“The most typical — and difficult — question people ask me is ‘What is Buckaroo Banzai about?’ If I could answer that in a single interview, I wouldn’t have spent two years making the film. I didn’t want to make a straight, genre film, and deliberately chose Buckaroo Banzai because it defied all the labels.” W.D. Richter interviewed by John L. Flynn for Sci-Fi Universe, 1995

The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai: Across the 8th Dimension (1984)
Directed by W.D. Richter
Written by Earl Mac Rauch
Produced by Neil Canton, W.D. Richter
103 minutes

Like a scrawny pup rescued from a ditch and taken home in the rain, whatever condition you find The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai: Across the 8th Dimension diminishes over time as this crossbred mutt of science fiction, comedy and superhero myth grows into a beloved member of the family. Ghettoized as a “spoof” and sometimes misconstrued as camp, part of the genre busting film’s immense charm is how effortlessly it exists as its own beast without ribbing other movies, or putting itself down. A franchise that never was, it leaped from the imagination of Earl Mac Rauch, a University of Texas School of Law dropout who was selling finance contracts for mobile homes in the early 1970s when a review for his novel Arkansas Adios caught the eye of screenwriter W.D. Richter, a fellow Dartmouth College alum.

Rauch regaled Richter and his wife Susan with the adventures of a hero named Buckaroo Bandy. The Richters were tickled enough to commission a script for $1,500. Over the next several years, Rauch abandoned as many ideas as he dreamed up; one that the Richters begged him to keep was the hero’s new name: Buckaroo Banzai. Meanwhile, Richter adapted Invasion of the Body Snatchers, Dracula and Brubaker, earning an Academy Award nomination for the latter. With the prestige to now direct, Richter wanted to make Buckaroo Banzai. He found an ally in David Begelman — then head of MGM — who departed the studio to form Sherwood Productions. Envisioning Buckaroo Banzai as his Indiana Jones, Begelman took the project with him. The producer had a distribution deal with Fox, but the studio was so bewildered by the finished product that they dumped it into theaters in late summer.

Buckaroo Banzai (Peter Weller) — neurosurgeon, samurai, hero in comic books — sheds his OR scrubs to test pilot a Jetcar capable of supersonic speed. With a device called the “oscillation overthruster”, the Jetcar successfully travels through solid matter and crosses the 8th dimension. Watching from the Trenton Home for the Criminally Insane is Dr. Emilio Lizardo (John Lithgow), a particle physicist who crashed the 8th dimension but was possessed by Lord John Whorfin, an evil Red Lectroid exiled from Planet 10 for sedition. Whorfin joins Red Lectroids John O’Connor (Vincent Schiavelli), John Gomez (Dan Hedaya) and John Bigboote (Christopher Lloyd) in a plot that threatens to annihilate Earth. The only thing in their way are Buckaroo and his inner circle of engineers who moonlight as musicians in a rock band, the Hong Kong Cavaliers.

A punk rock superhero compared to Spiderman or Batman, Buckaroo Banzai is Renaissance Man. His powers are pure invention and the crackerjack team he assembles to fight evil. Played with casual confidence by Weller, the man isn’t interesting so much as his orbit — a surgeon (Jeff Goldblum) with a cowboy fetish, a spirited blonde (Ellen Barkin) who’s a dead ringer for Buckaroo’s late wife, reptilian aliens who refer to Earthlings as “monkey boys” and good aliens who in their human form resemble Rastafarians for no reason. Unabashed in its goofiness, the mythology at play is so rich and so extensive that cast and crew seem to relax and enjoy the ride. The only downer is the wave of multimedia — sequels, TV series, books — that never materialized. Michael Boddicker composed the giddy electronic score, punching up the best end credits sequence yet devised for a film.

Rotten Tomatoes “Tomatometer” average among 15,473 users: 68% for The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai: Across the 8th Dimension

Metacritic “Metascore” average among leading critics: N/A

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Q: “Why exactly did Paramount bury it?”
A: “Well, I think the real question is, why was it even made?”
Nick Schager interviewing Lou Adler for IFC News, September 2008

Ladies and Gentlemen, The Fabulous Stains (1982)
Directed by Lou Adler
Written by Nancy Dowd (as Rob Morton)
Produced by Joe Roth
87 minutes

For those who always wanted to find a time capsule buried in their backyard, or possibly stashed beneath the floorboard of their home, Ladies and Gentlemen, The Fabulous Stains comes closer to capturing that sense of handcrafted wonder, impeccable historical detail and genuine surprise than just about any movie of the 1980s. Like a tin bin containing dime store knick knacks and faded newspaper clippings, this eclectic hybrid of music drama and chick empowerment vehicle lacks anything in the way of lavish production value. Much of its speedy 87 minutes feels duct taped together from different script drafts, reshoots and test screenings, but strangely, nothing could feel more true to the film’s punk rock aesthetic than a film with the sound of a worn out amp resold at a Pittsburgh pawn shop.

