99 and 44/100% Dead!

44 things (out of 100) about this movie:

Ann Turkel is gorgeous. Bradford Dillman gives a supremely bad performance. Chuck Connors' scenes are the best scenes in the movie. Edmond O'Brien, one of my favorites, is decent in this forgettable film. The underwater opening is a lot of fun. Richard Harris is half cool, half wooden. Married To The Mob is better than this. Smokin Aces is better than this. Lucky Number Slevin is better than this. Frankenheimer isn't necessarily meant to do comedy. Richard Harris likes to take his glasses off in dramatic fashion, make sure they click-clack noisily as he fiddles with them, and then manfully put them back on his face. The blocks of cement seem too light. I'll say Ann Turkel is gorgeous twice, because it'll help me get to 44 Things faster. True Romance is a hundred times better than this. Snatch is much better than this (and I still must see Lock, Stock And Two Smoking Barrels). I think you get what kind of (better) films this movie compares to. They probably should have come up with a different title for this thing. If you like accumulating Super-Guilty Pleasures you can't do much better than this. Hard to believe he's the same director of Seconds and The Manchurian Candidate. Richard Harris did his fair share of odd, somewhat unpalatable movies. The dialogue should have been more humorous. It's like they saw Live And Let Die and decided a gangster movie needs alligators and a guy with a hook for a hand even more than a spy movie does. I've seen much worse than this, but still, is this anybody's favorite movie??

The plot, gangster turf war, is pretty much irrelevant. Ronin improves on the car chases and the night-time bridge shoot-out stuff. Ronin is a better movie. Back to those phony-sounding bullet ricochets we had to endure in movies for years. Richard Harris also likes loading and unloading his guns, but then all these action guys like playing with their weapons. Thank goodness Tarantino found a way to attach a great script and story to this kind of vibe. Henry Mancini's music works fine. Early version of dude walking away from building as it blows up, and having absolutely no reaction at all (apparently the epitome of Cool). The 1970s are a hotbed of totally watchable bad movies. The secret to enjoying this is not to expect a masterpiece, but just sit back and don't think. I thought there'd be more blood. I think this one may be better than Johnny Dangerously. The young ladies in this movie are all quite pretty. Ann Turkel looks a bit like Raquel Welch, just in case that's a look you appreciate. Some of the fight scenes are less than convincing.

44/100% Dead should really be written as 22/50% Dead--or no, I guess not, that's stupid. Now I kind of want to check out Humanoids From The Deep. But I don't want to check out Island Of Dr Moreau (Frankenheimer version).

The next oddball gangster flick I plan to finally check out is Bound, which will probably be better than this. Ann Turkel drives a mean school bus. Dick Tracy is better than this, though we do get some cartoony colors here too, now and then.

Chuck Connors finds the right vibe for this film, and if the rest of the movie had taken a lesson from him, this could have been a lot more satisfying.

That was 44, unless I've miscounted.

The title refers to the now very old Ivory Soap claim of 99 and 64/100% Pure - and there is another "old" meaning for 'pure' that would be known to Frankenheimer and Dillon. It's another word for the material tanners would use in browning leather - dog turds. This should have been a clue to the humor to follow.

This is an interesting and odd film.

The Spiegelman-esquire comic book artwork that promotes this film really enticed my curiosity, but the film overall didn't turn out to be as "far out" as the many reviews I read for it. It's good--Harry's cool, and the characters were fun, but the plot points are cliché and only the soundtrack really makes this a tongue-in-cheek satire of movie violence (it's Harry Mancini ala Pee Wee Herman). So, if you're looking for a really strange, arty, Mod satire watch Modesty Blaise, They Call Her One Eye, or A Clockwork Orange. Or, if you want amputees with strange devices watch Deadfall or any Alejandro Jodorowsky movie. The effort to track down and pay for a copy of this will perhaps disappoint.

Robert Dillon's script was considered by producer Joe Wizan to be a black comedy along the lines of Dillon's earlier one for "Prime Cut" (1972: d. Michael Ritchie). Director Frankenheimer, on returning to the USA after much time in France, was faced with a situation wherein years of bad reviews of his films were taking their toll. He accepted this project, and wanted Robert Mitchum for the main role, but the producers wanted Richard Harris, fresh from the hit film "A Man Called Horse".

Critically however, the released film was felt to be a total fiasco, many reviewers holding that it represented the director's career at rock bottom. The film's dark, bleak humour and use of caricature were considered testimony to a certain sadism on Frankenheimer's part, and evidence of his growing contempt. In later years, even the great director plays down this most unusual gangster satire.

It concerns a hitman trapped between rival gangs, and takes place in a vaguely futuristic city, which seems spatially to constantly re-define itself. It is filmed obliquely, so one is never on sure footing as to how to react. What is most interesting about this peculiarity, are the number of bizarre, surrealistic pop-culture set-pieces in a world of futile violence and rampant egos. Only despair and nihilism at the absurdity of it all enables the characters to hold on to whatever shreds of honour they can maintain although they all succumb to personal pride at the expense of everything else.

Frankenheimer directs with a stylistic over-kill at times which sits uneasily with a certain lethargic quality, although it probably guarantees the film a cult audience in the future. Perhaps the film is best seen as a failed, but intriguing attempt to reconcile the director's frequent recourse to stylization with genre-based social satire. Still, the film seems uncertain of its aims, and tends to flounder in its often considerable visual panache. The remarkable opening sequence however, is amongst the oddest ever put to film, and typifies the film's sense of comic despair. A curio.

John Frankenheimer's post modern stab at the crime genre comes hot off the heels of Michael Ritchie's Prime Cut (from the same author no less), only the tone is more cutesy and the body count is nearly tripled. After a Pycal-inspired opening and an excellent underwater graveyard montage, we are introduced to pearly pistol gripped gangster Richard Harris who's en route to Chicago (?) to help win a dangerous mob war. The substandard mafia plot sits second tier to the film's sporadic comedy spoofing and mugging, much of what both fails and succeeds simultaneously at the hands of its dramatic director who must have been at the peek of his well publicized cocaine binge. Harris, with his balding curl mullet and wide-brimmed glasses resembles a young Michael Caine or Woody Allen depending on the lighting and camera angle, but performs his actions and delivers his dialog like a stone cold stoic; the juxtaposition is startling and dare I say cool as hell. Action scenes come out of nowhere and are framed and executed with professionalism, including a crazy ambush on an elevated bridge, and Chuck Conner's interchangeable James Bond claw which can alternate between knives and sex toys given the occasion. Much maligned and obscure gem. The skeletal dead humans and accompanying narrator reminds me of the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland.