Reviews

The pop-artish U.S. one-sheet for this film promises great things -- a treacherous protagonist, a house on fire, somebody wearing leather fetish gear before BDSM was a widely known activity. Well, all those elements can be found, but unfortunately, they're integrated into a plodding mystery that a viewer would swear was a '70's TV movie-of-the-week except the film is in Panavision and the pacing is even slower.

The premise initially offers hope for intrigue. A long-unemployed man gets a too-good-to-be-true offer from a mysterious lady who appears to know everything about his situation except what TV shows he watches while atrophying at home: agree to a paper marriage so she can avoid immigration hassles, and collect a tidy sum. And like many thriller heroes of a bygone era, he does not have the benefit of the collected works of David Mamet to alert him to when he's being set up for a Spanish Prisoner, so of course he plays along. And before you can say Charlie Lampert, he receives his money, but she vanishes. Most men would be content to have the cash and the absentee wife, but no, the sap loves this woman he's barely known, and insists on tracking her down.

Thus follows the requisite journey among mercenary investigators, cynical cops, know-nothing butlers, hit men, porn dealers, transvestites, phony mediums, and an oh-so-helpful Girl Friday, as our hero finds out Christina is Not Who She Seemed! By the time we arrive at the climax that involves one of the most long-winded instances of the inveterate Myth of the Talking Killer, conveniently explaining the whole sordid plan to a minor character we've known for only ten minutes, The Big Reveal is just not that big a deal anymore.

Writer/Producer Trevor Wallace apparently was connected to several convoluted thrillers of the '70's, the best received being THE GROUNDSTAR CONSPIRACY with George Peppard, on which he served as producer only. He can twist the plot around fine, but he can't put any real sense of urgency into the matter. Nor does star Peter Haskell makes us believe it is paramount for him to find his elusive beloved.

Barbara Parkins meanwhile is a gorgeous, reasonably interesting, and somewhat campy vamp, particularly when she shows up, in soft focus, in the previously mentioned bondage gear. One wonders if there was more exploration of this character's deviant personality trait filmed, but omitted to secure the film's PG rating. But she's also such a cold fish that any other man would have taken a page from Bunuel's THAT OBSCURE OBJECT OF DESIRE and just dumped a bucket of water on her head and walked away.

And thus so should you if you have opportunity to view this poor potboiler. Some films stay obscure for a reason. But if you find a copy of the poster, go ahead and get it: it will be a lot more entertaining on your wall than the movie will be on your television.

Very early '80's and very politically incorrect, LET'S DO IT! has a really terrific and timely premise: the poor hero is so concerned about making sure he pleases his girlfriend sexually, he can't perform at all, much to her constant annoyance. His attempts to work out his problems elsewhere with other women turn out no better, because, well shucks, he likes these other girls too and doesn't want to let them down either. Forget about the old saw that nice guys finish last, he can't even get started! There's lots of genuinely funny moments in here, almost all involving the hero's botched encounters and the extremely accommodating women who put up with him, as well as his girlfriend's increasingly surreal bedroom fantasies as she waits for him to settle his hash. This is one of those glorious fantasy worlds where all hookers are pretty, affluent, and will even fix you coffee and dinner while they casually talk of their checkered pasts, ridiculous but rather sweet compared to the snarky oversexualized Maxim mercenarianism of modern low-budget sex comedies.

The problem here is that multitasker Bert I. Gordon, much more suited to giant monster romps like EMPIRE OF THE ANTS and FOOD OF THE GODS, lets the pace drag and the laughs become distant memories, while not providing any interesting characters or developing them, something that the filmmakers behind THE 40 YEAR OLD VIRGIN and the American PIE films figured out to their success. I am reminded of apocryphal stories of how writers on "YOUR SHOW OF SHOWS" would submit sketches to Sid Caesar, and in turn he would go to their office with the script, lift up their desks and slam them down, bellowing "FUNNIER!" Gordon clearly could have used another punch-up on this otherwise solid material.

