Mark Reviews Into The Night!!!

Into the Night (1985) Universal 115 mins. 

d John Landis p George Folsey JR, Ron Koslow s/p Ron Koslow c Robert Paynter

lp Jeff Goldblum, Michelle Pfeiffer, Dan Aykroyd, David Bowie.

So there I was, standing in Oxfam scouring their video shelves in the hope of procuring an obscure cinema classic, when my eyes clapped sight of Into The Night. This was a VHS that was literally screaming, “Buy me”. Firstly, it is directed by John Landis and was made in 1985, not long after The Blues Brothers (1980), American Werewolf in London (1981) and Trading Places (1983)- three Landis films which should be part of the staple diet of any cinephile. In addition to this, he had also recently directed the famous music video to Michael Jackson's Thriller- frequently voted the greatest music video ever made. In the early to mid 80’s, Landis was pretty hot shit, so it seemed logical to think that some of his Midas touch would rub off on the movie I was about to purchase.

Its director however, was merely the tip of the iceberg. In the starring role was a certain Jeff Goldblum, in my view one of Hollywood’s most underused stars whose easy going yet quirky screen presence could surely breath life into even the most putrid turkey. Alongside him was Michelle Pfeiffer, one of the hottest starlets of the era, her partnership with Goldblum a possible storm of blistering chemistry.

What really sealed the deal however, were the cameo appearances by Dan Aykroyd, David Cronenberg and David Fucking Bowie- how could this comedy-thriller, as it was billed in the sleeve, possibly be anything less than a work of pure unadulterated celluloid genius?

It pains me to say it, but not only is Into the Night Mondeo drivingly, estate agent workingly average, it is also the biggest waste of talent I have ever witnessed in a movie. In addition to the stars mentioned above, minor roles are also dished out to Vera Mills, Richard Farnsworth - of The Straight Story (1999) fame and Oscar winning make up artist Rick Baker- responsible for the stunning lycanthrope transformation effects in American Werewolf. It is a total mystery to me why so many skilled individuals would want to put their name to something like this, and I can only conclude that they owed Landis a favour and hadn’t bothered to read the confused, poorly plotted, unfunny, and frankly dull script.

The film has absolutely none of the charm, warmth, humour and humanity that make Landis’s previous outings so effortlessly enjoyable, and here it truly feels like the bearded auteur is directing on autopilot. The shots are poorly framed, the art direction is flat and devoid of imagination, and it has that jarringly uneven tone rare in mainstream Hollywood filmmaking. For example, knock about slapstick will give way clumsily to some really quite unpleasant scenes of violence (the “comedy” Iranian villains shoot an elderly man’s dog, there are numerous stabbings and even a moment of implied sexual assault) that feel like they were cut in from another movie.

This is disappointing considering how seamlessly Landis handled the shifts from intense horror to brilliant humour and vice versa in American Werewolf in London, in my view the only comedy-horror film to be both genuinely frightening and highly amusing without sacrificing coherence or believability. With Into the Night, it is clear that Landis just didn’t give a damn. Even the car chases here provoke boredom rather than excitement- unbelievable since the director had made The Blues Brothers just 5 years previously, featuring two of the finest vehicle based destruction derby’s ever committed to film.

Blame cannot be placed entirely at John Landis’s door for Into the Night’s myriad failings. Though Goldblum’s laconic charm is partially present in his role as the movies insomniac hero Ed Okin, Pfeiffer’s performance is pretty routine and crucially there is absolutely zero chemistry between the two leads- it’s as if they read their lines in different rooms. This totally punctures any chances of “will they/ wont they” (the don’t, but by then you won’t care) thrills and this hinders audience involvement in the entire enterprise. However, it would be unreasonable to expect Oscar winning performances to be had from such ropy material.

Ron Koslow's script starts of well enough, and in the first 15 minutes we  are treated to reasonably funny cameo’s from Aykroyd and Cronenberg. We also cant help but feel for likable Jeff when we discovers his wife’s infidelity and subsequent decision to drive to the nearest airport, perhaps taking stock of Aykroyd earlier speech advising him to go the Vegas and get laid. While sitting in his car, he is suddenly confronted by Pfeiffer's distressed Diana ("like Princess Diana"), who demands to be let into Okin's car so she can escape from a bunch of Iranian gangsters who have just murdered her male companion.

