Short Takes: 'The Hater' (2020) ★★★

Director Jan Komasa’s The Hater (Sala samobójców. Hejte) is about a young Polish man who finds success by using social media to foment hate and paranoia. Which, too soon?

Making it a little easier to watch is the decision to tell the story more as a slow-burn, semi-satirical thriller than a drama about far-right politics. Tomasz (Maciej Musialowski), the titular hater, begins his journey to becoming a Machiavellian master of media manipulation from a place of failure. He’s kicked out of law school for plagiarism, then has his heart broken when he learns what his childhood crush Gabi (Vanessa Aleksander) really thinks about him. The latter happens via some DIY electronic eavesdropping, which should teach Tomasz a lesson. It does, but it’s the wrong one.

Tomasz talks his way into a job at an ethics-averse PR firm, quickly rising through the ranks when he launches a successful smear campaign against a client’s rival, to the delight of his boss Beata (Agata Kulesza), who cackles maniacally watching the rival’s tearful apology video, and the ire of her abusive asshole right-hand Kamil (Piotr Biedron). Tomasz is then tasked with getting dirt on Pawel Runicki (Maciej Stuhr), a progressive candidate in Warsaw’s mayoral race (you can see Tomasz’s ears perk up when he’s told bugging offices isn’t off the table). He outs Runicki as a homosexual, but that causes only a momentary dip in the candidate’s numbers. Far more successful are Tomasz’s xenophobic and Islamophobic posts, of which we’re all too familiar. But Tomasz isn’t content to just fan the flames; he wants to cause an explosion, and so he recruits Guzek (Adam Gradowski), a neck beard who vlogs about his love of guns and hatred of immigrants, to be his detonator.

The Hater is a sequel to Komasa’s 2011 film Suicide Room. I haven’t seen it yet, but from what I’ve read it’s also a story about the evils of social media, only focusing on one of its victims. In The Hater, Tomasz is on the other side, doing what he does for no greater reason than the thrill of stirring shit up, regardless of the politics (he has no qualms about playing both sides). He’s not a white supremacist, he’s a budding sociopath. Musialowski’s performance as Tomasz keeps us guessing by showing us occasional flashes of empathy or fear, but by the movie’s end he’s gone full Patrick Bateman—or Damien.

The movie has its weaknesses. Much of Mateusz Pacewicz’s script is a bit too on-the-nose, as if it is illustrating key points culled from a Polityka article examining the forces behind democracy’s decline, with some characterizations being less satirical than full-on parody (the mustache-twirling villainy of Beata and Kamil; Gabi’s liberal elite parents). Luckily, Komasa and his cast manage to keep the story grounded, even during some of its more far-fetched moments. The Hater is still a good movie, it’s just not a good time.

Short Takes: 'The Hawk and the Dove' (1981) ★★ 1/2

If you like looking at teenaged titties and listening to Neil Diamond, this is the movie for you!

The Hawk and the Dove (or Il falco e la colomba) is a romantic melodrama starring Fabio Testi as Michel, a low-level politician who, after being attacked by protestors, is tended to by Viva (Lara Wendel), a beautiful young model. Their interaction is brief, but since Viva’s young (very young, actually, but we’ll get to that later) and hot, Michel is immediately transfixed. He later encounters her in a restaurant (cue Neil Diamond’s “September Morn”) but is cockblocked by her sleazy boyfriend (Cannibal Ferox’s Danilo Mattei). Of course, Michel is married, but he’s not going to let that stand in his way. Besides, his wife Rita (Simonetta Stefanelli), the daughter of a prominent senator, is an emasculating bitch, so who can blame him for pursuing a side piece? The pair finally hookup (reprise “September Morn”), only for Michel’s fantasy of Viva to be shattered when he discovers she’s a heroin addict.

There is only one thing Michel can do: save Viva from herself. He checks her into rehab, and after her treatment Michel leaves his wife and the pair move in together. But they’re not even settled into their happily ever after (“September morn…we danced until the night became a brand new day…”) before Viva’s sleazy ex-boyfriend/dealer pays a visit, sending Viva and the movie into a rapid downward spiral.

The Hawk and the Dove is written and directed by Fabrizio Lori, and while he does fine in both of those roles, the movie never really rises above being just OK. Everything seems just a little forced, especially when the drama is cranked up to 11 for the depressing finale. It’s yet another movie that’s aimed for a female audience yet filmed for the male gaze (and definitely not male gays). Wendel’s body is showcased prominently in almost every scene she’s in. Even when she’s clothed her breasts are barely covered. Which, hey, I get it, she’s beautiful. She was also only 15 when she made this movie, and a body double wasn’t used for the nude scenes. I know, I know—it was a different time, and Europeans aren’t as stodgy as Americans when it comes to nudity. Still, unless you’re Josh Duggar or Jared Fogle, it’s hard not to feel a little icky watching a nude 15-year-old astride a costar 25 years her senior.

The movie’s also not helped by its English dubbing, which undermines all the actors involved (Wendel has a big dramatic breakdown scene that’s rendered laughable by the voice actor’s let’s-get-this-over-with line reading). I know it’s pointless to bitch about the dubbing since practically all Italian movies at this time were dubbed, but at least when dubbed in Italian the performances sound more authentic.

