I'm up in Massachussetts, having an absolute fucking blast. I've been reading, writing, listening to tunes, getting into alpha-dominance battles with my mom's cats (man conquers nature, believe it), and of course, watching movies. Two in particular warrant mention, both childhood favorites, that you wouldn't think have anything in common . . . BUT THEY DO. Loverboy. No Way Out. What does a critically-dismissed, little-seen sex comedy that no one (much to their eternal discredit) still gives a fuck about have in common with a stylish, popular thriller that the average civilian remembers only for the limo shtup scene? I'm glad you asked, for the answer is simple: gay panic.
Now, I won't spend too much time sucking my own dick for being progressive, since that image works better as a joke than a reality (I'm not as flexible as I used to be), but I don't get why people trip about the 'mos. I regard the lesbians as natural allies; anyone who knows what it's like to be frustrated by women can drink whiskey with me anytime. Gay guys even more so: I'm a guy, they're guys, no more need be said. Recent years have seen the radical, shocking suggestion that gay people are normal people in movies. Colin Firth in A Single Man, for example: you could have replaced Matthew Goode and Nicholas Hoult with chicks and it'd basically be the same movie (well, except the whole Julianne Moore “why don't you want me?” subplot wouldn't make as much sense) and Colin Firth would be no less or more awesome (Ed. Note: he's massively awesome in that movie). But the fact that he is gay in it and he's a normal (if really smart and stylish) dude is great; I was actually rooting like hell for him to nail Nicholas Hoult for the whole second half of that movie.
They weren't making pictures like that in the 80s, alas. Progress had advanced to the point where you could mention that homosexuality existed in a movie, but it was this weird thing that freaked straights out. People used AIDS to excuse a lot of homophobic bullshit, but it really boiled down to the problem of your average civilian not realizing that s/he knew a whole lot more gays than s/he thought. And so your average civilian thought of the gays as being either flouncing, lavender jumpsuit-wearing faggots or linebacker-sized baritone broads in combat boots, if they were able to even process the concept. The unknown is always scary.
Loverboy, from veteran director Joan Micklin Silver, is a fairly progressive movie for the late 80s in that it laughs its ass off at gay panic. Young Patrick Dempsey (who, ironically, would go on to star on a TV show called Gay's Homosexuality) starts out the movie as a poseur punk college student with dumbass blond streaks in his hair whose sole use for his textbooks is to smash his hair into those dumbass “punk” spikes. We meet him listening to Edie Brickell (which isn't gay, but it does kind of make him a middle-aged woman) and making sincere but clueless romantic preparations for a quiet romantic evening with his girlfriend. The scene establishes him perfectly as a giant retard whose heart is in the right place.
And then a staggering, awe-inspiring collection of 80s college-movie stereotypes all arrive at Patrick Dempsey's room and throw the massivest fucking dorm room party of all time. Within a minute of their arrival, people are funneling beers, breaking shit, and generally setting a new land speed record for total destruction. It's really pretty awe-inspiring how quickly and totally shit gets fucked up in this scene, as Patrick Dempsey, who tried impotently to get this nuclear decadence flash mob to leave so he could Edie Brickell his way into his lady's vagina (in the Biblical sense), succumbs immediately, and is dancing around shitfaced with a gigantic duck head on (as one does) when said lady, Jenny, arrives. She rather primly objects to her room—they live together—being trashed by the 110th Airborne Booze & Pussy Rangers, and kicks everyone out.
A very hung over Patrick Dempsey wakes up and fights through the taunting of yuppie jagoff Jory to get back in the room and sweet-talk Jenny into forgiving him. She tells him he needs to learn to nut up and not let people walk all over him. Patrick Dempsey assures her he absolutely will. He'll even—pick your jaws up from the floor—tell his father that they're dating. She's quite happy about this, until Patrick Dempsey's father shows up to pick him up for summer vacation, and Patrick Dempsey starts in with some bullshit lie about how Jenny's his tutor. Naturally, she storms out; who the fuck wants a spineless choad like that for a boyfriend, much less one with such retarded hair?