After much boring exposition we discover she is a smuggler embroiled in some kind of plot involving precious Iranian jewels- and it's up to poor old Jeff to keep her safe from a nasty death- much to his initial chargrin. What could have been an enjoyable screw ball comedy thriller is soon reduced to an uneven mess, and this is partly down to the filmmaker's obvious desire to pack in as many celebrity cameos as humanly possible.  This results in the twin effect of preventing any of the characters from enjoying enough screen time to make an impression, and creates an atmosphere of smug, matey Hollywood self indulgence. 

David Bowie crops up around the half way point as a rat faced English gangster weirdo, intent on killing Goldblum. This bit- part actually made me a little bit angry. Standing next to man giant Jeff, the rock legend appears positively gnome - like as he twitches like some oddball on the bus you pray won't catch your eye. Props to the Thin White Duke for playing against type and all- but one of the coolest rock stars ever should never have allowed himself to be portrayed as such a loser in a film of this quality.

I purchased Into the Night in the hope that I was fishing a lost Landis classic from the dustbin of film history- ready to lavish it with the kind of attention and respect previously denied. Sadly, as it turns out, the film going public's decision to ignore this movie over the ensuing years had been perfectly justified. Into the Night is a self indulgent bucket of dog egg's, and I'm going to re-assess my earlier statement- this is'nt Mondeo drivingly average- its Austin Allegro drivingly cack.





Verdict - 39%

Mark Reviews Silver Bullet.

SILVER BULLET 1985. Dino De Laurentiis 95 mins.
d Danial Attias p Dino De Laurentiis s/p Stephen King c Armando Nannuzzi
s/e Jeff Jarvis l/p GaryBusey, Everett McGill, Cory Haim, Megan Follows

It really was against my better judgement when I decided to purchase this obscure Stephen King werewolf movie from my local Oxfam. This is, afterall, a film that manages to conform to all the guidelines I made in the introduction to this blog with regards to spotting a bad film. 1- Its practically unheard of by all but the most dedicated King nuts, most of whome would concede that this is not exactly The Shining (1980), 2- it has a pretty low IMDB score, meaning nearly everyone thinks its a bit shit, and 3- it stars Cory Haim. The Lost Boys (1987) also stars Cory Haim, and thats an 80's teen horror classic. However, experience has taught me that any film staring someone with the first name Cory that isnt either Stand By Me (1986) or The Lost Boys should be avoided like a 10ft sex offender .

I chose Silver Bullet because I saw it at a Halloween party when I was about 12, and really enjoyed it, so I thought that it must at the very least be tolerable. I also thought A Nightmare on Elm Street 4: The Dream Master was totally awesome when I was that age, so I shall be less trusting of the opinions held by my former self in the future.

Silver Bullet is predictactable, derivitive, dumb and occasionally laughable with its amateurish werewolf effects that one can barely believe came after American Werewolf in London (1981). Rarely in modern horror have men in costumes looked so much like men in costumes. One set piece in particular, which sees the local townsfolk go searching vigilante style in the woods for the individual responsible for the spate of murders in the area looks almost worthy of Ed Wood. The set is filled with so much dry ice ("there is something under the fog"!) that it comes across like a lycanthrope version of Stars in their Eyes, but with a monster considerably less frightening than Matthew Kelly.

Anyway, normally I would go into loads of detail around now about plot, characters, interesting themes etc. However, in this case I have decided to give your eyes a rest as I am falling asleep thinking about it. All I'll say is that Gary Busey gives a far better performance than the film deserves as Haim's drunken uncle Red, and that some of the gore sequences are pretty bloody and rapidly edited, lending some moments a visceral quality that might explain my adolescent affection for this cinematic shit sack.

Verdict 38%

Films Awaiting My Critical Eye.

 I have been out of action on the reviewing front lately as I am currently seeking new employment and rehearsing with my band in preparation for some up and coming gigs in London. 