Diane Lane — 15 years young when shooting commenced in March 1980 — plays Corinne “Third Degree” Burns, an orphaned teen stuck with sister “Dee Peleted” (Marin Kanter) and cousin “Dizzy Heights” (Laura Dern) in their Pennsylvania steel town. Corrine catches British punk band The Looters as they pass through and implores their irascible lead singer Billy (Ray Winstone) for an audition. The Stains get their break from a Jamaican tour manager (Barry Ford), who hopes the girls distract Billy from exterminating the headliner, a one-hit rock relic from the ’70s named Lou Corpse (Fee Waybill). Corrine makes up for zero musical ability with a fuck you attitude, provocative hair/makeup and a feminist point of view, declaring “We’re The Stains and we don’t put out!” TV exposure swells the band’s disaffected female fanbase, but ignoring Billy’s advice, Corrine makes all the wrong decisions for the very first time.

After the success of Slap Shot in 1977, Paramount Pictures offered screenwriter Nancy Dowd a two-script deal. Dowd wanted to write about girls in a steel town who liberate themselves through punk rock. Introducing her to that scene was Caroline Coon, an artist who’d briefly managed The Clash; the studio would retain Coon as creative consultant and costume designer for what Dowd had titled All Washed Up. To direct, Paramount offered the project to Lou Adler, a record producer who’d worked with The Mamas & The Papas and Carole King and hit pay dirt at the picture show in 1978 with Cheech & Chong’s Up In Smoke. Dowd would later strip her name from the credits — citing sexual harassment on the set in Vancouver — but what doomed the film was a calamitous test screening in Denver. Now titled Ladies and Gentlemen, The Fabulous Stains, it became a staple on USA Network’s zombie schedule in the late ’80s but wasn’t available on home video until 2008, when Rhino Entertainment distributed the DVD.

Whether by strict design or happy accident — Dowd received an Academy Award for co-writing Coming Home, while Adler never directed again — Ladies and Gentlemen, The Fabulous Stains taps into an agitated rhythm, buzzing the two bit dives of the Rust Belt with bumblebee’s pace and never losing its sting. In addition to performances by Diane Lane and Laura Dern that feel both surly and vulnerable, the sublime cast is led by a cherub faced Ray Winstone. Former Sex Pistols guitarist Steve Jones and drummer Paul Cook (who together wrote three songs for the soundtrack) comprise an all-star punk band in The Looters, along with Paul Simonon from The Clash on bass. Playing tour manager, Barry Ford brings both diversity and a sense of truth to the story, which neither advocates coloring inside the lines or ripping up the paper purely for anarchy’s sake.

Rotten Tomatoes “Tomatometer” average among 1,325 users: 64% for Ladies and Gentlemen, The Fabulous Stains

Metacritic “Metascore” average among leading critics: N/A

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“Portmanteau” is French for “coat rack”. Lewis Carroll appropriated the word in 1871 for Through The Looking Glass to explain two words merged into one; “chortle” is a portmanteau Carroll invented, while “Internet”, “blog” and “sexploitation” are three he did not. In the month of January, I’ll take a look at portmanteau films, where we find different coats hanging in the same closet, whether tailored by one filmmaker or the collaborative effort of several.

Fantasia (1940)
Directed by Samuel Armstrong (segments: Toccata and Fugue in D Minor, The Nutcracker Suite), James Algar (segment: The Sorcerer’s Apprentice), Bill Roberts & Paul Satterfield (segment: The Rite of Spring), David D. Hand (segment: Meet the Soundtrack), Hamilton Luske, Jim Handley & Ford Beebe (segment: The Pastoral Symphony), T. Hee & Norm Ferguson (segment: Dance of the Hours), Wilfred Jackson (segment: Night on Bald Mountain/ Ave Maria)
Written by Lee Blair, Elmer Plummer, Phil Dike (segment: Toccata and Fugue in D Minor), Sylvia Moberly-Holland, Norman Wright, Albert Heath, Bianca Majolie, Graham Heid (segment: The Nutcracker Suite), Perce Pearce, Carl Fallberg (segment: The Sorcerer’s Apprentice), William Martin, Leo Thiele, Robert Sterner, John Fraser McLeish (segment: The Rite of Spring), Otto Englander, Webb Smith, Erdman Penner, Joseph Sabo, Bill Peet, Vernon Stallings (segment: The Pastoral Symphony), Campbell Grant, Arthur Heinemann, Phil Dike (segment: Night on Bald Mountain/ Ave Maria)
Produced by Walt Disney, Ben Sharpsteen
125 minutes (roadshow version)/ 88 minutes (general release version)/ 124 minutes (DVD version)

