Paul Schrader

 

 

Hardcore (1979) – 3 stars

American Gigolo (1980) – 3 stars

Cat People (1982) – 2 ½ stars

Light Sleeper (1992) – 3 ½ stars

Auto Focus (2002) – 3 stars

This week, I watched 5 Paul Schrader films (so you don’t have to?).  I suppose my (half-hearted) mission was to see whether the acclaimed Taxi Driver (1976) screenwriter could be considered an auteur or not.  He’s certainly directed a lot of films, between Blue Collar (1978) which is actually really good (with Richard Pryor, Harvey Keitel, and Yaphet Kotto – reviewed on my blog) and his most recent release Oh Canada (2024), which I haven’t seen. Mishima (1985) and First Reformed (2017) are also recommended, as is Affliction (1997) which I haven’t rewatched since then.  The above list makes it seem that Schrader is consistently releasing solid work across many decades but alas my snapshot of films across 3 decades suggests it is not true.  

Hardcore (1979) his second film finds George C. Scott heading from Michigan to L. A. to find his daughter who has apparently run away to make porno films. This gritty shot-on-location is typically described as reflecting Schrader’s upbringing in a puritanical Dutch Calvinist church community, with Scott portraying the judgmental scornful Christian that Schrader was socialised to be. The film doesn’t hold back from the sleaze and seems to want to show some affection toward some of its lost characters but is instead seems to pity them, even while displaying a voyeuristic tendency that might actually be one of Schrader’s auteur trademarks if we grant him that status.  

The next film moves from gritty (Blue Collar and Hardcore) straight into sleek and stylish with Richard Gere on display as the titular American Gigolo (1980) and Giorgio Moroder’s electronic variations on Blondie’s “Call Me” (which he cowrote) pulsing on the soundtrack.  Gere is Schrader’s existential loner -- and this is the first film in his “Lonely Man” trilogy, where he takes inspiration from Bresson’s Pickpocket (1959).  Schrader wrote a classic book about Transcendental Film that focused on Bresson, Ozu, and Dreyer.  But try as I might, I just couldn’t see this film as transcendental.  Gere forms a bond with a senator’s wife (Lauren Hutton) from whom he accepts no money and she is his only solace when he is framed for a murder, possibly by his pimp.  It isn’t bad but it isn’t good (Hector Elizondo is interesting as the homicide detective, even if the rest of the acting is boring). 

Up next: Cat People (1982), inspired by the 1942 Val Lewton/Jacques Tourneur classic but by no means a remake.  Natassja Kinski and Malcolm McDowell are literally descendents of half-cat, half human ancient entities who transform into animals if they have sex with anyone outside of their species and must kill in order to return to human form.  Despite Kinski prowling around naked, the film is nearly stultifying, even if John Heard gives it his best shot as a New Orleans zookeeper. Is anybody lonely? Maybe, since they are estranged from their species.  Moroder hardly uses Bowie’s theme music at all.  Did I mention these two films were produced by Jerry Bruckheimer? Enough said.  

Fast forward 10 years to Light Sleeper (1992) starring Willem Dafoe as another lonely man, this time a drug dealer working for Susan Sarandon.  He’s finally gotten clean and thinking about his future since Sarandon wants to get out of the business.  A run in with an ex-lover throws him out-of-sorts.  This film is a step up from the others but often feels artificial – is it a thriller, is it arthouse, it isn’t sure.  Dafoe carries it with his artistry (and we get another jailhouse scene from Pickpocket to boot). 

Dafoe does appear in a few Schrader films throughout the years and he also brings his talent to Auto Focus (2002) which returns us to a very sleazy world in this biopic of Bob Crane from Hogan’s Heroes (played by Greg Kinnear).  Crane’s interest in perving was aided and abetted by electronics expert John Carpenter (Dafoe) who introduced him to videocameras, VCRs, homemade pornography and swinging.  Crane himself doesn’t feel like one of Schrader’s lonely men but there must be a void he’s trying to fill with all this smut.  It’s a true story and Crane was murdered, probably by Carpenter.  Dafoe keeps it creepy and Schrader is back to his judgmental/voyeuristic push-pull act.  You kind of can’t look away.  