However, I have been busy exploring the myriad video treasures in Dalton's massive Oxfam charity shop, and have made a few  purchases which will go under the microscope within the next few weeks.

First up, there is the werewolf movie Silver Bullet (1986), a Stephen King adaptation which I vaguely remember enjoying as a kid. Of course, back then I had no taste, so this one really could go either way.  Secondly, we have the 1984 John Landis comedy Into the Night, starring Hollywood's most underused actor Jeff Goldblum. History has ignored this one in favor of the likes of American Werewolf In London (1982)  and Trading Places (1983),  but is this justified?

Next up I have selected 5 of the purest bottom shelf horror films, all of which have won a place in my heart already for having such cool video sleeves. These are Wes Craven's Deadly Friend (1986) (Im a Craven fan and even I have never heard of this). We also have The Stuff (1985), probably familiar only to horror cultists who grew up in the 80's. I saw this when I was about 9 years old and found it boring, but that also happened with The Godfather 2 (1974), so I'm willing to give it a second chance. 

Next on the agenda will be the truly obscure Revenge of the Radioactive Reporter (1989). This was picked up by my flat mate some time ago at a video shop in Islington which has since shut down. Its tag-line "A nuclear nightmare that will leave your skin behind" together with that ludicrous title surely earns it some attention. 

The final lump in this video glut is Neon Maniacs (1986), which is a fantasy horror set in San Francisco, but brilliantly features the New York skyline on its sleeve. Genius. 

At some point I also want to get around to reviewing one of the ultimate cult 80's horror films Street Trash (1988), which is frankly one of the most insane viewing experiences I have ever had. 

Watch this space......................

Mark Reviews Bad Boys (1983).

CONTAINS SPOILERS.

Bad Boys (1983) EMI FILMS 123 MIN

d Rick Rosenthal p Robert H. Solo s Richard Di Lello c Bruce Surtees/ Donald E Thorin lp Sean Penn, Reni Santoni, Eric Gurry, Esai Morales, Clancy Brown, Ally Sheedy

I managed to pick up a weather beaten VHS copy of Bad Boys (not the 1995 Michael Bay film) from a local charity shop, believing that, on the basis of its luridly violent cover image and tag line (“In prison, there is no escape from your enemies”), this would be a sordid little exploitation film with the odd memorable moment and little artistic merit. I was somewhat knocked back to discover that it is in fact an excellent forgotten gem of a prison movie, replete with uniformly accomplished performances, a fine script and a satisfyingly authentic rawness that invites comparisons to British borstal classic Scum (1979).

The story sees low life teenage Chicago criminal Michael O’Brien, here played to broodingly intense perfection by newcomer Penn, botch an attempt to rob a rival gang when his accomplice (played by Ferris Bueller’s buddy Alan Ruck) receives a fatal bullet wound to the chest in the ensuing shoot-out. As O’Brien scrams in his car with police on his tail, he accidentally swerves into the kid brother of rival gang member Paco Moreno (Esai Morales), killing him in the process before being caught by the fuzz and banged up in the local young offenders institute.

Here he works his way to the top of the prison roost by savagely beating the two most feared inmates; “Viking” Lofgren (portrayed with sadistic relish by Shawshank Redemption’s Clancy Brown) and Tweety (Robert Lee Rush) after he witnesses the former aid the latter in the rape of a younger prisoner which concludes with the victim retaliating with a knife and being thrown over the mezzanine railings to his death. O’Brien subsequently becomes the most respected individual among his criminal peers (the “Daddy”, if you will), but things take a turn for the worse when rival Paco rapes and attempts to murder O’Brien’s girlfriend J.D. with the intention of avenging his brother’s death. He is apprehended by the police moments before his accomplice is able to shoot her, and sent to the same young offenders institute as O Brien due to a lack of vacancies elsewhere. The scene is then set for the bloody showdown that marks the film’s finale.

The opening scenes in Bad Boys depicting the mindless violence perpetrated by O’Brien on fellow citizens and Paco’s conflict of interests between his concerned Mother and gangbanging lifestyle literally drip with a grubby realism so often lacking in Hollywood crime stories.

