premieres Saturday 2 December, 10pm EST).


StarzAnnapolis

We here at SE&L actually liked this movie much better when it starred Richard Gere and was called An Officer and a Gentleman. Actually, we take that back – we weren’t too hyped on that saccharine ‘80s romance either. In this version of the ‘kid from the wrong side of the tracks’ tale, the Naval Academy’s boxing team becomes the refuge for a welder who dreams of a career in the military. Naturally, he overcomes all kinds of social prejudice and winds up in the big intramural fight competition. Talk about dull and derivative. Anyway, director Justin Lin, responsible for the excellent Better Luck Tomorrow (2002) seems a tad out of his element here, looking for the epic in a very insular environment. Sadly, he gets little help from his leads (James Franco and Donnie Walhberg). (Premieres Saturday 9 December, 9pm EST).


PopMatters Review


ShowtimeUndead*

You know you’re in trouble when the best film for a cold December weekend is an incredibly inventive zombie film from a couple of Down Under directors. Brothers Michael and Peter Spierig used Kiwi icon Peter Jackson (and his hilarious Bad Taste/Brain Dead films) as their inspiration and came up with a clever tale of a quaint fishing village overrun by meteorites – and eventually, ravenous flesh eaters. Thanks to some ingenious special effects and the unusual Australian locale, what could have been your typical cannibal corpse creepshow becomes an extraordinary combination of fear and funny business. Sure, some of the homemade CGI is sloppy, and a bigger budget would have meant a more meaty overall presentation, but nothing thwarts holiday tradition better than a few dozen buckets of blood. So forget the figgy pudding and feast on this grinchy gorefest. (Saturday 9 December, 9:00pm EST)


PopMatters Review


 


ZOMBIES!

For those of you who still don’t know it, Turner Classic Movies has started a new Friday night/Saturday morning feature entitled “The TCM Underground”, a collection of cult and bad b-movies hosted by none other than rad rocker turned atrocity auteur Rob Zombie. From time to time, when SE&L feels Mr. Devil’s Rejects is offering up something nice and sleazy, we will make sure to put you on notice. For 8/9 December, an unsung minor masterpiece is featured:


The Honeymoon Killers
In writer/director Leonard Kastle’s creative zenith, Tony LoBianco and Shirley Stoler play a mismatched couple who use murder as a means of cementing their relationship. A cult classic that should be better known.
(2am EST)


 


The 12 Films of Christmas

Like that lame little ditty we all find ourselves humming around this time of year, SE&L will select three films each week from now until the end of the holiday as our Secret Santa treat for film fans. Granted, the pickings are incredibly slim (how many GOOD X-mas movies are there, really?) and you may find a lump of coal in your cinematic stocking once in a while, but at least it beats endless repeats of Rudolph’s Shiny New Year, right? The three festive treats on tap for the week of 9 December are:


Scrooged
(ABC Family Channel, 10 December, 2:00PM EST)
Hated when it first hit movie screens two decades ago, Bill Murray shines in what is today considered an excellent deconstruction of the Charles Dickens classic.


Elf
(USA Network, 12 December, 9:00PM EST)
Jon Favreau’s new family favorite features Will Ferrell as a human accidentally raised by Santa’s helpers. His journey back to his roots makes for hilarious Yuletide fun.


A Christmas Story
(Turner Classic Movies, 15 December, 8:00PM EST)
And thus it begins – the endless repeating of Bob Clark’s unusually cynical holiday gem. A flop upon its original release, now no Xmas would seem complete without it.


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Wednesday, Dec 6, 2006
by Jeffery Taylor


Lee Abbott’s resume bears testament to his versatility. Not only has he worked as an editor, director, actor, writer and producer, but he’s done so in a variety of contexts and mediums. He’s shown up on the big and the small screen, in shorts as well as in a feature-length. The majority of his work falls under the comedy genre, but he also has credentials in reality and sports television, and he directed, co-wrote and acted in the dramatic short Rain.   


