The Fabulous Baker Boys (1989, Steve Kloves)

The Fabulous Baker Boys opens with pseudo-protagonist Jeff Bridges saying goodbye to his latest cocktail waitress one-night stand (always his decision, never hers–Baker Boys is all about taking advantage of patriarchal privilege). Under the opening titles, he walks to work. Baker Boys takes place in Seattle and regularly features its skyline, but director Kloves is careful never to show the Space Needle. Much like its characters, the film exists on the edge of reality.

Bridges plays one half of the Fabulous. Beau Bridges play the other. Beau’s the responsible one who has a wife and kids in the suburbs. Jeff is the love-them-and-leave-them, hard-drinking jazz pianist with a heart of gold (he gives Ellie Raab, the tween who lives upstairs, a safe spot when her mom’s got a fellow over). They’ve been playing piano together for thirty-one years, starting as kids, turning it into a profession. They’ve played all over town for years, and they’re getting played out. No one’s going to clubs with pianomen.

After one particularly disheartening experience, Beau decides they’re going to need to have someone along to sing a song. Cue an amusing (albeit unkind) audition sequence, which starts with Jennifer Tilly’s off-key attempt. Baker Boys appreciates having Tilly (she even gets a special end credit), and she’s a lot of fun. She brings the first lightness to the film. While it’s never too dark, it does… wallow in melancholy at times. Tilly shakes up the momentum nicely.

The audition sequence ends with Michelle Pfeiffer, who can sing, and thus becomes the singer, even though she’s a little too brash for Beau’s tastes. She doesn’t even rate a blip on Jeff’s radar initially, but once they all get performing and realize they’ve found a good thing… he takes notice.

There are some fantastic scenes during this portion of the film. There’s a mix of dismay and exuberance–Pfeiffer’s new to the live entertainment business, excited at various potentials. Beau and Jeff have years of experience and are appropriately downtrodden about the whole thing. They think they’ve hit their peak, not realizing Pfeiffer’s contributions will change their lane. Jeff plays most of his scenes silent and sullen. He’s a tortured artisté (no one says he’s the best jazz pianist in the town, but it’s definitely the vibe, and he’s given that up for Beau, who’s just good). But when Pfeiffer and Beau clash, Jeff gets these twinkles in his eyes, and they add up to character development and chemistry.

Lots of Baker Boys is about chemistry. Jeff and Pfeiffer spend a solid portion of the second act circling each other, trying to find an angle where going for it isn’t a mistake. Beau sees what’s going on and tries to stop it. The sequence where he can’t is spectacular, where Kloves shows off he, cinematographer Michael Ballhaus (it’s such a gorgeous photography job, it’s never not stunning), and editor William Steinkamp’s abilities in an entirely new context. They’ve got light drama, light comedy, and sexy but not tawdry lounge singing down, but they can do so much more.

Baker Boys is a character study. It’s a strange one because despite spending the movie with Jeff, it’s not clear until he and Pfeiffer start alternating clashing and crashing; it’s all about him. The character’s distant from everyone; why would the audience be any different.

But Kloves doesn’t let the sub-genre dictate the format. Even as a straight drama–despite the hot and heavy, it’s not a romance or a romantic drama–there’s time for screwball, there’s time for laughs, for smiles. The first act sets up the Baker Boys, but there’s a lot more to say about them, it turns out, right into the third act. After an unevenly paced present action–the film takes place over any number of months, with New Year’s being around the center–the third act is a few days at most.

Because there’s not a lot to wrap up other than everyone acknowledging the state of their situations. One of the problems is the lack of communication (no one ever points out Jeff being smirking, smoking, or sullen is a significant contributor, unfortunately), and the way Kloves layers in those reveals is exquisite. The characters often argue about something the audience doesn’t know about or know how to contextualize, and Kloves has to get the reveals in just right. Even though the audience can’t know (with some exceptions) how things will hit, the film’s got to be ready to situation them on demand. The thing about the arguments and the character turmoils is they’re fast-paced. When Jeff lashes out to hurt people, he does it rapidly, and Kloves makes sure the audience is never behind.

The acting’s outstanding. Jeff really gets to come into it towards the end of the second act, while Beau plays sturdy support. Pfeiffer deserves those effusive “revelation” statements. There’s not really a cast besides them; hence Tilly is making such an impression.

