I've Had the Case of My Life

I can't quite justify it, but lately, I've been in strange, very fervent mood for cheaply made, super sleazy mid-'90s thrillers.

That's a normal kick, right?

Before you judge me, allow me to say that today's cheaply made super sleazy mid'90s thriller stars God of All Things Michael Ironside and Guess Who Character Come To Life Costas Mandylor. 

I just got a little bit of your respect back, right?

Quick Plot: In the steamy underground of the St. Louis streets, a serial killer is racking up a body count on prostitutes. All the victims have two things in common: their pictures in a once famous, now career-flailing photographer named George Kendall and a sleazy pimp with the non-pimpiest name a pimp ever had.

Sims. The pimp's name is Sims. Isn't that usually a name bestowed upon movie characters that are computer geeks or toy store managers? 

Moving on, hot on the case is Ironside's Sgt. Ernie Hanson and an ambitious district attorney named Carolyn Price. Price is one of those career-minded women whose only priority in life is getting a promotion no matter what the costs. Like everyone else in this movie, she doesn't actually seem to be good at her job, but she's way better at looking like she's good at her job. Naturally, that makes her a minor villain.

Our hero comes in the form of Jennifer Grey's Elaine Taylor, a scrappy (or so the film is telling us) young criminal lawyer trying her best to make partner at a large corporate firm. She becomes assigned to Kendall somewhat by accident, but the mysterious photographer takes an interest in her and her I-watched-a-marathon-of-Law&Order-style attitude.

Did Kendall murder five young prostitutes? It's a question that the audience might care about more than the movie does, as Portraits of a Killer's construction has no urgency about itself whatsoever. Sure, there's an early soap opera-quality fistfight that's exactly as amazing as you want it to be and an excessively terrible use of slow motion in the big climax, but those aside, this is a Dunkin' Donuts quality movie.

I know there's this weird faction of humanity that adores their coolatas and chocolate chip cookie dough flavored coffee and presumably, lazy advertising that doesn't even seem to TRY to make the cardboard food look good, but seriously: everything you can get at Dunkin' Donuts tastes like it was made with as little effort as possible. If there is cheese on your DD sandwich, it came from a very lazy cow. If there is a tomato in your wrap, it came from a plant that spent more time smoking and watching Judge Judy than, I don't know, being a plant.

My point is that Dunkin' Donuts is a bland institution, and Portraits of a Killer is a bland film. It has all the potential to ooze with fun sleaze, but the best we get is a sexy saxophone solo playing over...Costas Mandylor and Jennifer Grey making out fully clothed. 

Now I don't have any real desire to see either of these actors in the buff, but I have equally less desire to see them kiss close-mouthed when they have no chemistry and their characters have no personality. Jennifer Grey is an inexperienced lawyer. Costas Mandylor is a creepy photographer. Dead prostitutes abound and all we can hope for is that Michael Ironside shows back onscreen soon.

High Points

Look, any movie that includes Michael Ironside gets SOMETHING from me

In true film fashion, we get a city coroner who eats his messy dinner just next to a few tables worth of corpses. At what point can we get a movie about (or recipe book from) THOSE guys?

Low Points

When your tone is too chaste for Cinemax AND Lifetime, you're doing something very, very wrong

Lessons Learned

Putting a gun to the head of an alleged criminal during questioning is perfectly okay and acceptable police work

High powered attorney wannabes should always make a point of keeping a formal high powered attorney suit in their office on casual Fridays

The average St. Louis apartment for a low-level attorney is large enough to house a grand piano

When you have caught the interest of both a violent pimp and serial killer, it's probably best to look through the peekhole before opening your door to a mysterious knock in the middle of the night

Rent/Bury/Buy

I have no idea who Portaits of a Killer was made for. It doesn't have enough sleaze, mystery, or Ironside for anyone to claim it as their own, but the slow motion cheesiness at least kept me smiling. This is in no way a good movie, but it exists and is streaming on Netflix. Now if you'll excuse me, I really need to know if formaldehyde fumes makes sandwiches taste any better.

Maybe THAT'S what Dunkin' Donuts needs!

If a Tale From the Crypt Doesn't Have a Cryptkeeper, THEN WHAT IS IT?

PEOPLE! Are you aware that in 2001, Jennifer Grey, Craig Sheffer, and Tim 'Best Actor of All Things Ever' Curry starred in a Tales From the Crypt movie? A TALES FROM THE CRYPT MOVIE?

Now before you go a'swoonin, I have some bad, bad news.

This is not really a Tales From the Crypt movie.

But words don't lie! you shout with fervor, jabbing your pointing finger to the dreadklocked Cryptkeeper looking over the cover art's action. See? The movie is called Ritual and it's clearly Jamaican based and hence, THE CRYPTKEEPER HAS DREADLOCKS! Surely he'll open the film wearing a happy face t-shirt while making some inappropriate jokes about ganja and adding t's to all his words. I mean, THAT'S WHAT TALES FROM THE CRYPT MEANS.