The Hawk and the Dove is a mildly interesting melodrama, but one you’re likely to forget a day or two after seeing it. Neil Diamond’s “September Morn,” however, will be stuck in your head for-fucking-ever!

Short Takes: 'Shallow Grave' (1987) ★★ 1/2

I remember seeing this title at one of the video stores I frequented in the early ’90s when I lived in Tennessee. Though mildly curious, I never rented it, dismissing it as just one more lazy cash-grab on the slasher trash heap. Decades later Shallow Grave ended up on Tubi, as lazy cash-grabs so often do, and since streaming has made me a much less discerning movie consumer, I decided to give it a watch. And, whadda you know, it’s not half bad.

Sue Ellen (Lisa Stahl), Patty (Carol Cadby), Rose (Donna Baltron) and Cindy (Just Kelly – no, really), four misbehaving students at a Catholic women’s college up North, take a road trip down to Fort Lauderdale. Their plans for beachside debauchery—including hooking up with the two cute guys they met on the road—take a detour when a flat tire strands the women in Medley, Georgia (Rose took out the spare for more luggage room, because girls, amiright?) What should be a temporary delay becomes a fight to stay alive when Sue Ellen witnesses Medley’s sheriff (Tony March, whose bare chest is photographed more admiringly than his female co-stars’) murder his side piece, Angie.

Shallow Grave is not so much a slasher as it is a hicksploitation thriller. Before you get to the good parts, though, you must make it through the first twenty minutes, which play like a lamer sequel to producer Allan Carr’s tacky Where the Boys Are remake. You’ll be looking forward to seeing the girls get terrorized by the time they reach Georgia, if not rooting for their demise. My sympathies increased as the characters—those that survive, at least—developed. This character growth, as well as the actors’ above-average performances, made the bleak ending even more impactful. There’s even a bit of racial commentary (inadvertent, I’m sure) when the girls are afraid to enter a barbecue joint with a largely Black customer base but dismiss the mostly white residents of Medley as harmless yokels.

Shallow Grave is no hidden gem—it’s got nothing on that other Shallow Grave—but it’s better than you’d expect, and certainly better than anyone would have expected from the director of Sorceress II: The Temptress. Besides, you could make worse choices on Tubi.

Hot Mustache-on-Mustache Action

Come for the gay sex, stay for the fucked-
up straight marriage.

To celebrate Pride Month this year, I decided to go back, via Netflix, to the late 19th century, when homosexuals remained in the closet if they knew what was good for them and when men could really rock handlebar mustaches.

The movie in question is the 2020 Mexico-Brazil co-production DANCE OF THE 41 (El baile de los 41), a biopic about Ignacio de la Torre y Mier, a wealthy Mexican businessman and politician in the late 1800s. When we first meet Ignacio (Alfonso Herrera), he’s late for his engagement party, which does not go unnoticed by his future father-in-law, Porfirio Díaz (Fernando Becerril), Mexico’s president. Ignacio’s tardiness doesn’t bother his fiancée, Amada (Mabel Cadena), who’s too in love to believe her rich, handsome future husband has any flaws, or to see that Ignacio is just using her to gain leverage in Mexico’s government. 

Amada’s father has already appointed Ignacio a position on Mexico’s Congress, the President Díaz reminding him that “what is given can be taken away.” But there should be no danger of Ignacio losing favor with his father-in-law as long as he makes Amada happy … and as long as he keeps his love of cock on the downlow. 

It won’t be easy, however. As Dance of the 41 makes clear, Ignacio really loves cock, like, a whole bunch. So much so that he struggles to go through the motions on his wedding night (that he guzzles champagne beforehand doesn’t help matters). 

Ignacio prepares to introduce Amada to the concept of
“champagne dick.”

Ignacio seems to think living in a fully staffed mansion is enough to distract Amada but is horrified to discover that his young bride would also like the occasional orgasm.

Amada barks up the wrong tree.

 

The more things change...: Eva cruises Ignacio.

But the wealthy politician can’t be bothered, not when he’s found himself a hot side piece, Evaristo “Eva” Rivas (Emiliano Zarito, who really had me re-examining my resistance to handlebar mustaches), a young government attorney. The two first cruise each other in the halls of the administrative building, then later are making out in Ignacio’s office. It’s not until Ignacio sponsors Eva’s membership into the 41, a secret society of elite homosexuals (including several members of government). Eva makes the 41 the 42, he and Ignacio begin a full-fledged affair.

Eva presents himself to the members of the 41, a ritual
that’s not too dissimilar to what today’s gay man must do
to gain acceptance at the Miami White Party

Also similar to the Miami White Party, minus the
GHB and molly.

As Ignacio’s and Eva’s affair intensifies, Ignacio’s marriage deteriorates, with Ignacio moving to a separate bedroom and angrily rejecting Amada’s sexual advances. I’ll admit my sympathies were torn. Ignacio, clearly, is in hell, chafing at having to keep up appearances and only able to feel alive when he’s in Eva’s company. At the same time, his privilege as a man allows him stifle Amada’s complaints with impunity. He may be leading a double life, but Amada, so depressed that she’s taken to treating a goat kid as if it were her own baby, isn’t even living one life.

Amada meets her competition.

