Sleaze is vogue. No clue how that happened. My boring-dad thoughts: Youth? A24? Nostalgia for bad old days? Certainly, the default preachy tone of cultural conversation invites a counterreaction. Of course, one thing worse than preachiness is preaching against preachiness. But I feel a call to lost movie moods: slummy, grotesque, unabashed, indefensible on any grounds beyond sheer bliss. Today’s cinematic sensations are expensive. Were the best thrills cheap?
I want to start an investigation, an irregular column about unsavory delights. The only place to begin is I, the Jury. The 1982 movie is on VOD. I recommend the Blu-Ray, unless you own a theater in Los Angeles, in which case I demand a month of midnight screenings.
Adapted from Mickey Spillane’s 1947 novel, Jury stars Armand Assante as Mike Hammer, a private eye killing and screwing through a revenge mystery. The opening titles set the tone. In still photographs under Bill Conti’s dragon-jazz score, Mike shoves his gun down his pants. The crotch close-up is a promise, or warning. Unzip for doom.
Someone killed Mike’s army buddy. The man’s widow (Mary Margaret Amato) opens the door in negligee, then tells Mike her late husband couldn’t perform intercourse. The victim was seeing a sex therapist, Dr. Charlotte Bennett (Barbara Carrera), which means there will be a murder orgy involving topless twins. First, Mike fills an engine full of Bacardi for a high-fatality car chase. He uncovers a vast CIA-Army-Mob conspiracy. He will meet a serial killer, then have explicit sex with the way wrong person. His fish keep dying. Half the female leads were in Playboy. The men only look like bad road.
I came across Jury the old-fashioned way: Screen Drafts. The greatest podcast recorded an episode last month about the five Mike Hammer movies. (Listen to it by joining the greatest Patreon in the world.) The original 1953 I, the Jury is a credible thriller. 1957’s My Gun is Quick has evil French sailors and a boat gundown. 1963’s The Girl Hunters features Spillane in the lead role, a performance as offputting as it is endearing. Those three films play Hammer’s heroism straight. A fist with a gun, a ladies’ man, an American. Mike’s typical love interest is a surprise murderess. If he’s so smart, why’s he keep sleeping with the enemy? Any subversion is accidental. I haven’t read the Hammer books, but I think Spillane just thought Mike was cool.
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