|
We're All in the Same
Toilet Bowl: |
|
|
"You wanna burn? I'm the devil, baby!" |
|
|
The Skinny: Vice Squad, the grimy, twisted little bitch, has gotta be the most ROCK N ROLL skinsploitation flick to roll outta the 80’s low-budget chop-shops. I mean, this thing is ALL wild-beast throb, from the screamy, cock n’ roll theme song (“Neon Slime”, by Wings Hauser himself, and once covered by yrs truly’s old drunkdustrial band, Stalking Alyssa), a phlegmy glam-grind that spits out the awful truth in blunt rockverse: “Me, I’m a survivor, and I know how it feels/to be part of the nightlife, where everything is real/ the madness, the music, the sex, the sweet smell/I’m a stone-cold believer in the pleasures of Hell”, to the amazing, pop-eyed, Iggy-as-shitkicking whore mangler character of Ramrod, who really couldn’t have been played by anybody but the meaner n’ a rattlesnake Wings. Well, except for ANY real pimp, EVER, of course - let’s not delude ourselves into thinking there’s any reality at work here- but you know what I mean. |
|
|
The biggest star and thickest riff of the whole movie, however, is the
long and terrible Hollywood night, which keeps the crazed Ramrod safe and
warm like a perverse womb, exactly until he gets his brains blown out. As
soon as his reign of terror ends, the weird, dark, narco-voodoo spell
breaks, and dawn suddenly blooms like a bloodflower, but until that moment,
there has never been a night as long as the Vice Squad night. If they
didn’t finally catch up with Ramrod at film’s end, it’d probably STILL be
the middle of the night in Los Angeles, and all the junkies and freaks and
whores and vampires’d just die on the street from exhaustion. Which is
something the LAPD is probably already working on. Vice Squad is completely in love with it’s own filth, and tries so hard to be sleazy with every greasy frame that it flirts with pure camp throughout it’s running time, except for those moments when the camera affords you a stare straight into Hauser’s eyes. Then you see it for what it is – a fuckin’ freakshow, baby, run by deranged actor who forgot he was just ‘playing a role’ long ago. There is no doubt in my mind that it is not Wings on that screen, but Ramrod hisself, the baddest motherfucker in all of bad motherfuckers-ville. And when he’s running amuck (and he is, the ENTIRE time), this one’s just a pneumatic hammer of violence and sleaze. “We’re in the same toilet bowl”, Princess says to Walsh mid-film, after exchanging tales o’ the long LA night, and while Vice Squad is running, you’ll agree. It’s dank, dark, mean, mindlessly sleazy, unrelenting, sadistic, and it’s heart is as black as the eyes of Ramrod’s wayward whores. Kinda like me, really, which is probably why I like it so much. -Sleazegrinder ____________________________________________________________________________________ Most of the movies in this book--we love them, but honestly, they stink. We can't put too fine a point on this; exploitation films of the '80s are the mutt on the street that everyone spares a place in their heart for because it's so mangy, and who can resist a whimpering dog? But you'd never let it sleep on your couch or give you a wet, sloppy kiss, especially after you saw it licking its own ass. VICE SQUAD, on the other hand, we love unconditionally, and to extend the dog metaphor even further, it's the crazy, boneheaded cur that picks fights with cars and runs full-tilt into trees while in pursuit of cats. It's completely fearless and totally insane, and there's something about it that frightens us a little too. It reminds us that dogs can turn from drooling, happy-go-lucky nitwits into shrieking, snapping wolves in a heartbeat. It can do damage to you. So can hardcore exploitation films, and that's VICE SQUAD. Inspired by the true-life tales of a real vice squad cop (who signed off on the script under the moniker of Kenneth Peters), VICE SQUAD is the rare exploitation film that doesn't candycoat the midnight meat market of the prostitute trade. There are no hookers with hearts of gold, no eccentric-but-lovable street people (unlike co-scripter Robert Vincent O'Neill's ANGEL, which seems at times like Sid and Marty Krofft's H.R. WHORENSTUFF), no wise or heroic cops. All of the characters are mean and vicious and on the hustle and hungry to take a bite out of the nearest and freshest red meat--which invariably is another unlucky prostitute tricking to make ends meet or to feed a kid or a habit. With its hot-wired dialogue and Naked