But Amada isn’t a total doormat. During one of Ignacio’s many absences, she searches his office and finds a love note from Eva. So, like any aggrieved wife, she invites Eva over for a drink. Ignacio is understandably mortified — and incensed at Amada’s snooping. The movie not-so-subtly implies that Amada might be willing to let Ignacio have his fun with Eva, so long as he gives her children. Ignacio attempts to impregnate her, showing all the passion that the phrase “attempts to impregnate” implies.

Yet still more tender than most internet porn.

His seed fails to find purchase, however, and when it comes to getting his wife knocked-up, Ignacio’s attitude is clearly, if at first you don’t succeed… tough shit, ’cause I’m not going anywhere near that pussy again if I can help it.

But Ignacio can’t ignore his father-in-law so easily. Porfirio Díaz makes it clear that he wants grandchildren, then assigns bodyguards to protect (i.e., spy on) Ignacio. It will take more than the president’s espías to keep Ignacio from attending the 42’s drag ball, however. Rocking an emerald gown as he and Eva swing around the dance floor, it’s one of the happiest nights of Ignacio’s life — until the police show up.

Ignacio drags Eva onto the dance floor.

Dysfunctional Marriage Overshadows Gay Love

It doesn’t get better for Ignacio.

I read one review that described the first two-thirds of Dance of the 41 as slow, but I found it thoroughly engrossing. However, I thought Ignacio’s and Amada’s unhappy marriage was more compelling than Ignacio’s and Eva’s romance. Much of this was owed largely to the character Amada, and Mabel Cadena’s portrayal of her. Amada could easily have been relegated to weeping in the background while Ignacio has fun with the boys. Instead, she’s given a greater arc, and the audience is allowed to see her transform from a naïve girl to a steely manipulator (she’s casually brutal in her final scene), and it’s fascinating to behold.

Ignacio and Eva lock handlebars.

This isn’t to say the guys disappoint. Alfonso Herrera and Emiliano Zarito generate a lot of heat together as Ignacio and Eva. However, Monika Revilla’s script doesn’t fully develop them as men. Eva seems almost solely defined as Ignacio’s hot lover; we don’t really get to fully know him beyond his affection for Ignacio. Ignacio is shaded in a bit more, but only lightly. There are only a few superficial nods given to Ignacio’s political career, although that might have as much to do with him not being much of a force in Mexican politics as a storytelling choice. Still, a little more detail about his politics might have given a more complete picture of Ignacio beyond his (alleged) homosexuality. 

Sword fight!

By choosing a subject whose notoriety is based on rumors rather than verifiable fact (not to mention all involved are long dead) Revilla and director David (Las elegidas) Pablos have considerable leeway to embellish Ignacio’s story, yet they make the same mistakes of so many biopics: depicting a series of events in their subjects’ lives without ever really getting to the heart what made them tick. Dance of the 41 tackles the story of Ignacio de la Torre y Mier with a lot of finesse yet it still doesn’t provide much deeper insight beyond “it sure sucks to be gay in late 19th century Mexico” and “don’t assume your wife is stupid, especially if her father is the president of Mexico.” 

At least Pablos doesn’t shy away from imagining the more lurid aspects of the 41, including a fairly explicit orgy sequence. Yet Dance of the 41 never crosses the line into sleazy (not that I’d complain if it did). On the other hand, the movie is so stately that even at its most tragic Dance of the 41 never quite packs the emotional gut-punch expected from it. It’s more akin to a lustier Merchant-Ivory production than Brokeback Mountain.

Dance of the 41 is still very good, it’s just that, despite all the Big Mustache Energy of the two male leads, the movie’s doomed gay romance isn’t as interesting as Ignacio’s unhealthy beard marriage.

Ignacio’s and Eva’s story has its moments, though.

It’s the Pictures that Got Small: Sharon Stone

Sharon Stone’s autobiography The Beauty of Living Twice was published in March, so I thought in lieu of actually reading it I’d review some of her movies instead.

I, like a lot of people, became a fan of Sharon Stone after seeing Basic Instinct in 1992, for reasons that have nothing to do with the infamous interrogation scene (as established in previous posts, vaginas really aren’t of much interest to me). Basic Instinct was an over-the-top, trashy thriller and Stone’s performance as Catherine Trammel was spot-on. 

I don’t think showing her cooch on film is what
Sharon Stone should be embarrassed about.

Of course, this wasn’t the first time I’d seen Stone. She was in Total Recall the previous year, and in the 1980s I saw her in Action Jackson and the Steven Segal vehicle Above the Law (I never said I was proud), but Basic Instinct was the first time I noticed her. And having noticed her I was happy for her to be my new favorite movie star. Lord knows Stone was eager to be one. It’s a safe bet that even as far back as when she was doing guest spots on Remington Steele Stone spent her free time rehearsing her answers to reporters’ questions in the mirror, maybe even asking a girlfriend to hold a hairbrush up to her and pretend she’s Joan Rivers accosting Stone on the red carpet, just so she was ready when that fateful day finally came.

*In Stone’s defense, this was her co-star.

As fascinated as I was by Stone as an actress, however, some of what I read about her gave me pause, including her claiming she was “tricked” into flashing her bearded clam in Basic Instinct (um, sure); her assaulting a co-star*; and her acting like a diva on set—even before she became the face of the 1990s. I loved watching Sharon Stone the movie star, but I was finding it increasingly difficult to like Sharon Stone the person.

