New Rose Hotel
I brought this film up yesterday. It's based on a short story by the writer who invented the cyberpunk genre, William Gibson, it's directed by arch-schlock king Abel Ferrara (King of New York, Bad Lieutennant), it stars Christopher Walken and Willem Dafoe and some very, very HOT Italian chick named Aria Argento. (I think she might be horror-king Dario Argento's daughter.)
So, gee whiz, why haven't you heard of it?
Because it's the worst fucking movie that was ever made, that's why.
I would post a review but it would waste my time and yours, and a full review might have the perverse affect of enticing more people to rent this zero-budget, no-locations, no-sets, improvised stinker of a college film than would otherwise do so. So I offer only my rating:
half a star out of four, and that half a star is there only in recognition of Aria Agento's spectacular tits.
I hate improvisational acting. HATE IT. It's supposed to sound more natural and more real than scripted lines, but it doesn't.
It sounds just like what it is: Dopey actors straining to think of things to say, and usually coming up with very dull things to say. Oh, and when they get into trouble, they'll make a stab at philosophical profundity, which is downright embarassing.
You can't "improvise" an interesting philosophical thought; good philosophy takes careful thought. Improvised, off-the-cuff philosophizing sounds like a stoned-out moron sucking on his bong and making what he thinks is a pithy comment about Gremlins II: The New Batch.
Well, Christopher Walken decided (or was asked to) improvise his way through the entirety of this insipid piece of shit, and the results aren't pretty. Willem Dafoe tries to keep up with Walken's blabbermouth imbecility, but he's not quick enough to come up with equally stupid lines, so he's reduced to asking non-sequitor, out-of-left-field questions.
Or just sitting there saying nothing. When he just sits there saying nothing, he's actually GOOD, and I'm not kidding-- the very fact he's silent makes him interesting.
When he's forced to improvise, however, he resorts to his scene notes ("Okay, now Willem, some time during this scene you have to say something like 'We're gonna get burned on this.' Okay?" SCENE IN: Camera on Willem Dafoe. "Uhh... uh... We're gonna get burned on this, you know?")
There is one bit of poetry contrived by Walken. As he blabbers nonsensically and maniacally, he diverges to ponder a woman's powers of seduction:
"The hair of a snatch can tear battleships," he opines, somewhat ungrammatically, but we know (sort of) what he means.
Not too bad. But now that I've told you the one good line, you are freed of the need to rent this abortion.