Abbott’s latest project is the soon-to-be-released National Lampoon’s Totally Baked: A POTumentary. He’s the film’s director, and also makes an appearance playing what else but a director. The title is about as self-evident as it gets, but don’t let that fool you. From the looks of things, this just might be the most intense, the most politically controversial, “stoner-comedy” you’ll ever see. Abbott talks to PopMatters about the development of Totally Baked.

   


PopMatters: How did Totally Baked first come together?


Lee Abbott: It first came together because of (Narrator/executive-producer) Craig Shoemaker’s kid. Craig was in his house singing Steve Miller: “I’m a joker, I’m a smoker, I’m a midnight toker,” and his little six-year-old goes (in little kid’s voice), “Daddy, what’s a toker?” (Laughs) That’s literally how it happened. Because then he was like all embarrassed, like he didn’t know how to answer, like, “Uhhhhh…” and he was like, well, why? You know? He’s even sober, so, ‘Why do I not want to – why would I say a beer’s a beer or a cigarette’s a cigarette but I won’t say that a joint is a joint?’ You know?


PM: Right.


LA: That’s kind of where it came from. For me it came together because I was trying to work with Lampoon on some other stuff, and then they put us together. They said, “You know what? We think you guys would be good together.”


PM: You’ve directed shorts before, but this will be your directorial-debut as far as a feature-length goes. Did the experience pretty much go as you expected?


LA: Yeah, I mean, it’s one of those things where it’s my first feature, but I’ve been directing for 15 years. You know? So, I’ve been doing television and music videos and commercials, you know, and short films and reality TV and a little of everything, but this was my first feature; but I’ve been directing for quite some time. So, you know, I mean, if anything it was a shorter process than doing a series. But, it was a blast. It was really fun to be able to just kind of like lock into one topic for an extended period of time instead of having to jump from project to project.


PM: Speaking of the “topic”: There have been several so-called pot-based comedies in the past. Of course all the Cheech and Chong movies first come to mind, but more recently there have been movies like Half Baked, How High, Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle, among others.


LA: Mhmm


PM: However it seems as if this movie not only aims to make the audience laugh, but also to make them think and to possibly help foster serious discussion on the issue of drug prohibition.


LA: Mhmm


PM: And I was wondering, first of all if you thought that was a fair assessment, and if so, if you think that juxtaposition is going to be a difficult thing for a comedy to successfully achieve.


LA: Well I think it’s a very fair assessment, and in fact when I was asked to do the project I said that that was the only way I would be interested in doing it. Because, I mean, how can you reinvent Cheech and Chong? I mean, like, how can you try to – they’ve done it and it’s gorgeous and it is what it is, you know? And there’s a lot of really, really funny marijuana movies out there and just, kind of like, you know, pot subculture movies, and they’re all a lot of fun…But I think, in much more of a vein of Bill Maher or George Carlin is what we were aiming for. Because I don’t think it’s a problem at all to put serious thought and discussion with comedy.


PM: Right.


LA: I mean, Will Rogers said, “You get them laughing and then that’s when you stick in the knife.” You know? And I really believe in that. I think shows like The Daily Show are where our best political commentary is able to come from. It’s kind of like in a straight political environment – you watch CNN and Crossfire and things like that, it looks like two opposing camps just kind of being snide to each other and just kind of yelling at each other. Or, it seems like, you know, whatever administration, especially the current administration, is in power, they’re able to, you know, loophole their way out of anything. You know? It’s like they have an excuse for everything and they make it sound polished and great, it’s like, but, not really talking about the big white elephant in the room. You know? Like what’s the obvious thing, you know? It’s like…it’s like they come up with what their hypothesis is, or what they want to prove, and then they go find the information to fill up that, versus following the information to its own organic conclusion. So, again, you watch Bill Maher, and you laugh your ass off and you’re left thinking about, ‘Yeah – what he said – Yeah, why is that?’ You know? Same thing with The Daily Show, they do commentary on something and you go, “Yeah. Hey, yeah, why is that?!” So I think that’s what we were trying to say. Because, you know, I grew up in Southern California and to me, you know, marijuana is no different than beer. You know?


