Looking for Trouble - ANGEL HEART

Someone, at some point, deemed the month of November to be unofficially rechristened Noirvember, to celebrate the fine works of Film Noir.  I’m sure it was President Kennedy or Gandhi, someone important like that.  The thing is, as I mentioned last week, I’m not that into Noir.  At least, I didn’t think I was.  I never think, “I’m in a Noir mood,” or “that was a fine Noir movie,” or “hey, Noir is a thing, isn’t it?”  Weirdly though, I happen to own a ton of Neo Noir.  I just didn’t realize it was Neo Noir.  I love crime films, and grim cautionary tales about a doomed dope who can’t pull himself out of a downward spiral, and movies with sexy, deceptive women.  Lethal ladies, one might say.  No time for Noir, though.   

My problem was that I thought of Noir as a Genre (capital G).  That might be true for the classic black and white stuff, but Neo Noir is a sneaky bastard.  It turns out, Neo Noir can be hidden in any genre, as long as it includes certain themes.  There could be western noir, spy noir, space noir, talking animal noir, the sky’s the limit.  I already looked into sexploitation noir and nerd noir, so this time I went digging for some horror noir.  After briefly considering the 1990 remake of THE BLOB (probably not noir), I went with the obvious-to-anyone-but-me choice, 1987’s grim supernatural shocker, ANGEL HEART.

The Capsule:

It’s 1955, and two-bit Brooklyn private detective Harry Angel (Mickey Rourke) seems to have landed a honey of a case.  A sharp dressed business man named Louis Cyphre (Robert De Niro) wants Angel to dig up information on the once famous crooner, Johnny Favorite.  Seems Cyphre had a contract with Johnny, but the bum disappeared before he could collect.  The trail leads Angel from the beaches of Coney Island to the back alleys of Harlem, to the steamy streets of New Orleans, and things keep getting worse with every turn.  As Angel finds out, this Favorite cat was into some weird shit, running with both high society occult circles and the backwoods voodoo crew.  Neither take kindly to Angel’s snooping, nor do the local cops.  Between being attacked by a pit bull, sliced with a straight razor, and marked as a murder suspect, Angel’s only break is catching the fancy of a young mambo priestess named Epiphany (Lisa Bonet).  The affections of a good woman may not be enough to save Angel, who fears the closer he gets to Johnny, the deeper he digs his own grave.

I hope director Alan Parker didn’t bother to hold an audition, because Harry Angel is the part Mickey Rourke was born to play.  Rourke is a fascinating actor who has gone through several dramatic physical changes in his career.  For instance, here he is in his Chihuahua phase, which—clearly—is astonishing:

Rourke in his prime, the mid to late ‘80s, was no less interesting.  He was handsome, in a sordid sort of way, a look that would get him leading roles in torrid, sweaty movies like 9 ½ WEEKS and WILD ORCHID.  He also projected a damaged, vulnerable charm that made him perfect for downward spiral movies like BARFLY.  Harry Angel is both in equal measure.  Angel looks like he just rolled out of bed after a blackout, no matter what time of day.  His cheap suits are always rumpled and damp with sweat (hopefully), his hair is perpetually greasy, and you can practically smell him through the screen.  Still, he does alright with the ladies.  He’s like Casanova of the gutter.

There are so many little touches that make Angel an interesting character.  There are a few classic private eye clichés, like the gun he has casually stuffed in the desk drawer, amidst the matchbooks and gum stick, but most are unique.  His irrational fear of chickens is the bit that comes up most often and gets the best payoffs.  There could be a deeper reason when all the secrets are revealed, but it could just as well be an unrelated quirk.  Some people just have a thing about chickens.  

I also enjoy the way he constantly mispronounces everyone’s name, like when he says “Epithany” instead of Epiphany.  He pronounces Cyphre as “Cy-fe-air”, and when corrected, immediately calls him “Mr. Cyphers”.

Plus, for such a tough guy, Angel has a queasy constitution when it comes to blood.  Which is too bad, since he encounters a lot of it during his investigation.  The gore effects themselves are not excessive, but because the locations feel so grimy and sticky to being with, adding a few heavy splashes of blood turns things down right revolting.  Angel tends to stumble on the results of the violence rather than the event itself, but the aftermath—from headshots to hearts being cut out—is unsettlingly enough.  The most gruesome murder is merely described instead of being shown, thankfully.  Someone is choked to death with his own dick.  I mean someone cut it off and shoved it down his throat, not that it was some type of kinky contortionist accident. 