The poverty- wracked neighbourhood inhabited by our protagonist is a warren of seedy alleyways, shadowy streets and cramped, shabby apartment dwellings where the interior walls seem to sweat grime, and are authentic to the point that one wonders if the filmmakers bothered with sets and simply filmed inside real flats. Cash strapped and lacking visible father figures, our characters family background and local surroundings provide a convincing basis for their criminal malaise.

Once he finds himself in prison, the film separates into two strands, one set in the outside world where we learn about the fall- out from O’Brien’s crimes, and the other where we follow O’Brien through his punishing experience of the institution’s regime. Here we are introduced to the inmates and authority figures, most of who are variations on prison movie archetypes (tough prison guards, sadistic bullies, smugglers, lippy head cases etc). However, the performances and skilled writing ensure that the characters don’t descend into tired cliché. It is in these earlier prison scenes where the film holds it’s own against Alan Clark’s Scum with it’s detailed glimpse at the crushing horror’s of prison life and the hierarchical relationships between the inmates.

Eric Gurry’s wise cracking smart arse Horowitz initially provides occasional lighthearted relief from this. Sharing a cell with O’Brien, he befriends the newcomer and explains to him in a sardonically up beat manner the grim realities of their new home and the reasons behind his own incarceration (“trouble was, I torched the wrong three people”). His scrawny child like frame and blatant cheek to other, more physically prepossessing inmates (“most call him Viking, I call him shit for brains”) leave you wondering how his face remains conventionally assembled and his legs unbroken. A further layer of danger is introduced when you suspect latent psychopathic tendencies in Horowitz of which other inmates have more experience in witnessing than O’Brien. The film provides a suitably nasty pay off for this implication when Horowitz booby traps a radio with an explosive that ends up demolishing half of Viking’s face. He then goes postal with a golf club when informed by the boss that he is to spend the remainder of his sentence in solitary confinement.

One of the most impressive elements of the script is the fact that, as with the Horowitz character, all the main players are fleshed out with their own micro narratives within the main plot, the result being that this is a picture populated by human beings as opposed to criminal card board cut outs. Viking, for example, is initially presented as the film’s “baddie”, yet we later discover that he has hidden artistic tendencies, for which he is derided. An image sketched in his notebook of the prison’s barbed wire fence with birds fluttering freely above it remind us that he is as unhappy with his lot as the people he victimises.

For 1983, the bold decision for an American movie to present outlaws in a mildly sympathetic light defied the general consensus held up by Hollywood at the time. This was the decade of cop and vigilante movies (epitomised by the popular Arnie/Stallone/Segal/Norris(?) vehicles) that reflected the reigning conservative politics of the Regan era, whereby audiences frequently enjoyed the cathartic kick of seeing deviants given their just deserts- generally via a bullet through the skull. Though Bad Boys doesn’t hesitate to show O’Brien at his worst behaved, his tenderness and emotion witnessed when he escapes prison to visit his girlfriend following her assault from Paco, bursting into tears upon sight of here ravaged feature indirectly inflicted by his own foolish actions, informs us that for all his considerable personal issues, he has a heart and a soul that could find redemption.

Up until this point, Bad Boys has all the ingredients of a prison movie classic. If it’s narrative feels vaguely more contrived, and its violence slightly less unflinchingly depicted than in Scum, it makes up for this by providing us with more likeable, varied characters and some much needed humour to leaven an otherwise relentlessly down beat tale. However, where Scum climaxes with rape, suicide and rioting, leaving the viewer shaking with righteous indignation come the closing titles, Bad Boys opts for a Rocky (1976) style fight sequence to conclude matters. While this doesn’t ruin the film- the empathy we have by now invested in our protagonist means that his predicament is suffused with tension, it also means that it fails to make the kind of strong and coherent statement that made Scum burn itself into the memories of all who saw it. Where that movie was a searing indictment against the Victorian barbarism of the English youth prison system, which hypocritically talks about “reform”, when all the while inmates are being humiliated, beaten, raped and generally having more crimes perpetrated against them than they could ever inflict on society in a life time, Bad Boys is happy simply to say “prison is shit, so don’t become a violent criminal”.