PM: Mhmm


LA: I mean, either one can be abused and either one can be harmless. And I think it’s an adult’s choice to choose. And also on the medical marijuana issue, I think that is a really, very important one; I have a friend who is HIV positive and the medication he has to take makes him ill. You know, makes him nauseous, and so the marijuana helps him to eat. So the whole hypocrisy of the pharmaceutical companies, the current administration, the “War on Drugs” all that stuff over pot is such a joke. It’s ridiculous and I don’t think anyone of our generation, whether you’re a pot smoker or not, believes that it really should be as heinous of an offense as heroin (laughs). You know?


PM: Yeah.


LA: So, the whole idea was to have a lot of fun, to laugh our ass off about some things and to draw some, just kind of, logical conclusions to (what would happen) if we followed out the propaganda the way that it’s been spit out to us.


PM: Right. So, then, because of that fundamental difference with the film, do you expect it to be at all controversial?


LA: I hope so. I hope it’s controversial. You know I think the other thing about it, aside from being controversial, is I think that the more right-leaning people are going to say, “How dare you even mention this?” And, “I hope my kids don’t see this.” And somebody with a more left-bend or something might say, “I hope my kids do see it.” Because it does say – it also says in the movie that it’s not a hundred percent great. There are interviews with real people who have gone through marijuana rehab, you know? And it’s basically saying, “This is about the level of alcohol.” And we can talk about it that way and be responsible, but to stick our heads in the sand and to say that it either doesn’t exist or it’s only evil is a joke. You know? And/or: what’s wrong with somebody, you know, coming home at the end of the day in their own house and lighting up a joint and chillin’ out? You know? So, I hope it is controversial. I hope it does stir – stir debate. You know? I mean, my own folks are, ya know, Republican Bush supporters. You know what I mean? And they’re not exactly thinking it’s all that great that their son is in a pot movie. But – I mean because they’re embarrassed to like show their friends, they’re like (in stuffy voice), “Oh, God, we can’t tell our friends to go see our son’s movie.” (Laughs) But it’s like, why not? Why not? And that’s my response to them. And it’s funny when I talk to them about, you know, my friend who’s (HIV) positive that needs it, even they have to go, “You’re right, why is medical marijuana illegal?” And they go, “Yeah, that’s wrong. That’s just plain wrong.” So I think it’s good. I think when people get upset and it gets controversial it opens them up to then maybe learn something. If you don’t rock the boat at all then people don’t learn, you know?


PM: Right.


LA: And also just the whole PC thing, if you, if you all tip-toe around everything all the time then you lose a lot of great comedy and you lose a lot of great life. You know? Just afraid that you’re going to piss somebody off.


PM: Right. Well, it’s funny you say that, too, because my parents are also very much the right-wing type, and they were asking me just recently what I was working on. So I was running down the list and when I mentioned that I was going to be doing this interview suddenly the room got quiet and the topic changed real quick.


LA: (Laughs) Exactly. But I mean, like what would they say if you were interviewing, you know, one of the Coors brothers? Or if you were saying, “I’m interviewing someone in big tobacco.” You know? And it’s like, I don’t smoke cigarettes but they’re legal, and (just) because they’re legal doesn’t make me want to smoke them. I mean, that’s – that’s one of the most ridiculous arguments of all: that if it’s legal then everybody’s gonna start doing it. It’s like, no, cigarettes are legal. You know, so, I think – I hope it is controversial, because then it gets people to actually talk about it versus just accepting, ya know, kind of a…formulaic “truth.” And I think it’s also good because – like especially from the hippie generation that is grown up now that was much more of when pot was, you know, even down to, you know, either completely legal or a misdemeanor, or nothing, when the laws were different. It’s like, where did they go? Why don’t they support it anymore? They all smoked it; they all made it through the phase okay. You know?


PM: Yeah, that’s a very good point.


LA: And people are – I think, what I really hope about this movie, is that because of the funniness of it, because of the bawdiness, then the younger generation is gonna like it. Because of its rebellious nature the younger generation’s gonna like it. You know, your college-aged kid. I think also because of its political nature – I’ve shown it to people who are in their fifties and sixties and they laugh their butt off, but it’s like they’re laughing at different things. So I’m curious to see it in a big room with twenty-year-olds and fifty-year-olds, because I think what you’re gonna have is different pockets of the room laughing at different times.


