EYES OF LAURA MARS (1978).

There is SO MUCH going on in this film that I don't even know where to begin. Eyes of Laura Mars is an oft-maligned Faye Dunaway vehicle from the late 70s that holds up extremely well in spite of its flaws. It's a melodramatic mystery thriller about a famous fashion photographer/provacateur (Laura Mars, played by Dunaway) whose inner circle is systematically murdered by an icepick wielding maniac. Mars has visions of each murder and can "see" them as they occur through the killer's eyes. Suspects abound, Dunaway overacts within an inch of her life, and romance blossoms amidst all of the chaos. As a straight up thriller, it's debatable whether or not it succeeds or fails. But as a piece of filmmaking, as a tour de force for its actors, as a wildly careening melodrama, and as a time capsule of a bygone era, it is an amazing piece of work well worth watching...over and over again.

Try to imagine a world before cable tv, before Project Runway, before (gasp!) America's Next Top Model (Tyra Banks was most likely pooping her diapers and eating her own boogers when this movie came out). Imagine me, a young impressionable 12 year old gay boy staying up late on weekends to watch R-rated movies on ON TV (the precursor to HBO-if you need an explanation, do your own research, but it's worth checking out)...movies I barely understood such as Midnight Express, Luna and Equus...titillating at times, yes, but just as often quite disturbing and confusing, to say the least. This was a time when the fashion industry was a mysterious netherworld populated by barely human grown-ups who didn't move in the same reality as any of the ones in the suburbia I lived in.
The focal point of the film is Faye Dunaway, and it's to her credit that she manages to hold your attention amid all of the other things going on. She looks fabulous...except for those teeth. My God, the teeth! Teeth have changed, that's for sure. We're living in much-improved teeth times. Back to the film. Expertly shot in New York City, and seething with models, murders, nudity, cityscapes and loud disco music, the movie comes close at times to instigating sensory overload. The confident direction by Irvin Kershner (who went on to direct The Empire Strikes Back) masterfully switches between calm, frivolity, suspense and chaos to keep the viewer interested and just a bit on edge. Dunaway took this role right after winning her Best Actress Oscar for Network, so she was at her career high point. But her intensity and acting style is definitely a throwback to the 1950s and 60s, at least in this flick. Dunaway Acts in this flick, capital A. Watching her performance, you can kind of see Mommie Dearest lurking around the next corner, even if Faye obviously didn't. Her acting isn't terrible, it's just about 3 decibles higher than the rest of the cast. Her performance in this flick elevates it closer to a level of camp that it otherwise wouldn't be at if starring a more understated actress.

It may be difficult to imagine, but the subject matter of Dunaway's photo art in the film was considered so outrageous at the time as to be unrealistic. This movie was definitely ahead of its time in that respect. I also remember thinking that the models (such as the one in the first picture above) surely weren't acting like real models...but now, after seasons of ANTM and PW, I know that is exactly how they behave. The flick is aware of itself as a commentary not only on society's consumption of sex and violence (one of the movie's sly messages is that this is where we're headed, using tits and guns to sell perfume--another seemingly unrealistic aspect at the time that has come to fruition in subsequent years) but of the media's fascination with said subject matter and its role in delivering it to the public, even while it complains about its existence. Many of the photos used were taken by Helmut Newton.

One of the funnest parts of the film is the make-believe fashion shoot set pieces that punctuate the film. Again, I keep coming back to this, but while still over the top, they were completely outrageous at the time the film was released and a few steps beyond the imaginable at the time. Now, I could totally see this as a challenge on ANTM, with the judges critiquing the aspiring models' peformances the whole time. (She's just LYING there, I'm really getting no sense of WHO SHE IS). The above shoot was filmed on location in Columbus Circle during rush hour over 4 days, so there's great crowd reaction shots that go along with it. It must have been a lot of fun (and a lot fo work) to shoot.

There's another photo shoot sequence that takes place in a warehouse as a classic disco song called "Let's All Chant" plays on the soundtrack. That song, by the way, was big in the clubs, but not on the radio, another example of this films off the chart hip quotient. It's an amazing sequence, and I've only used one photo from it (above). I enjoy this movie so much on a visual level, and I've done all these screen caps, but don't want to use too many. This could be one of the first movies to continually use contemporary songs on its soundtrack to enhance the scenes or add to the mood. I think American Graffiti used the same technique with old tunes, but this film (minus its thriller elements) is clearly the precursor to 80s music-imbued films like Top Gun, Flashdance and Footloose.