To add to his problems, Patrick Dempsey's hideous academic record (“Oh, those are incompletes. It's cool, I can make those up”) pisses off his blue-collar dad, who runs a construction business, off to the point where he says fuck you I ain't payin for this shit anymore, get a job fucko. Mom Kate Jackson thinks Dad's being a little harsh, but defers to his authority. For now.
Patrick Dempsey then gets a job at a pizza place called Señor Pizza, where he has to wear a hilarious fake mustache and a sombrero strapped to his back. The paychecks are going to be a bit light as well; as co-worker Rick Diesel (Ed. Note: Canadian actor Bernie Coulson, tragically, ensured that he will be called nothing other than Rick Diesel in perpetuity with his hilariously terrible, scenery-chewing performance in Eddie & The Cruisers II: Eddie Lives; sorry, there's nothing I can do about this, it's the rules) informs him, it will take Patrick Dempsey approximately forever to earn a semester's tuition. Patrick Dempsey is, as the kids say, crestfallen, though Rick Diesel exhorts him to appreciate the side benefits of the job, like there being plenty of chicks to flirt with. Rick Diesel demonstrates, putting on his suavest act, only to have his two bubblehead targets fascinated sexually by Italian stud Tony (former Cher boyfriend Rob Camilletti) and utterly oblivious to the Rick Diesel charm. “I can't believe they fall for that Pepe Le Pew shit!” says R. Diesel.
In a lesser movie, it would take Patrick Dempsey the whole movie to grow a pair, but in Loverboy it happens in the middle of Act One: he's out delivering a pizza, bemoaning the loss of his one true love, when he spies a well-dressed woman who smiles at him. Patrick Dempsey ignores the obvious possibility—that she's laughing at the fact that he's driving in a fucking blue Jeep with a sombrero on top—and decides to ask her out in an upscale clothing store. Stupid? Sure, but nonetheless an impressive demonstration of balls. She does, alas, turn him down (in a really mean way: “You're just a boy. I don't date boys”), but the richer, hotter, better-dressed Alex (Barbara Carrera), who owns the place, is impressed by Patrick Dempsey's bravery and starts an impromptu makeover, which is cut short by a traffic cop ticketing the pizza car.
Back at the pizza joint, Patrick Dempsey bemoans the missed opportunity for wild Bond girl sex to an impressed Rick Diesel. Lo and behold, Barbara Carerra is so taken with Patrick Dempsey that she places a massive order that'll take him all day to deliver, bringing him to her fancy hotel room for none other than wild Bond girl sex. Patrick Dempsey calls his parents to tell him he won't be home, as he's crashing with “a guy from work” named Alex. However, Barbara Carrera thinks it'll be funny if she starts sexing Patrick Dempsey while he's talking to his dad, and she's absolutely right, because the last thing Patrick Dempsey's dad hears when the phone call ends is Patrick Dempsey making an orgasm sound . . . with a “guy from work.” Hmmm . . .
Matters are complicated further when Rob Camilletti shows up at Patrick Dempsey's place with a jacket, which Barbara Carrera has bought him and included a note that says “Although you know I prefer you naked, if you must wear something, wear this.” It's signed Alex, and since Patrick Dempsey tells them that the flamboyant, European Rob Camilletti is Alex, the guy from work (Ed. Note: all European people are gay), Patrick Dempsey's dad announces to Kate Jackson, “Our son is a fruit.”
Although Patrick Dempsey is having fun—and wild Bond girl sex—with Barbara Carrera, he confesses to her that his heart belongs to Jenny, and that out of fairness he has to break off the fling. Barbara Carrera is disappointed, and though she's quite fond of young Mr. Dempsey, she nonetheless plays a rather elegant prank on him, extracting a very fond and gentle revenge: she distributes the phone number for Señor Pizza far and wide, with the instructions that all a bored and affluent woman of a certain age need do is ask for “extra anchovies” and personally request Patrick Dempsey, and for $200, Patrick Dempsey will sex her well.