Outstanding technicals, fantastic Dave Grusin score, The Fabulous Baker Boys is, obviously, fabulous, but it’s also a superb achievement from cast and crew. There’s a lot of exceptional work on display here.

This post is part of the It’s In the Name of the Title Blogathon hosted by Gill of Realweegiemidget Reviews and Rebecca of Taking Up Room.

Ghostbusters II (1989, Ivan Reitman)

About the only compliment I can pay Ghostbusters II is the first half or so doesn’t reveal how terrible the movie’s going to get. The film had a troubled production, which might explain the special effects looking rough for the third act. II’s third act apes the third act from the first movie, only without any of the stakes. Ghostbusters II is profoundly without stakes.

Ostensibly, the boys in beige (and navy blue to fit into the popular contemporary cartoon series “The Real Ghostbusters”’s continuity) are trying to save Sigourney Weaver’s baby from Peter MacNicol, her pervy boss who’s become an agent of evil. Except the movie’s not going to kill a baby. So it’s all about how they save the baby. Except Ghostbusters II’s third act is horrible. It gets worse every stake-less scene. The movie’s also got this “New York City sucks” undertone, which is kind of strange. It could work—the movie picks up after the Ghostbusters have been sued out of business, so maybe they could hate the Big Apple, but… no, it’s just for the jokes. The really tepid jokes.

The first act establishes the new ground situation—Weaver’s got a baby (Murray’s not the daddy), Murray’s a psychic TV talk show host (which fits because the character’s written like a talk show host the entire movie), Harold Ramis is doing hard science, Dan Aykroyd is running a used book shop while not doing appearances with Ernie Hudson. Does Hudson have anything else going on the side? Don’t ask; the movie doesn’t care.

Along the way, we’ll learn Rick Moranis has gone back to school and become a lawyer. Annie Potts will be back, then David Margulies comes back as the Mayor, too. Margulies seems exhausted at the whole production, which tracks. Kurt Fuller plays his dipshit aide, who doesn’t trust the gang.

The movie feels long because nothing connects. Ackroyd and Ramos’s script gives them more to do for a while (Ramis especially), but it doesn’t go anywhere. Moranis and Potts get about the best subplot, which is only fair since they’re giving the best performances, but they also don’t have the worst writing. Ramis and Ackroyd saved it for themselves—plus Hudson. II forgets about Hudson for most of the first act, then turns him into an exposition delivery device in the second—alongside Ramis and Ackroyd—and it’s way too much.

Then Weaver starts phoning it in for the finale, which is not good, given it’s all about her baby becoming an evil god. I can’t remember when she goes flat, but it’s way too early, and it’s way too flat. II can’t figure out how to make her and Murray cute together, so they have him play with the baby a lot. Ghostbusters II targets the weirdest demographics—boys who love “Real Ghostbusters” and their moms who didn’t like the first movie but can handle it because the baby’s adorable.

Reitman can’t direct that movie. He does an awful job. As far as the technicals, no one does a good job, really—Michael Chapman somehow shoots it poorly, and then Randy Edelman’s score is arguably offensive—but there’s some basic competence to the production. Dennis Muren’s special effects leave a lot to be desired, though.

So it’s all doomed.

There are also a bunch of stunt cameos for some reason. They don’t amount to anything.

As for top-billed Murray… maybe HBO should’ve given him a talk show or whatever. But it’s not a performance. Many people embarrass themselves in II—Aykroyd, Weaver, Hudson, MacNichol, Harris Yulin—but nothing compares to Murray. He’s been fixed. I’m not sure II’d have been any better without the snip-snip, but it might not have been so dull.

The Trial of the Incredible Hulk (1989, Bill Bixby)

Spoiler: there’s no trial in Trial of the Incredible Hulk. Except maybe the viewer’s difficulty getting through the TV movie. Or producer, director, and star Bixby doing a special effects heavy (but not for Hulk Lou Ferrigno) backdoor pilot for a “Daredevil” TV show starring very special guest star Rex Smith. Ferrigno’s so shoe-horned into the production he doesn’t even get to Hulk out in the third act.