This might be a bold statement, but Lisa Bonet’s voodoo priestess Epiphany may be the sexiest creature ever captured on film.  She may even top Salma Hayek’s Santanico Pandemonium from DUSK TILL DAWN, and that, my friend, is a tall fucking order.  Epiphany has far more screen time than the vampire queen, and her character is considerably more fleshed out.  I mean that in the literary way, not the dirty way.  Although, also in the dirty way.  Epiphany is the opposite of Angel in every way, confident, raw, and fierce.  She is like an elemental force of nature.  The voodoo ceremony that Angel spies on out in the bayou maybe stereotypical to the point of offensive, but no fault can be found with Epiphany’s delirious, all-consuming dance.  Unless you are a chicken.

Rourke and Bonet have palpable chemistry, so it’s easy to buy that Epiphany would fall for Angel’s bad boy/doofus routine.  That chemistry comes in handy for their big sex scene in Angel’s flea bag hotel room.  It is quite intense, to say the very least.  Starting off with a sweet and sultry private dance to LaVern Baker’s Soul on Fire (super-hot mood music, by the way), the activities soon move to the bed.    The flow of rain dripping from leaks in the ceiling increases as the action gets heavier, until it is pouring down in a shower.  The effect adds a surreal, artful edge to the very detailed, almost soft-core throws of passion.  

Then shit gets reeeely weird.  The water slowly turns to blood, LaVern is overtaken by a sinister score, and Angel begins seeing visions.  There are flashes of a blood-soaked orgy, sudden acts of violence, and something that I still can’t quite wrap my head around, even after a frame by frame rewind.  Whatever it is, it’s disturbing.  When Angel snaps back, his hands are around Epiphany’s neck.  He pulls back in horror, just short of strangling the life out of her.  She’s okay, but geez, Angel, way to dump cold water on the sexy time.  Haven’t you heard of safe words? 

Incidentally, this movie was the reason Bonet got booted off her Cosby Show spin-off, A Different World, because the execs (which included Bill Cosby) thought her actions on screen were unbecoming of a Huxtable.  Try not to choke on the fucking irony.

Things really begin to spiral out of control for Angel after that point.  Since everyone he talks to ends up dead, the local cops are really breathing down his neck.  I remembered lead detective (Eliott Keener) from earlier watches, because he is the stereotypical butterball racist sheriff, but I was surprised to realize this time that his quieter, bumbling partner is a very young Pruitt Taylor Vince!  For the last twenty years or so, Vince has been the go to guy for psycho nutballs (last scene in Stranger Things 2 as a torturous hospital orderly).  With his huge frame and big, bald head, he’s instantly recognizable, but his signature feature is the crazy, rapid twitching thing he does with his eyes.  He looks completely different here, skinny with a full head of hair, but he was doing the crazy eye thing even back then.

In the end, all the bloody business leads back to where it started, with Cyphre.  For my money, Robert De Niro’s Lou Cyphre is the best human personification of the devil. [Spoiler for incredibly oblivious people].   This doesn’t include prosthetically enhanced monster versions of the devil, because nothing beats Tim Curry in LEGEND, but sans make-up, De Niro is king.  He does have a bit of the theatrical, with long, manicured nails and a pentagram ring, but De Niro’s performance is where the magic comes from.  Cyphre radiates a polite, subdued menace that saturates every scene he is in.  His every word measured, every action precise, but there is a little hint of glee in his eye watching Angel become more and more distressed.  

The big joke [actual spoiler] is that Cyphre has orchestrated the entire thing just to watch Angel suffer.  He could have pulled Johnny’s ticket at any point, but it’s so much more fun to watch Angel squirm as he slowly puts the pieces together.  When Angel sees the entire, devastating picture (which makes his hot and heavy encounter with Epiphany SO MUCH WORSE), resigning himself to his fate is his only option. Time to start thinking about apartment hunting in hell.

In retrospect, ANGEL HEART is about as Neo Noir as you can get.  The atmosphere is dark and oppressive right from the start.  Angel’s impending doom feels all but guaranteed.  Cyphre demonstrates a femme fatale does not always have to be female (although he does wear a dress at one point, which is weird).  It makes me wonder how many other noirs have been hiding in plain sight.  As a cinephile, it’s a little embarrassing I didn’t see it sooner.  I should try to be a little more observant.  Or as that lady from Coney Island would say, “Don’t be a gazoony, fella!”

C Chaka

Nerd Noir – Ex Machina

I’ve never totally gotten into classic Film Noir.  I appreciate all the elements, the doomed atmosphere, the femme fatale, the double crosses. Something about the classic Noir, in the vein of DOUBLE INDEMNITY, just doesn’t click with me.  Maybe it’s because I’m not the obsessive type, the kind of guy who gets wrapped around a lover’s finger.  I’ve never had trouble slipping out of a relationship when I feel I’m being steered down a bad road, even when there’s a dame to kill for in the passenger seat.  [I am currently hitched to a dame to kill for, but no worries, because she does all the driving.]   So, I can’t relate to the poor sap who can't see the warning signs because he is too blinded by a pretty face and a pair of sexy gams (which, I believe, are legs; I don't relate to Noir lingo, either).  Then Alex Garland’s EX MACHINA rolls up and pulls a trick my nerd heart can’t resist, putting that pretty face on a robot.  Goddamn it, you got me.

The Capsule:

Caleb (Domhnall Gleeson), a meek code monkey working at the Apple/Google-esque tech company, Bluebook, is thrilled to when he wins a week long vacation with his boss.  Normally, this would be a horrible contest, but in this case his boss, Nathan (Oscar Isaac), is basically the richest, smartest dude in the world, so I guess it’s cool.  Once Caleb arrives at Nathan’s secluded mansion in the New Zealand mountains, he learns that it is not a vacation at all and the boss is putting him to work.  Again, it’s better than is seems, because his work is testing Nathan’s newest toy, a girl android named Ava (Alicia Vikander).  Nathan wants to know if Ava can pass as a real woman, despite being partially transparent and filled with spinning, light-up robot do-dads.  The signs point to yes, as Caleb begins to fall for the sexy mechanical pixie the moment they meet, separated between unbreakable glass.  As he and Ava get to know each other better, Caleb begins to suspect that Nathan, in addition to being an arrogant alcoholic asshole with a God complex, might be harboring more sinister motives.  Can Caleb outsmart his boss and free Ava from her glass cage, or is he just a pawn in a larger game?

Even though EX MACHINA won an Oscar for its special effects, it really does break down to a simple "would you help me kill my husband" style noir, only with sci-fi flourishes and a see-through abdomen.  With limited locations and only four primary characters, the story could easily be done as a stage play.  This kind of movie puts all the heavy lifting on the shoulders of its actors, and fortunately, there are some strong shoulders here, synthetic or not.

Oscar Isaac does an incredible job turning himself into a thoroughly unlikable prick.  He might be a super smart computer nerd, but he is introduced in full bully mode.  Ignored on arrival, Caleb wanders Nathan’s wildly ostentatious home until he finds his host pounding away on a heavy bag, very purposefully setting the tone of their relationship.  Isaac effortlessly exudes a toxic bro charm, contempt barely concealed as friendliness.  He’s the kind of guy who, if you called him on his passive aggressive bullshit, he would twist all the blame back to you.  “What’s your problem, dude, I was just trying to be nice.”  Nathan is the guy who you wouldn’t want to have lunch with, let alone be trapped in a house for a week with.  The genius of Nathan’s villainy is in his banality.  You’re never going to run into an elegantly wicked monster like Hannibal Lector in real life, but I can guarantee you’ll have to endure at least one meeting with an insufferable douchebag like Nathan.

Likewise, Alicia Vikander is wonderful as the adorable/terrifying Ava.  It’s easy to be soothed by her smiling, elfin face, until you realize it is just stapled onto the silver skull of her freaky half mannequin, half skeleton body.  The illusion is stronger when she is all covered up, dressed up in a cute little boho skirt and leggings, sporting a wig.  But then she discretely performs a striptease for the peeping Caleb, and it is as if she is shedding her skin along with her garments.  If there is such thing as the sexy heebie jeebees, Ava gives them.

As charming as she is, there is no doubt she's the film’s robo-femme fatale.  She sizes up the shy, lonely programmer the second they meet, and becomes just what he is looking for, a naive waif in need of rescue.  Being a walking, talking lie detector allows her to instantly judge his reactions and adjust accordingly.  Ava might play a good game of being docile and impressionable, like when she innocently says she would like to go on a date with Caleb (to a busy intersection, very romantic), but underlying every smile is the singular desire for freedom.  She is like a tiger pacing the glass walls of her cage, all grace and beauty, waiting for her opportunity to pounce.  

Right in the middle, like a guppy dropped in a shark tank, is Domhnall Gleeson as the poor doomed sap, Caleb.  He’s not a total rube, though.  He’s clever enough to know Nathan chose him specifically, not as just a lucky contestant, and suspicious enough to know the boss is always watching, even during the convenient power blackouts that locks down the house and baths everything in red emergency lights.  He also suspects that his is being played by Ava, who is everything he could have wished for in a woman (aside from, you know, skin).  Just like the classic noir sap, though, he doesn’t care.  