This leads to much hilarity and personal growth for our intrepid hero. After his initial misgivings at becoming a prostitute, he grows to genuinely like his clients, most prominently the trio of Kyoko, who is kept as a trophy/geisha by racist fuckbag Vic Tayback (who sets a new standard in this picture), Kirstie Alley, the doctor wife of philandering doctor Robert Picardo, and Carrie Fisher, the photographer wife of a massive, jacked personal trainer (former NFL lineman Peter Koch) who is similarly shtupping around. They, in turn, are reintroduced to the concept of fun by young Dempsey, who is soon—due to Fred Astaire enthusiast Kirstie Alley's influence—flouncing around the house practicing dance steps, dressing well, appreciating fragrances, and thoroughly freaking his macho father the fuck out. Business starts booming.
Of course, one woman orders a pizza with extra anchovies, and actually wants the pizza, which is both an obligatory joke and a really fucking funny one, leaving Patrick Dempsey to scramble to put his pants on as he runs out the door to a very confused look. The comedy gods demand certain sacrifices.
Patrick Dempsey's boss doesn't seem to give a shit that he's never there, and happily counts money and restocks his anchovy supply. Rick Diesel both covers for Patrick Dempsey and gradually assumes the role of business manager.
Despite that smooth confluence of apathy and complicity on the Señor Pizza front, Patrick Dempsey's blissful run of success as a hooker is bound to end sometime, and it does as he's enjoying an afternoon bath with Kyoko and Vic Tayback comes home unexpectedly. Patrick Dempsey is forced to hide in a storage room where Vic Tayback has shelves and shelves of little toy robots from Japan that he intends to market as a home security system and reap massive filthy lucre. The beat where Patrick Dempsey sees the robots, and they all turn on in a wave and start hollering “VIOLATOR! VIOLATOR! BAD BOY! BAAAAAD DUDE!” and so forth is comedy perfection.
As is the moment when Vic Tayback realizes that Kyoko is getting some side dick because “You're too friggin' cheerful!” He does a little retarded amateur detective work and deduces that Kyoko is fucking Robert Picardo. Vic Tayback, upon confronting Robert Picardo, realizes that he's being cuckolded as well (Robert Picardo noticed that Kirstie Alley had her Fred Astaire records out, and was similarly too friggin' cheerful), and Robert Picardo has the idea that it might be personal trainer Peter Koch. They go over to Peter Koch's house and tire-iron his front door, with Vic Tayback yelling: “COME OUT! YOU, WHO'S BEEN PORKIN' MY WIFE!” (Ed. Note: Best. Syntax. Ever.) The maid, jabbering in Spanish, comes to the door and hands Vic Tayback a silver candleabra. Peter Koch comes home, a wounded giant, distraught by the news that Carrie Fisher, his wife, is cuckolding him as well. The three form an asshole husband triad and put their heads together to figure out just what the fuck (quite literally) is going on.
Eventually, due to Rick Diesel's decision to start letting Patrick Dempsey's clients pay by credit card, the husbands look at credit card bills and see a whole buncha $200 pizza orders. Even they, dumbasses of the highest order, realize that this means that the guy slipping their wives extra anchovies must be the pizza guy.
Meanwhile, Patrick Dempsey's parents are involved in an argument over the severity with which they should be regarding Patrick Dempsey's terminal case of The Gay (Kate Jackson, in typical mom fashion, is all for it, while Dad is devastated) and a series of misunderstandings wherein Kate Jackson has been led to believe that her husband is shtupping his squeaky young secretary (he sort of intended to, but was so shitfaced he just passed out) and having shower threeways with hookers (an accident involving a nicked water main at the building site, combined with Dad's matter-of-fact “Oh, that's just a coupla hookers, honey”). Kirstie Alley, Kate Jackson's doctor, gives her the number for extra anchovies. Patrick Dempsey, needing only one more delivery to make his tuition, goes to “deliver,” only to freak out and ask Rob Camilletti to deliver the pie and tell her “there are no anchovies.” (Rob Camilletti, confused: “But we have many anchovies.”)
Upon being confronted with Rob Camilletti and his “Pepe Le Pew shit,” Kate Jackson can't go through with it and declines Rob Camilletti's polite offer of sex. But, since no woman has ever turned him down before, Rob Camilletti becomes erotically obsessed and the two of them engage in a hilarious car/Vespa chase.