Things are off from the start, which has Bixby working on a ranch—run by familiar-looking TV guest star Meredith Bain Woodward—only to leave when he’s being bullied too much. Don’t want to waste one of the three Ferrigno scenes on a ranch fight. Woodward warns Bixby if he heads to the city, it’ll suck his soul out. Now, the city never gets mentioned by name—it’s Vancouver—but when henchman Nicholas Hormann lists the various crime lords’ home bases, New York is left off the list and Daredevil’s traditionally New York.

And Trial’s New York City being in a quick hitchhike from the Canadian North Shore mountains or whatever… well, it sums up the production fairly well.

Most of the episode is about Smith trying to rescue third-billed Marta DuBois from John Rhys-Davies. Rhys-Davies is playing evil businessman Wilson Fisk (aka the Kingpin, though not in Trial), who wears his sunglasses both indoors and at night, and watches everything on video. The opening jewelry store heist sequence has the robbers setting up cameras so Rhys-Davies can see what they’re doing and instruct them. There are a few times throughout the movie where it’s clear someone did a lot of work getting all that video to show right in the final production. Shame Gerald Di Pego’s script doesn’t have similar levels of care.

Let me see if I can quickly summarize the contrivances. DuBois is on the same subway train as Bixby after the jewelry heist. Bad guys John Novak and Dwight Koss are also on the train, giddy after their successful robbery. Novak decides he’s going to rape DuBois. Koss seems iffy on it, but then agrees. After initially staying out of it, Bixby finally Hulks out, and it’s Ferrigno to the rescue.

Except after the cops arrest Bixby (post-Hulk out), DuBois tells them he was the one who assaulted her. It just doesn’t make sense to poor Bixby, who thinks he’s still in the more wholesome, early eighties era of primetime. Smith offers his services to Bixby—who goes from a jail cell to a prison cell without so much as a hearing (about halfway through Trial he has a scene about not being able into the courtroom because he’d let Ferrigno deal with it)—and Bixby reluctantly agrees. Basically because Smith is blind. DuBois is also nicer to Smith once she realizes he’s blind. It’d have been a wild “Daredevil” show; so many plot twists based on Smith being blind and people not realizing he’s got sonar vision.

After DuBois tells Smith what really happened, Rhys-Davies realizes there’s still another forty-five minutes, so he tells consigliere Hormann to kidnap her and use her as bait for Daredevil. No one in Vancouver New York has heard of the Incredible Hulk so it’s not really a team-up movie, at least not in terms of action set pieces. Hormann falls in love with DuBois, potentially complicating matters.

Can Bixby and Smith bond over their respective radioactive secrets and save her in time?

There’s very little for Bixby to do in Trial. Eventually, he plays big brother to Smith, who gets a whole “Daredevil Forever” arc in his first appearance, as Rhys-Davies is able to hit him in the ego. But until then, he’s got to stay busy in scenes with no plot arc for himself. Lots of small talk.

Smith’s got his whole potential series crew with him—love interest and law partner Nancy Everhard, Black guy who works at the office Richard Cummings Jr., Commissioner Gordon Joseph Mascolo, and then Hormann. Rhys-Davies clearly wasn’t showing up for every episode of “Daredevil,” and Hormann could be the stand-in. Apparently, the show would then feature the damsel-in-distress (so DuBois here) having to do multiple scenes being terrorized before Smith would rescue her.

DuBois gets a whole bunch to do. Multiple monologues about how shitty everyone is being to her even though she was the one who was almost raped. She gives one basically every fifteen minutes.

While DuBois is just okay—there’s nothing she can do with the part—she easily puts in the best work in the movie. Smith wants that series gig and tries hard, but no matter how game his performance, he’s bad. He’s sympathetic; he’s trying to make hash out of this terrible movie; still bad.

Trial is an arduous watch, except for counting Vancouver locations and plot holes. It’s not even fun for catching shots of Ferrigno in his Hulk booties. He’s always wearing them.

The morbidly curious might be interested in watching Bixby’s attempts at playing Fiege, but otherwise… beware.

The Terminator (1988) #7

T47 Despite The Terminator not offering much (if anything) in the way of entertainment, much less artistry, I’m still intrigued by the series. Like, where’s the bottom? This issue has a guest penciler, Robin Ator, who’s probably the series worst (so far). The script’s from Jack Herman, who’s written more issues than anyone else at this point (pretty sure). Jim Brozman’s back inking, which is an inglorious task. But the comic’s even more of a mess than usual.