Ultimately what cooled my Sharon Stone fandom was her movies. I didn’t want to see her as an Old West gunslinger or as Richard Gere’s cold wife. I wanted to see her in more deadly vixen roles. Her performance in Casino revived my faith, and I was further encouraged when she starred in the campy remake of Diabolique the following year. But then she became more interested in being taken seriously as an actress, meaning we got Oscar® bait like Last Dance, the sci-fi snoozefest Sphere, and the heartwarming The Mighty. I was kind of tempted to check her out in the 1999 remake of Gloria—it sounds like a hoot—but I never got around to it [update: finally did and it’s not as terrible as I expected]. Then, well, I kind of forgot about her… until Basic Instinct 2 came out. As awful/awesome as that was, it didn’t so much rekindle my Sharon Stone fandom as make me wish she’d just accepted she was the Joan Collins of the 1990s instead of exerting so much energy trying to convince us she was, if not the next Meryl Streep, then at least next Jessica Lange.

So, About Those Movie Reviews…?

I thought I’d check out a few films Stone made after health problems, ageism, bad behavior and bad choices forced her off her A-list pedestal, films like WHEN A MAN FALLS (a.k.a. When a Man Falls in the Forest), a movie I didn’t know existed until it popped up on Tubi and Prime. The Prime synopsis describes this 2007 movie as “a psychological thriller sure to keep you mesmerized right up to the shocking end.” None of that is true, and neither is the thumbnail poster, which gives Stone star billing.

“Are you sure you don’t remember me? I won an Oscar®
for Ordinary People. What about Turk 182? No? Well, that’s fair.”

Writer-director Ryan Eslinger’s movie is actually a seriocomic indie drama about two men, Gary (Timothy Hutton) and Bill (Dylan Baker, looking like a live-action Matt Groening drawing), enduring bleak existences that they feel powerless to change. Gary is a genial alcoholic spinning his wheels in a dying marriage and an unfulfilling job; Bill, the night janitor at the building where Gary works, is so pathologically shy he flinches when people say hello to him. There’s a third, peripheral character, Gary’s friend Travis (Pruitt Taylor Vince), who’s life has been idling in grief mode since his wife was killed in a car wreck four years ago. Gary and Travis also went to high school with Bill, and it’s made clear that Bill was not their friend (“We picked on him all the time,” Travis recalls). 

The movie mostly flits back and forth between the Gary and Bill storylines. Gary is married to Karen (a de-glamorized Stone). “Karen… yeah, she’s Karen,” Gary sighs when Travis asks about his wife. He knows Karen’s depressed but neither Gary nor she seem interested in addressing their issues head on. Instead, she mopes and shoplifts; he shrugs and opens a fresh bottle of wine. 

Sharon Stone is sure her contract allows her to keep these gloves.

Meanwhile, in a seemingly different movie, Bill struggles with what to do about Sadie (Stacie Bono), the young mother living in the neighboring apartment whom he regularly hears being smacked around by her partner. He knows he should do something, but he can barely bring himself to greet her when he encounters her in the hall, let alone save her. When Bill’s not cringing at the sounds of violence coming from next door, he’s dreaming, sequences that are even more discordant with the movie’s overall tone. 

Dylan Baker dreams he’s in a more compelling film.

When a Man Falls is reminiscent of the little indie movies I rented from Blockbuster in the late 1980s – early ’90s that mixed understated drama and quirky comedy, brought to life by B-list talent. Except Eslinger not only fails to add all the necessary ingredients, he neglects to mix them properly. The drama never really goes anywhere, and the quirkiness sits on top like oil, never quite blending in with the rest of the movie. The Gary storyline is basically the equivalent of repeatedly asking your spouse what’s wrong and only getting a heavily sighed, “Nothing,” in response. Bill, on the other hand, seems to have wandered in from a different movie, albeit a more entertaining one. The only thing shocking about the ending, by the way, is how unfulfilling it is.

A face that says, “Fuck no, I’m not sorry.”

The acting makes When a Man Falls semi-watchable, with every actor getting at least one effective scene or moment. Stone gets two: In one, after she’s been busted for shoplifting, she faces her husband not with a look of shame but a defiant see-what-you-made-me-do smile. In another, when asked to sign a card being passed around the office to celebrate t co-worker’s engagement, she refuses (I can’t count the number of times I’ve wanted to do this in real life). These scenes made me wish that there was more to her role and much more to When a Man Falls.

Stone’s part in director Nigel Cole’s 2008 comedy $5 A DAY isn’t much bigger, but it’s a much better movie. Ritchie Flynn (Alessandro Nivola in a rare lead role), working as a health inspector until his boss learns of his prison past and fires him, is badgered by his estranged father Nat (Christopher Walken) to drive him from Atlantic City to Albuquerque, where Nat has signed up to participate in some experimental cancer treatment — or so Nat says. “You don’t have to dip into your pocket for a thing—zip, zilch, not even a crouton,” Nat assures his son.