Because it’s not just Ava’s sexual allure that makes him conspire to free her.  Nor is it the desire to be admired, appreciated, and indebted to as her hero.  Caleb has encountered a unique life form, and the threat of Nathan callously erasing her from existence is an affront to his curiosity as well as his compassion.  Nathan is only concerned with reusing her body, Caleb loves Ava for her big, blue, semi-solid brain.  

This is the part that hooks me.  Even knowing Ava is focused on her own agenda, it is impossible not to feel sorry for her.  She is in a shit position, no fault of her own.  Her very existence rests on the whims of an egomaniac, and that's not the only whim she has to worry about.  There is a reason why every android Nathan builds is female, even if he doesn’t come right out and say it.  The motherfucker has perfected the objectification of women by literally making them objects.  He tries to play it off to Caleb, explaining that Ava is like a daughter to him, and then proceeds to describe her robo-vagina.  Shudder.

He certainly doesn’t think of his mute servant Kyoko (Sonoya Mizuno) as a daughter.  She is a few versions lower than Ava on the A.I. scale (spoiler to anyone who doesn’t understand how sci-fi movies work), with no free will and little self-reflection, which is nice for her, since Nathan treats her like shit.  While the dance routine she and Nathan have worked out is clearly awesome, that is the only time she seems to enjoy herself.  The rest of her routine revolves around serving meals, straightening up, and taking off her clothes.  It hardly seems consensual when you are programmed to have sex with your boss/owner whenever he has the urge.  Lacking both a personality and a voice, she can’t complain, but she does act out in other ways, like when she peels the skin from her face in front of Caleb.  I suppose it’s the mute robot sexdoll version of a caged parrot picking out its feathers.  Unfortunately for Nathan (and fortunately for us), she also knows how to hold a grudge.

Though they are on completely different subjects, the film has a distinct vibe of THE SHINING.  There is the chilly, isolated setting (Norway, pretending to be New Zealand), the stark photography, the ominous score, the feeling of encroaching doom.  Nathan has a bit of Jack Torrance about him, a controlling, alcoholic patriarch whose menace lies just beneath the surface.  Wide-eyed, gullible Caleb makes a pretty good Wendy, minus the incredible ‘70s outfits.  There is even a great “All work and no play…” moment when Caleb sneaks into Nathan’s computer and sees the video logs of his earlier work.  

In those video files, showing him building and interacting with Ava’s predecessors, Nathan’s creepiness shoots from an amoral Dr. Frankenstein straight to bonafied serial killer.  The misogynistic tendencies hinted at earlier are brought out on full display.  Unlike Ava, all the previous models have all their skin, but none of their cloths, except for one extremely disturbing nude woman with a faceless silver skull.  While he doesn’t physically abuse them, he remorselessly torments them and keeps them imprisoned (in another disturbing scene, one captive pounds on her locked door until her arms break to pieces).  Nathan even keeps their dismembered bodies hidden away in coffin-like closets, trophies of those who failed him.  

Being a noir, we all know how the story will end, but Caleb and Ava make such a sweet couple that we really, really hope it won’t.  [Spoiler] It does.  We are rewarded with some richly desired comeuppance for Nathan.  First, in the middle of smugly gloating about how royally he fucked Caleb over, he falls into stunned silence when he learns the lowly little cubical drone has just turned the tables on him.  Then, Kyoko, easily persuaded by Ava into the sisterhood of abused androids, shows Nathan how it feels to be penetrated.  The best part is seeing him stagger away, completely unable to process how he could have been outmaneuvered.  But… I’m so goddamned smart!  Rich smart guys never lose!

Right up to the last minute, we’re still hoping these crazy kids can make it work.  Settle down in a modest little loft somewhere.  He could teach IT at a university, she could become a professional poker player.  Pump out a few cute little cyborgs.  Alas, while Ava talks a good game about being a real girl, that isn't what really makes her metaphoric heart beat.  She walks away from Caleb with barely a glance, leaving the lovesick fool to starve to death in Nathan’s locked down home.  Looking at it with a cold analytical view, Caleb, as sweet and well meaning as he is, would likely insist on keeping her a secret, too precious and fragile to survive in the harsh real world.  She would be trading one captor for another.  Making a clean break was best for everyone, except Caleb.  After her escape, she does seem to have a sentimental moment, people watching at the busy intersection where she and Caleb were to have their date.  Almost immediately becoming bored, though, she wanders away a few seconds later, probably to devise the downfall of human kind.  Well, the men, at least.

C Chaka