Like piano lessons or spinach, Fantasia wavers between arduous and unpalatable, at least for those kiddies notified that the program will be good for them. Revisiting the film as an adult is a revelation. In late 1937, flush from the success of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Walt Disney hit on the idea of an animated short that would interpret a piece of classical music through the medium Disney’s studio was pioneering: motion picture animation. Paul Dukas’ The Sorcerer’s Apprentice was selected, but the project grew from a short to a feature length portmanteau film, which Disney insisted be recorded stereophonically to mimic the acoustics of a concert hall. His engineers developed a stereo sound system dubbed “Fantasound”, but most exhibitors refused to pony up for its installation. Upon its U.S. release in November 1940, Fantasia was screened in only 14 theaters before being drastically recut for a general release.

Produced for roughly $2.2 million, Fantasia returned only $361,800 in its initial theatrical run, with World War II cutting off most of the international market. Despite winning two special Academy Awards, the picture was regarded as a failure by Disney himself. In 1969, the studio urged exhibitors to market the reissue the same way they would Easy Rider, “a special kind of trip”. Baby Boomers embraced it and today, the film is regarded as one of Disney’s milestone achievements. In essence, Fantasia is one of the boldest experiments (re: head-trips) Hollywood has ever produced. Tchaikovsky’s The Nutcracker Suite is the most dazzling segment, in both the playful mystery of the music and its singular visual interpretation, with sprites putting on a fireworks display for the unseen world. The more open the imagination — or the more inebriated the cerebellum — the more stimulating the film proves to be.

Joining the Philadelphia Symphony Orchestra in front of an immense canvas draped in blue light, emcee Deems Taylor introduces the first of eight classical music compositions conducted by Leopold Stokowski and interpreted by the artists of Walt Disney Studios. Johann Sebastian Bach’s Toccata and Fugue In D Minor is a thundering trip through rays of light, cloud forms and geometric shapes. Nature is explored through Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky’s The Nutcracker Suite, with sugarplum faeries animating inanimate objects of the natural world. Paul Duka’s The Sorcerer’s Apprentice tells the familiar story of magic and mischief with a mute Mickey Mouse as the star. Igor Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring is set to the biggest story in the universe, the evolution of life on earth, from its creation in the seas to its near extinction in the age of dinosaurs.

Returning after a brief intermission, our emcee employs the unsung hero of the Fantasia program — The Soundtrack — to appear and introduce several of the instruments of a symphony orchestra. Next up is Ludwig van Beethoven’s Symphony No. 6, The Pastoral Symphony, with unicorns, fawns, centaurs and the creatures of Greek myth enjoying a bacchanal, which is threatened by the appearance of Zeus and a lightning storm brought down by Vulcan. Andre Ponchielli’s Dance of the Hours from the opera La Gioconda finds a ballet dancing hippo wooed by a hungry crocodile. The final segment combines two contrasting pieces; Modeste Moussorgsky’s Night on Bald Mountain opens with Satan conducting the armies of darkness in a booming nocturnal festival, which is defeated by dawn and the bells of Franz Schubert’s reverent Ave Maria.

Rotten Tomatoes “Tomatometer” average among 104,499 users: 77% for Fantasia

Metacritic “Metascore” average among leading critics: Not available

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This month’s theme was hatched after someone with much better taste recommended that I add the 2005 romantic drama Shopgirl to my queue. Looking for nine more films with similar themes, “Based on Novel”, “Redhead” and “Salesgirl” were all considered and rejected before I settled on “May December Romance”. So in the month of December, I’ll take a look at love separated by much more than just six months on the calendar.

Crazy Heart (2009)
Directed by Scott Cooper
Screenplay by Scott Cooper, based on the novel by Thomas Cobb
Produced by Scott Cooper, Robert Duvall, Rob Carliner, Judy Cairo, T Bone Burnett
112 minutes

Stripped down to longing, regret and inspiration, Crazy Heart is the film version of a country tune, small but perfect. A journeyman actor, Scott Cooper’s role in Gods and Generals mostly hit the cutting room floor. He did get to work with Robert Duvall and the two became friends. An aspiring writer-director, Cooper’s grand ambition was to make the life story of Merle Haggard. He spent a year on the road with the recording legend, whose life rights the aspiring filmmaker realized were knotted in legal thorns. Luckily, an acquaintance gave Cooper a copy of Thomas Cobb’s 1987 novel Crazy Heart, the tale of a boozed up and beat down songwriter equal parts Merle Haggard, Waylon Jennings and Townes Van Zandt, Cooper’s musical heroes. He adapted a script and with the support of Robert Duvall, ultimately got his two wishes, landing the talents of music producer T Bone Burnett and actor Jeff Bridges.