At one point, Herman’s narration is talking about someone shooting a pulse rifle–or whatever the laser guns are called in Terminator—and Ator's very obviously just drawing a machine gun. Then there’s a scene where someone talks about how the neutron bomb has dropped. Neutron bomb? What? One of the amusing things about the Terminator franchise, in general, is how it went from eighties nuclear war paranoia and became an excuse to keep Arnold Schwarzenegger employed regardless of age, but The Terminator’s supposed to be based on that first movie, on that eighties nuclear war paranoia.

And it’s not a nuclear bomb anymore. It’s a neutron bomb.

This issue doesn’t feature any of the “regular” cast, though the letters page threatens their return. Instead, the comic opens with a couple of ne’er-do-wells saving a dog from a Terminator. There’s also no use of the “gators” term, which I remain convinced was the letterer confused about “nators.” There’s no continuity in the future.

Anyway. They’re able to save the dog, but then a wolf attacks one of them. Is there anything suspicious about the wolf? Definitely. Are we going to ignore all that obvious fishy stuff, even when a dog lover meets the wolf, even when the comic’s got omniscient third-person narration? Of course, we are because The Terminator’s a terrible comic book. There’s also some stuff about the apocalypse still being sexist and garbage. Most of the action is spent with this squad of soldiers, specifically their medic and teen sidekick–not the same teen or tween sidekicks from before–searching for food.

Ator’s composition is so bad letterer Kurt Hathaway can’t keep track of who’s speaking from panel to panel—colorist Rich Powers also doesn’t keep characters’ clothes consistently colored between panels, so I do get it—keeping track of The Terminator’s unrewarding enough as a reader, it must’ve been more so as a creative.

The comic’s predictable but not so predictable better art and scripting wouldn’t have greatly improved things.

It’s another lousy, shockingly inept comic. It also doesn’t have much lore—neither from the movie nor the previous issues—which makes every issue a perfect jumping-on (or off) point. Mostly off. But not me. I’m staying here locked behind the door.

Black Rain (1989, Ridley Scott)

Black Rain features one of the worst action movie fight scenes. It’s unnecessary—they could’ve just worked around it since participants Michael Douglas and Matsuda Yûsaku are bad at it, the fight choreography is terrible, and it manages to be the most embarrassing thing director Scott oversees in the film and Black Rain’s chock full of laughable acting, worse writing, and lots of racism.

But that fight scene.

Yikes.

The film—which, two-thirds of the way through, I realized—was supposed to be a Beverly Hills Cop sequel. But instead of Eddie Murphy cracking wise as he and Judge Reinhold travel through Osaka—Osaka City Cop?—it’s Douglas and Andy Garcia. They went out for a totally normal New York cop lunch—Douglas had just gotten railroaded by the “suits” in Internal Affairs (remember when media tried to convince the world Internal Affairs was more than enough), so he and Garcia have a drinking lunch. Now, Douglas is a tough guy cop. Garcia is the dapper, charming one. Garcia’s a lot of fun in Black Rain. He’s the only one who thinks it might be able to lead to something.

I mean, I’m sure Douglas thought he had a future as “the thinking man’s Stallone,” but he very much did not, and Rain shows why. Douglas has one-liners at the end of every scene. And he’s a dirty cop. Black Rain is about how we should like dirty cops. They’re the real heroes if you think about it. The dirty cop stuff should be the wildest the movie gets—but the racism is where it’s at. Multiple times in Black Rain, the movie pauses for Douglas to try to think of something racist to say, but then the script can’t think of anything, so he stammers out something silly. Then the nearest Japanese character has to acknowledge what Douglas said, agree with it, apologize for it, and prostrate themselves so Douglas can get in the shitty one-liner.

The film’s script, from Craig Bolotin and Warren Lewis, is garbage. Not just because it’s bad, racist, and fascist but because it doesn’t have a story. See, at their drinking lunch, Douglas and Garcia see eighties manga caricature Matsuda kill some guys. So they give chase—they’re hero cops, after all; the entire movie is about how they’re running to the next action scene. It’s silly but also might work with Murphy and Reinhold. They catch Matsuda and have to take him back to Japan. The exchange goes wrong, and Douglas and Garcia stay to show the stupid Japanese cops how it’s done.