While all this shit is going on, Jenny finally gives in to all the heartfelt phone calls Patrick Dempsey's been making all summer and goes to see him at the pizza shop, only to be told by old rival Jory that Patrick Dempsey's been fucking cougars. Patrick Dempsey is in the process of throwing down with Jory in the parking lot when The Asshole Husband Brigade shows up with ass-kicking intent. They're after “the delivery boy” and are all about to beat nine kinds of shit out of Patrick Dempsey when Vic Tayback (an acquaintance of Patrick Dempsey's dad) stops them. “Wait a minute, it's not him . . . he's a homo!” And they drop Patrick Dempsey and start wildin' on Jory.
Patrick Dempsey tries to smooth things over with Jenny, who nonetheless takes the (admittedly reasonable) position that, hey, you've been schlonging every upper middle class MILF in southern California, dude, I as your girlfriend am mildly displeased with this. Still, he convinces her to accompany him to his parents' anniversary dinner or whatever the hell it is, which naturally becomes the nexus at which the entire cast converges for the climactic confrontation.
After much physical comedy, the following things happen: Patrick Dempsey's parents realize that he's not gay, even though they're totally fine with him being gay; the asshole husbands trash the place; Patrick Dempsey somehow manages to slapstick his way through it all with his ass intact; Vic Tayback's toupee gets set on fire; Rob Camilletti recovers from Kate Jackson's rejection and sweeps the squeaky secretary off her feet; Rick Diesel somehow gets laid without paying for it; a piano smashes the fuck out of a cop car; Patrick Dempsey's dad agrees to pay for him to go back to college and be with Jenny; and all the husbands get arrested.
In a brief epilogue where all the wives bail their husbands out of jail, Peter Koch and Carrie Fisher decide to let bygones be bygones and he carries her off in his big strong arms (if anyone deserves that, it's Carrie Fisher; she looks like she's rather enjoying herself as he carries her offscreen and into bed); Robert Picardo and Kirstie Alley slap each other and then embrace passionately, because they're kinky like that; and Kyoko lets Vic Tayback's ass rot and goes out to enjoy her freedom. Happily ever after.
Loverboy is, I only just realized this time through, a note-perfect, classically constructed farce. There's mistaken identity, a whole lotta dudes' wives get fucked, some good pratfalls, and a happy ending. The act breaks happen at the exact, textbook point where they should, no time is wasted, everything's just right. I don't say this to justify the fact that I've probably seen this movie twenty or thirty times over the years, but because it's true: Loverboy may be the most underrated comedy of the past 25 years. Joan Micklin Silver for the win.
No Way Out, a radically different movie, is similarly underrated. All anyone ever remembers about it are the scene where Kevin Costner gives Sean Young the high hard one in a back of a limo and the “stupid” twist ending. The first is not any more memorable than ten other great scenes in the movie, and the twist ending isn't stupid at all. This is the problem with things that “everybody knows,” most of them are bullshit.
Kevin Costner had a couple years in the 80s where he walked on water, which turned it into wine, the finest wine the world has ever known. The Untouchables, No Way Out, and Bull Durham mark a period of supreme, flawless badassness; three very different movies, three very different roles, three of the mightiest avatars of masculinity committed to celluloid. His was one of the saddest falls from glory in the annals of Hollywood, as he's known more now for directing three-hour, over-budget wankfests, and getting pudgy and humorless. I'm not knocking the pudginess—certainly not after my heroic performance at Thanksgiving dinner—but the humorlessness? Say it ain't so. This was a man whose apex was noted for the twinkle in his eye and the appearance of deft, intelligent wit. You asked him where Nitti was, he told you, “He's in the car.”
Anyway, No Way Out finds Kevin Costner at optimum levels of badass. Actually, let me get a little radical on you here: I think the best way to appreciate No Way Out is to go into the whole fucking picture knowing that he's a Soviet agent, instead of having it sprung on you at the very end. It certainly makes the picture, and Kevin Costner's reactions to stuff, more interesting.
It's not like No Way Out needs help being cool: it opens with a shit-hot helicopter shot starting at the Washington Monument, then slowly pulling back to reveal the Pentagon, then taking us into anonymous Virginia suburbs. With a dope Maurice Jarre synth score. We then cut to an apartment where Kevin Costner is being interrogated by some anonymous dudes. Their identity isn't revealed immediately, but fuck it: they're Soviets. Kevin Costner is one of them. Isn't that already cool as shit? Kevin Costner as a Soviet mole?