So, where does this leave us?  If I fold in half-formed memories of First Reformed, Affliction, Mishima, and newer films like the Card Counter (2021), it sort of does feel that Schrader should be granted auteur status.  However, the problem is likely that he isn’t a very good or consistent director or is too much subjected to the commercial needs of his producers (or his own poor instincts).  The themes may be there but too many of the films are average or worse.  Still, he does manage to find more acorns than a blind squirrel might.

 

Liquid Sky (1982)

 ☆ ☆ ☆

Liquid Sky (1982) – S. Tsukerman

Rather strenuously outré, boho, taboo-breaking although not exactly in a comic vein like Waters but more straight-faced like Warhol/Morrissey (or perhaps it seems that way because it is set in Manhattan). It’s also a one-off early ‘80s curio that is now a time capsule for a scene that’s gone (weird fashion, spare angular music). Aliens in a tiny flying saucer arrive on the roof of a model’s building (she lives in a very art-decorated but also somehow trashy penthouse). According to a wandering scientist, they seek heroin (and there are a lot of junkies in this film) but soon they discover that chemicals in the brain during orgasm are even better and they start abducting (or maybe absorbing) people having sex.  The model at the nexus of all this (Anne Carlisle) also plays another male model (which results in some tricky camerawork/staging). But let’s face it, the plot is totally besides the point here and instead you get a melange of drug use, sex, sweary ranting, Altered States styled computer animation/modification, dancing, glow-in-the-dark make-up, and attitude, mixed with some boring dialogue scenes.  It probably doesn’t quite add up (and could be confronting) but it is certainly a thing to behold.

 

48 Hrs. (1982)

 ☆ ☆ ☆

48 Hrs. (1982) – W. Hill

Eddie Murphy’s first film role, as a thief serving a three-year sentence who is given a weekend pass to help rogue cop Nick Nolte capture a murderous prison escapee.  To be honest, he isn’t particularly funny here. But as directed by Walter Hill, the whole film is actually a somewhat dour affair. (Perhaps it is Beverly Hills Cop, 1984, that is more fun?)  The film starts with a series of rather brutal cop killings (with only Nolte escaping) and then proceeds to try to introduce elements of the buddy film.  The lack of political correctness here – back in 1982 – makes the film feel pretty dated, pretty fast.  To their credit, Murphy and Nolte do bring charisma to what otherwise is a pretty average thriller, wrapping up in 90 minutes or so, basically a hunt for the killers on the streets of San Francisco with little time for additional character development (or characters).  Average at best.

 

Ladies and Gentlemen, The Fabulous Stains (1982)

 ☆ ☆ ☆

Ladies and Gentlemen, The Fabulous Stains (1982) – L. Adler

The milieu alone (punk rock shows) makes this film worth a look, despite the lack of consistency in the characterisations and the grafted-on ending. Diane Lane is a rebellious teen who forms a band (The Stains) with her sister Marin Kanter and cousin Laura Dern and joins a cross-country tour in support of an aging metal band and younger British punk rockers (which include ex-Sex Pistols Steve Jones and Paul Cook and Clash bassist Paul Simonon) fronted by Ray Winstone.  All of the known actors are impossibly young here.  With her bold style (skunk hair) and attitude, Lane inspires an army of young female followers who elevate the band to headliners, much to the chagrin of Winstone (who is also her romantic interest).  Somehow though the tour manager convinces the Stains to completely monetise their brand by selling cheaply made merchandise – this seems to betray the Lane character’s initial drive for fan solidarity and identification. To make things worse, there’s an MTV styled coda that shows The Stains in the future as successful pop-rockers with mainstream looks.  Apparently, Lou Adler (Saturday Night Live) added this after poor audience feedback, leading writer Nancy Dowd (Slapshot) to disavow the film.

Tootsie (1982)

 

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Tootsie (1982) – S. Pollack

Of course, there is an inescapable datedness about Tootsie but this lies more in the fashions, music, cinematography, and art direction than in the gender relations at the heart of its plot.  In fact, the central conceit that Dustin Hoffman becomes a better man as a function of spending time as a woman holds up just as well today as in 1982.  This is precisely because the burdens of being a woman (unwanted sexual attention and patronising treatment by men, additional requirements for make-up and body maintenance, etc.) have not changed.  Hoffman learns about these things when he decides to dress in drag to land the part of a hospital administrator on a soap opera, going from Michael Dorsey to Dorothy Michaels.  Perhaps the only sour note is the implication that Jessica Lange, another actress on the soap who is in a relationship with the director who treats her badly, can learn something from the empowered Dorothy who stands up for women’s rights on the set (the problem is that it seems to take a man in drag to take action whereas the actual women here, including friend Teri Garr, are more submissive).  But aside from this, the movie is surprisingly good natured, even when Jessica Lange thinks that Dorothy is a lesbian or when the various available older men (Charles Durning, George Gables) make their plays for Dorothy and she/he wants to resist. We don’t get slapstick here but something more genuine.  Even Bill Murray, as Hoffman’s roommate, plays things straight with only a handful of witty one-liners (apparently improvised), a sign of things to come. All told, although I hesitated when the film began with nary a laugh in sight, sticking it out proved to be worth it for the wider arc and message of the story.  

 

Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan (1982)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan (1982) – N. Meyer

Possibly I hadn’t seen this one since 1982, but by all reports it was the best of the O. G. Star Trek movies.  However, let’s begin by acknowledging that the TV series itself was better than the films – if you haven’t watched enough of Gene Roddenberry’s original creation (especially perhaps the episode “Space Seed” to which this film is a sequel), then a lot of the nostalgic nods to the past won’t make much sense.  So, the film takes place later in time, when the main characters, Captain Kirk (Wm Shatner), Mr Spock (Leonard Nimoy), Dr Bones McCoy (DeForest Kelley), Mr “Scotty” Scott (James Doohan), Mr Sulu (George Takei), Mr Chekov (Walter Koenig), and Ms Uhura (Nichelle Nichols), are now older and involved in more senior roles for Star Fleet Academy – Kirk is an Admiral, Spock is a Captain and head of Training, and so on.  When they are all on board the Enterprise for a training mission, they are suddenly called away to help a distant space station (which is home to Kirk’s ex and her son as well as a secret new terraforming device that destroys everything before it creates new life).  However, on the way there, they are waylaid by an old enemy who has been recently freed from his prison: yes, Khan, played with great zeal by Ricardo Montalban.  Montalban is the main reason to watch this film!  That said, the plot is probably more exciting than that of the other O. G. films (which I hardly remember) and one of the main characters does die!  (Cue the sequel).  To conclude:  watching the original series would be a better dose of nostalgia for those who want it. 

E. T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

E. T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982) – S. Spielberg

I was already too old in 1982 to appreciate this film aimed at younger kids but I thought it might be the right time for Amon (aged 7), so we checked it out.  Turns out that I didn’t have much memory of it at all (although what little I had was probably jogged by our visit to the movie’s ride at Universal Studios Florida a couple of years back).  As you probably know, the film takes place in one of those nondescript California suburbs and centres on a single mum’s household and principally her youngest son, Elliott (Henry Thomas), who discovers an alien in their pool shed.  This alien is friendly and adorable and a quick learner.  When Elliott’s older brother and younger sister are in on the secret, they all discover that E. T. is keen to go back to his home planet (he was left behind when they scrambled to escape from the Feds) and they help him to create a communication device from some household items.  But soon the Feds have figured out where E. T. is and the jig is up; in fact, after staying out all night waiting for his friends, E. T. is in no condition to escape.  Amon had to “push the tears back up into his face” at this moment and I confess that I felt a bit weepy too.  But of course it all works out fine in the end and John Williams sweeping score carries us (and E. T.) home.  As a critical viewer, it was all a bit too sentimental for me but I’ll admit that Spielberg does seem to capture the spirit of childhood (wonder, adventure, naughty words and all) and Amon enjoyed it. 