Not that con artist Nat—who tips with gift cards for free phone minutes and helps himself to the free coffee offered to guests at a nearby casino—intends on dipping into his own pocket if he can help it. The car he’s secured for the trip is a PT Cruiser in a Sweet n’ Low wrap. (“Free wheels and gas for a year. All I have to do is drive a thousand miles a month!”), and he’s planned a route that includes an IHOP location every 300 miles, specifically so Nat can scam a free birthday meal using his many fake IDs. 

“Are you shitting me?” (Actual dialog)

So, yeah, it’s going to be a long drive for Ritchie, who resents his father after taking the fall for him so the old man, who already had priors, didn’t get slapped with a 10-year sentence. He also blames Nat’s bullshit for driving away his mother, who left Ritchie at a very young age. That Sweet n’ Low PT Cruiser isn’t helping matters, and neither is Nat’s insistence that they spend the night in a vacant house that’s up for sale. Nevertheless, when they’re surprised the next morning by a real estate agent showing the home to some potential buyers, Ritchie gamely plays along when Nat pretends they’re a couple. (“My partner and I are looking for something a little more feng shew-ish.”)

In Springfield, Missouri, Nat sweet talks his way into a banquet for a convention of pharmaceutical salesmen, then pretends to be a rep himself—a ruse that almost works until Nat gets a little too chummy with a salesman’s wife. Ritchie arrives just in time to talk a group of angry drug salesmen out of beating the shit out of his father by flashing his I.D. and claiming Nat was on an undercover assignment for the health department. It’s a funny scene, just don’t think too hard about enjoying a performance by Fox News BFF Dean Cain.

The fourth male lead of God’s Not Dead and the star of
The Deer Hunter, together at last!

While on the road Ritchie makes calls to his ex-girlfriend Maggie (Amanda Peet). She never picks up, but that doesn’t stop Ritchie from sharing stories about his life on her answering machine, since the main reason Maggie dumped him was he never shared anything about his past. Speaking of sharing, during a roadside piss stop, Nat tells his son he’s been impotent for several years, that not even Viagra can revive his wilted willie. Considering that if my father shared something similar I’d have to jab my car keys into my eardrums, Ritchie handles the news of his father’s E.D. with surprising nonchalance. Then again, he’s been to prison, so he probably has a higher threshold for what constitutes a breach of personal boundaries.

“You can’t get it up? Wish my cellmate had that problem.”

 

Ritchie caught in the path of a cougar.

Stone doesn’t appear until nearly an hour in, when the guys stop off in Amarillo, Texas, to visit Ritchie’s old babysitter, Dolores. An aging beauty with a spray-on tan and taste for sexy/tacky fashions (she greets them wearing a tiger print bikini and floral print kimono), Dolores is basically a parody of Stone’s Casino character, Ginger. Nat, knowing that Ritchie once had a crush on her, sees the visit as an opportunity for Ritchie’s fantasy to come true, and maybe help get his son’s mind off his breakup with Maggie. Dolores happily agrees to go out for drinks with Ritchie, but while she’s flirtatious it’s clear Nat is whom she pines for. She would’ve hooked up with Nat, she tells Ritchie, but “I’ve never met a man who’s so in love with his wife.” Nat didn’t drive Ritchie’s mother away, Dolores reveals; she left Nat for a car salesman she’d been having an affair with.

Dolores cures Nat’s impotence while
this scene causes ours.

Dolores’ word is called into question when it’s revealed she’s also a bit of scam artist, spilling a cup of coffee on herself and loudly claiming it was the waiter’s fault. The ploy should net her at least five grand, she later tells Ritchie. “I got my Mercedes with a trip in a supermarket last year.” Perhaps discovering Dolores is as duplicitous as his father is why Ritchie isn’t too broken up when his former babysitter bypasses inviting him into her bed and instead joins Nat in his (impotence cured!) And maybe Dolores is right, that Nat deserves a little love and affection, after all.

But Ritchie isn’t quite ready to forgive his father just yet, especially when he learns that Albuquerque is home to Kruger (Peter Coyote), the man Ritchie’s mother left Nat for. 

$5 a Day is the sort of movie that’s described as cute rather than funny. Yet, while its laughs are mild, it’s still an enjoyable film and worth checking out (it going straight-to-DVD likely had more to do with its marketability than its quality). Even when Walken is bad he’s fascinating to watch, but he’s very good here, clearly enjoying in his outsized role. Likewise, Stone appears to be having a blast spoofing her sexy image as Dolores. Playing the movie’s straight man, Nivola manages to hold his own, never being overshadowed by his larger-than-life co-stars (he’s also pretty easy on the eyes). 

Though this couldn't hold a candle to a 60+ Christopher
Walken, apparently.

It Gets Worse… and So Much Better

In 2012, Stone finally got to sink her teeth into a Bonafide starring role. She also got to bring audiences bigger laughs than $5 a Day delivered. Behold, the drama BORDER RUN (a.k.a. The Mule).

It’s bad, y’all. But it’s the fun kind of bad, and that’s owed largely to Sharon Stone.

Though I consider Stone more of a movie star than an actress, she can act. However, I think the quality of her performances are often contingent on the strength of her directors. Judging by Border Run, I’m not even sure director Gabriela Tagliavini was ever on set. Or maybe when Tagliavini saw Stone emerge from hair and makeup looking like she was just a black leather trench coat away from playing a vampire matriarch in the Underworld franchise, she was simply too stunned to question her lead actor’s—and executive producer’s — choices.

