All posts by Allan Mott

Comedy

My Chauffeur (1986)

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Dear Hollywood,

I miss Deborah Foreman. Why did you stop making movies with her in them? Did she do something to piss you off? I’ve checked online, and the most recent photographs I’ve seen prove she’s still as hot as ever. Have you seen Valley Girl or April Fool’s Day or Waxwork or Sundown: The Vampire in Retreat? If you had, you’d know she was that rare actress who effortlessly mixed genuine sex appeal with likable adorability.

No greater proof of that exists than My Chauffeur, where she played an adorably sexy space cadet mysteriously hired by a secret benefactor to be the first female driver at a stuffy limousine company. Sure, it’s a haphazard, uneven production made by the schlockmeisters at the now-defunct Crown International Pictures, but she’s hilarious in it. And sexy. And adorable.

Just watch her wonderful under-reaction to the news that her and Sam Jones’ blossoming intimate relationship might be an incestuous one and tell me why she didn’t at least get her own badly written, cheesy ’80s sitcom! Truthfully, I can take or leave the rest of the picture — including the bizarre appearance by a fetal Penn & Teller — but that hasn’t stopped me from watching it a dozen times since it first came out.

Okay, maybe you’ve tried to get her back and she refuses to return your phone calls. Try harder. With Amanda Bynes teetering on and off the edge of retirement, we need all of the sexy-adorable we can get.

Yours Expectantly, —Allan Mott

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Thriller

11 Harrowhouse (1974)

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If you happen to be a member of my demographic, chances are the words “Charles Grodin,” “sexy blonde” and “diamond heist” lead you to think of only one movie. Yes, The Great Muppet Caper is awesome and probably the best example of the Muppets’ cinematic oeuvre. That said, it turns out those very same words can be applied to another film — you just have to imagine Candice Bergen in the place of Miss Piggy.

11 Harrowhouse stars Grodin (who also scripted) as a small-time diamond broker who is hired by Trevor Howard to buy and cut a stone worth $1 million. His entry into the big time is cut short, however, when he and his wealthy, widowed girlfriend, Bergen, are robbed before they can deliver the jewel.

Unwilling to accept her help to pay back the money he owes, Grodin decides to relieve John Gielgud and the market-controlling “System” of their hidden stash of diamonds, with the help of a cancer-stricken James Mason and a painted cockroach.

As directed by Aram Avakian, 11 Harrowhouse moves with a confident, restrained sophistication currently absent in present-day productions. Grodin’s work on the script is clearly evident in his character’s narration and the film’s dry, but often hilarious humor (Bergen especially benefits from the lines she’s given). The heist itself is simple, but ingenious, and bears better scrutiny than those found in similar films.

A genuine underrated classic, this is the kind of movie that keeps you smiling hours after it has ended. —Allan Mott

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Confession Stand

Confession Stand with Adrienne Barbeau

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Horror film icon Adrienne Barbeau starred in Cannibal Women in the Avocado Jungle of Death, Silk Degrees and Burial of the Rats.

FLICK ATTACK: Last February, I won a bottle of J&B at a screening of your ex-husband’s remake of The Thing for knowing you played the voice of the chess computer that beats Kurt Russell. Is this impressive, sad or a little of both?

BARBEAU: I think it’s impressive. Might tend to categorize you, though. Maybe you shouldn’t go public with your knowledge.

FLICK ATTACK: Speaking of John Carpenter, the two of you first worked together on the 1978 TV movie Someone’s Watching Me. How different do you think that movie would have been if he had been able to cast you in the lead instead of Lauren Hutton? And did anyone advise you against taking the then-controversial role of an out-of-the-closet lesbian?

BARBEAU: Well, I was shorter than Lauren, that’s one difference. As for playing one of the first lesbian women on television, I don’t think anyone noticed. It didn’t seem controversial at all, certainly no one ever commented on it. Probably because we dealt with it in such a matter-of-fact way.

FLICK ATTACK: You mention in your memoir that, despite earning a Tony nomination for originating the role of Rizzo on Broadway, you’ve never seen the film adaptation of Grease. Considering its ubiquity and annoying tendency to be “rediscovered” every five years or so, this strikes me as being a lot harder than it sounds. Has there ever been an instance where you’ve had to take deliberate action to avoid seeing it or have you somehow organically managed to remain blissfully untouched by it? And would you ever consider watching Grease II? It’s pretty awesome and Maxwell Caul — er, I mean, Michelle Pfeiffer is really dreamy in it.

