Imagine the perfect cross-section of pulp surrealism, youth in revolt socio-politics, and whacked out Jack Kirby comics with the same slippery connection to reality as a Franju caper. Inject more of these into my veins, post-haste.
Damn the pan-and-scan VHS tape for tricking me into thinking this was a slack & sloppy enterprise. McTiernan's firing on all cylinders visually, keeping this multi-hyphenate dimension-hopping Looney Tune burning through the Cal-ee-forn-ya hills and shuttering Times Square grindhouses.
The aggressively winking movie-movie flourishes play out great on this wide canvas, mostly due to Arnold's earnest commitment. I wouldn't ever paint him as the most self-aware performer, but he's always conscious of his image, giving the movie a tension between his…
"...For there is a man inside me, and only when he's finally out, I can walk free of pain."
-- Tobias Fünke
Calling media "dated" as strictly a pejorative needs to stop. It implies that only contemporary works matter because they're about The Way We Live Now, ignoring the archival value of a cultural statement. Sure, there's a spectrum through which one can have this conversation, but it very often winds up as a dead-end. If there is a common complaint with Mann's work, it's that his attempts at staying in the vanguard of taste fossilize portions of his works in amber…