At its best, Black Rain’s a good-looking vanity cologne commercial for Douglas. Jan de Bont and Howard Atherton’s photography is peerless. Rain’s gorgeous, even when it’s trying to say the Japanese are super-polluted and not chill like New York City. It’s one heck of a flex given Rain is one of those “let’s shoot New York like L.A.,” so Douglas is motorcycling around the city, often chewing gum.

Douglas is terrible. I mean, his heart’s in some of it. He delivers the racism from the diaphragm, but he’s utterly charmless. Garcia’s okay. Fun, likable. Okay. Takakura Ken is their Japanese cop sidekick. After being the brunt of Douglas’s jokes, he eventually becomes part of the gang, after prostrating himself to white savior Douglas.

Kate Capshaw’s the “love interest.” It’s a nothing role; she’s there to translate for Douglas and get him takeout, but Capshaw’s working way harder than the part deserves. You see her run out of script and direction and just wing it to try to find some meat.

Lousy music from Hans Zimmer. The Gregg Allman original song is terrible, though I do wish it were subtitled Michael Douglas’s Theme.

Good production design from Norris Spencer, who basically makes Osaka look as much like Blade Runner as he can. It’s a bad, unpleasant movie–I forgot, John Spencer’s bad in it, which is enough reason it should be avoided; John Spencer FTW—but the photography’s singular. Maybe it’s better muted.

It’s definitely better muted.

The Terminator (1988) #6

The Terminator 6 Truth be told, I have a hard time motivating myself with The Terminator. It’s not bad in peculiar ways related to the licensed property, and it doesn’t have some undiscovered talent doing fantastic work on it. But it’s had its moments. It’s also had irregular writers, with the original writer (and copyright holder on new characters in the indicia) Fred Schiller still not back and Jack Herman apparently the new series regular writer.

Herman had an interesting first couple of issues. He doesn’t have an interesting third. Instead, he’s got what appears to be an Arnold Schwarzenegger Terminator—only with a rat ponytail—interjecting himself into the main story. Except this issue isn’t really about the main story—the main story from issues one through three, before Herman came on the book and made it—temporarily—not uninteresting—chuck all that now, now… well, now, NOW Comics’s The Terminator is about to flex that license.

But not completely. Like, the Arnold Terminator doesn’t talk like Arnold. Everyone else in the comic talks, like Herman just watched James Cameron’s Aliens again—solid move—which is how The Terminator comic kicked off. Like they decided they were doing Terminator with Aliens Marines. Sure, why not. But it’s a little late now. Instead of just doing an Arnold Terminator in the series to start, they’ve waited until it appears desperate.

Also, in addition to it not sounding like Arnold, the Terminator doesn’t look much like him, either. Artists Thomas Tennessean and Jim Brozman draw the same three guys over and over again. If they’re lucky, the guys have facial hair, which can distinguish them. Except they’re rarely lucky, and all of them look like white guy resistance fighters in Aliens Marine gear.

This issue has numerous guys who look identical, sometimes shooting at each other, sometimes dying in each other’s arms. The issue’s about a team of… humans or Terminators (can we really tell—yes, yes, we can; it’s a bad comic, no subtexts here). But it’s about one team of guys trying to rescue a civilian from another team of guys. We’re pretty sure we know who’s the Terminators and who’s the humans, but then Herman will occasionally toss a red herring on the deck.

Are any of them good? Nope, not at all. And Herman seems to get it because Arnold zooms into the comic like anyone cares. He’s just a badass Terminator against a bunch of humans until he starts shit-talking them. That’s right… The Terminator is now about an Arnold Terminator with a grudge. Will Terminator get meta and have Arnold go after the license holders and the comic book creators?

One can only hope. But, surprisingly, I found something to be enthusiastic about. Terminator’s nowhere near rock bottom yet.

The Terminator (1988) #5

The Terminator 5 The Terminator, at least with writer Jack Herman steering the series… okay, it’s not good, but it’s not terrible. It’s not bad. While Herman never resolves the culturally appropriating white male Terminator who goes to the South American jungle and puts tribal markings on his fake(?) flesh to terrorize the locals, it’s at times thoughtful-ish sci-fi.

