Paris, Texas (1984)

Paris, Texas (R)

"Been through the Desert..."

Sometime in the past, in a class or in a text book or on the internet, I had heard of this film. At some point whose memory is dark and cloudy it had ended up in my watch que and finally ended its journey at my home, on my television. Such was the fate of Paris, Texas, and I couldn't be more satisfied that it did. The performances, the colors, the mood, the emotions, the

direction. A German sensibility of design and efficiency, a European point of view on the American family and society, a completely human tale bereft of action or excitement so riveting and captivating I could hardly take it, a movie that lives and breathes forever. A literal work of art, the dusky hushed landscapes of the plains settled by our fore bearers, where we were conceived and where we now live. That is Paris, Texas. I only wish I had seen it in a small theater with the projector whirring softly below the sharp acoustic guitar soundtrack as this film in its dust colored boots meandered slowly by off to parts unknown on roads well worn.
I have rarely seen, and perhaps will never see, it's like again.

10 good ole Chevys out of 10 (OUTSTANDING)

The Hills Have Eyes Part 2 (1984)

The Hills Have Eyes Part 2 (R) - Review

"But the Director Doesn't"

No apparently they don't, they don't have eyes. Which makes them lucky ones since they'll never be able to watch this abysmal sequel about a group of bikers who return to the high desert where their friends were attacked by inbred cannibals 8 years earlier.  The film is half finished, cobbled together with loads of footage from part 1 into a  jumbled mess of lazy long flashbacks jumbled with new scenes so bad you'll wish they'd go back to flashbacks, a sick loop of incestuousness rarely scene in cinema.  The only stylistic connection to the original is the halfhearted Rubegoldberg ending that ends up so hamfisted it ends up tacky with burnt honey glaze.

Unlikeable characters, unforgivable plotting and unflattering camera work, they all scratch the chalkboard with such dull stupid fingernails that it is little wonder Wes Craven disowned the director credit to the film.  With his blossoming Nightmare on Elm Street franchise ringing in the same year, Craven must have felt like a man on death row who just recieved a career reprieve at the midnight hour.

1.5 Even The Freaking Dog Has A Flashback!?!?s out of 10 (AWFUL)

Talking Heads: Stop Making Sense (1984)

Talking Heads: Stop Making Sense (NR) - Review

"Big suit, small pretentions."

David Bryne and the Talking Heads, premiere sociological  rock bands of the 1980s, put on an outstanding concert on a dark stage, considered one of the best live music films of all time.  The production slowly builds, starting with Bryne performing Psycho Killer alone on stage with just a boom box and guitar, and as each new song begins another member of the band joins them onstage (which is also continuously forming). The set is bareboned, making the performances by the musicians that much more important, the music that much more poignant. A simple, eclectic viewback into a true art form from the 1980s, Stop Making Sense makes a clear case for postmodern socially concsious rock'n'roll, and as Bryne puts it:
"as we get older and stop making sense/you won’t find her waiting long"

8 Oversized Armanis out of 10 (GREAT)

Purple Rain (1984)

Purple Rain (R) - Review

"More Frills Per Minute"

It is the 1980s in the Midwest, dueling Funk Rock bands are on the scene.  The nefariously cheesy Morris Day and his diabolical Time are trying to make it big at the expense of the rakishly dashing Kid (played by Prince) and his band The Revolution.  Minneapolis is a happening place, but the Kids popularity is on a down curve.  He rides around in cuffs and tails on his big purple motorcycle while his bandmates creativity feels stifled by the Kids sensitive under appreciated artist routine.  He is such a tortured artist that he still lives at home with his parents, who practice routine spousal abuse just to keep the angst up.  When the beautiful Appolonia comes to town to become a big star and falls for our effeminate manbeast, tensions arise and songs are sung.

Purple Rain is by no means a great film.  Coming a hairs breadth away from nonsensical, the typical under dog plot moves generously along to its ultimate glistening conclusion.  The visuals range from upstage band lighting to "oops we forgot to turn the lights on".  The unprofessional acting and obvious improv keep the scenes barely afloat.  The emotional twists throughout the film are laughably sudden and reek of WTF-did-I-just-see? The climax (hah) where he literally ejaculates his music out unto his adoring fans had me laughing out loud (due to its audacity, stupidity or absurdity I'll never know).

The movie however was made to highlight the mystique and music of Prince, and here Purple Rain succeeds loudly.  The fashions, the attitudes, the synth sounds and the eye makeup all scream up from our past.  Unlikely misogyny and long sweaty looks at Prince and from Prince fill the lens; this is a movie for fans to worship their poprock deity while he playacts some nonsense about falling in love and not selling out and keeping his folks alive and right up until the final number being an unrecognized musical genius.  Beautiful women, good editing (and music video montage) and chest out vamping can't completely make up for its innate amaturity in scripting construction and acting.  In the end its a fun staring contest with the sex Prince himself, which is what the movie was made for.  Who will blink first?

6.5 Hoop Earrings out of 10 (GOOD)