Poltergeist (1982)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

Poltergeist (1982) – T. Hooper

Better than I expected (after all these years) but still an uneasy mix of Spielberg’s childlike wonder and fantasy and Hooper’s dread.  Fortunately, the dread comes through despite the attempts to smother it with schmaltz.  And surely this is streets ahead of other films in this horror sub-genre (The Amityville Horror, Paranormal Activity, etc.).  JoBeth Williams and Craig T. Nelson live in a new-ish suburban development with their three kids.  About 30 minutes into the film, one of them (5-year-old Carol Anne) is sucked into some sort of void (bi-location) inside the house and the rest of the film is about how to get her back.  They can communicate through the TV (but only when it is showing white noise).  A group of paranormal investigators is brought in and they begin to discover the nature of the problem (which is fairly ridiculous, almost a MacGuffin).  A highlight is a visit by psychic Tangina (Zelda Rubinstein), spooky enough in her own right.  Of course, the special effects are over-the-top and pretty good for 1982.  But I couldn’t help thinking that if you dialled back the “over-production” by a few notches, this could have been a really scary and downright creepy affair (rather than a blockbuster, I suppose).  Worth revisiting.    

The Draughtsman’s Contract (1982)

☆ ☆ ☆ ½

The Draughtsman’s Contract (1982) – P. Greenaway

Director Peter Greenaway’s first big success takes place in 1694 in the time of William and Mary of Orange at a posh estate in Kent.  Mr. Neville (Anthony Higgins) is commissioned to make 12 drawings of the estate in 12 days by the lady of the house (Janet Suzman) who wishes to use the drawings as gifts to secure a rapprochement with her husband, the lord of the manor, who has departed to Southampton for a fortnight.  In order to ensure that the light remains the same, Neville sits at the same time of the day for an hour or so in 12 different locations around the estate.  He claims to only paint “what he sees” and not “what he knows”, so he includes everything that happens to be found within the frame (despite warnings to the resident noblemen and women and their servants to vacate each successive location).  In way of payment for the drawings, the draughtsman’s contract requires £8 per drawing and a daily sexual tryst with the lady of the manor.  So, he is a rascal and he manages to endear himself to the women in the house (including the lady of the manor’s married daughter) but antagonise the men.  Aside from the draughtsman himself, all of the characters wear the most outlandish (and tall) wigs as well as pompous finery of the era.  Greenaway, a trained artist, supplied the drawings himself and also uses his painter’s eye to frame each (mostly static) shot of the film, save for a few slow travelling shots (that presage his later work in The Cook, The Thief, His Wife, and Her Lover, 1989, as I recall it).  There are some strange elements to the film (a living nude statue, for example), that may have been properly explained in the original 3 hour cut of the movie.  But more intriguingly, the film also poses a mystery of sorts for viewers to figure out – “extra” items that appear in the drawings suggest that the lord of the manor has been murdered (and soon his body does turn up).  I may not have been vigilant enough to figure this out or the British accents ultimately befuddled me, but there is a twist of sorts at the end that I won’t spoil here.  Suffice it to say that the film is a bemusing art object (with pulsating Michael Nyman score) rather than a gripping thriller and I suspect that Greenaway is not everyone’s cup of tea (but he is at his most mild here).   

Dead Men Don’t Wear Plaid (1982)

☆ ☆ ☆

Dead Men Don’t Wear Plaid (1982) – C. Reiner

It’s ridiculous to see Steve Martin inserted into old films noir, playing against the likes of Alan Ladd, Humphrey Bogart, Ava Gardner, and Barbara Stanwyck – and that’s the point.  However, there aren’t as many belly laughs as one would hope (although the “cleaning woman” bit makes a good plot device).  Martin is a private dick and Rachel Ward is his client/love interest.  The plot was sewn together by finding suitable clips from a dozen movies (The Killers, Double Indemnity, Lost Weekend, Notorious, etc.) and then fitting a story in between.  It mostly works – or as they say in the production notes, it isn’t as confusing as The Big Sleep (which isn’t saying much).  Everyone plays it straight, except for a streak of goofiness throughout (of course).  Carl Reiner directs and plays a small part, but this was clearly a labor of love for him. He also assembled some veterans of the noir era:  the soundtrack is by Miklos Rozsa and the costumes are by Edith Head.  Classy, except it’s not.