Like, there aren’t any Terminator: The Movie references and none of the Terminator’s behavior this issue requires continuity with the movie. The Terminator’s mission in South America is to build a giant machine to kill the rainforest faster so the humans all die more quickly. I suppose there’s actually a continuity problem because it means this part of South America is doing just fine in the post-nuclear holocaust of The Terminator. Is SkyNet out of nukes? It can’t figure out how to make more?

So many questions. But only when you consider the issue as a licensed property. As a comic about some isolated South American tribesmen running afoul of an invading metal monster and having to quest—to a research outpost—to save their tribe? It’s solid. There’s a not great “Terminator history but through hallucinating indigenous people, but it’s just slightly problematic, not disastrous. Herman puts in the work on his story.

The ending’s pretty cool, too, introducing the idea of The Terminator as an anthology series, checking in on the destroyed world. Much better than when they were doing “The Adventures of Kyle Reese’s Potential Acquaintances but Definitely No One from the Movie.”

Thomas Tenney and Jim Brozman’s art is the issue’s most significant drawback. They both put in some work, but it just doesn’t add up to much. Odder still is when they do visual nods to other comics; only those nods have better art than when they’re not doing nods. They focused their energies poorly. But, again, it’s a late eighties licensed comic from an indie publisher… the bar is low.

And while The Terminator isn’t of interest as a curiosity (it might still be), it’s far from narratively incompetent.

The Big Picture (1989, Christopher Guest)

At its best, which isn’t often, The Big Picture is a vaguely charming Hollywood satire about young director Kevin Bacon discovering making it isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. But also not. Because Picture skips over Bacon’s “making it” period, other than being a dick to best friend Michael McKean and driving a Porsche instead of a quirky AMC Gremlin. The AMC Gremlin has a lot of personality onscreen; unfortunately, the film never makes it feel like Bacon’s car. But Bacon’s real success, working with soulless Hollywood producer J.T. Walsh and his gang… not on screen. We see the build-up to it, but not the actual scenes.

Then it’s just fall out.

I’m not sure where Picture’s at its worst. Probably when Bacon runs out on girlfriend Emily Longstreth to hook up with starlet Teri Hatcher, only to discover Hatcher’s got a boyfriend (something the film never addresses again), then comes home and forces Longstreth to break up with him. Unfortunately, Bacon’s already got a paper-thin character, so it makes him unlikable for a long stretch. His eventual redemption won’t even come from within; the film will bring out one of the more successful—though not really successful—big swing performances to facilitate it.

Blaming Picture on Bacon’s too easy, though. He’s just playing the role as written.

Most of the time, Big Picture’s a toothless, tepid, inconsistent, lackadaisical mess. The hopefully intentional anti-climactic third act should give the film a lot of character, but Picture doesn’t have the cameos for it. Instead, it’s a Hollywood satire where the best they could do is Eddie Albert and Elliot Gould for cameos. And Gould’s co-star Jason Gould’s dad; the film oddly doesn’t address nepotism. Though there’s a lot it doesn’t address. Longstreth’s not Hollywood, so she’s okay. Bacon’s fellow film student Jennifer Jason Leigh’s too avant-garde for mainstream, so she’s not Hollywood. But the other women are all pretty terrible. Hatcher’s an unthinking succubus, Tracy Brooks Swope’s a soulless studio exec-wannabe, Fran Drescher’s a greedy wife.

Thank goodness Longstreth’s an angel of redemption. She’s also way too good for how the movie treats her. For the first act, she’s an accessory to Bacon in his scenes. In the early second half, during their breakup, she shows some personality, but then she ingloriously exits so Bacon can complete his move to the Dark Side.

It’s unclear if Picture forgets its subplots and supporting cast members or if it just didn’t have the budget for them. It’s a Hollywood movie where they’ve got limited time on the lot.

Again, since Bacon’s just playing the part as written—an Ohio farm boy who can’t be expected to be responsible or accountable when fame and fortune are in grasp—it’s not really his fault. He’s not believable as a film school wunderkind who desperately wants to make a Bergman movie, mainly because Big Picture doesn’t acknowledge he’s trying to make a Bergman movie (without having any insight into the subject, which is a whole other thing).