Unless the year is 2001 and Miramax was scared off by Bordello of Blood's poor box office performance, thusly removing all references to the Cryptkeeper from  A TALES FROM THE CRYPT MOVIE.

Not that I'm bitter about that or anything...

Quick Plot: A gooey opening scene in Jamaica gives us an incredible melting character actor investigating the mysterious illness that befell his patient, rich land owner Wesley Claybourne. But then he melts.

And we still haven't had a Cryptkeeper pun.

Back in the U.S., Dr. Alice Dodgson (aka Nobody Puts Baby In the Corner With a New Nose) attempts to save a dying young patient with experimental medication, losing the kid's life and her medical license in the process. Jobless, she accepts the now vacant role of personal physical to the aforementioned Wesley on a sprawling Jamaican plantation as ratlike older brother Julian (Nightbreed's Craig Sheffer) looks on suspiciously.

Helping out is Caro, the Claybourne's sexy childhood friend, and Jennifer Grey's Left and Right Nipple, which should have at the very least earned their SAG card for the amount of work they have to do under a tight white camisole. You know what else works hard? Dream sequences. All 972 of them.

See, there's an art and craft to using the 'shock! scare! dead main character! oh, it's all a dream!' trick. When handled correctly, it's an outstanding little device that almost every basic horror movie requires. On the other hand, when about 40% of your film's running time is composed of said 'shock! scare! dead main character! oh, it's all a dream!' sequences, they lose their power rather quickly. This is especially evident when Nobody Puts Baby's Prominent Nipples In the Corner With a New Nose recaps her most recent nightmare with the line "I just had the most horrifyingly real dream of my life!" Just try to watch that scene and not respond "as opposed to the 12 other horrifyingly real dreams we've witnessed?"

That being said, Ritual isn't a terrible movie. Filmed on location in Jamaica, it looks gorgeous, and the actors are all more than adequate. Does it feel like a Tales From the Crypt episode? Somewhat. Greedy characters get their karmic slap, bodies get melted or zombified, breasts get displayed and jungles get trod upon.

But the puns? Ah, what I wouldn't do for a pun...

High Points
If nothing else, this movie includes copious doses of Tim Curry petting cats and making lecherous smiles at women. That in itself sort of puts this into the 10 range

Low Points
Aside from the obvious--THIS IS A TALES FROM THE CRYPT MOVIE WITH NO CRYPT--Ritual ends on the sourest, meanest, most unnecessarily misogynist note that in no way was warranted by its otherwise fine 100 minutes. I was absolutely disgusted by the final shot of this film. Now one could argue that it's the usual comeuppance doled out by any Crypt morality tale, but it's not really the case. Let's get into SPOILERY specifics:

So the villain is, in a worthy twist, revealed to be Caro. It's fine for her fate to be zombiehood, since she was planning on doing the same to her friends, but then Ritual decides to get playful by showing her as a zombie bride being lain on a bed by the film's OTHER still-living villain, a corrupt and cruel policeman whom she had previously insulted for being fat. So as punishment, she'll get to spend the rest of his life being raped. He, keep in mind, was as much of, if not MORE of a villain (WHO KILLED TIM CURRY DAMNIT) but you know, he's fine. I understand the idea of throwing in a final punch, but this one is so miscalculated that it almost ruined the otherwise unoffensive and slightly entertaining film on the whole.

Lessons Learned
Everyone in Jamaica carries machetes for work and protection

Voodoo is like disco, but with less poom poom

It is customary for hospitals to fire surgeons via snail mail

If naming a character Wesley, consider how the line "As you wish" might sound and whether you're looking for a Princess Bride reference in your voodoo zombie horror movie

Bonus Material

As I watched this on Netflix Instant, I was denied the apparently extra of the Cryptkeeper segment tagged onto the DVD. HOWEVER, IMDB has kindly provided the dialogue spoken by everyone's favorite ghoul on the quotations page for Ritual. Do yourself a favor and take a look. It's oozing with mons and is written phonetically. 

The Internet is a wonderful place.

Look! It's...

Everyone's favorite Pennsylvanian insurance salesman/Glee sex offender Stephen Tobolowsky in a small role as Alice's boss

Rent/Bury/Buy

If you're looking for some throwback Tales From the Crypt action, then Ritual really isn't it. That being said, those in the mood for some voodoo horror along the lines of The Serpent and the Rainbow or, as the credits claim as a basis, I Walked With a Zombie will find plenty to enjoy. The story and characters are better thought-out than a lot of other straight-past-your-cineplex offerings, and there's an added bonus of pretty people and pretty kickass practical effects. Plus, Tim Curry petting a cat while being smarmy. 

That's all this gal needs.