Showing posts with label Buddy Cops. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Buddy Cops. Show all posts

27 May 2013

The Wild Pair


United States - 1987
Director - Beau Bridges
Media Home Entertainment, 1988, VHS
Run Time -1 hour, 29 minutes

As a late entry into the 80’s buddy-cop cycle that was turned up to 11 by one Eddie Murphy, The Wild Pair is yet another white-cop/black-cop combo, but it is also another local-cop/federal-cop pairing. Yet neither of these “ironies” is mined for its humor. Baby-faced Beau Bridges plays FBI agent Joe Jennings with enough suave confidence and pig-headdedness, and Bubba Smith plays short-fused Narc Benny Avalon with sufficient pathos to be convincing, but given that by this late date the context has been standardized, it’s not surprising that their performances are also comfortably standard. Together they foil a criminal endeavor perpetrated by a fairly run-of-the-mill array of semi-inept punks and nominally-sinister kingpins and all ends more-or-less happily. As a result, The Wild Pair is both predictable and unsensationally flat, an otherwise forgettable flare-up of Action’s most chronic case of sub-generic herpes.

And yet, beneath this placid, run of the mill surface is a not so subtle current of transgression just waiting to drag you under. The Wild Pair could have gone the way Hellbound  and Cop and ½ eventually did (following precedent), making Benny into a Jim Crow stereotype to compensate for the film’s flaccid storyline. But Benny is not the comic relief to Joe's more serious (and hence we are led to surmise more important and worthy of our identification) quest/project. His physicality, in it's unusualness (to the film) is certainly hard to ignore, and (as with obesity, shortness, boobs etc.) simply must be exploited by the conventions of low comedy (Police Academy) reliant on physical idiosyncrasy for narrative engagement. What humor there is in The Wild Pair (and there aint much) is dependent on Smith's being huge, not on his “acting black" and fulfilling those standards that make white viewers feel safe liking him.

This works because while Jennings is technically on the other side of the tracks, the film is not about his discomfort and the sort of coming to terms for which white audiences need irony and stereotype to feel vindicated. It makes sense then that Benny is the character with depth, history and personality while Jennings is a two dimensional milquetoast (despite Benny’s pointed questioning: “Do you drink your own bath water?” “Sometimes.”) It is after all his neighborhood, his friends and ‘his’ kids who are being subjected to the terrorism of drugs and political violence perpetrated by a racist white conspiracy that goes right to the top levels of government.

Thanks to Ronald Reagan’s little war, drugs and junkies were as necessary to 80’s cinema realism as punk-rockers, but it was his predecessor Richard Nixon who initiated the War on Drugs, clarifying that it was really about black folks, you just couldn’t say it was. At the same time, the CIA really was deliberately introducing narcotics into black neighborhoods to undermine the Black Power movement. (Not surprisingly this was also the same time that the NRA was for gun control; to prevent armed Blacks.) To be sure, there’s a black guy in there peddling drugs in The Wild Pair. It’s easier to dismiss all of this conspiracy stuff if they do it too, but I choose to see his name “Ivory” as somewhat more than accidental. As my friends over at Comeuppance Reviews said in their write-up of The Wild Pair, “it’s all there,” to which I would add; IF you choose to see it. It may appear too convenient to find all this baggage in a forgotten crime dramedy, but after realizing that The Wild Pair has already subverted the staid norms of its genre, its allusions to history appear much more deliberate. The Wild Pair may not be the most original buddy-cop flick out there, but for rocking the narrative boat, it does have the most to say.



13 May 2013

Lethal Weapon


United States - 1987
Director - Richard Donner
Warner Home Video, 1987, VHS
Run Time - 1 hour, 50 minutes

I've been working on an essay about buddy cops and watching a lot of movies that fit the mold. I decided to post this because it's the first VHS release of this iconic entry in the genre, and it also features another movie trope I'm interested in exploring, the 'Nam Vet.

08 November 2012

Red Heat


United States - 1988
Director - Walter Hill
International Video Entertainment, 1989, VHS
Run Time - 1 hour, 46 minutes

Oh what a classic. Walter Hill, the man and master director behind such exploitation classics as The Driver, Hard Times (BEST), The Warriors and Streets of Fire went even more culturally specific with this little buddy-cop gem which I wish to Thanatos I hadn't gotten rid of. Sure, sure, it's out there, I can buy a new one but I damned sure wish I could just pop this fucker in the player and watch Schwartzy wrestle mostly naked in the snow.
Doesn't that one-liner, nay one worder, when Schwarty's Ivan Danko stumbles across the porno channel in his hotel room in the US just say it all? Shaking his head in expected disappointment;
"Capitalism."