Longstreth’s fine. The part doesn’t let her be good. She’s outstanding a few times, especially in the movie fantasies Bacon occasionally has to pad time. He’ll imagine he’s in a noir or something. Bacon’s clearly miscast in the scenes, and Longstreth’s great in the one she gets to play in.

Speaking of miscast… poor Walsh. He’s an obviously capable actor in a part he’s entirely wrong for. The script doesn’t help him either.

Don Franklin’s legit good as his flunky. It’s too bad he doesn’t get more.

McKean’s sort of around as Bacon’s conscious for a while. He and wife Kim Miyori are expecting their first child, providing a contrast to Bacon’s pursuit of Hollywood success. McKean—who co-wrote—is the best of the main cast.

Hatcher’s fine as the succubus. Not her fault she’s one-dimensional. The movie asks a lot of Leigh, and she delivers most of it, but it needs her to be a magician, and Picture frequently proves magic isn’t real. Hollywood or otherwise.

Guest’s direction is middling. He relies on David Nichtern’s not quirky enough score too much for personality. Then when movie music becomes a plot point, Nichtern’s score is an obvious missed meta opportunity. Ditto Jeffrey Sur’s competent but unimpressive photography (McKean’s a cinematographer trying to make it, and Bacon promises he’ll take him along to Hollywood).

Martin Short’s got an extended uncredited cameo as Bacon’s agent. He’s the best thing in the otherwise bland Picture.

The Karate Kid Part III (1989, John G. Avildsen)

There’s no way to talk about Karate Kid Part III without, pardon the expression, kicking it while it’s down. There are no good performances, no good technical aspects, no interesting writing, nothing. Pat Morita doesn’t humiliate himself, mostly because he seems disgusted at the whole thing, which is at least understandable.

The film takes place sometime after Part II, with Morita and Ralph Macchio returning from Okinawa in time for Macchio to start college. However, Macchio doesn’t start college; instead, he takes his tuition and starts a bonsai shop for Morita. The bonsai shop is ostensibly Morita’s life’s dream, forgetting the last movie when he was going to bring his long-lost love back to the States with him. They don’t address that change—nor how his old rival was going to rebuild their village, something Morita apparently paid for somehow—but they do mention Tamlyn Tomita had something better to do than show up for Part III. Another Macchio love interest who leaves him hanging just when the next movie’s about to start.

It opens Macchio up for a not-romance with Robyn Lively, who’s somehow exceptionally bad but nowhere near as bad as most of the performances. There’s no romance because Lively’s too young in real life to have almost thirty Macchio groping her, even though she’s seemingly playing older than him on screen. Also younger than Macchio but playing older than him is main villain Thomas Ian Griffith. Griffith’s an old Vietnam buddy of Martin Kove, who’s only occasionally in the movie because he had a real job at the time.

Kove’s better than anyone besides Morita in the movie, including Macchio, but he’s still far from good. He’s just not cartoonishly absurd like Griffith and the other bad guys. Those other bad guys are the bad karate kids; well, Sean Kanan (holy cow, he got another job after this movie; don’t let anyone tell you white guys don’t fail upward) is a karate kid. Jonathan Avildsen (director Avildsen gave his son a part, and Avildsen fils is one of the worst actors to appear in a studio theatrical release ever) and William Christopher Ford are apparently the teenage boys wealthy industrialist Griffith keeps around his house for beating up during his karate practice.

The movie’s first hour is all about Macchio and Morita trying to get the bonsai shop off the ground, but Kanan keeps beating up Macchio to get him to sign up for a karate tournament. It’s part of Griffith’s revenge plan. Then, after the bad karate kids tell Macchio—amongst other things—they’re going to rape Lively, Macchio relents and agrees to the tournament fight. He ends up training with Griffith because Morita doesn’t think you should do karate just for a tournament. It’s unclear what Morita thinks they should do about Kanan terrorizing them, but since the whole bonsai shop seems like something Macchio forces Morita into… maybe it’s just no big loss.

Again, Morita’s not engaging with this movie. In a film with occasionally phoned-in performances (they couldn’t bring Randee Heller back for actual scenes, so she cameos during a phone call), it’s not a surprise.

