Jim’s FABULOUS 80s Goldie Hawn Marathon!

Yes, we’re doing this.

THE AGENDA

No, “The Agenda” isn’t one of her movies, but it does sound like it. This is just my introduction, silly!

Ahem…

Most of the time, as a lifelong nerd, I’m committed to watching sci-fi, fantasy, thrillers, or action movies. Then sometimes, just sometimes, I need to indulge my camp side. You know, the side that enjoys having big, fat, sweaty cocks in its mouth. Not that nerds can’t be and aren’t gay, in fact, the more masculine the action movie, the gayer it is. But today is the day I truly indulge cock-sucking Jim. Now, I’m not sure whether Goldie Hawn is considered a “gay icon” or not, but she feels like one. She should be one. Plus, hey, she’s one half of everyone’s favourite enduring Hollywood couple, along with total nerd-bait Kurt Russell.

It seems that, in the 1980s, Hawn tried to turn herself into a sort of blonde, petite Woody Allen (who’s only curly haired and petite), with a handful of films about a character taking steps to overcome a major emotional life obstacle. I know that sounds like every movie, but Hawn’s approach was a little different. A little, well, blonde and petite, shall we say.

So, after planning this crazy spectacle for a few months now, I finally woke up this morning and quite reasonably said to myself: “Yes, today is the day I watch Private Benjamin, Wildcats, and Overboard one after the other!”. I’ve seen all of these films before, which is why I know I’ll enjoy myself, but it’s been awhile, so my thoughts on all three should be fairly fresh.

Right, let’s do this… 

PRIVATE BENJAMIN (1980)

“Now I know what I’ve been faking all these years!”

I really had to hold back my tears at the end of this movie. I forgot how powerful that final image of Hawn marching down a tree-lined drive, decked in a wedding dress, to freedom is. It’s an image that was burned into my life as a sensitive little boy, and it retains its power to this day. I also noticed, for the first time, that she eventually makes a right turn at the very end of the drive, which is clever.

Private Benjamin is, on one hand, a film about an independent spirit who decides to fight against being absorbed by her controlling family, which is a fight I’ve been making my entire life. Believe me, domineering personalities do not react well to the word “no”. Then, on the other hand, this is a film about a woman who has never been fucked properly, having spent her life subjugating herself to men and their needs. Actually, hey, there are loads of things you can read into this movie, which is one reason why it’s so great.

While certainly not depicting a realistic experience of army training, you soon realise that this isn’t really the point of what’s happening. You also realise that, by signing away your right to free citizenship, you’re not taking a step towards independence either. The point is that Judy Benjamin makes a choice for her needs. She also finally gets fucked properly, this time by Armand Assante AKA the handsomest man ever. I mean, who could turn down those eyes or that smile?!

While Judy’s march to freedom is indeed very powerful, the moment early on where she decides to stick with the army is mini-fist-pump worthy. Hawn’s acting in that scene is fantastic, and she’s able to convey so much thought and emotion with just those big eyes of hers. It’s no wonder this moment was picked as the defining image of the film, which features on posters and home media releases 44 years after its release.

 

The third act complication is Judy falling back on her old habits, which we can all do, therefore it serves as a cautionary tale to always be vigilant. Especially of people trying to dominate you. They never stop, you know, and an independent spirit must be prepared to fly again at any moment.

I don’t think I ever noticed how funny this film was, having most likely watched it passively whenever it’s been on television. I’m glad I finally paid proper attention, as there are numerous laugh-out-loud moments that are beautifully subtle. And some that aren’t so subtle.

I wasn’t too happy with Judy eventually blackmailing her way into a comfortable army desk job, but that served an important plot point. Sending her off to war would have gotten us nowhere, let’s face it. Again, the exact nature of her striving for independence isn’t really the point. It could have been the army or the local supermarket, the important thing is that it’s what Judy wants.

To this day, I sometimes wonder where Judy Benjamin went after turning right off that tree-lined drive. Perhaps I’ve passed her in the street at some point in my own life of hard-fought independence. Wherever she is, I’m sure she’s making the right choices for herself.

Oh and a big shout out to the late, great Eileen Brennan, who I can never get enough of. She should have gotten her own Will & Grace spin-off as cranky acting teacher Zandra. That she didn’t is one of life’s great tragedies.

Now, let’s get wild…

WILDCATS (1986)

“I always LET you have your way!”

Boy oh boy, was I not looking forward to this one. So, basically, this might be quite brief.