 

And, boy, does Stone make some choices in Border Run. She plays Sofie Talbert, a conservative journalist working for a Fox News-esque station in Arizona (“fair and balanced” is even worked into the banter between Sofie and her producer). In one of the movie’s early scenes, we see Sofie elbow her way through a crowd of other reporters to get to a Republican senator — who nevertheless looks like a Hillary Clinton/ Dianne Feinstein composite perfect for Newsmax anchors to hate ’bate to — and ask couple gotcha questions about her past votes revealing a softness on border security. Getting the senator’s stammering non-answer on tape, Sofie gives us a satisfied smirk then scurries back to the station. The only thing that would make this scene better is if the senator, or one of the other reporters Sofie elbowed out of the way, was heard muttering, “Fucking cunt.”

Stone nails the Megyn Kelly smirk.

Sofie’s career suddenly takes a backseat when she calls her brother, Aaron (Billy Zane), supposedly an SJW working in Mexico helping immigrants cross illegally into the U.S. And wouldn’t you know the moment he answers Sofie’s call he’s being shot at by Minute Men. The immigrants get away, but Aaron isn’t so lucky, getting captured by some mysterious figures who may or may not be Americans. All Sofie hears is gunfire before the line goes dead. Understandably, she’s concerned. Sofie immediately heads to Nogales, Mexico, to search for him.

Getting nowhere with the local police, Sofie heads to the border relief agency where Aaron works. After checking out the office’s bulletin board, which features several of Sofie’s news clippings, Sofie talks with Aaron’s co-worker, Roberto (Manolo Cardona). Over empty coffee mugs Roberto tries to dissuade Sofie from looking for Aaron, but when it’s clear that she’s going to anyway he agrees to take her to Aaron’s last known whereabouts, a small shack within shooting distance of the U.S. border. They find a cigar butt with a distinctive gold band and, hanging on the border fence, Aaron’s cap. Their investigation is interrupted by gunfire, however (the Minute Men don’t like Sharon’s hair, either) forcing the pair to retreat.

Sofie calls a number she plucked from the relief agency’s bulletin board, reaching Javier (Miguel Rodarte), a coyote. Javier won’t answer any of Sofie’s questions over the phone and tells her to meet him in Altar. Roberto warns Sofie against going there because Altar is super dangerous. (Like they’re safe where they’re at? Hello! You all were just dodging bullets.) After Sofie says she’s going to Altar, with or without him, Roberto agrees to take her there. 

It stands to reason that if you need to drink to watch Border
Run, you need to get fucking hammered to star in it.

Border Run teases a gratuitous sex scene that 
never happens.

But first, dinner and drinks! So far, Stone has portrayed Sofie as a no-nonsense, headstrong woman solely focused on her objectives, be they humiliating RINOs on tape or finding her missing brother. The moment she and Roberto stop at a cantina and she gets a few drinks in her, Sofie becomes a silly, head-rolling drunk. And possibly an easy lay. When she and Roberto take a few turns on the dance floor, they begin to make out, hot n’ heavy. Fuck Aaron, Sofie’s gonna get some!

Alas, Roberto gets cockblocked by a purse snatcher, the theft sobering up Sofie instantly. Now she’s all business and all about meeting up with Javier. Of course, Sofie and Roberto get separated in Altar, and in his absence Sofie almost gets raped in an alley, only to be saved by…Javier. Well, that was convenient.

Sofie joins one of Javier’s coyote missions, which will supposedly lead her to Aaron. Standing directly in her path, however, is Juanita (Giovanna Zacarías, fucking owning her role), the vicious head of a crime ring trafficking in humans and cocaine. Upon discovering “a shitty gringa” amongst her smuggled migrants, Juanita reacts as any vicious crime boss would, but Javier talks her out of killing Sofie. After all, Sofie has so many more hilarious facial expressions to share.

In Mexico, Sofie is just another “shitty gringa.”

Juanita inspects the more valuable merchandise.

Stone stoned.

Aaron is being held captive by Juanita’s gang, and he sees his sister being smacked around by Juanita from a window in the room where he’s chained up. Were this a different kind of movie (i.e., the good kind), the story might have had Aaron formulating a plan with Sofie to escape, using Javier — who seems to be allowed unsupervised access to Juanita’s prisoner — as a go-between. But that’s some action movie shit, and Border Run is still trying to be a gritty drama. So, Aaron remains chained up and powerless. Meanwhile, Sofie, just as powerless, watches as one of the smuggled migrants, a teen-aged girl, is roughly felt up by Juanita. We in the audience are powerless as we laugh hysterically watching Sofie succumb to the effects of some drugged water, with Stone giving a performance worthy of a 1968 classroom scare film about the dangers of marijuana. Within seconds of being drugged, Sofie rolls her eyes back into her skull and lolls her head from side to side, before quickly losing consciousness. Moments later, she comes to just long enough to realize she’s being tied to a bed, spread eagle, before blacking out again. She regains consciousness right before she’s raped. I think we can all agree that rape is a horrible crime, and therefore this scene should be horrific. Instead, Stone makes this the funniest scene of sexual assault since Pia Zadora was violated with a garden hose in The Lonely Lady.