PM: Another way in which the film seems to stand out is in its unique structure: being told through documentary-style interviews, interconnected vignettes and with performances by standup comedians.


LA: Mhmm


PM: And I was wondering what made you want to craft the movie in that way.


LA: Umm, the short answer joke is that it’s a stoner’s (short) attention span (laughs). But the real reason is, umm, I think it’s just much – it’s just contemporary media. I think we had great movies, such as, like, (The) Kentucky Fried Movie as a blueprint, where you’ve got multiple sketches, you know? And, you know, where we’ve got things like Real Sex on HBO, where they’ve got the “man-on-the-street” interview give weight and context to the other stuff being talked about. When you do the man-on-the-street stuff it puts context, and the documentary base, on the scripted stuff. (It) gives it a point-of-view. And then the same thing about the standup comics was that, you know, again going back to George Carlin, that’s where political satire can really have power. So the standup and the man-on-the-street are to give context to just the wacky humor and the sketches, you know? So it isn’t just pure farce. ‘Cause if it’s pure farce then it can be written off as such. If there’s some reality injected into it then, you know, it gives it more weight. And it’s funny (laughs).       


PM: The film is currently listed as being in post-production. So I was wondering how the work was coming and when you expect it to hit theatres.


LA: Well the final work is done. The picture’s been locked and the picture has been done actually for a couple months now.


PM: Okay.


LA: So right now it’s really in marketing, versus in post-production. And that is completely up to Lampoon and Craig Shoemaker. It’s up to what they all want to do. Umm, we kind of surprised Lampoon, in that we did exactly what we said we would and they approved all the scripts and it basically landed on them smarter (laughs) then they thought we were going to be able to pull off. And their current marketing has been much more in the realm of, umm, straight to DVD, T&A movies and (with) this one there’s very serious discussion about going to theatrical release, and how to market the thing and all that, and so it’s kind of – it’s a good thing, ya know, because it kind of shook even the company up. We were trying to take Lampoon back to their earlier days of the magazine when they were much more political satire, and their earlier movies and stuff like that, versus where they’ve been (lately). It’s kind of a re-branding thing. And that was a lot of what Craig wanted to do, and what I wanted to do, was to take them back to their roots. So right now it’s just – it’s in marketing. They’re figuring out what to do.
   


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Tuesday, Dec 5, 2006


The difference between men and women transcends clichés and simplistic psychobabble. It surpasses planetary platitudes to Venus and Mars and hormonally charged cheats to spell out a specific, basic diversity. If you want to believe all the bullshit, the X and Y chromosomes have never seen gene to gene, and a battle royale of the sexes has existed as long as there’s been biological gender. The conflict between the reproductive roundelays exists as a perceived never-ending engagement between emotion and detachment, machismo and tenderness.


Even under today’s enlightened code, the sapien of the species is supposed to be programmed to hunt and gather, fight and conquer. Under this Neanderthal new deal, the so-called weaker sex is predestined to bear the children, nurture their needs, and serve the warrior in whatever way he wants. But somewhere in the social firmament, an agenda-based movement was started, a faction to finally free the female, to make equality and parity a priority, no matter the sexual category. For the most part, it has half-worked. We have elevated the woman to the status of a strident know-it-all, the best bet for figuring out the glass ceiling corporate scheme and making sure our kids are raised right and barely irregular. In the new millennium, the female has been stripped of her physical identity, fostered by a non-stop diet of deception and expectation to become both dominant and submissive, mother and father. But decades before, it felt like women could actually overcome, that they could defeat the male monster of the id and run the world better.


3 Women is this feminist pre-manifesto deconstructed. It’s the notion of femininity diagrammed and dissected. It’s the final act of the paternalistic society’s stage play as the good old boy network is swept back into the primordial ooze and the non-objectified superwoman takes control of the political climate. It’s a film as figment, a fractured mirror on the caregiver and the careless. It’s magnificent. It’s frustrating. And it’s one of the best movies of the 1970s.