The story is told in flashback, how Kevin Costner, resplendent in finest Naval dress uniform, meets glamorous, funny Sean Young at a formal DC to-do. They immediately click, and it's like “Sex. Now.” They hop in the limo and the famous limo fuck scene ensues, followed by an exchange of first names. Sean Young's best girlfriend is Iman, which is almost as hot as the fuck scene. Sean Young sure did look pretty with her clothes off back in the day. Ahem. Where was I . . .
So the vagaries of fate take Kevin Costner off to the Philippines, and to a bit of night-time heroism aboard a Naval vessel in some shit weather, which lands ol' Kevvo in a nice little feature in The Washington Post: “BADASS MOVIE-STAR LOOKIN' DUDE DOES SOME BADASS MOVIE-STAR SHIT.” Secretary of Defense Gene Hackman, after briefly wondering why someone doing a bad Zodiac Motherfucker imitation is writing headlines for The Washington Post, having a highly reptilian meeting with a cracker senator and CIA director Fred Dalton Thompson, and bantering with sociopathic gay aide Will Patton, tells Will Patton to get Kevvo's ass back to Washington. Will Patton, being nothing if not good at his job (doing what Gene Hackman tells him to), complies.
Kevvo returns and immediately starts fucking the hell out of Sean Young at any and every opportunity (being a man of common sense). Gene Hackman has brought him back to DC to spy on the CIA, which is a pretty cool job for anyone, but for a Soviet agent like Kevvo that's got to be like the best fucking job in the world. Kevvo displays a gift for political/intelligence type work (natural, being a Soviet agent; under as deep cover as he is without having been caught, you'd expect him to be good), but not as much of a gift as he has for fucking Sean Young.
There is, however, trouble in paradise. Sean Young is also fucking Gene Hackman, and has grown quite accustomed to the privilege and comfort this affords her. Kevvo bristles, wondering why Sean Young doesn't just bow to the supernatural majesty of his cock and break up with Gene Hackman. Will Patton, since he wants Gene Hackman all for himself, encourages Gene Hackman to break up with Sean Young, causing Gene Hackman to be like “Bitch are you crazy? Have you seen how fuckin' hot she is?”
It's easy to look at No Way Out and go, “Oh, it's the 80s, people didn't know as much about The Gay as they do today, Gene Hackman was unaware Will Patton had The Gay.” I think the truth is a little more complicated than that: I think Gene Hackman knew Will Patton was gay (even if he only knew this subliminally), and that Will Patton was smitten with him, and he used that to get Will Patton to do his every bidding. This kind of selfish, cynical shit is perfectly in keeping with Gene Hackman's political lizard SecDef character.
In fairly short order, Gene Hackman has other stuff on his mind than Will Patton being a 'mo, as he accidentally knocks Sean Young off a balcony to her untimely death. Will Patton suggests that they cover it up and engage in a bit of misdirection, to wit co-opting a DC intelligence community urban legend about a high-ranking Soviet mole named Yuri, and claiming that Yuri killed Sean Young. Gene Hackman, in a panic, goes along with it.
Kevvo comes into work the next day, and they give him his new prime directive: rather than liaising with and spying on the CIA, Kevvo is being put in charge of the hunt for “Yuri” the Soviet spy. Kevvo asks who the dead woman is. Will Patton tells him it's Sean Young. Whereupon Kevvo excuses himself to Gene Hackman's executive washroom and FREAKS THE FUGGOUT.
Let's pause again and remember that Kevvo is a Soviet agent. You're supposed to think that he's freakin the fuggout because he was in love with Sean Young and that he's devastated by her death. Remember, though, he's a military superstar with a shitload of intelligence experience. As far as betraying emotion, let's just say that kind of cat would kick your motherfucking ass at poker. So Kevvo's just gonna melt down like that if all he's upset about is Sean Young? Nuh uh, if all he's upset about is Sean Young, Roger Donaldson (the director) pushes in slowly on Kevvo's face while a tortured look slowly crosses his face. Instead, Kevvo has to leave the room and completely loses control for about a minute. Why?