Having said that, Bad Boys climactic conflict is brilliantly handled by both director Rick Rosenthal and the superb cast. As with the rest of the film, every brutal blow looks eye wateringly painful. As Penn sits on top of his nemesis clutching a spike poised to be driven through his head, with on lookers chanting “Kill, kill, kill” and the sympathetic prison councillor looking on in horror, I could feel myself begging O’Brien to come to his senses.

To conclude, this is one of the most pleasant (if thats the correct word for it) movie related surprises I have experienced in quite some time, and sets the bar pretty high in terms of finding the best obscure film out there in video land.

Verdict 85%

Mark reviews Maniac Cop.

Maniac Cop  1988   (Shaprio-Glickenhaus)   85 min.

 

d William Lustig, s Larry Cohen, c Vincent J Rabe, 

se Hollywood Special Effects,

lp Bruce Campbell, Richard Rountree, Robert Z’Dar, Laurene Landon, Sheree North.

 

Maniac Cop is an entertaining, if unspectacular slasher movie which cross pollinates with partial success, two strands of American horror popular in the 80’s by taking the structure and narrative hooks of the stalk and slash movies epitomised by the classic Halloween (1978) and relocating it from suburbia to the milieu of the urban nightmare film, which at that time often depicted their frequently New York based setting as a neon lit, crime infested hell hole, where a knife wielding psychopath or gun toting deviant could be found lurking in the shadows of every dark alleyway. The city’s real life spiralling homicide rate gave New York an image of real danger and threat, exploited by many a filmmaker to ramp up the fear factor for their blood soaked epics.  Films within this sub genre, such as Abel Ferrara’s The Driller Killer (1979) Lucio Fulci’s New York Ripper (1982) and Williams Lustig’s earlier, nastier Maniac (1980), take their cue from the sordid surroundings and pathological alienation seen in Taxi Driver (1976), but with a greater focus on gory slayings at the expense of intelligent social commentary. Here the chaotic, confusing and sordid space inhabited by the psychopaths of the stories serve as both metaphor for, and probable cause of their mental deterioration.

 The view of the Big Apple portrayed by members of this sub genre is usually shot through with right wing paranoia, portraying a city rife with moral decay, the authorities having lost control of the population and true justice only being achieved through the barrel of a gun. Maniac Cop’s pedigree here can be uncovered by the fact that it was financed by a James Glickenhaus, author of the infamous New York set vigilante pic The Exterminator (1980), released at the time to widespread vilification due to its blood thirsty, reactionary overtones and general crapness. 

Maniac Cop’s twist on the cycle’s conventions is that the psychopathic killer is the authority, a Dirty Harry (1971) style police officer (Z’Dar) who was imprisoned by City Hall following an investigation into his somewhat mercenary methods of dispatching undesirables. Once inside, he is in turn finished off by a gang of inmates while taking a shower. However, it becomes apparent that death had eluded him, as he takes to the streets of the Big Apple, slicing and strangling a variety of innocents who are unlucky enough to cross his path. His homicidal behaviour, according the movie is caused directly by his treatment from the city and it’s lily livered respect for criminal’s rights, which have resulted in his stint in the clink where they claim he was “handed out a death sentence” (“validating” the killers desire to take revenge on New York’s inhabitants). In siting the city itself as suitable motive for psychotic behaviour, this echoes the highly dubious justification given to the irredeemable deeds committed by the villain in New York Ripper, where a detective points an accusing finger directly at the cities culture of ruthless competitiveness and pressure on people to “be the best” as the primary agent in the ripper’s disenchantment, informing his subsequent decision to partake in some of the most vile and graphically rendered atrocities against the female body ever committed to celluloid.

 Maniac Cop manages to break free from the tiresome ultra conservatism regarding women with which its genre relatives often bath themselves, whereby there is a desire to titillate through the use of sexual violence acted out against any females misguided enough to dress sexily or display any physical desire (New York Ripper being a main offender). Though a large number of the villain’s victims are women, no sexual motive is inferred and the comparative lack of gratuity witnessed during the murder scenes implies that women have been chosen as the victims because a sense of peril is easily achieved through exploiting their relative air of vulnerability, as opposed to any evidence of misogyny by the films creators.