Millie Lammoreaux works in a geriatric spa in the desert of California. One day, she is asked to train a new girl, a childish imp named Pinky Rose. Among her co-workers, Millie is a vacuum, an empty space where no one dares tread, but Pinky finds the mannered gal fascinating. She even begins to emulate her. When Millie’s old roommate moves out, Pinky takes her place and soon, she and Millie are inseparable. Millie brags about the boyfriends she has (which don’t exist) and her skills as a cook (which are questionable at best). Pinky just absorbs it all, drinking in the dry, droning personality. Millie takes Pinky to her favorite drinking spot, an off-road tavern built around a ghost town theme called Dodge City owned by Willie and Edgar Hart. They also own the gals’ apartment complex, the Purple Sage. Willie is an artist. She paints strangely erotic alien murals. Edgar is an ex-stuntman who hides his machismo behind a roguish rummy’s grin. Willie is pregnant with their first child.


Millie soon realizes that Pinky is becoming far too much like her. She feels her life disintegrating and her identity slipping away. When a planned dinner party for friends falls apart, Millie hits the town, looking for excitement. When she comes home with her far too familiar “date,” it drives a wedge between her and Pinky that results in a near-tragedy. The resulting psychological fallout from the event leads to personality and paradigm shifts, with roles reversed and even lost. Another tragic event leads to a final resolution between Willie, Millie, and Pinky. It is these 3 Women who must reclaim the nature of the female, to save it from being constantly eroded away by everyone around them.


Without a doubt no single director better represented the auteur nature of the experimental 1970s better than Robert Altman. His string of important, groundbreaking motion pictures, beginning with 1970’s M*A*S*H up and through 1978’s A Wedding marked a streak of stellar innovative directorial romps, each one testing the cinematic limits of audio, visual, storytelling, and acting. Altman believed in himself first, his images second, and the actors third. If the first three things gelled, then the narrative and the audience would take care of themselves. His technique revolved around seeing life unaffected through a totally stylized, myopic view. He allowed dialogue to overlap and disappear, letting the viewer fill in the blanks and overhear only what was necessary in order to secure his point. He never let subject matter unnerve him and treated all issues, from war to love and back again, as if they were composed of the same emotional sentiment (and usually, he was right).


Somewhere in the early ‘80s, after the misunderstood Popeye suggested he had lost his way, Hollywood and the creative community gave up on Altman, figuring that his impressionist mantle was usurped by such strong, dreamscape directors as David Lynch and—recently—Paul Thomas Anderson. But Altman is to American movies what Fellini was to Italy or Kurosawa was to Japan. He took the typical Tinsel Town language for film and retranslated the text, breaking down barriers where need be and reinventing the jargon whenever it was required. Movies would not be what they are today without the idioms imagined by Robert Altman. He remains a truly monumental figure.


That is why 3 Women is worth celebrating. It represents Altman’s ultimate interior masterpiece (it can be argued that both M*A*S*H and Nashville have bigger scopes to scrutinize). It is a magnificent mixture of reality and fantasy fashioned into what in the end looks like an attempt at a modern mythology made out of the snippets of sense memory. Based in a personal dream that Altman once had and liquid in its tone poem parameters, it’s a film that suggests just the slightest amount of story, but manages to create an entire eerie universe out of visuals, location, and intention. It contains perhaps two of the best performances ever given by actresses on film and manages the Herculean task of turning the deserts of Southern California into an oasis of unfulfilled dreams and lonely lost souls. 3 Women is all about the process of dignity development, of discovering who you are and what you represent within the natural order. It moves beyond its simple men versus women, us versus them philosophy to paint a portrait of humanity as a work in progress. As the tagline (taken from a French movie poster) suggests, it’s the saga of how one woman entered into the life of two others and found a facet that eventually connected them all. The way in which this intermingling is accomplished, though, leads to questions of sanity vanquished and innocence vanished.