Out of the three films I’m watching today, I remember the least about Wildcats, to the point where I actually may not have seen it before. But I must have done, as, even for a film glorifying American football, I at least know of it. In fact, the film’s apparent subject matter is what was putting me off the most - sport. From my experience, the odd episode of a sitcom that feature a plot about sport are usually just the worst, as the pastime simply doesn’t make for good comedy or drama. Plus, the inclusion of drooling, knuckle-dragging sporting personalities, that the show’s writers and producers clearly just wanted to meet, drag such already-broken episodes down further.

This is personal.

Saying all that, Wildcats knows its audience and eventually won me over. While it starts off being about institutionalised sexism in the face of sporting ambition, Hawn’s character Molly overcomes this obstacle within the first half an hour or so, with the rest of the movie being about her battle for custody of her children over her ex-husband. This is where Wildcats returns somewhat to the theme of Private Benjamin, in which a man is attempting to manipulate a woman in order to control her life and career. It doesn’t get too dark, however, which I was grateful for, and ends with everyone compromising in order to get along.

You know, like how life actually works.

This film had more visual flare than Private Benjamin, with touches of director Tony Scott and editor Stuart Baird in there. Hey, it is an 80s movie, after all! In fact, if Baird had done some uncredited cutting on this project as a “film doctor”, which he is notable for, then I genuinely wouldn’t be surprised.

Wildcats is also the film with the most general 80s-vibe to it, signified in no better way than with Hawn’s dreadful hairdo. Honestly, you could have swapped her out for Meg Ryan halfway through and I’d never have noticed.

It was fun seeing some before-they-were-huge actors in Wildcats, including Woody Harrelson, Wesley Snipes, and some guy who calls himself “L L Cool J”. However, the surprise standout to me was Tab Thacker, who’s gentle, laconic drawl injected quirky energy into every scene he’s in. It’s a shame he died so young. It was also nice having M Emmet Walsh playing a sympathetic character for a change, rather than one of his usual slime-balls. Oh golly, I’ve just noticed he passed away only last month! How truly sad. I really thought he was going to outlive us all.

So, yes, for a film about the social dysfunction of worshipping a bunch of idiots who commit their lives to chasing after a ball, I was supremely charmed by Wildcats. I’m not against playing a sport, as exercise is healthy and good for one’s mood levels, but its the supporters and commentators, who treat it like a religion and an excuse for bad behaviour, that is what I loath very deeply. Seriously, it signifies what’s terminally broken at the heart of society. Someone once noted that, after studying statistics for the sake of annoyed curiosity, he found that studying game tactics, theory, and engaging in punditry, is all utter nonsense, as you’d get the same bet outcome average by simply tossing a coin.

That’s all I’m going to say on the matter.

RIP M Emmet Walsh.

OVERBOARD (1987)

“I’m a short… fat… slut!” 

Woo! Now this is a true classic to me, which I’m glad I now own a copy of. You see, I’m concerned distribution of it will eventually be withdrawn, due to the increasing conservative climate of our time. Creators such as Tina Fey and Cyndi Lauper are pulling or amending content so not to be mobbed by reactionary social media tyrants, so grab your own copy quick, folks, before we all sit down to Itchy and Scratchy chanting “Lemonade?” “Please!”.

Oh the deepest of sighs.

I was originally going to describe Kurt Russell’s character in Overboard as “morally ambiguous”, but there’s nothing ambiguous about his behaviour. It’s awful, but this is a work of fiction. A fairytale, if you will. So, if you’re the sort of person who throws their arms up in outrage at a work of fiction, then please just leave now.

You see, Overboard is a film about a woman who has spent her life being brainwashed by a family of cruel, selfish, isolated bigots, only to have her conditioning shattered by a simple man with a broken heart. Or, if you choose to be literal-minded, it’s a film about a woman who is kidnapped and raped by a sociopath out for petty revenge. I choose the former, since this is, after all, just a fairytale.

So, yes, while I’m aware of what the character of Dean Proffitt is guilty of, I’m choosing to enjoy a film about a woman who begins the story, before having amnesia, not who she is inside, then has her true self brought out by an extreme set of circumstances. Like the classic body-swap comedy Freaky Friday, Overboard could also be viewed as a transgender allegory, with the main character discovering their closeted identity as the film progresses. In the case of Overboard, it’s Goldie Hawn’s character Joanna who discovers that she’s really Annie, even though “Annie” is the pseudonym given to her while she has amnesia.

Does that make sense? Basically, pretend that posh-bitch Joanna is really the one with amnesia, with blue-collar Annie being the true person inside, struggling to escape.

There, that’s how suspension of disbelief works, people. Use it.

This is also a return to the theme of Private Benjamin, which begins with Hawn willingly subjugating herself to men, only to find that she is, in fact, a free spirit who secretly desires her own independence.

Boom! Callback.

I was surprised to see composer Alan Silvestri’s name appear in the credits, as this certainly isn’t the usual bombastic blockbuster he sets his music to. Did he lose a bet? You’d never guess it was him. I found cinematographer John A Alonzo’s colour palette a little too soft for my deteriorating eyesight, even though it was gorgeous. For example, I kept getting anxious during one intimate scene, as the camera kept cutting to what appeared to me to be an empty space, as if preempting a sinister arrival. But, as it turns out, the two actors talking were dead-centre of the frame, but my retinitis pigmentosa just wouldn’t let me see them. How embarrassing for me! Oh well, at least I’m pretty.

I think.

There were a few fun surprises that I hadn’t picked up on during previous viewings, in particular the ridiculous performance by Edward Herrmann as Joanna/Annie’s pompous husband Grant. The bit where he’s frolicking with beach bunnies and yelling: “I’m so virile! I’m so rich!” is hilarious. I mean WTF?! Elsewhere, I was concerned Roddy McDowall would be left in the shadows throughout, but he gets a nice emotional scene alone with Joanna/Annie towards the end, which I hope he didn’t have to fight for.

Did you know Andie MacDowell is not related to either Roddy or Malcolm?!

If you get that reference, please marry me.

The four boys of Russell’s character are adorable, and they get some joyously foul-mouthed dialogue to play with. I bet they loved that. And it’s nice that, while they start off as antagonists to Joanna/Annie, they end up rescuing her. Kurt himself steals the show, as always, which is why he’s a true King of the Nerds. May he never ever, ever stop being Mr Hawn. I wonder if they go on double-dates with Megan Mullally and Nick Offerman. That’d be cool, so let’s just pretend they do.

The final scene, where Silvestri’s rousing score finally gets to stand up straight, is quintessential schmaltz. I failed miserably to hold back my tears, which made it the perfect end to today’s perfect marathon of three genuinely perfect movies. I only wish I can experience storybook romance like that again before my time is up, but the outlook isn’t great.

ANY OTHER BUSINESS

Well, that’s all, folks. I’ve really enjoyed my time watching these three classic movies, and I encourage you to do the same. While they all share similar themes and, yes, the same lead actress, they all still manage to be satisfyingly different. It wasn’t quite the camp experience I was, for some reason, expecting, but I won’t be amending my rather crude introduction. After all, this was meant to recreate a live experience, with me writing each section as it happened.

Now, please excuse me, it’s been a long day and I have a Chinese takeaway to tuck into.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!

SUBTITLES OFF: Lone Wolf and Cub 6 (1974)

Or, more specifically, “Lone Wolf and Cub: White Heaven in Hell”, but I was concerned about running out of space in the post’s title form field.

But enough with semantics!

Yes, I’m back out of another week-long alcoholic slump (they’re getting more frequent and prolonged, which is of worryingly-mild concern to me), in order to bring you my thoughts on a foreign-language film that I’ve sat down to watch without the aid of an English dub or subtitles. Actually, the UK boxset of Lone Wolf and Cub doesn’t have an English dub, so that was out of the question anyway. As mentioned previously, my reasons for doing this are a) my deteriorating eyesight makes reading subtitles a slow and frustrating process b) I actually find hearing people talk without knowing exactly what they’re saying quite relaxing and c) I’m curious to see, and I use the term “see” very loosely, whether a director can inform their audience through visually storytelling alone.

I’ve been dipping in and out of this particular series for a few years now, and have mostly enjoyed myself. Unfortunately, they’re very much a product of the 1970s, which was the decade that style and taste forgot. Thankfully, it was a decade I only spent four months in, and even then I was safely inside the tummy of someone else (who actually passed away recently). To be brutally honest, the 70s appeared dour as I looked back on it from the 80s, and it still looks dour as of 2024. What on Earth happened?! I’m guessing the carefree hippies of the 60s were too stoned to care about colour schemes long into the 70s, then only remembered to start making the effort again once their heads finally cleared in the 80s and they found themselves inexplicably lumbered with offspring to create a visually-pleasing world for.