City locations, it's the closest thing to old-school procedural B-noir in the '80s (aside from Larry Cohen's ill-fated I, THE JURY), which is probably why guys like Martin Scorsese went to the mat for this film. The whole affair seems to have been pulled whole and breathing from some black and white Movies Till Dawn showcase, shoved into a muddy Eastmancolor skin (no knock on cinematographer John Alcott, who photographed for Kubrick when he wasn't cashing checks on stuff like THE BEASTMASTER, but the primary color schemes here are gun-metal gray and trash bag black), and pushed out onto Hollywood Boulevard circa 1982, still steaming with postwar disillusionment and tightly coiled anger. As biker bard Simon Stokes' hellacious theme song (sung by Wings Hauser in a voice that suggests the unholy union of Tom Waits and Blackie Lawless) so rightly observes, everyone is swimming in the neon slime in this movie, and swallowing more than their share. |
|
|
|
None of this, I'm sure, was on the minds of the scriptwriters or the
battery of
producers (including John Daley of Hemdale, co-scripter and longtime indie
producer/director Sandy Howard, Frank Capra Jr. and Robert Rehme of
Avco-Embassy) when they set to work on VICE SQUAD--their primary concern
was to
keep asses glued to seats with a non-stop fireworks display of
wrongdoing--if you're gonna call a movie VICE SQUAD and not show plenty of vice, you might as well pack up and go home before a frame is shot. And the film doesn't shy away from the sleaze--but notice how few men suffer in this movie (aside from the hapless Kowalski, who gets his face kicked in by Ramrod and his ass handed to him by an old Chinese guy). All the women bleed--and copiously at that. The punishment and pain handed down on the females in this film is more brutal than a whole warehouse of Irving Klaw films--whether it's Ramrod's pimpstick session with Ginger (Nina Blackwood) or Coco (Lydia Lei from DOCTOR DETROIT) getting tossed into a pile of garbage, you've gotta be one black-souled, filth-soaked grindhouse beast to get a laugh or a hard-on from the abuse women suffer in this film. |
|
Such honesty about violence against women
was a rarity in '80s
exploitation, and you can thank writer/director Gary Sherman for injecting
a
dose of humanity into the grime. VICE SQUAD's unflinching realism and pulp fiction heart are its most
outstanding
qualities, but the film's real showpiece is the character of Ramrod,
played with
hellborn ferocity by Wings Hauser. A former college football star turned
rock n
roller and then soap opera heartthrob, Hauser is a nightmare in a Nudie
suit, a
Cowboy Frankenstein with a 100-watt grin and a gift for that legendary,
mystical
pimp-speak that allows him to sweet-talk his way into the hearts and
panties of
naïve freshmen pross just aching for a sugar daddy like him to take them
to the
big time. Once inside, the real Ramrod breaks through that all-American
face, and underneath is a Sex Beast, a country-fried werewolf who can't keep his hands (and fists) out of people's faces and who cannot, will not stop until he gets what's coming to him, be it pussy, cash or blood. He's a Great White in a Stetson hat, and Hauser is absolutely terrifying in the role that essentially cast him as fire-breathing headcases for the next 25 years. His performance teeters on the brink of hamminess from time to time--his hard-sell of Princess in the pimp-n-ho bar is like watching an orangutan try to pick up girls--but he pulls it back from the brink every time. Scary shit. Hauser should give seminars as Ramrod to first-time johns. They'd never touch another hooker in their lives. -Paul Gaita _____________________________________________________________________________________ VICE LORD: An interview with VICE SQUAD director Gary Sherman CLICK HERE, FUCKER. ___________________________________________________________________________________ |
|
|
Home |
|
The longest night in history – longer than the
Night of the Long Knives,
longer than Night of the Living Dead, hell, longer than the Night of the
Living Dead Boys, even – begins when future MTV VJ Nina Blackwood, as
scrawny, druggy hooker “Ginger”, calls up her ol’ prostie pal Princess
(the improbably named Season Hubley) and begs her to leave her safe, warm
home in San Diego and hitch a ride on the next whore wagon to LA, so she
can “save her”, whatever that means, from Ramrod (Wings Hauser) the
looniest cowboy pimp motherfucker to ever chew a scene into turkey jerky.