 I purchased a dusty old VHS copy of Maniac Cop from an impoverished thrift store in North London for £1, and set about watching it the very same night, having been aware of the movie when I was a kid but not actually being allowed to see it in all its 18-certificate glory. I recommend to anyone reading this that they track down the 1988 video copy of the film rather than forking out for the DVD. The murky grime of the locations and the wobbly synth score are nicely suited the blemished imperfections of this format, and the video sleeve features a rather excellent and satisfyingly lurid 80’s spray-painted cover image of the uniform clad nut job towering over the New York skyline. Worth the price alone however are the trailers, previewing the likes of Underground, Out of the Dark and Double Revenge, all nasty looking urban thrillers that look bad in all the right ways. Such movie morsels perfectly set you up for the main feature, proving themselves to be unintentionally hilarious forgotten relics that truly feel like the products of another, entirely different age.

 Brilliantly, Maniac Cop features both Bruce Campbell as the put upon cop forced to prove his innocence and Richard Rowntree as a tough detective. That’s The Evil Dead’s Ash, and Shaft himself sharing screen time. Never mind that neither are provided with the most memorable dialogue to chew on and that their performances are merely adequate, they’re very presence here ensures that this warrants the attention of any cult movie fan with a quid or two knocking around in case the unlikely circumstance arises that they stumble upon a second hand VHS copy of the movie. (Seriously, don’t but the DVD. This aint Lawrence of Arabia). 

 Plot wise, the film is marginally more intricate than the majority of the decade’s B movie horror fare, mixing the stalk and slash sequences with a story involving Campbell’s struggle to uncover the true identity of the killer in order to demonstrate to the authorities that it is not himself who has murdered his wife and many others, but another, unlikely member of the force. Though MC is quite economical with logic and believability, the strong premise keeps things ticking along, and is possibly the chief reason behind it’s relative box office success and ability to spawn two sequels. In a reversal of the horror franchise norm, Maniac Cop 2 (1990) is regarded in some circles as a more inventive, entertaining picture that the original.

 The film’s routine slasher movie structure inevitably runs the gamut of oddly satisfying cliché’s in the way it assembles information about the background of the killer and handles the plight of the main character. We are informed that the cop villian has escaped prison/death and so he avenges his circumstances in a gruesome fashion while the protagonist hero tries to convince the rest of the cast of the murderer’s true identity while trying to avoid a gory death- see Halloween (1978), A Nightmare on Elm Street, Friday 13^th  (1980), Prom Night (1981), The Burning (1981) et all). However, writer Larry Cohen (who also penned Q- The Winged Serpent (1982) and The Stuff (1985)) makes the token effort of including a minute glimmer of subtext. One sequence shows a news programme’s montage of ad hoc street interviews with member’s of New York’s petrified public, who are now aware that the wave of murders that have occurred around town have been perpetrated by a cop. The interviewees are seen expressing their reluctance to turn to the police for help in times of danger. Here the movie parallels the mutual distrust between the authorities and the citizens of the city during the crime ridden and corrupt 80’s.

 It was quite common back in the era of the video nasty that otherwise unremarkable movies could lodge themselves in the public conscience by pushing back boundaries of taste and decency, particularly when depicting gore splattered slayings. Unlike the explicit murderous acts portrayed in Maniac, (which saw it fall foul of squeamish British censors adverse to the odd graphic scalping who banned the film until 2001), the death sequences in Maniac Cop are comparatively banal and lacking in originality or visceral details. Most of the victims meet their maker by way of an off screen stabbing from the Cop’s blade (concealed in his truncheon) or strangulation- surely the most un- cinematic murder method imaginable. Of course, this wouldn’t matter if any of the victims were sympathetic or fleshed out characters that we could be afraid for, but this isn’t the case. Even Campbell’s “hero” is a thinly drawn figure whose plight begins after he cheats on his long-suffering wife with a fellow cop (interestingly for this type of film, it’s the dutiful wife who is killed straight away, with the blonde lover surviving to see the films denouement, rather than being punished for her “sins”).  The lack of a suitable audience identification point doesn’t quite do justice to the unnerving concept of an ostensibly trustworthy authority figure transpiring to be the person to avoid more than any other, and the notion that the people of New York have nobody safe to turn to on the perilous night time streets.