Macchio and Lively talk a whole lot, jabbering their way through scenes; Part III has a risible script, but Avildsen’s direction’s even worse than Robert Mark Kamen’s writing, which is a feat. Avildsen’s composition is uninspired, tedious, and rarely even middling, but his direction of the actors is a film crime. Maybe Morita’s supposed to be mirroring Avildsen’s attitude.

Whatever.

Terrible Bill Conti score.

Karate Kid Part III’s the pits. It’s mostly just Macchio convincing everyone the first movie was a fluke, and franchising it was a terrible, terrible mistake.

Halloween 5 (1989, Dominique Othenin-Girard)

What is it with Halloween sequels and hospitals? This time it’s Danielle Harris spending most of the movie in the hospital. Sure, it’s officially a children’s clinic and appears to be shot in a converted house, but it’s still a Halloween movie where the lead damsel in distress is in a hospital bed. The plot decision may be a nod to the original Halloween II; Harris is playing Jamie Lee Curtis’s kid (Curtis wouldn’t be back to the franchise for another nine years, of course), so there could be some kind of analog between the two films and experiences.

Only, no, because even if director Othenin-Girard could come up with such a device, he couldn’t shoot it. And even if he could somehow shoot it, cinematographer Robert Draper wouldn’t be able to light it. And even if they managed to pull it off, Alan Howarth’s music would crap it out. Because there’s nothing good about Halloween 5, at least not in the filmmaking itself.

Harris is not bad. She’s effective. Because she’s a little kid, who’s being stalked by a giant, unkillable spree killer. Plus, her adoptive parents have abandoned her in the clinic since Harris tried killing the mom at the end of the last movie. End of the previous film, she succeeded; this one opens with a slight retcon. Mom survived but didn’t come back. So instead, adoptive sister—they call her a step-sister, which is weird—Ellie Cornell visits her a bunch, bringing along her super-cool late eighties friend, Wendy Foxworth. They’re possibly in high school. It’s never clear.

They’ve got a third friend, Tamara Glynn, and they’re all going to party at Cornell’s since her parents are out of town for Halloween and, therefore, the only intelligent people in the movie. Get out of town when it’s time for a new Halloween.

Foxworth and Glynn aren’t important except as potential targets for killer Michael Myers (played here by Don Shanks; it’s hard to tell if he’s doing a good job because the mask looks terrible and ill-fitting). Glynn’s got a dipshit boyfriend (Matthew Walker) who’s going as Michael Myers for Halloween, Foxworth’s got a dipshit boyfriend (Jonathan Chapin) who’s got a muscle car and is also named Michael. You know, in case a large part of the second act is going to be Shanks impersonating Chapin after stealing his muscle car. And then chasing Harris through a Christmas tree farm. With the image flipped, so he’s driving on the wrong side of the car. Because Halloween 5 is thirty years old and no one ever thought to fix one of the film’s goofs in the countless home video releases.

Harris doesn’t have the worst support system. For example, at the clinic, she’s got a nice friend in Jeffrey Landman, and nurse Betty Carvalho is good to her. But Donald Pleasence is apparently her attending psychiatrist, and he physically abuses her to force her psychic connection to killer uncle Shanks.

Halloween 5’s that odd combination of shitty and wrong. It’s a bad movie where they make poor creative choices.

Pleasence is risible. Halloween 5 definitely did not help his acting legacy. None of the teenagers are good. Cornell’s the best, then Foxworth, then everyone else is worse. Troy Evans is in it for a bit, and he’s actually good, which is weird. And Beau Starr is okay. He’s able to muscle through the trash script better than any of the other adults.

There’s a weird Die Hard connection with Carvalho and David Ursin appearing in the film; they both had bit parts in Die Hard. The movie also wants to treat Shanks’s Michael Myers like the Frankenstein Monster, opening with an “homage” to Bride of Frankenstein, then what appears to be a nod to the old blind man trope, but more from Young Frankenstein than anything else. Especially when there’s a “roll in the hay” moment.

It seems more likely it’s a coincidence since a Young Frankenstein deep cut seems beyond Halloween 5.

The only way this movie makes sense is if it were some intricate tax dodge or money laundering scheme. But, as a feature film, the badness is simply inexplicable.