Filmed mostly in New Mexico on a brisk 24-day schedule with a budget of $7 million, Crazy Heart rode universal critical acclaim all the way to the Academy Awards, where Ryan Bingman & T Bone Burnett (Best Original Song) and Jeff Bridges (Best Actor) won Oscars. Not as haunted as Robert Duvall’s down and out Max Sledge in Tender Mercies, Jeff Bridges channels the spirit of Kris Kristofferson, growling and fumbling his way through a character who’s a songwriter first, alcoholic second and entertainer further down the line. Cooper’s take on the material is character driven and nuanced, rejecting show business melodrama for a lower and far richer key. The soundtrack boasts some of the best original music I’ve heard in a movie in a long time, while the incomparable Maggie Gyllenhaal leads a fine supporting cast that includes Tom Bower, Rick Dial, Colin Farrell and ol’ Duvall himself.

Driving his ’78 Chevy Suburban into Pueblo, New Mexico, singer-songwriter Bad Blake (Jeff Bridges) is as disgusted to be booked into a bowling alley as he is to learn that his contract does not include a bar tab. 57 years old and flat broke, Bad rejects an offer relayed by his Beverly Hills manager (Paul Herman) to write some new songs for Tommy Sweet, a former protégé of Bad’s who is now a country music superstar. Barely making it through a set before puking his guts out, Bad fares much better in Santa Fe, where a piano player (Rick Dial) convinces the musician to grant a rare interview to his niece, an aspiring journalist. Dropping by his motel room while her subject scoops his dinner wearing only a towel, Jean Craddock (Maggie Gyllenhaal) brings out the best in Bad, though he declines to answer any questions about Tommy Sweet or his children.

Continuing her interview over two-night his stop in Santa Fe, Jean’s spirit seems to drop the years off Bad. After sleeping together, she agrees to let him bake biscuits for her 4-year-old son, who takes an immediate liking to the Texan. Bad swallows his pride and accepts an offer to open for Tommy Sweet in Phoenix. In spite of his super stardom, Tommy (Colin Farrell) extends gratitude toward his broken down mentor, even joining him on stage. Bad makes a beeline back to Santa Fe, falling asleep at the wheel and rolling the Suburban. He ignores doctor’s orders to quit drinking and implores Jean to come visit him back home in Houston. The romance inspires Bad to write new material for the first time in years and to telephone his estranged 28-year-old son, but his drinking takes a sudden toll on the relationship when Jean arrives for a visit with her son.

Rotten Tomatoes “Tomatometer” average among 101,594 users: 72% for Crazy Heart

Metacritic “Metascore” average among leading critics: 83 for Crazy Heart

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The Bechdel Test was named for Allison Bechdel, whose comic strip Dykes To Watch Out For in 1985 measured the female presence in movies by employing three criteria: Are there two or more women in it, with names? Do the women talk to each other? About something other than a man? Far too many mainstream movies flunk this test, but in the month of September, I take a look at ten recent movies that pass.

An Education (2009)
Directed by Lone Scherfig
Screenplay by Nick Hornby, based on the memoir by Lynn Barber
Produced by Finola Dwyer, Amanda Posey
100 minutes

Recalling the entrance that an ingénue named Natalie Portman made with The Professional in 1994, Carey Mulligan radiates such ingenuity in An Education that it’s easy to overlook how terrific the coming-of-age tale that forms around her is. Author Nick Hornby discovered the material in the spring of 2003 in the British literary journal Granta. Sensing that the 10-page autobiographical essay by journalist Lynn Barber had the elements of a movie, Hornby mentioned it to his then girlfriend (later wife), producer Amanda Posey, who optioned film rights with her partner Finola Dwyer. Hornby wrote the first draft of An Education on spec in 2004. Rejected by several financiers due to its limited commercial appeal and the difficulty casting the lead role, two executives at BBC Films named David Thompson and Tracey Scoffield gambled on the project.

Preferring a woman behind the camera, Hornby lucked out when Danish director Lone Scherfig expressed interest in An Education. BBC raised a budget of roughly £4.5 million ($7 million USD) and shooting finally commenced in and around Twickenham Film Studios in March 2008. Lynn Barber’s memoir has the intimacy of a finely honed short story; it’s not so much what happens but who it happens to which is so captivating. In addition to its star making performance by Carey Mulligan, Hornby and Scherfig bring whimsy to material that could have easily gone too dark, too nostalgic or too pretentious. Impeccably well cast by Lucy Bevan and drenched in shades of a jazz LP cover by John de Borman, An Education was nominated for three Academy Awards — Best Picture, Best Actress and Best Adapted Screenplay — but won none.