Pause for breath!

Anyway, enough sociology… what do I think Lone Wolf and Cub: White Heaven in Hell was all about?!

Well, as with the first five instalments, it appears to follow a disgraced ronin, wandering feudal Japan, with the deposed infant emperor he refused to execute. I think. That’s my general gist. As each instalment progresses, and it seemed to be the way with this final one too, our tubby, sweaty, monosyllabic hero is sneaked upon by a motley crew of sword-wielding assassins, who are only to be slashed, stabbed, mutilated, or gunned down by their would-be victim.

Yup, that’s pretty much it.

White Heaven in Hell seemed to feature a unique mystical element though, with our lead villain, a cross between Snake Plissken and Santa Claus, raising samurai, or perhaps dispatched villains from previous instalments, from the dead.

Right, time to read an online synopsis and find out what really happened…

…hang on…

Oh, no, the kid is actually our hero’s son. Give me a break, it’s been a year, at least, since I’ve even thought about this series. And he was an executioner, not a samurai. And nobody was raised from the dead. Okay, hands up who went red with anger as I got all of it wrong.

Aww, poor baby.

Well, the machinations of the villain now seem rather superfluous, and certainly didn’t affect my enjoyment of what was happening. Overall, thanks mainly to the aforementioned ugly period of their production, these films have been rather uncomfortable to watch. However, this final instalment, along with the first, transcend the times to become real highlights, and probably worth watching solely together (?) as a double bill.

Or “double feature”, I’m not here to translate my nonsense for you.

Mercifully, the makeup artist has finally learned about powdering actors so they don’t glisten so grotesquely, and the filming of exteriors makes you actually want to visit Japan on holiday. The previous films all did to their country of origin what Don’t Look Now did to Venice.

The climactic battle in snowy mountains, which reminded me of a James Bond movie, is simply stunning. We even get a sleigh chase! Japanese assassins sword-fighting on fucking sleighs, dude! Come on! Now that’s entertainment. Even though the law of diminishing returns set in a long time ago, White Heaven in Hell still keeps you concerned for its protagonist. And this is, like, the sixth army he’s faced down, single-handedly, and walked away from with mewling brat in tow.

Sorry, but I’m not giving you a spoiler alert for a fifty year old film.

I’m glad I finally made it to the end, but I’m also sad that it’s all over. It was nice to see father smile and show some affection towards son, at last, rather than the film relying on tragedy to end things, so that’s  cheered me up. I’m sure there’s more to be said, but, like the titular Lone Wolf himself, I feel as though brevity, and quick reflexes, are all I need here right now. But, hey, the internet’s a big place, filled with much more complex and comprehensive opinions than my own booze-damaged ramblings can possibly muster.

Go! Learn! Love! Be free! And paint the white snow with the red blood of your enemies!

Actually, no, don’t do that last thing I said.

I believe I’m legally obligated to make that assertion.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!

Troy (2004) - film review

It’s hard to describe in words how little interest I had in the numerous copycats following Ridley Scott’s 2000 historical epic Gladiator, including Scott’s own Kingdom of Heaven, but, well, let’s just say that you’d have more luck making an actual friend on social media nowadays than finding my interest. Then again, around the early-to-mid-2000s, I’d sort of given up on movies anyway, so there was a lot I missed in general. Since my patience in such epics has increased as I’ve gotten older, I’ve started playing catch-up, and actually found myself somewhat entertained.

I could really end this review on the phrase “somewhat entertained” and my job would be done, but I’lll plough on a little longer.

So, yes, the pedigree of this surprising box office success wasn’t great. I mean, Wolfgang Petersen was a very skilled director, sure, but no great artist; Orlando Bloom hurts my face like a broken bottle; and Brad Pitt is off-putting simply due to his being a staple of gossip columns. The latter isn’t his fault though, in fact I always enjoy Pitt in whatever he does. He has what I call “The Schwarzenegger Effect” - a terrible actor with a mischievous twinkle in their eye that makes them endlessly watchable. Indeed, for being the thing that put me off the most about this movie, Pitt keeps it afloat.

Much like the thousand ships that Diane Kruger’s dullness launches.

Sorry, Diane, I’m sure you’re a lovely person, but you’re just kinda there in this movie.