BARBEAU: I did see part of Grease II on television once. I don’t remember it at all, except for thinking Michelle Pfeiffer was absolutely beautiful and should have a great career ahead of her. And as for never seeing Grease, I think the answer is organically managed to remain blissfully oblivious. That, and changing channels a couple of times on purpose.

FLICK ATTACK: There’s a terrible fire, and both The Love Boat and Fantasy Island are in equal amounts of danger. You guest-starred on both, but only have enough time to save one. What do you do?

BARBEAU: I’ve got to go with Fantasy Island. I mean, where else could I get the opportunity to play a 200-lb. woman opposite Tim Thomerson? Or get rescued by Ricardo Montalban? Besides, I got seasick on The Love Boat and couldn’t wait to disembark.

FLICK ATTACK: You finally got to play the “Kurt Russell” part in the cult horror/comedy The Convent. How fun was it being an action-movie badass?

BARBEAU: I loved it. As soon as Mike Mendez described the role as “a female Snake Plissken,” I said “yes.” Now if only the motorcycle really worked.

FLICK ATTACK: In a review for the 1987 slasher movie Open House, I suggested it was a film “so poorly made, you can even tell that the catering sucked.” Since you were one of the stars, I thought you might let me know if this critical analysis was correct or if I’m just a huge asshole.

BARBEAU: I’ll have to go with your judgment, since I never saw the film. And I’m damned if I can remember the food.

FLICK ATTACK: About your time spent working on The Cannonball Run, you wrote, “My character was simply the crux of a running tit joke: stupid male becomes blithering idiot when faced with exposed mammaries,” and, “All the talent I needed was attached to my breastbone.” Have I already mentioned how much I loved your memoir?

BARBEAU: Wanna be friends on Facebook? —Allan Mott

Action

Body Count (1996)

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Back in the ’90s, the direct-to-video market existed because many producers had discovered they could make a lot of money before a single frame of film was shot by pre-selling a generic action plot starring a handful of semi-famous actors to a bunch of unwary foreign distributors.

With their profit ledgers already in the black, there was no incentive then to spend further money on quality filmmaking, publicity or a theatrical release for these films and, as a result, they would just suddenly appear on the “New Releases” shelf of your local video store and stay there until some sucker decided he was tired enough of life to give them 90 minutes of his time.

Starring that pockmarked guy who was in Die Hard and The Goonies, that one guy who was in Scarface, that fucked-up Airwolf dude, plus Red Sonja and The Streetfighter, Body Count is an archetypal example of one of these pre-fab films.

In it, The Streetfighter plays a Japanese hitman who teams up with Red Sonja to get revenge on the cops who sent him to prison for a hit he performed on two acquitted child-pornographer gangsters. Pockmarked guy is aided in his investigation of these murders by a leggy FBI agent whose nonregulation miniskirts are highly inappropriate for the workplace. Naturally, they’re the only two who make it to the end of the movie alive.

Body Count is one of those movies you forget about while you’re still watching it, so it isn’t exactly worth seeking out, but it does feature enough violence, explosions and gratuitous nudity to sit through if it were to suddenly appear on your television screen. That is, if you’re a sucker who’s really tired of life. —Allan Mott

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Comedy

Loose Screws (1985)

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The second film in Canadian director Rafal Zielinski’s immortal Screwballs trilogy (Screwballs and Screwball Hotel round out the series, which does not include the crassly retitled Colleen Camp vehicle Screwball Academy), Loose Screws is less a sequel than an updated remake of the ’60s-set original, featuring the same character archetypes, but only two of the original actors.

In Screwballs, we watched as four different kinds of douchebags (cool, rich, nerdy and fat) competed to see who would be the first to behold the unclad body of gorgeous class prude Purity Busch, despite the fact that they seemed to find naked female bodies everywhere they went. In Loose Screws, we watch those same douchebags compete to see who will be the first to bed hot French teacher Mona Lott (presumably no relation to our humble editor), while also earning points for all of the other naked bodies they connive to uncover.

Both films conclude with the four plucky young assholes coming together to unclothe the objects of their desire in front of large audiences. In the first film, they use magnets; in the second, an unspecified gaseous aphrodisiac.

If you’re lucky, you’ll be able to quickly shake the film’s frequently miserable attempts at comedy and come away knowing that a surprising amount of attractive Canadian women were willing to appear nude for the sake of art in 1985. Beyond that, Loose Screws remains memorable only for its two strange attempts at musical numbers, both of which are just inexplicable enough to stay with you for far longer than the film itself deserves. —Allan Mott

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