05 November 2012

Dead Heat


United States - 1988
Director - Mark Goldblatt
New World Video, 1988, VHS
Run Time - 1 hour, 26 minutes

Among the more bizarre buddy cop films, Dead Heat ranks pretty high up there. Although the plot itself, with a mad-scientist transplanting old people-souls into young people bodies, isn't all that exciting, the execution is pretty damned fun. Joe Piscopo and Treat Williams are at their knuckle chewing best as endlessly annoying and whiny buddy cops respectively. Who would have them any other way? Quite possibly one-upping the medical supply warehouse scene from Return of the Living Dead in which the butterflies and split-dogs are zombified, Dead Heat features a similar scene in a Chinese butcher shop
They don't make 'em like this any more.

11 July 2012

Collision Course


United States - 1989
Director - Lewis Teague
HBO Video, 1992, VHS
Run Time - 1 hour, 39 minutes 

It might be sadly noted that Collision Course merely caps one phase of the ongoing buddy-cop cycle. Coming as it did at the end of the 80's, it would seem to mark the end of the era when the formula could legitimately be taken at least somewhat seriously. Within a couple of years, the genre would be actively autocannibalizing in a frenzy of self-referential degradations that boggle even the most callused mind.

But, by brazenly condemning itself to near-instant obscurity with a plot lifted from an all too brief moment of history, Collision Course happily embraces its fate. As the American auto industry was breathing the last of its hegemonic gasps, racial tension in the USA was at its feature-length comedy finest. So fine that it could afford to hire the likes of Pat Morita and Jay Leno for a little stereotype-pantomiming and good-natured bigotry double-act routine. While primarily concerned with this crude, groan-inducing send-up that Leno is so suspiciously good at, the film does actually dip its pen oh so briefly into real-life before skimming its way to the manichaean Oriental conspiracy toilet.

The welcome addition of battle hardened second-stringers Ernie Hudson and Soon-Tek Oh make the going a little more bearable too. Hey, you've got to look for the good stuff in every one of these things as they flicker across the screen. By the time it was released in the US some three years after completion, Collision Course would would be even more esoteric, ushering in that new cycle of buddy cops that would be the lifesblood of my own blessed generation in the years to come.

07 June 2012

Cop and a Half


If you were hoping for a long diatribe on the relative merits of Cop and a Half versus, say Cops and Robbersons, I'm really sorry to disappoint you. Instead you'll have to head on over to the always whimsical and often juvenile Illogical Contraption and content yourself with my drunken rambling essay on the  the Buddy Cop genre and the revolutionary, game-changing shrinkage of Axel Foley into an 8 year old child.

Because the promotional art for the film didn't quite capture the whole mood I was going for, above you will find a picture of the cover of the novelization.
You can also follow the ever growing links 'Buddy Cops' and 'Axel Foley' if you want to read more about this wonderful subset of American popular culture.

I hesitate to say nauseous, but this picture does make me uncomfortable.

09 January 2012

Hellbound

Box scan courtesy of VHS Wasteland

United States - 1993
Director - Aaron Norris
Cannon Video, 1995, VHS
Run Time - 1 hour, 35 minutes

In the Dark Ages, during one of many terrible Crusades against the eastern desert heathens, Richard the Lionheart personally slew Satan's voice-modulated emissary of Armageddon, Prosatanos, and stuck him in a stone sarcophagus. Unfortunately, he sealed the tomb with jeweled golden daggers, a prize far too tempting to remain undisturbed. 800 years later Prosatanos (Christopher Neame) is freed by several tomb robbers. Cleverly disguising himself as an archaeologist he begins searching for the pieces of a broken scepter which holds his power. Sometime in 1993, he finds himself in Chicago... At the very same time, while patrolling the streets looking for drug dealers, Frank Shatter (Chuck Norris) and his shuckin’& jivin’ partner Calvin (Calvin Levels) find themselves at the scene of a murder. After a short fight in which his adversary flees, Shatter discovers what appears to be the head of a broken scepter.

Returning to HQ, Frank and Calvin are interrogated by Israeli police, and instructed to escort the Rabbi's body back to Israel. Fortunately for us, this gives them ample time to ham up the white cop/black partner routine that has frequently made American action cinema so inspiringly progressive since the end of the70’s. Sporting a mop of Jheri Curls and a fanny-pack, perpetually hungry/whiney Calvin isn't going to challenge any cinematic stereotypes. All arguments, whether goofy or simpering merely bounce off the Norris's stony, practically comatose personage like so much bird shit. While I am not holding my breath to discover what value anything conceived by Team Norris has, I am curious to see how much worse this can get.

Following a string of clues which Prosatanos conveniently leaves lying on his writing desk, Shatter and Calvin manage to track Big-P to a partially excavated temple in the desert. Having collected and reassembled the pieces of the scepter, Big-P now intends to sacrifice his glorified secretary and usher in Armageddon. While Calvin distracts Big P with more whining, Norris storms in and personally delivers his traditional beat-down. Cue corny rubber demon-mask and writhing, mostly obscured by flames and Norris is once-again the savior of the world.