Funniest rape scene or darkest episode of
The Muppet Show ever?

With Javier’s help Sofie manages to escape, but she and Javier are barely able to keep one step ahead from Juanita and her goons. Though they avoid capture by Juanita, they aren’t so lucky when they encounter U.S. Border Patrol. Javier is shot, and Sofie is taken into custody. Having met some real migrants and experienced firsthand the hell they endure to cross into the U.S. has caused Sofie to re-examine her hardline stance on border enforcement. Hence, she throws a hissy fit when being questioned by a Homeland Security officer (“I’m a TV reporter. I know my rights!”) When it’s suggested that if she doesn’t like America’s immigration laws she should contact her senator, Sofie angrily signs a release form, throws it at the officer and storms out. 

 Oscar® nominee Sharon Stone.

But Sofie’s saga isn’t over yet. She still has to find Aaron. Fortunately, Roberto reappears to help her. Sofie’s relieved, until she sees him smoking a cigar with a distinctive gold band.

Sadly, Sharon’s hair gets no redemption arc.

You can tell Border Run wants to be an important message drama about illegal immigration like El Norte, but it instead plays more like someone took a script for a 2000s-era Jean-Claude Van Damme direct-to-DVD actioner, changed the lead character’s gender and motivation, then replaced all the scenes of ass kicking with scenery chewing. It doesn’t work, but goddamn if it isn’t it fun to watch! The movie does have a kernel of a good idea, though: I’d so want to watch a reality show in which Fox News pundits are dropped in the middle of Honduras without their phones and are then tasked with having to make it back to the U.S. in one week with only a hundred Lempira, a few bottles of water, a couple Power Bars and a knife. The winner gets to suck Trump’s cock literally instead of metaphorically. Good luck, Sean!

Stone’s career has had something of a course correction in recent years. She got well-deserved positive notices for her performances in 2013’s Lovelace and the 2018 HBO series Mosaic, and she was perfectly cast as the eccentric heiress Lenore Osgood in Ryan Murphy’s American Horror Story retread Netflix series Ratched. If IMDb is to be believed, one of her upcoming projects is the comedy, The Tale of the Allergist’s Wife co-starring Bette Midler, which I’m sure will have a very professional and drama-free production should it ever happen [update: nope]. In the meantime, we have 30th anniversary edition of Basic Instinct to look forward to, which Stone says will be XXX-rated (😲). 

Oh, Sharon. I love you, but you’re so full of shit.

Her milkshake still brings the boys to the yard.

God Damn the Poor

Edge of Doom’s less-than-captivating
poster is probably not the sole reason
the movie failed at the box office, but
I’m sure it didn’t help.

“I find it impossible to serve these people,” complains a priest at the opening of the noirish 1950 drama EDGE OF DOOM.

“Poor people are difficult to serve, George,” reminds Father Roth (Dana Andrews), the senior priest of Los Angeles’ St. Stephens’ Church.

Yes, ministry would be so much easier if it weren’t for all these fucking poors, who jeopardize their dead-end jobs by carrying illegal weapons and who refuse to call the police on their abusive husbands (that the church insists they remain wedded to). But, as long as they keep those tithes coming, the priests might as well try to save their wretched souls.

But Father Roth isn’t that cynical. Sometimes it’s the poors who bring the priests closer to God. He tells of one former parishioner who, after the church denied his alcoholic father a Christian burial because he committed suicide, was determined to keep his tithe money and wretched soul to himself.

Flashing back to what appears to be the previous week, we meet Martin Lynn (Farley Granger), working as a delivery driver for a flower shop, barely making enough to scrape by, let alone pay for his ailing mother’s medical care — or, at the very least, move her out to Arizona, which is healthier, somehow. And marrying his girlfriend Julie (Marla Powers) is out of the question, which, in 1950, means Martin is also suffering from a serious case of blue balls on top of crushing poverty. He asks his boss, Mr. Swanson (Houseley Stevenson) for a raise, reminding the old man he was promised one the previous year and, besides, Martin’s worked at the shop for four years. Mr. Swanson kicks the can down the road, telling Martin that the shop has had a lot of expenses and can’t afford any pay increases. Martin is then assured that he’ll always have a job as long as Mr. Swanson is alive. Translation: Be grateful you have a job. Now shut the fuck up.

Like a prayer.

“Who’s your daddy?”

Martin’s mother is still very devout, much to her son’s chagrin (“You’ve prayed enough, Mother.”) Her prayers don’t spare her the inevitable, however, leaving Martin is saddled with the expense of burying her. His skeevy neighbor, Mr. Craig (Paul Stewart), rants about how “it’s a rich world, but it hates to give.” Someone, somewhere, owes Martin money, Mr. Craig continues; all he has to do is have the nerve to collect. Martin takes the older man’s words to heart. His mother deserves a big funeral, and St. Stephens is going to pay for it.

The late Mrs. Lynn was usually counseled by St. Stephens’ beloved junior priest Father Roth, but it’s the grumpy Father Kirkman (Harold Vermilyea)—the same priest who refused Martin’s father a church funeral—who is available when Martin shows up at the rectory. We know the church isn’t going to pay for shit, no matter who Martin asks, but at least Father Roth would be more diplomatic in rejecting Martin’s demands. Father Kirkman’s first response, upon hearing that Martin’s mother has died, is to chastise the young man for not calling him sooner to administer her last rites (priorities). Furthermore, he can’t understand why Martin wants his mother to have such a lavish funeral (“Your mother was a simple woman.”)

