Savage Streets (USA; Danny Steinmann, 1984)

 There's just something about bad 80s movies I simply can't resist. Just seeing the posters for some of these films makes me go "I gotta see this!" even though I am certain of their ultimate mediocrity. It's as if all of the usual conventions found in mainstream Hollywood films are thrown out the window, the focus being on easily  exploitable material, a.k.a B.T & A (blood, tits & ass). Proving once again that Linda Blair can't act to save her life, this girl-power revenge flick is as trashy as they come. The antagonists are over-the-top disgusting perverts whose decision to rape a  young, deaf high school girl leads her older sister Brenda (Blair) to go on a killing streak, chasing down the perpetrators one by one. While the deaf-victim/revenge angle reminded me of Ms. 45 (1981), Savage Streets possesses none of the startling grittiness of Abel Ferrara's cult classic. It rather feels like a Troma picture gone wrong (which is saying a lot). However, like so many titles of 80s cinema, the reasons that make the film so terrible are the same that make it so enjoyable. Over-acting, bad lighting, shaky out-of-focus camera work and  signature 80s synthesizer music all work together to create one of the best bad movies I've had the luck to see. 

  

Ace in the Hole (USA; Billy Wilder, 1951)

 To what lengths will a reporter go to make a good story great? That's the question Chuck Tatum (Kirk Douglas) attempts to clarify in Ace in the Hole, Billy Wilder's rendition of the newspaper movie. Having been successful in almost every other genre (except perhaps the western), I find it surprsing that Ace is known to be a flop in his illustrious career. Much darker and cynical then Hawks' His Girl Friday (which incidentally Wilder remade himself almost 25 years later as The Front Page, taking back the original title of the play), the film paints a rather bleak picture of the media in which deception, exploitation and self-destruction seem to be the prevailing norm. When big-city-exiled hotshot reporter Tatum lands himself in Alburquerque, NM following a series of job terminations, his enthusiasm for big news is left wanting when big headlines talk of rattle snake hunting festivals. When he accidentally comes across a man trapped in cave (Richard Benedict), he sees the big story he was looking for and his way back into a big-city newspaper. Using his loose-lipped, fast-talking big-city edge, Tatum delays the rescue to stretch the story out, turning this small-town tragedy into a big carnival (the title to which it was changed following poor intitial reception). As he deals with contemptuous editors, the victim's treacherous wife and his own moral dilemna, Tatum soon grows wary of his own profession as his actions ultimately make up the difference between life and death.

   On par with many other films about the media (Sweet Smell of Success; Network), what distinguishes Ace is its setting. As opposed to being set in the urban jungle, as most newspaper films are, we are thrown into the desert, a spot as remote from civilization as it is from viewers consciousness. In doing so, Wilder examines media practices outside of its normal turf of manipulation, dealing with small-town citizens who may not be as used to the tricks of the journalism trade as big-city dwellers. When not taken for granted, the exploitations of the media are seen to cause harm and irreperable damage, serving to destroy the communities they purport to enlighten.     

In Cold Blood (USA; Richard Brooks, 1967)

  Like Truman Capote's book on which it is based, In Cold Blood is a reconstruction of true events presented in fiction form. The gripping result is a testament to the power fiction has in shaping emotions and ironically making us sensitive to real events. Taking the book's two murderers as protagonists, the film follows Dick Hickock (Scott Wilson) and Perry Smith (Robert Blake) before and after committing the crime refered-to in the title. The crime in question, however, is not seen until the end (as opposed to the central position it holds in the book), a cinematic choice in line with the escalating nature of narrative fiction. Shown through flashbacks narrated by Perry as he waits on death row, the mass murder of an innocent Kansas family is still brutally shocking today; one can only imagine how it must have been received in its day.

 Richard Brooks, who always seems fascinated by socially marginal characters (Blackboard Jungle; Elmer Gantry; The Professionals), is at his best here as he captures real-life social angst and aptly projects it on screen in the form of Dick and Perry, whose portrayals are as vulnerable as they are menacing. Fluidly told through alternations following both criminals and investigators, the film's strongest element is its visuals. Gloriously shot by Conrad Hall, the breathtakingly expressive black-and-white photography not only brilliantly conveys the atmosphere of the crime in general but is also quite reflective of the suggested state of mind experienced by the killers. While it is reinforced by edgy dialogue, exquisite mise-en-scene and convincingly strong performances, In Cold Blood could stand on its images alone, being of the few titles I wouldn't mind watching on mute.