8 years after Chuck's finest moment, Team Norris is clearly running out of ways to present the same trite shit. The not-so-clever twist here is that Norris is just a two dimensional beard with fists, and the ethnics are left to compensate for the vacuum of personality with the amplified clowning that white people seem to find so reassuring. Relying heavily on both, Hellbound is arguably the laziest application of Team Norris’s “detached-benevolence” schtick to be found among their pantheon of hits.

Arabic poster from The Movie Poster Page


UK VHS sleeve from Froggyflix


26 December 2011

Theodore Rex



United States – 1995
Director – Jonathan Betuel
New Line Home Video, 1996, VHS
Run Time – 1 hour, 32 minutes

Sometimes in the process of poisoning my mind with all these films I stumble across one that, despite its relative availability, just demands closer inspection. After watching Theodore Rex, there are a lot of things going through my mind. It’s a mess of confusion and wonderment up there, a jumble of emotion, fright, anger and even some sadness. I feel a little bit dirty. In case you are too young, have forgotten, or never had the pleasure of knowing at all, I’ll give you a quick refresher on the plot. In a nominally sci-fi future dystopia, detective Katie Coltrane (Whoopi Goldberg) partners with a bumbling, human-sized talking Tyrannosaurus Rex (“Teddy”) to solve the murders of several other dinosaurs. Much “hilarity” ensues. However, there is something much more problematic here than the fact that a talking dinosaur has just been given a job as a cop.


On the surface Teddy is an “adult” who drinks, chases women and has a job.  But because he talks, dresses and acts like a child, he is the film’s demographic selling point and titular hero.  Despite, or perhaps because of, his best efforts to channel Axel Foley, our “hero” is given all the attributes of the constantly frightened or mistake-prone sidekick. The subsequent hour and a half wallows in the resentment of his human counterparts. They make no secret of their contempt when such an obviously inferior creature is given a toy job on the police force in order to placate dino-rights activists, (I’m not making this shit up.) Even Whoopi uses the closet-bigot’s time honored phrase “you people,” (errr, dinosaurs.) In this light, we must recall that Theodore Rex is a product of the decade that gave us such PC Tokenism as the Americans with Disabilities Act and the backlash against Affirmative Action. As such, its bitterness towards childlike-adults (read: the mentally handicapped) reeks of the sort of recrimination familiar to an artist forced to sacrifice his aesthetic vision on the altar of commercial viability. Beneath its kiddie, buddy-cop exterior, Theodore Rex is an agonized cry of outrage at the decline of that great imperialist institution, “meritocracy”.




When confronted with movies of highly subjective quality, one often hears the question “why did this seem like a good idea?” This is an understandable response, a reflexive reaction to offended sensibilities, but it’s too loosely used against movies that venture into uncharted territory. Specifically the question lacks definition, being too subjective to serve as any real criterion. Humans are after all gifted with creative, imaginative minds which should be used and enjoyed even if their vision is sometimes more than a little out of their grasp. This film however is one movie for which this overused question is entirely appropriate. The anti-hero has a long tradition in narrative storytelling. Theodore Rex however, takes the unprecedented step of removing the hyphen from the trope and being literally against its hero. This sort of meta-ethical flip-flopping is dangerous, because it dissolves the existential barriers between film, audience and film-maker. It is a mind-warping paradox that can lead to feelings of betrayal and revulsion for all three parties, and ultimately to the sort of resentment that causes a writer/director to quit making films altogether.


11 April 2011

Drive

Here, sit on this milk-crate and look mad, we'll Photoshop the car in later.

United States - 1997
Director - Steve Wang
A-Pix Entertainment, 1998, VHS
Run Time - 1 hour, 39 minutes

Historically, by dint of preference I haven’t exposed myself to very many action films outside of classic Chinese kung-fu, but if the junk turning up in my in-box is any indication, that all seems to be changing, I'm learning to enjoy the absurdity of it all. Here in Drive Mark Dacascos (Brotherhood of the Wolf) plays Toby Wong, a Chinese national on the run in the U.S. from the Chinese mafia who are trying to prevent him from revealing the techno-secret of his super robot-heart to a rival corporation. Even if a bit silly, the story seems intriguing, even suspenseful at first. That is, until you remember halfway through the film that you’re an whiny leftist and something about this movie seems a little uncool man. That’s when you realize that Wong is just selling stolen military technology (likely funded with government grants paid for by taxpayers) to a rival corporation. The promise of money that Wong has been offered for delivery of said robo-heart represents not some high-minded reward for social justice rendered, but only a fraction of potential government contract money to produce legions of super warriors to oppress third world nations for access to the raw materials and cheap labor required to manufacture robo-heart components. Or, the reward money might be an easy excuse for writing another character into the script.