Martin confronts Father Don’t-Give-a-Shit

Father Kirkman isn’t a total bastard, though, giving Martin cab fare to the funeral home. Martin, in turn, smashes Father Kirkman’s skull with a brass crucifix, killing him instantly. Oops.

Most tragic of all, no one said Father Kirkman’s last rites.

Martin barely avoids discovery by Father Roth and Father Kirkman’s misbehaving niece Rita (Joan Evans, who gets third billing even though she’s barely in the film), only to have police cars come speeding up beside him as he’s walking down the street. The cops aren’t coming for Martin but, rather, responding to a robbery — committed by Mr. Craig — at the nearby Galaxy Theatre. A mob of onlookers swarm the theater (Los Angelenos just loved gawking at robbery victims back in the day, apparently), practically carrying Martin to this other crime scene. A panicked Martin fights his way through the crowd, running to a nearby greasy spoon where he is the sole customer.

Martin’s been seen fleeing the Galaxy, which leads to two detectives flanking him in the diner and treating Martin like he’s been Driving While Black, though they keep their guns holstered (#WhitePrivilege). The cops ultimately take Martin to the station, suspecting him of committing the Galaxy Theatre robbery. He’s questioned by Det. Lt. Mandel (Robert Keith), who’s just as pleasant as the arresting officers. Martin not only fails to convince Det. Lt. Asshole that he’s innocent of the Galaxy hold-up, but he also inadvertently gets himself added to a list of potential suspects in Father Kirkman’s murder as well.

Martin is questioned by Det. Lt. Asshole.

Father Roth happens to stop by the station to vouch for one of his parishioners (“Lock him up for a week. Throw a good scare into him.”) Roth is a little more compassionate when he learns Martin is also in jail. “Martin is not a thief,” the priest tells Mandel, “and he wouldn’t go robbing theaters on the night his mother died.” (Hold on to your wallet on any other night, though!) Mandel releases Martin, but he stresses to Roth that it’s against his better judgment: “He bothers me.”

“Frankly, I’m glad the old bastard’s dead.”

Roth plans to take Martin to the rectory, but Martin insists on going home. But after Roth drops him off, Martin goes to Julie’s apartment. Though she means well, she offers little comfort (“It’s not the end of the world tonight, Martin.”) Martin returns to his apartment, just in time to see Mr. Craig being hauled away by police (“Every time something happens around here, they pull him in,” gripes Craig’s girlfriend Irene). Craig tells the cops he was nowhere near the Galaxy when it was robbed, but he’s actually been taken in as a suspect in the Father Kirkman murder.

Things continue to worsen for Martin. He loses his job, and the mortuary won’t extend him any credit (“Obviously, Mr. Lynn, you can’t afford your desires.”) He’s again picked up by the cops, this time as a suspect in the crime he actually committed. In an uncharacteristic bit of luck, the eyewitness who saw him leaving the rectory doesn’t pick him out of a lineup, instead identifying Mr. Craig as the man she saw.

It looks like Martin is going to get away with murder. Alas, you can take the boy out of the Catholic church, but you can’t take the Catholic church out of the boy. (Maybe I should re-phrase that...)

“Goddammit.”

More Secular than Faith-Based

Edge of Doom is based on a novel by Leo Brady, who, though a devout Roman Catholic, didn’t shy away from criticizing the church, and while liberties were taken with the film adaption (the prologue and epilogue scenes, as well as some narration, were added to give the story a more inspirational spin), it’s far from Catholic propaganda. Part of the reason so many current faith-based movies fail as films, aside from the fact that they are uniformly terrible, is they have no nuance, with all their stories boiling down to “secularism (and non-Christian religions) bad; evangelical Christianity good.” Faith isn’t examined, it’s presented. Edge of Doom’s approach is far more palatable. Religion is a part of the story, but it’s not THE story.

Edge of Doom is more secular than faith-based — you’ll hear more about Catholic church protocols than the Lord — and ultimately, it’s Martin’s story that makes the movie compelling viewing. Martin’s mother finds comfort in the church, the promise of a rewarding afterlife validating her mortal struggles. For Martin, the church is just one more institution that’s let him down. What he wants is a way out of the misery of poverty, not justifications for why he should suffer through it.

Farley Granger made Edge of Doom between starring in the film noir classics They Live by Night (1948) and Alfred Hitchcock’s Strangers on a Train (1951), and while Doom isn’t as good as either of those movies, it’s still worth seeking out (it’s streaming on Prime as of this writing). Though the inspirational bits are hokey, and several supporting characters are a bit too stock (Mr. Craig, Mr. Swanson, Mandel), Granger, who, I’m obligated as a gay man to inform readers came out as bi in his 2007 memoirs Include Me Out, keeps Martin — and the movie — grounded in reality, resulting in a movie that’s just as relatable today as when it was first released.

Irene (Adele Jergens) crashes a scene to calm audiences
worried Edge of Doom was becoming a total sausage fest.