In the London suburb of Twickenham in 1961, 16-year-old Jenny (Carey Mulligan) blazes an academic trail for Oxford, writing A+ papers in the English class of Miss Stubbs (Olivia Williams) and playing cello in youth orchestra. Waiting in the rain for a bus, Jenny is offered a ride by David (Peter Sarsgaard), a witty, considerate man. While the ambitions of Jenny’s classmate Graham (Matthew Beard) fail to pass the muster of Jenny’s father (Alfred Molina), David runs into Jenny again and invites her to a performance of Ravel. Introducing himself to Jenny’s father and mother (Cara Seymour), David charms them into allowing their daughter to go on the date. After the concert, David works in supper at a nightclub with his cosmopolitan friends Danny (Dominic Cooper) and Helen (Rosamund Pike).

Having the time of her life, Jenny ditches school to attend an auction with David. His exact line of work remains mysterious — “property, a bit of art dealing” — but with a winning personality and a bit of cleverness, he convinces Jenny’s parents to allow her to spend the weekend in Oxford with him and his friends. Jenny makes clear to David she intends to keep her virginity until she turns 17. David respects this wish but during the weekend, it becomes clear to Jenny that her boyfriend’s occupation involves swindling and stealing. When David promises Jenny a birthday getaway to Paris, news of their adventures begins disrupting classes. Miss Stubbs warns her pupil not to throw away her education on David, but the life of an English teacher holds little appeal to the teenager, who wants to live it up while she can.

Rotten Tomatoes “Tomatometer” average among 14,719 users: 77% for An Education

Metacritic “Metascore” average among leading critics: 85 for An Education

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Roman Polanski was born August 18, 1933 in Paris. The sordid details of his flight from the United States in 1978 have often overshadowed discussion of the director’s work, which at the age of 77, includes one of the best films of 2010. Is he a world class filmmaker? In the month of August, I take a look at ten directed by Roman Polanski.

The Pianist (2002)
Directed by Roman Polanski
Screenplay by Ronald Harwood, based on the book The Pianist: The Extraordinary True Story of One Man’s Survival in Warsaw, 1939-1945 by Wladyslaw Szpilman
Produced by Roman Polanski, Robert Benmussa, Alain Sarde
150 minutes

A tale of an urban castaway that’s as powerful as it is restrained, The Pianist was Roman Polanski’s finest work in two decades. Originally published in 1946 under the title Death of a City, Wladyslaw Szpilman’s memoir of survival detailed the classical pianist’s six years under Nazi occupation in Warsaw. Seizing upon the book as his next film, Polanski selected South African born playwright and screenwriter Ronald Harwood — whose play Taking Sides also featured a composer caught in the maelstrom of World War II — to adapt a screenplay. France’s Le Studio Canal largely financed the €38 million (roughly $33 million) production in association with England’s Cadre Films and after Joseph Fiennes declined the role in order to remain on the British stage, Polanski arrived on Adrien Brody to portray Szpilman. The actor went from 160 to 130 pounds in six weeks to prepare for the part.

Filmed at Babelsburg Studios in Berlin, with additional shooting in the Braga district outside Warsaw, what sets The Pianist apart from WWII dramas like Saving Private Ryan or Enemy At the Gates is its simplicity and grace. Written immediately after the occupation, Szpilman’s story is resplendent in detail and confident enough in its truth not to employ artificiality or unearned sentiments. Turning genre conventions on their head, we meet Jews who are less than virtuous and at least one German who is more than pure evil, creating a landscape that provokes thought and feeling. A tale of genocide, the irony is that Polanski’s craftsmanship is so solid we wish the story kept going. Nominated for seven Academy Awards, Adrien Brody (Best Actor), Ronald Harwood (Best Adapted Screenplay) and Roman Polanski (Best Director) all won Oscars.

In Warsaw of September 1939, pianist Wladyslaw Szpilman (Adrien Brody) is performing Chopin’s Nocturne in C Sharp minor for Polish radio when German artillery shells hit the city. Szpilman’s violinist father (Frank Finlay), mother (Maureen Lipman), younger brother Henryk (Ed Stoppard) and two grown sisters (Julia Rayner, Jessica Kate Meyer) rejoice with the news that Britain and France have declared war on Germany, but Poland quickly falls under Nazi control. Szpilman has time to take an adoring cellist named Dorota (Emilia Fox) for coffee before the city’s 360,000 Jews are evicted from their homes and sealed inside a ghetto in October 1940. Szpilman finds employment as a piano player in an upper class Jewish café and along with Henryk, rejects an offer from a family friend named Heller (Roy Smiles) to join the Jewish Ghetto Police.