 

None the less, Lustig keeps things moving at a fairly brisk pace, climaxing with a decently shot and edited car chase and some pretty nifty stunt work. When the face of the villain is revealed shortly before the final showdown, his features are suitably grisly and unpleasant, with some neat make up wound effects that have faint echoes of Freddie Kruger. However, he proves to be a more terrifying prospect in the atmospheric earlier scenes when he is shrouded in shadow, the viewer being afforded brief glimpses of his uniform and hulking stature which is often seen in mid shot, practically silhouetted against the gritty urban backdrops. Good mileage is had from these sequences, where hapless victims are shown running to the beefcake in blue for help, followed by a close up of him producing a blade from his holster for an ensuing bout of slaughter, just as the unfortunates feel safe and protected.

 The final seconds of the movie see the Maniac’s hand emerging from the water after his van is chased into a river following his impalement on a metal pole that has penetrated the windscreen. This occurs just as the main characters have misguidedly presumed that “its all over”. Parts of the charm of typical 80’s slasher’s are their endearingly slavish devotion to upholding, even celebrating genre clichés. Maniac Cop’s concluding shot doesn’t disappoint, gleefully ripping off the famous closing moments of Friday 13^th among others in the most charmingly lazy and baldly obvious way possible, and leaving the door open for a sequel in the process.

 The opening title sequence also owes a debt to previous genre outings. It is somewhat reminiscent of that seen in Nightmare on Elm Street, the high water mark of 80’s fright flicks. We see the Cop donning his uniform, together with distinctive white gloves, in a series of darkly lit close ups that recall those eerie first moments with Fred Kruger, where he is shown making his infamous razor glove and trying it on for size. 

 Along with policeman gone psycho set-up, the films main trump card is the atmospheric New York locations. Eschewing the gaudily lit sets sometimes used in 80’s horror to depict inner cities (Friday 13^th: Jason Takes Manhattan (1987) springs to mind), the film instead ops for mundane and often down right ugly real life exteriors for it’s frights to occur, affording Maniac Cop the occasional thin veneer of authenticity absent in the majority of its peers. In addition to this, there are a few nice images dotted about it’s 85 minute running time, not least an impressive helicopter tracking shot of Brooklyn Bridge against the backdrop of a dull overcast sky, the antithesis of the colourful glamour usually used to portray New York post Sex and the City.

 Maniac Cop is a tad too derivative and sketchy in both structure and execution to do true justice to its brilliantly simple comic book premise, but that kind of misses the point.  It makes a perfectly watchable hour and a half of campy 80’s entertainment, with the odd nice idea thrown in for good measure. I advise a combination of alcohol and mates to make the best of this.  

Verdict 70%

 

 

 

                                                                                                    

My Reviews: An Introduction.

If you spot a film in a video shop which you have A: never heard of, B: has a really stupid sounding plot, C: has scored about 3.2 on the IMDB site, D: stars Cory Haim, then you can be pretty confident that it will be little more that a piece in unmitigated crap. In some cases though, this preconception can be misguided and you could be missing out on a cavalcade of lost classics. 

In fact, having sat through a number of these bottom shelf wonders, I have discovered that even the poorest excuses for cinema usually have their moments, especially when you are drunk.

My reviews are here to cut through the dross in a bid to locate the movies which deserve more attention.  Movies like Street Trash (1987) and Three O Clock High (1987) (more about those at a later date).  If I feel a film possesses a few redeeming features and is worthy of some carefully considered analysis, then I will give it some thorough attention. If not, I'll simply warn you to leave it well alone and move on (unless I can get enough comic mileage from administering a good kicking (with words).

Abbreviations.  

d=director    p=producer   s=screenplay   c=cinematographer  

se=special effects    lp= leading players

I have decided to kick off with two motion pictures from the 80's, Maniac Cop (1987) and Bad Boys (1983) tenuously connected by their theme of CRIME..........