Just to get back to how old this movie is, I remember being utterly FASCINATED and ENTHRALLED when Laura Mars explains to Detective/Love Interest Neville (well-played by a young, fit, but not quite hot Tommy Lee Jones) how her visions occur, using a video camera and a monitor to illustrate her point. It was so high tech! WOW! I got all excited just seeing that scene, it seemed like a whole new era was upon us. Little did I know that the video era was right around the corner. This scene also leads us to the most clunky and awkward portion of the film: the budding romance between Mars and Detective Neville. I won't go too deeply into it because in the long run it serves its purpose, but boy...very much a square peg in a circle hole. Weird and not all that convincing. But it doesn't ruin the film, just adds to its camp quotient.

Here's a shot of Dunaway and a young Raul Julia, who plays her alcoholic man-whore of an ex-husband, and the prime suspect in the murders. He's trouble all right, and it's somewhat shocking to see him so young and healthy looking. One of the best aspects of this film is the male characters that surround Faye's: her ex-husband, the detective, her manager, her driver...she's surrounded by strong male characters, and yet she distrusts all of them to a certain degree. She obviously derives comfort from their strength, but she is threatened by it as well. It's an interesting feminist subtext to the film that isn't ever really explored in any depth, but I noticed it and I like it.

And finally, last but not least, the Queer Quotient. What would a film about high fashion be without a token gay character? In this film, it's an amazing actor by the name of Rene Auberjonois who plays Donald Phelps, Mars' manager. He's actually a great character, especially considering this is the mid to late 1970s. But then, it's totally pre-AIDS, pre-Moral Majority conservative backlash, so this was kind of a step toward treating gay characters with respect. He's a strong, no-nonsense, take no bullshit character, and I have always remembered him. The cap above is from a scene in which a black cop starts to tease him for being gay, asking him to give him a little bit of that (wink wink) Rona Barrett (if you don't know who Rona Barett is, go do your homework). Donald replies, without missing a beat, "Frankly (wink wink), I don't do Rona Barrett!" It's very empowering and funny, and quite refreshing especially considering the era from which it came.This final cap is a scene from Donald's birthday bash, which takes place in his somewhat creepy apartment with a collection of somewhat creepy guests...but no Village People! You know, us gay people, we like our birthdays. Those our OUR days, after surviving another year of putting up with the world's b.s. Donald plays a pivotal role throughout the movie, and unfortunately doesn't make it through to the end, but then, neither does hardly anyone else, so you can't really take it as anti-gay. Ultimately, it's a very gay-positive role, quite possibly the best of its time up to that point.

Overall, this film is a wonder. I enjoy it immensely for lots of different reasons, obviously, hence the long post and many screen caps. Bottom line is: as a thriller/mystery, it's pretty good but not great. As a time capsule, as a piece of filmmaking with amazing set design, stunning New York backdrops, and quite a bit of overacting from Ms. Dunaway, which ultimately raises the camp factor to a level of enjoyability that makes it a more fun gay viewing, it's fabulous. The Director's Commentary is thoughtful and informative, highly recommended on a second viewing.

THE MORNING AFTER (1986)

I was excited to receive The Morning After from Netflix. I remember the Los Angeles setting as being one of the best parts of the film and was eager to see it in all its full color widescreen glory on dvd. The main attraction is Jane Fonda's performance which, as is often the case, rises above the material. Her turn as an aging, alcoholic almost-actress is flawless, and it's the one thing about the movie that is above reproach. The film also stars Jeff Bridges, looking rather fair-skinned and beefy as a racist ex-cop who befriends Jane's character after she wakes up one morning in some dead guy's bed with blood all over the place and no memory of how she got there or what transpired the night before. Shades of the Blue Gardenia, anyone? Why yes, now that you mention it...





Ok, so, where to begin? The film has its strengths: Jane's performance is amazing. She's washed up, bleached out, and yes, aerobicized to nothing but bone and sinew, but we can kind of buy it as she's supposed to be a woman who eats nothing but booze. The film's got some comic moments, chief among them a scene in an airport where she's trying to b.s. her way onto a booked flight, which she delivers expertly. She also does a fantastic job at playing an obnoxious self-pitying drunk. There are scenes where she sort of turns on the Bridges character in that mean, goading way that drunks do. It's like, I dare ya to hit me because I'm so obnoxious and drunk. I dare ya!