When Henryk is arrested, Szpilman appeals to Heller’s ego to secure his brother’s release. He keeps his family from being deported by obtaining employment certificates for them, but these prove worthless when in August 1942, the Szpilmans are herded onto trains bound for Treblinka. Heller pulls Szpilman off the line, sparing his life, but the pianist never sees his family again. He survives by joining a Jewish work detail and buys enough time to arrange for his escape. Harbored by friends, Szpilman is reunited with Dorota, now married and expecting a child. Once the Polish uprising begins in August 1944, he’s near the brink of famine. Scrounging for food in the deserted city, Szpilman comes to face to face with Captain Wilm Hosenfeld (Thomas Kretschmann). Instead of being shot, the pianist is rewarded by an act of kindness after the German officer hears his music.

Rotten Tomatoes “Tomatometer” average among 107,318 users: 94% for The Pianist

Metacritic “Metascore” average among leading critics: 85 for The Pianist

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Bird (1988)
Directed by Clint Eastwood
Written by Joel Oliansky
Produced by Clint Eastwood
161 minutes

A tone poem on the life and times of jazz innovator Charlie Parker makes such a valiant effort at authenticity, at not being a bad movie, that what’s left feels like virtually no movie at all. A script by actor, playwright and jazz fan Joel Oliansky (who co-wrote and directed the Richard Dreyfuss-Amy Irving melodrama The Competition) had been in development for so long that Richard Pryor was attached to the role of Parker before the superstar comedian’s freebasing accident in 1980. Bird is notable as the first movie about jazz music made by fans of jazz music, of which Oliansky offered that Clint Eastwood had even more ardor for the art form than he did. The end credits dedicate the picture to musicians, but it reads more like an admission of failure than a note of gratitude.

Instead of recreating the world in which Parker lived fast and died young (1920-1955, according to Wikipedia) and perhaps illustrating how he changed that world, Eastwood seems satisfied with simply broadcasting Parker’s music, which the filmmaker reprocessed from unreleased live recordings that were tracked down. Anyone who hasn’t pledged a donation to their public jazz radio station will likely be in the dark, literally. The lighting by Jack N. Green is so murky and the narrative so muddled that after a torturous 2 hours and 40 minutes, it’s still not clear where Parker came from, what he did or who the people who knew him were. Spike Lee criticized Bird for focusing on Chan Richardson’s and Red Rodney’s remembrances and pushing Parker into the shadows, but sadly, nothing in this passionate clutter is communicated with the least bit of clarity.

In Los Angeles, jazz saxophonist Charlie Parker (Forest Whitaker) returns from a gig to his partner Chan Richardson (Diane Verona). Despondent over the death of their daughter as well as his ongoing career problems, Parker swallows a bottle of iodine. Recuperating in a psychiatric hospital, his mind wanders back to his early days in Kansas City, where the young Parker (Damon Whitaker) fares so poorly in a “cutting contest” against Buster Franklin (Keith David) that a drummer tosses a cymbal at the young man’s feet to get him off stage. Unwilling to consent her husband be given shock treatment because it will risk his ability to improvise and compose music, Chan thinks back to when she first met “Bird”, in New York, when she was a footloose jazz fan and he had eclipsed Buster Franklin as a lightning bolt innovator of a new genre called bebop.

Franklin is so dispirited after hearing Parker perform that he dumps his saxophone in a river. But by the time Parker emerges from the hospital, he’s drowning his life. Moving back in time, Parker’s self-destructive binges are contrasted with his bandmate and friend Dizzy Gillespie (Samuel E. Wright), a trumpeter nowhere near as idolized as Bird, but happily married and never out of work. Parker finds a sidekick in Red Rodney (Michael Zelnicker), a white trumpeter who Parker takes out on the road. Parker’s erratic behavior puts him on the outs with club owners and record labels, until his arrest for heroin possession results in his cabaret license being revoked. He’s swimming in heroin and booze in L.A. when news reaches Parker of his daughter’s death. 34 years young going on 65, Bird never fully recovers.

Rotten Tomatoes “Tomatometer” average among 18 users: 72% for Bird

Metacritic “Metascore” average among leading critics: 78 for Bird

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Every Which Way But Loose (1978)
Directed by James Fargo
Written by Jeremy Joe Kronsberg
Produced by Robert Daley
110 minutes

You’d think that at the very least, Every Which Way But Loose would rank as the best beer drinkin’, bareknuckle brawlin’ flick with an orangutan ever made, but actually, its 1980 sequel Any Which Way You Can holds that title. A huge hit that defied the expectations of Warner Bros. and most of Eastwood’s advisers retains a shaggy sort of charm in the grand scheme of things. Though a slapdash effort for sure, it’s one whose redneck hero is revealed to have a heart as big as his pet ape, or a country western ballad perhaps. It lopes forward with little organizing intelligence, but when it comes to pure heehaw entertainment, I’d rather see a movie full of stupid pet tricks and stupid human tricks than what Burt Reynolds devolved into after Smokey and the Bandit — giving his fans stupid car tricks.

James Fargo was an assistant director who worked for Eastwood on Joe Kidd before being promoted to direct the second Dirty Harry sequel The Enforcer, then Every Which Way But Loose. His work bears the signs of moving at light speed to keep the boss happy. Any business accompanied by punches or by the orangutan — who was named Manis and extraordinarily trained by Bobby Berosini — does have a merry quality to it. The movie also captures a tumbleweed vibe that was suburban Los Angeles in the ‘70s, with the country western tunes (Mel Tillis and Cliff Crofford perform in the film) that might entail. Appearances by Ruth Gordon and Beverly D’Angelo are highlights too, but regardless of how young your inner child, there’s no getting around how sloppy the material is and lazy the execution of it plays.

Pacoima truck driver Philo Beddoe (Clint Eastwood) ekes out a living in bareknuckle pickup fights arranged by his buddy Orville Boggs (Geoffrey Lewis). A man of simple tastes, Philo spends his time repairing cars, hanging out with his pet orangutan Clyde — who he bet his truck and two motorbikes to set free from a roadside zoo — and drinking beer at the Palomino. When an aspiring country western performer named Lynn Halsey Taylor (Sondra Locke) takes the stage, Philo experiences love at first sight; Lynn agrees to let Philo give her a ride home, but he declines an invitation to spend the night when the trailer park diva reveals she lives with a boyfriend. When Lynn takes off to Colorado unexpectedly, Philo, Clyde and Orville hit the road after her.

Philo leaves Southern California on the hit list of some bitter customers whose faces have had a close encounter with his fist, including two cops (Gregory Walcott, James McEachin) Philo accidentally beat up at the Palomino, and The Black Widows, the least intimidating motorcycle gang in the Southland, who made the mistake of harassing Clyde. Led by Cholla (John Quade), the Black Widows pay a visit to Orville’s cantankerous Ma (Ruth Gordon), who runs the sissies off with a shotgun. Picking up a produce stand girl (Beverly D’Angelo) who Orville shows a fancy for, Philo blunders into Lynn in Colorado, but learns she is less than thrilled to see him again. The brawler with a broken heart channels his energy into a pickup fight against the legendary Tank Murdock (Walter Barnes).

Rotten Tomatoes “Tomatometer” average among 13 users: 31% for Every Which Way But Loose

Metacritic “Metascore” average among leading critics: Not available

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Honkytonk Man (1982)
Directed by Clint Eastwood
Screenplay by Clancy Carlile, based on his novel
Produced by Clint Eastwood
122 minutes

The star attractions in Honkytonk Man are the roadhouses that chew up and spit out an endless cycle of musicians. The film was a rare — but in retrospect not really surprising — commercial letdown from Clint Eastwood while he reigned as the biggest movie star in the world. Instead of good guys and bad guys, this is a story about a country bluesman who lives and dies according to the rules of the songs he releases into the night. Not exactly Escape From Alcatraz. The smokehouse lighting by Bruce Surtees and antique world designed by Edward Carfagno recreate the pit stops of the Dust Bowl with a savage beauty unparalleled among films set against the Great Depression, but the dramatic tissue needed to connect the set pieces together disappears like a cloud of cigarette smoke.

Directing his ninth film in 11 years, Eastwood assembled his finest cast yet. Verna Bloom and Matt Clark are the matriarch and patriarch of a farm family. Bette Ford, Barry Corbin, Tim Thomerson and Tracey Walter are characters encountered on the road, while country western legends Marty Robbins and Porter Wagoneer make appearances. The biggest gamble though was Eastwood casting his son Kyle — who’s grown into a successful career as a jazz bassist — as his character’s nephew. The junior Eastwood comes off more like a real kid than a coy child actor. Honkytonk Man has a subtle sort of grace and forces little, but at the same time, the material barely seems to warrant a feature film, with characters and incidents that come and go while the atmosphere is what stays in the air.