As I’m sure is the case with most reviewers, I’m unable to compare this film to Homer’s Iliad, as I simply haven’t been able to get through it yet. I do try every now and then though, in fact I’ve just found a nice audiobook version read by Anthony Heald, which I recommend. Still, the tale of the fall of Troy has been knocking around for 3,000 years now, so we all know the basic beats. Saying that, I did feel like I was watching the third part of a trilogy before catching the first two. I think they were purposefully avoiding dumping too much exposition on the audience, but this is a rare example of where a little more exposition would have been great. Instead, this final product (perhaps it was all better explained in the screenplay, so I’m not going to blame the credited writer) requires you to be invested in characters and situations without giving you a reason to care. Characters keep ominously talking about going off to war with Troy, but, as an audience, we don’t know where Troy is, where the city sits within the geopolitical arena of the day, or what it mans to go off to war with it. Again, it feels like we’re being unhelpfully dropped into the third act of a larger story.

I suppose the problem is, well, what are you supposed to actually say about the city of Troy?! We’re still, to this day, not even 100% sure Troy, or Ilium, even existed. Archaeologists have found the ruins of a city in Turkey that matches Homer’s description, but they’ve yet to find an inscription carved in stone on one of the buildings that reads: “HERE BE THE FAMOUS CITY OF TROY THAT YOU’VE ALL HEARD OF AND THEY MADE A SO-SO BRAD PITT MOVIE ABOUT”. There aren’t even any explicit mentions of Troy in the abundance of documentation we’ve found from that period, although scholars have theorised the city went by numerous names. So, yeah, what do you say about a city that may or may not have existed and, apart from a tale sung by a traveling bard millennia ago, seemed to make no impact on the bustling international community around it?! The solution this film comes up with is to say nothing at all. I think they were relying on the success of Lord of the Rings around the time of Troy’s release to help its audience get the general idea. So, instead of “Frodo’s going off to Mordor”, we have “Brad Pitt’s going off to Troy”. I guess going off to Troy is bad, is it? I dunno, but Julie Christie seems slightly concerned for him. 

Not to worry though, as Troy the film is buoyed by a handful of marvellously hammy performances that elevate it above being merely 3 hours of tedious battle scenes. In fact, it becomes a strangely riveting soap opera which, much to my surprise, I found myself wanting to savour for as long as possible. Seriously, I made a point of spreading my viewing over 3 days, as I just didn’t want it to end. I may even watch it again quite soon. One significant element that I think helped, was that I was never too sure who to root for. Normally, this would be a problem, but that moral ambiguity kept my interest throughout all the pouting and gratuitous man-meat. Due to the dual drippiness of the insipid Bloom and Eric Bana, I actually wanted Brian Cox and Brendan Gleeson to kick their skinny little arses. Gleeson’s hand-to-hand confrontation with Bloom is a thing of absolute joy. I’m honestly never sure whether to be terrified of Gleeson or to cuddle him. What a beautiful teddy bear of a man he is! The fury in his eyes as he bears down on Bloom’s wet fop is wonderful, and one of the film’s true highlights. Especially if, like me, you curse Peter Jackson for poisoning the art of cinema with Bloom’s presence.

I’d apologise for being mean, like I did with Kruger, but I just can’t bring myself to.

Cox seems to know exactly what nonsense he’s in, so chews the scenery with aplomb. The screen mercifully bursts into flames every time he appears, and his Agamemnon roaring: “Burn it! Burn it!” towards the end provoked giggles of glee from me. It’s such a shame he shares his name with that obnoxious pop-scientist. Actor Cox certainly has more to do here than Peter O’Toole, who is rather underused. As is Sean Bean, but I suppose he was holding out for the sequel that never came.

Which is the real tragedy here.

While I think I’ve heard of Rose Byrne, I don’t appear to have seen her in anything before. Pty, as she’s great in this, and I’m sure anyone who has seen Troy, be they man, woman, gay, or straight, will have fallen in love with her cherubic features too. Her standout performance is no mean feat either, considering she pulls focus from Kruger’s not-worth-the-war Helen.

The version of Troy I watched was the 2007 Director’s Cut, but I honestly couldn’t tell which scenes one would cut for a shorter theatrical release, which I’m taking as a positive. Everything felt necessary, even though I actually wanted more. And that’s what I took away mostly from Troy in the end - a sense that, while I hadn’t just experienced high-art, the sheer epic melodrama and charisma of its mostly-charming ensemble made it a sincere pleasure to finally sit down to.

Now, let’s have a prequel and that Odyssey sequel, please!

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!