Because in that moment, everything he's been working for his entire life is in danger of being unraveled due to the capricious decision of one closeted homosexual. He is absolutely fucked. He's double fucked, actually, because he did fuck Sean Young and he actually is a Soviet agent. Will Patton's arbitrary decision to blame Sean Young's death on “Yuri” turned out, ironically, to be damn near accurate as Kevvo/”Yuri” was in Sean Young's house like ten minutes before she got dead. Tell me you wouldn't freak the fuggout at that revelation, you're a liar; I would shit my ass if that happened.
A whole lot of tense, well-filmed thriller stuff ensues, where Kevvo tries to keep one step ahead of anyone finding out that he's “Yuri,” since he is “Yuri,” and wheelchair-bound computer nerd/good pal of Kevvo's George Dzundza does a lot of funny stuff with 80s-vintage computers. Kevvo saves Iman from getting killed by Marshall “Kuato” Bell and the other gorilla-looking death squad motherfucker, and after some fancy thinking and subterfuge manages to create some proof that Gene Hackman knew Sean Young. Unfortunately, Will Patton kills George Dzundza (for knowing too much, since Kevvo confides in Dzundza and Dzundza retardedly tells Will Patton; not only is it really nasty to kill the adorable George Dzundza like that, it perpetuates the nasty implication that you can't trust gays with gossip) and Kevvo gets his arm cut by the gorilla.
When Kevvo finally confronts Gene Hackman with his fabricated evidence bluff, we notice something very interesting. Even though Kevvo knows Gene Hackman killed Sean Young, instead of demanding justice, all he does is ask Gene Hackman to call off the investigation into “Yuri.” Now, knowing that Kevvo is a Soviet agent, it's obvious, he's covering his ass, but why would our upright hero let Gene Hackman off the hook like that? Especially after, when confronted with the evidence that Will Patton's shenanigans went as far as murder, Gene Hackman immediately throws Will Patton under the bus. And Will Patton, devastated, blows his brains out right there.
Kevvo, with everything pinned on Will Patton, splits from the Pentagon and goes driving. Eventually, the big scary dudes from the first scene show up and take Kevvo to his interrogation, whereupon it's finally revealed that Kevvo is a Soviet agent, in a neat bit of irony. End of picture, but first another nice helicopter shot and some more hot Maurice Jarre tuneage.
No Way Out is a solidly scripted, well-directed thriller where Kevin Costner fucking rules. Its one problematic element is the demonic sociopath 'mo Will Patton. They come right out and out him, in the scene where Fred Dalton Thompson and Kevvo's CIA liaison guy are sitting around trying to figure out what the fuck's up with the Sean Young coverup.
Liaison guy: We think she's either David Brice's [Gene Hackman's] or Scott Pritchard's [Will Patton's] mistress. Well, she was seen with both of them. It didn't seem a high priority matter, so my people have been a little lax in following it up.Now, it's perfectly natural to hear that line and think “Right-wing Christian God Squad bullshit.” But there's something in FDT's tone, a hint of deadpan sarcastic irony, that he's saying that line to be witty rather than because he really believes that.
Fred Dalton Thompson: Well, spilled milk. And you can forget about Pritchard. He's homosexual.
Liaison guy: I'll be damned.
Fred Dalton Thompson: So will he, if you believe the Old Testament.
Either way, even if that exchange is just two guys sitting in a room cracking jokes, there still is the matter of the movie's token gay guy being a creepy, closeted sociopath who kills people all for the unrequited love of Gene Hackman. And it's not like the rest of the movie is some kind of moral message about the dangers of being closeted, or some kind of character study of right-wing gays (there do seem to be a lot of them in Washington these days, but this movie is almost 25 years old . . .) It's a manifestation gay panic, and unlike Loverboy the movie doesn't tell the dummies panicking that they're being retarded. Instead it's just kinda like, yup, the villain's gay. And he kills himself.
Much as I love the rest of the movie, the Will Patton thing sits badly with me. So here, as an antidote, is a much more enlightened parting note:
Peace, y'all.
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