Jane's chemistry with Bridges is good. They play off each other well and he sort of just lets her do her thing, which is what codependents do when their pet drunk is in the room. Bridges plays this ex-cop from Bakersfield who drops casual racial epithets like "spade" and "beaner" in what looks like an effort to make the audience find him charming. Of course, Jane's character is miffed at the prejudice he spits out, but then, she's just a drunk with her own prejudices, against gays, who appear to be the only fans her character has left. Ultimately, this is a film populated by talented actors who, no matter how good a job they do, can't save this film from being anything else than the giant turd that it is.

What becomes apparent as this film progresses is that, despite its 80s kitsch value (scenes in downtown L.A. loft apartements and Beverly Hills hair salons are wonderfully gawdy in that way only movies from the 80s can be), as a thriller it really sucks. Sidney Lumet just really sucked at directing this movie, and he really sucks at the commentary as well. To hear him drone on about how hard it is to make a good suspense movie is almost laughable. After admitting at the outset that he hasn't watched the film in years (always a bad sign on a commentary track...shouldn't you be prepared?) he then at one point says "Let's just watch this scene play out because Jane is so wonderful in it." Yeah, I already did that you moron, the commentary track is for talking. He's like 100 years old and totally clueless. Sometimes he talks about directing. He thinks he's doing something unique by giving us shots like this one (above), framed just so, with lots of competing colors because that's what L.A. is to him. Ok. But that was probably the camera operator guy who framed that shot, not the director. Other than Mr. Lumet being an incredibly boring old windbag, the story is really bad and unbelievable: the way it unfolds, the fact that Bridges even takes an interest in Fonda's character is kind of beyond reality and they never bother to try explaining it in any meaningful way.

At another point on the commentary, Lumet talks about how great he thinks the score is. Which is funny. Because it's really bad. When it's not "suspense music" it's really sappy soft jazz at moments where Jane's character is being humanized, such as when she gushes over Bridges' Nancy Drew collection, or when Bridges makes her an impromptu candle light dinner. It's used in a very 70s way in this decidedly 80s movie. Ultimately, Jane's character gets back to herself by, what else, getting her hair done. By her estranged husband played by Raul Julia (another great actor in this ridiculously bad film), who's a hairdresser...who's actually trying to frame Jane for the dead guy's murder. Like Jane's bleached hair in the opening shot, this film's a washed up dried out mess. In my book it doesn't even deserve to be a guilty pleasure, which makes me sad cauz I kinda thought it was until I watched it again.

But now let me get to the Queer Quotient. I think the biggest bummer about it is the outright homophobia in the film. The 80s were not an easy decade for gays, and movies like this (i.e. by the big studios) didn't make it any easier.

The morning she wakes up next to a dead guy, she manages to have a good laugh on the phone with her husband when he tells her she pissed off a potential employer by calling her "A dyke. A greasy diesel dyke." Jane laughs, then says "Why would I say that?" "Because she is one. But you have to say it?" Yuk Yuk. I must balance this dialogue with one that was actually a bit empowering on its face: a detective questioning Raul's character at his salon says (about the salon): "It's a great place for a stud...or are you a fag, Jackie?" Jackie (Raul's character) walks up into the detective's personal space and replies: "How bad do you wanna know?" Which shuts that cop right up, and would be kick ass from a gay perspective if Raul's character was gay, but he's not...because a gay would never challenge a straight like that. I don't know, bad gay juju all around in this flick. This film is typical of many from the era in that it goes out of it's way to throw in homophobic dialogue and negative gay stereotypes.

Here's Bruce Vilanch, who's aparently been a shapeless amoeba with bad hair for at least the past 25 years, in a brief turn as a swishy bartender who cashes a check on Thanksgiving day for Jane's character in a gay bar populated by a couple of Village People.Here's one of the Jane character's gays in his God-awful bedroom, nursing a hangover and talking about the fabulous party he threw last night.

Here's an example of the decor in his apartment. Very tasteful and cosmopolitan!

