warren-parr

From the flat, labored dialogue, the cliched music cues over crossfading exposition-cheating montages, the soap opera esque acting to dead rodents in the attic falling on Gwennie; Jessica Lange hosing down mud covered Johnathon Schaech in the stables, just to name a few of the elements stuffed in this lame, genre-straddling Turkey of a flick provoke titters and gaffaws throughout its running time. Have your phone handy to surf the web or work on that umpteenth draft of a script long overdue to pass what might otherwise be a campy, hag horror, must-see title from the distant past starring Bette, Joan, Olivia or Tallulah.

It's worth a viewing for the mid-Eighties time capsule of L. A., brimming with euphemisms and cultural artifacts from the era of pastel and frilly dress codes, punctuated by dollops of superficial punk vibes. This was the Reagan era of "Just Say No" let's not forget. Nicholas Cage, Colleen Camp and Frederick Forrest breath some life into their roles thankfully. I missed this one on its initial theatrical release and subsequent cable and streaming airings, finally catching up with it now on Blu-ray. My curiosity is barely softened by a long held loathing for this period, but somewhat satisfied with the performances by the leads.

Tedium sets in long before the title appears on screen. Hearing loss is certain by those willing to sustain the movie's blugeoning soundtrack. Close your eyes and marvel at the drivel uttered by the forgettable cast. Even iconic screen legend Charlotte Rampling remains covered in a black shroud during her few minutes as a Reverend Mother, too embarrassed to appear recognizable to audience members capable of recalling her previous incarnations on screen. Sand, wind, sand, explosions, sand, monstrous hardware and weaponry moving through, under and above sand; oh and wind, wind blown sand, wind chaffed skin, sandy undies no doubt ... yet somewhere there is spice!