If every piece of '80's nostalgia has to get remade, this is something that should get optioned and redone the right way.

There are occasions when I watch a movie and decide that while the film itself is not working, the person who made it has genuine talent and I get quite curious about them and want to see what else they can do. And this was what happened when I watched Hollywood 90028.

First off, do not be fooled by the many retitlings (INSANITY, TWISTED THROATS, THE Hollywood HILLSIDE STRANGLER) that sell this movie as a slasher film. The film is ultimately a screed against Hollywood in general, and pornography in particular. Even if you do not see the credits up front that identify the director as female, you can see a feminist point-of-view permeate the story.

The main character, Mark, shoots porn loops to make a living, a job he performs with a minimum of enthusiasm. He came to L.A. to be a real cameraman, after all. And he has held this job too long. He is impatient with his oafish boss. He tries to get a legit assignment but lies about his reels being in another city, knowing he'll never be taken seriously if he admits his work in porn. And most importantly, his ability to deal with women is in trouble. The clever still-photo credits hint at him being the youngest of an otherwise all-girl family, which is likely feeding his problem. But it becomes full trouble when a winsome model from one of his shoots takes a liking to him. He has already seen her naked and seductive, so he grows impatient when, on an impulsive date with her, she won't engage in anything physical.

As the opening reel played, I strongly suspected that this likely began as a student film. It had some pacing troubles, some amateurish acting, and it went from being dialogue-less at its opening to very dialogue-heavy later on. But it also had some very nice visual touches to it, the kinds of experiments one is encouraged to try in what was the adventurous climate of what film schools were like in the '70's (as opposed to the mini-job factory/fiefdoms they are today). And I could see that there was an agenda at work, something that a first-time filmmaker often attempts because they figure this is their one time at bat to get it across. It seems to me that much like John Carpenter and Dan O'Bannon lucked out with DARK STAR, some enterprising producer saw a rough version of Hornisher and Hansen's project and offered to pick it up and release it if they could make it feature length. Only in their case, sadly, unlike the story of DARK STAR, this did not lead to greater things for director Hornisher and writer Hansen.

Something that hurts the movie right away is it's current false presentation as a horror film. The print I saw opens with a heavy petting session that becomes a strangulation -- creatively done, mind you -- and then no other violence occurs for nearly forty minutes. The audience I was with was enraged. In retrospect, I sense this opening murder was tacked on by the distributor to pad the film and make it more violent. The languid story evolution that follows suggests that it is supposed to be a shock to us when Mark does in fact become a violent killer of women, no doubt due to the dehumanizing influence of his environment. Maybe in the '70's this bait-and-switch put more bums in seats, but if they were anything like the folks I was with tonight, they were not gonna stay there long. Frankly, I felt bad for Hornisher, who was clearly trying to make NOT A LOVE STORY, only to see it sold like the infamous Hustler magazine meat-grinder cover.

However, to give lumps to the filmmakers, since it's a polemic, it's too preachy. There are long, Long, LONG conversations all through the movie. To Hornisher's credit, they are juxtaposed with and against on screen action, much like Godard before and Soderbergh later on, so at least it's not just watching a pair of talking heads. A monologue by the wan model about how she succumbs to the lure of porn work, intercut with still photos depicting the descent, is quite good. But even patient me began to want all the philosophizing to stop and for someone to take a definitive step, for good or for ill.

Let me say that the movie wraps up with a great finish, one that even managed to win over the cynical loudmouths in the crowd and keep them talking about it long after it ended. It satisfies both the gorehounds waiting for death while fully in keeping with Hornisher and Hansen's downer portrayal of "the business."

In short, while I can't recommend this to a casual viewer, I was rather impressed with this debut, and I'm very sorry Christina Hornisher and Craig Hansen did not make another film. With better supervision, they could have been on a par with the other scrappy unwashed talents of the '70's.