Oh, and did I forget to mention that he's a drag queen? Jane's character needs a new set of clothes and that's why she's there. He offers some comic relief which isn't all that bad in itself, but this whole sequence took me back to being like 20 years old and not knowing how I was supposed to be a man and be gay and I was trying to figure it out and then I'd see a movie like this and it was like so offensive and upsetting. It's like, no, that's not what I am. But is that what I'm supposed to be? Very confusing. In a completely unexpected way, this film took me back (emotionally and mentally and - thank God - temporarily) to a state of confusion and turmoil from my young adult life that I am so thankful to have survived. It also made me kind of mad at the people who made this shit. I suppose you could argue that visibility is better than nothing, but I don't know...I just don't know if this kind of visibility serves any purpose other than reinforcing negative stereotypes. Thank God for movies like Parting Glances, which came out the same year, were far and few between, but were a big help. The gays in this flick are very comforting to the straights of the world, and could be campy fun today to the gays, but since I was there at the time, I don't find them amusing. But maybe that's just me being a humorless jerk!

Anyway, all in all: watchable. Acting good. Direction and story not so much. Director's commentary: Zzzzzzzzzzzz. 80s kitsch factor is huge, but overall...it's a dud.

METH (2006)

I came across Meth on Netflix and streamed it (I just figured out that streamed movies are free so I'm kinda all into the idea). It's a documentary about you know what and, while somewhat interesting, is too limited in its scope and ultimately fails to tell the truth about meth, even while it pretends that that is what it's doing. Unlike the drug, Meth the documentary has no teeth.



Most of us know that crystal is a scourge that has somehow become a twisted rite of passage for lots of gay men. Personally, I believe there are very specific reasons for this, which are societal in nature and are connected to a pattern of extreme sexual behavior that has been in place in the urban gay community for decades. But I'm just some gay guy who's kind of lived through it and made observations, I'm not a professional expert on the subject. Neither are any of the men in this documentary. They are all current and former heavy users (most of them admit on camera to regularly "slamming" or injecting meth intravenously), which gives you an insider's perspective on the living hell that is meth, but also sends mixed messages. These guys talk about how awful it was and how dirty they feel, but only after they gush about how fabulous it was. Which perfectly encapsulates the fucked-up nature of meth, but doesn't give the viewer much perspective. This doc would have benefitted from throwing a few Dr.'s of something or other into the mix: perhaps a sociologist to talk about the very real societal pressures gay men face in our culture; perhaps a medical doctor to talk about what's actually in meth, what it's cut with, what it does to the brain and body (during and after ingesting it), the effects of prolonged use, and all the other messy details about it; perhaps a psychiatrist to talk about what motivates so many gay men in particular to enter into this dance with the devil, this ugly 3-way of gay men, meth and the sex that goes with it.

This doc doesn't suck, it's just very narrow and treats the issue with kid gloves. One of the interviewees talk about going to places that are "evil" without saying what that really means. "Evil" is about the strongest negative word a person can use...and yet, no details? What do you mean by that? Granted, the doc does go into many of the subjects' experiences of "hitting bottom" (and no, I don't mean hitting that bottom), some of which sound horrific. But it's a little like sitting in a group therapy session and gets pretty boring after a while listening to these men go on and on about themselves.

The same individual who refers to some of his past behavior as "evil" also talks at one point about how meth was the only drug he tried that he had trouble quitting. So he's going on about how "I could stop Ecstasy, I stopped coke, I stopped Special K," etc. Which begs the question: why do some of us just accept the use of illegal party drugs as acceptable behavior? I'm sure it has to do with our feelings as outsiders, outlaws, etc. I'm not passing judgment and I'm not saying I haven't done anything illegal myself. But it's an area worth exploring, that we just accept illegal behavior at face value without ever really knowing the possible legal consequences of getting busted for it.

There's a marked difference between the older guys, who kind of go on and on about the circuit scene of the late 80s/early 90s and how fabulous it was, and the younger guys, who are more like at-home users and don't fit the circuit boy stereotype. There's also a creepy guy who looks to be in his late 40s/early 50s who talks about how he just uses it to lure hot 20 year olds to his place for sex, and how it works like fucking catnip. So here we have what amounts to a predator, and yet we're just getting his side of the story. And he's from Orange, CA where I grew up. Ew. I looked at him closely, he doesn't look familiar.

Ultimately, Meth is an interesting baby step toward acknowledging this hideous aspect of gay life, but it just isn't enough. There needs to be a hard core, take no prisoners, "Scared Straight", NC-17 rated doc about gay men and meth to show the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so we can not only acknowledge how truly ugly meth is, and how destructive it is to our culture and community, but use it to just basically scare young gay men away from using meth in the first place.