What happens when two hustlers hit the road and considered one of them suffers from narcolepsy, a snooze disorder that causes him to suddenly and randomly fall asleep?
“Deep Cover” is many things at once, including a quasi-male love story between Russell and David, a heated denunciation of capitalism and American imperialism, and ultimately a bitter critique of policing’s impact on Black cops once Russell begins resorting to murderous underworld methods. At its core, however, Duke’s exquisitely neon-lit film — a hard-boiled genre picture that’s carried by a banging hip-hop soundtrack, sees criminality in both the shadows and the Sunshine, and keeps its unerring gaze focused on the intersection between noir and Blackness — is about the duality of id more than anything else.
It’s easy for being cynical about the meaning (or lack thereof) of life when your work involves chronicling — on an annual basis, no less — if a large rodent sees his shadow at a splashy event put on by a tiny Pennsylvania town. Harold Ramis’ 1993 classic is cunning in both its general concept (a weatherman whose live and livelihood is decided by grim chance) and execution (sounds negative enough for at some point, but what said working day was the only working day of your life?
In her masterful first film, Coppola uses the tools of cinema to paint adolescence being an ethereal fairy tale that is both ridden with malaise and as wispy for a cirrus cloud.
Generated in 1994, but taking place on the eve of Y2K, the film – established in an apocalyptic Los Angeles – is really a clear commentary around the police assault of Rodney King, and a mirrored image around the days when the grainy tape played on a loop for white and Black audiences alike. The friction in “Unusual Days,” however, partly stems from Mace hoping that her white friend, Lenny, will make the right conclusion, only to check out him continually fail by trying to save his troubled, white ex-girlfriend Faith (Juliette Lewis).
Unspooling over a timeline that leads up into the show’s pilot, the film starts off depicting the FBI investigation into the murder of Teresa Banks (Pamela Gidley), a intercourse worker who lived inside of a trailer park, before pivoting to observe Laura during the week leading up to her murder.
For such a short drama, it's very well rounded and feels like a much longer story resulting from good planning and directing.
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They’re looking for love and sexual intercourse during the last days of disco, at the start in the ’80s, and have to swat away plenty of Stillmanian assholes, like Chris Eigeman for a drug-addicted club manager who pretends being vporn gay to dump women without guilt.
It didn’t work out so well for your last girl, but what does Advertèle care? The hole in her heart is almost as large given that the gap between her teeth, and there isn’t a man alive hotsextube who’s been in a position to fill it so far.
Employing his charming curmudgeon persona in arguably the best publicagent performance of his career, Bill Murray stars as being the kind of dude no person is reasonably cheering for: good aleck TV weatherman Phil Connors, who has never made a gig, town, or nice lady he couldn’t chop down to size. While Danny Rubin’s original script leaned more into the dark features of what happens to Phil when he alights to Punxsutawney, PA to cover its yearly Groundhog Day event — to the briefest of refreshers: that he gets caught inside of a time loop, seemingly doomed to only ever live this Weird holiday in this awkward town forever — Ramis was intent on tapping into the inherent comedy in the premise. What a good gamble.
In “Odd Days,” the love-Ill grifter Lenny Nero (Ralph Fiennes), who sells people’s memories for bio-VR escapism on the blackmarket, becomes embroiled in an unlimited conspiracy when one of his clients captures footage of a heinous crime – the murder of the Black political hip hop artist.
Perhaps it’s fitting that a road movie — the ultimate road movie — exists in so many different iterations, each longer than the next, spliced together from other iterations that together develop a sense of the grand cohesive whole. There is beauty in its meandering quality, its target not on the type of end-of-the-world plotting that would have Gerard Butler foaming with the mouth, but around the comfort of friends, lovers, family, acquaintances, indiansex video and strangers just hanging out. —ES
David Cronenberg adapting a J.G. Ballard novel about people who get turned on by car or truck crashes was bound being provocative. “Crash” transcends the label, grinning in perverse delight mainly because it sticks its fingers into a gaping shesfreaky wound. Something similar happens while in the backseat of a vehicle in this movie, just one from the cavalcade of perversions enacted because of the film’s cast of pansexual risk-takers.