Enter Malik (Kadeem Hardison), an innocent bystander Wong picks up on the run. I initially thought that Malik’s predictable stereotyped clowning was there to relieve Dacascos’ wooden acting and complete the buddy-cop act (cleverly disguised as buddy-fugitives.) But wait, ridiculous and mostly unused robo-heart angle aside (oh yeah, that) the dialogue throughout is actually quite snappy and amusing and in the final scene Dacascos belts out a karaoke song revealing that even the golem can muster a sense of absurdist humor. Channeling Axel Foley, Malik’s two-dimensionality is just an inexplicable and practically criminal laziness on the part of the writer and director whom, judging by the relative quality of the rest of the film, are clearly capable of better. One can only assume that this perplexing and disappointing cultural-spectre must serve to add something “familiar” or “relatable”. Maybe the old eye-popping, shuckin-n-jivin’ coon act is meant to help us “suspend disbelief.” Brittany Murphy appears as a deranged/strung-out hotel receptionist who repeatedly throws herself at Malik. But don’t worry, the Hollywood taboo against sullying white female purity with black male sex will not be broken in Drive. Malik may act stupid, but he isn’t. Sometimes even if you’re the most capable actor, with the best lines in the film, you still play along to get along.


I would like to think that a director’s cut version of the film which runs at least 15 minutes longer is better. And despite my waning aversion to macho violence outside of a dojo, yes, more of Dacascos awesome quadruple-discipline martial arts skills would be great. From what I’ve seen in Drive this guy doesn’t get the recognition or roles he deserves, and neither does Kadeem Hardison. Let’s hope that that changes without more of the same tired old song and dance.

15 August 2009

I Come In Peace


United States - 1989
Director- Craig R Baxley
Media Home Entertainment, 1990, VHS
Runtime – 1 hour, 32 min.

I remember seeing trailers for this film on TV. I would have been 9 years old or so and based on those memories I have spent 20 years pining for the day I might get to see this film myself. I worked for a Chef many years ago who also had fond childhood memories of this film and we commiserated over it several times, he remembering it nostalgically, and I vicariously soaking up his belated joy.
It wasn’t until about 2 or three months ago that I stumbled headlong across this beautiful, nearly pristine Media VHS tape at a massive benefit sale and swooped upon it like a hunting falcon. There was no danger of competition, the field of battle was empty. And hence I mount this magnetically charged trophy upon my shelf of fading glory.

First, this tape opens with trailers for Delta Force 2, and David Lynch’s Wild at Heart. An interesting combination to precede Lundgren. My experience with Dolph is extremely limited, perhaps a surprise considering my age and love of exploitation film. But until the last 5 years or so I didn’t go in much for action. I’m seeing this fresh.

Any good copsploitation movie from the era must open with a violent shooting heist or the other standard option, a stakeout (usually gone bad). In this case, minds could not be made up, and both options sounded good so there is a heist and a stakeout gone bad at the same time. Followed immediately by another heist pulled on the crooks who ruined the stakeout. As if that wasn’t overwhelming enough, Dolph Lundgren is the cop who survives and has to put all the pieces of this puzzle back together.

The second heist is committed using a crazy weapon that looks like a CD, no wait, it is a CD. This suggests that there is something not to be trusted about the digital format. (If this movie ever makes it to DVD I’m crying foul.) In any case this is quickly forgotten.Turns out that the owner of the CD is an evil alien who is killing off the local drug cartel, the White Boys for their heroin.


Walking the streets of Houston the alien reassures his victims of his friendly intentions with a raspy “I come in peace” before injecting them in the heart with a massive dose of heroin in order to extract the subsequent endorphins from their brain which he then transports back to his own planet as a drug.

Wouldn’t it make more sense for the aliens to just shoot up heroin and generate their own endorphins? No, because if they need endorphins they must not naturally have any, hence they are incapable of feeling pleasure. If this is true the aliens world must be populated exclusively with brutal warriors fucking each other up simply because pain is the only thing they know. So, he’s trying to bring an end to warfare on his own planet, so he kind-of really does come in peace? However, to that end we must first endure Caine as “rogue cop” with standard reluctance to get a partner, in this case made worse because partner is an FBI agent and everyone knows the Feds only let bureaucratic hierarchy get in the way of pragmatic local law enforcement. Still, the estranged girlfriend and fringe “lone gunman” pal have to help propel this generic cop-actioner plus second-thought-alien toward its conclusion.

A nerd attempts some coarse analysis amidst the complex social commentary of I Come In Peace.

Perhaps more plausibly the only reason the alien says I come in peace –since he makes no other such overtures- is so that at the end of the film after blowing the alien up Caine can utter the long awaited implicit one-liner.
Awesome, American cinema is all about the catharsis of destruction.