As a dust storm descends on a farm in Oklahoma, a Lincoln convertible swerves onto the property and knocks down a windmill. Emmy (Verna Bloom) recognizes the driver as her brother Red Stovall (Clint Eastwood), dead drunk. Her 14-year-old son Whit (Kyle Eastwood) has his sights set on life beyond that of a cotton picker and is beguiled by the automobile and the guitar case inside. Whit’s father (Matt Clark) discovers a letter that reveals Red has been invited to try out for the Grand Ole Opry in Nashville. When his driving is revealed to be an improvement over his uncle’s, Whit is permitted to take Red to a local honkytonk, where his uncle picks up extra cash for the road picking his guitar and singing. Red then enlists his nephew’s aid settling a debt by sneaking into a chicken coop and making off with the poultry.

With the family pulling up stakes for California, Red asks his sister if she’ll allow Whit to drive him to Nashville. Not wanting her reckless brother — stricken with tuberculosis — to be alone, she agrees. Along for the journey is Grandpa (John McIntire), who feels he’s too old to start over and prefers to die in his birthplace of Tennessee. On the road, Red and Whit are chased by a bull, visit a whorehouse in Tulsa where $2 buys Whit his first sexual experience, unwittingly rob a roadhouse to collect money owed Red by a smalltime hood (Barry Corbin) and pick up a starry eyed 16-year-old named Marlene (Alexa Kenin) who wants to be anywhere but Oklahoma. Arriving in Nashville, Red’s sickness cuts a promising radio career short, but fate has one more twist in store for the honkytonk man.

Rotten Tomatoes “Tomatometer” average among 14 users: 93% for Honkytonk Man

Metacritic “Metascore” average among leading critics: Not available

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Play Misty For Me (1971)
Directed by Clint Eastwood
Screenplay by Jo Heims and Dean Reisner, story by Jo Heims
Produced by Robert Daley
102 minutes

Clint Eastwood once referred to Play Misty For Me warmly as an “odd little story about a disc jockey”; Eastwood’s understated regard seems perfectly matched to this material, his debut film as director. It’s a disquieting B-side that seems filled with one too many digressions to qualify as a classic thriller, but on the other hand, it’s those digressions that make the picture so memorable. Unlike Fatal Attracton — the blockbuster that would brazenly and brainlessly borrow Misty’s hook — this flick seems more inspired by the rhythms of a real one-night stand gone bad as opposed to the junk plot generator of Hollywood. The result has verve, atmosphere and a big scare along the way to actually addressing discontent between men and women.

Play Misty For Me doesn’t amp up the suspense so much as it ambles in the direction of an intriguing psychodrama. Shot in Eastwood’s backyard of Monterey, where the star assured Universal he knew where he could grab locations without spending money building sets, both the candlepower cinematography by Bruce Surtees and the sound design by Universal capture the allure of coastal Big Sur better than any movie ever made. Jessica Walter is superb as the scorned wackadoo and even though Eastwood dilly dallies away from her and from what makes the movie tick for a meadow love scene set to Roberta Flack’s “The First Time I Ever Saw Your Face” or a visit to the Monterey Jazz Festival, at least it can be said no other stalker movie would have thought of that.

Disc jockey Dave Garver (Clint Eastwood) opens his show at jazz station KRML in Carmel by promising his listeners “a little verse, a little talk, and five hours of music to be very, very nice to each other by.” During his shift, one of Garver’s regular female caller phones in and purrs, “Play ‘Misty’ for me.” Winding down at his favorite watering hole, Dave attracts the attention of a brunette at the end of the bar. Introducing herself as Evelyn Draper (Jessica Walter), she claims to have been stood up on a date. Dave gives Evelyn a ride home, but feels he knows this woman from somewhere. Evelyn reveals she’s his “Misty” caller. Dave claims that he doesn’t want to complicate his life, but neither one of them sees any reason why they shouldn’t sleep together.

Dave is actually more interested in patching things up with his artsy ex-girlfriend Tobie (Donna Mills) when he discovers she’s moved back from Sausalito. Evelyn won’t take a hint, tracking Dave down and asking why he hasn’t taken her calls. He’s not amused. She continues to smother him – banging on his door in the middle of the night and professing her love – until he makes it clear he doesn’t feel the same way. Evelyn responds by slashing her wrists in his bathroom and drawing out her recovery at his place. When Dave finally leaves his house for a business meeting, Evelyn follows him to the restaurant and costs him a prized hosting gig. Dave breaks it off with his schizophrenic wackjob for the last time, unaware that Evelyn considers the affair far from over.

Rotten Tomatoes “Tomatometer” average among 30 users: 83% for Play Misty For Me

Metacritic “Metascore” average among leading critics: Not available

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