On the most basic of levels, 3 Women is a movie about personality theft. It’s the story of how an unfinished female named Pinky enters into and subsumes the life of a lonely medical assistant named Millie. Millie is also an empty entity crafted out of advertising and social stigma. She is formed out of fashion magazines, educated by articles she reads in the beauty parlor periodicals, and is living a life in which all homes and gardens are better and her housekeeping incurs a seal of goodness. Yet she is all but invisible to those around her. She is ignored and mocked—never to her fragile face, but behind her ever-bending back—and yet feels utterly connected to the individuals around her. When Pinky walks in, she is childhood and brattiness personified. She disregards the rules and shirks her responsibilities. To this wayward woman-child, the world is a playground and everything’s a toy, including Millie’s existence. Thus begins the slyest of plans: the gradual takeover of Millie’s quintessence, of her knowledge of processed foods and quick kitchen shortcuts. Pinky wants to take all the hopes, the dreams, and the designs that this isolated social butterfly has fixed for herself and swipe them, using them to create the soul she is sorely lacking. How this psyche stealing occurs and the backlash that results from it are at the core of 3 Women‘s plot.


There are other elements of individuality at play here, issues hinted at by Altman in his treatment of the ancillary characters. We meet a set of twins and learn how their identities are as different as their outer shells are so very much the same. The façade plagued singles scene is also explored, with the swinging residents of Millie’s homestead, the Purple Sage Apartments, reduced to nothing more than players in an arcane alcohol or beer ad. All the men have one-syllable names like Tom or Dave, suggesting the one-night stand nature of their being. The woman are interchangeable and unimportant, more like arm candy than actual paramours. And then there are the elderly, those exiled members of society shipped off to homes and spas to pass away their final days out of sight of the young. These non-descript collections of wrinkles and memories are either dismissed outright (Pinky’s aged parents attend to her when she is in need, and she claims they are imposters) or ordered around like inventory in life’s holding dock. All Millie’s potential dates are unremarkable, assembly line residents at a local hospital, indistinct doctors who hit on her when they sense she is vulnerable (and easy), and the carbon copy crowd down at Dodge City, who shoot, either a gun or the bull, as a means of making a small connection to the “dudes” around them. Indeed, men are the litter along the landscape in 3 Women‘s wonderland of women. They represent a necessary evil, something that society says each lady should strive for. But they rarely appear to be worth the effort, and oft times become more expendable than dependable.


On a deeper, more monumental level, 3 Women is the representation of a new mythology for the female, a reinvention of the traditional Greek design with all its classical internal elements accumulated and acclimated for the new world order. Plainly stated, Millie is our hero, our wide-eyed fool who has lived with all the aspects of her life neatly arranged and organized. There have been no real experiences except those that she’s read in magazines or heard about on television. Into that ordered and sheltered void comes Pinky, a temptress, a disrupting force of naughty nature looking for a victim for her mental vampirism. She plans on stealing Millie away from herself, as both a suggested and actual detachment for her current existence. For Millie, paradise is Dodge City, a garden of earthly delights draped in men and meaning. Within this exterior ecstasy of exhibitionism lives Willie, the mentor, the driving force for femininity in reservation. She offers both a goal and a warning for Millie, a chance to see what she could become, both for her benefit and detriment. Lingering around this playground for unrequited passions is the beast, Edgar: violator, instigator, and unapologetic ruiner of all around him. Throughout the various locations for this interpersonal quest are mandalas, murals to spiritual anarchy and role-playing redolence that serve as an omen for the shape of things to possibly come. It is up to Millie to weed through the temptations and the tribulations, to experience the suffering and the sanctuary to come out clean and reborn on the other side. Her saga, her epic poem of personal growth and acceptance, is the new legend Altman is making.


He is also rescaling the family dynamic for a new culture based in divorce and nuclear unit dissolution. Millie needs to find her place in this scattershot hierarchy, to move beyond the marketing suggestions for career gal glory and discover what her actual life is all about. Pinky just wants to be Millie, and when she can’t accept the unexpected responsibility, she reverts further to a state of near womb-like regression—even attempting a return to its watery depths. Willie just wants to be a mother, to validate her socially mandated place as a mature married woman. The agonizing act of birth, an incident that changes all 3 Women forever, underlines the beginnings of what would become the eventual youth coup of all communal ideals. We no longer live in a world where adults dictate the rights and duties owed and won. Instead, parents hoping to protect their offspring mandate the limits to freedom and liberty for all. Without a child to certify Willie’s place—artistic ability being totally unimportant—the trio of ladies need to reconfigure their formation, to link into each other and form a new kind of reciprocal relationship. So when the ending reveals the final design these females have constructed, we at last understand our current state of anxious affairs. They become like Shakespeare’s weird sisters in Macbeth, or the Fates from Greek folklore. They are predicting the path that many will soon follow while weaving their own life strand. Their lasting configuration is one being created by Clotho/Millie, shaped by an optimistic infant named Lachesis/Pinky, and controlled and ended by the final word of wisdom, Atropos/Willie.


Yet there are other elements of the fairy tale, symbols and icons that reveal the truth inside this sometimes surreal character study. Altman’s use of visual representations is legendary, but nowhere is it more prominent than in 3 Women. Water is a major thematic image in 3 Women; it’s tide turning, cleansing, life giving, and essence drowning properties are present in almost every single frame. Millie and Pinky work for a geriatric home where mineral springs provide the majority of the medicinal healing. Willie uses the bottom of swimming pools—both abandoned and active—as the canvases for her freaked out mosaics. Pinky meets one of her two Fates at the hands of a body of liquid. And all the women are finally bonded by an event that starts with the breaking of water and utilizes the liquid to protect and surround a prenatal life.


It requires acting of a rare and dazzling tenure to make all these implied personalities and personas come to life, and Altman finds an amazing cast to carry it with breathtaking grace. Shelley Duvall has never given a better performance than she does here, managing the magnificent feat of turning the jabberbox joke Millie into a truly remarkable heroine. In this pitch perfect turn, Duvall plays the pattering misfit with no internal monologue in a strangely involving and sympathetic manner. She personifies the outcast so well that you instantly connect with her cockeyed attitude and suffer the setbacks and insults right along with her. Sissy Spacek is so shockingly benign in her portrait of a manipulative demon that she transfixes you every time she is on screen. Pinky goes through the biggest personality arc in the film, and yet Spacek never makes the psyche shifting obvious or overt. She merely “becomes” someone new, assuming the identity that she so desperately lacks. And then there is Janice Rule, a trained New York stage actress, essaying the complicated and mostly silent role of Willie Hart, the haunted, melancholic artist. Married to a man who is now a stranger to her and compelled to paint murals of tortured sexual beings in jackboot tableaus, hers is a performance of the eyes and the posture. Rule’s Willie seems to be encumbered with the weight of all women on her shoulders, full to bursting with the hopes of all mothers-to-be. Through this absolutely staggering performance, Rule finds a way to show knowing and naïveté, familiarity and foreignness in almost every move.


And they have all come to take their place in Robert Altman’s cinematic masterwork. 3 Women is his living art. Altman uses his camera as a paintbrush, his performers as his oils, and the desert as his canvas to blend and smudge and spackle together a work that transcends its elements to mimic the greatest of great works. Altman’s direction can be mannered and manipulative at times, but here he seems completely liberated and fluid, moving his mysterious motion picture along on his skill with tone and his ability to engage. Like David Lynch, who explored his own split personality parameters in the equally evocative Lost Highway, this is the closest Altman’s ever come to capturing a dream on film, and the results are spellbinding. 3 Women is a lost treasure from the 1970s, as important in the oeuvre of auteur theory as Chinatown, Taxi Driver, and Apocalypse Now. It represents the pinnacle of American moviemaking, the opportunity to see a unique voice functioning well within his aesthetic capabilities while exploring new areas of motion picture nuance. From its tiny moments of observed excellence to the purposefully opaque fantasy sequences and shot selection, 3 Women is a classic of monumental proportions, a timeless elegy to the moment where women stopped being victims or chattel and reclaimed their femininity for the whole world to witness. 3 Women is one of the rare films that completely understands the concept of womanhood—from cradle to grave, from child to child bearer. How a man of many craftsman colors could conceive of such a stoic statement is unbelievable. 3 Women is the new myth, the starting point for the legend of gender relations. And it’s a perfect example of what makes movies so magical


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