Revisiting a pair from back in the day:
ANGEL HEART (1987) (B+) - Mickey Rourke is in his prime as an alektorophobic* private eye who gets sucked into voodoo shenanigans in 1950s New Orleans, ending up in a battle for his own soul. Rourke swaggers through this neo-noir, blasting a Brooklyn accent, as Harry Angel, a hard-boiled dick who takes a job looking for a crooner named Johnny Favorite, a wounded veteran of World War II who sold his soul for stardom.
Angel is hired by the mysterious Louis Cyphere (the adapted screenplay, by director Alan Parker, is not subtle), brought to life with diabolical suavity by Robert De Niro, schooling Rourke in just the few scenes he appears in. When Angel lands in New Orleans, where the practitioners of the dark arts lead him on a goose chase. Or maybe chicken chase. (What is it with his fear of chickens? Even eggs creep him out.)
He meets the mystifying Margaret (a sizzling Charlotte Rampling); the alluring teen mother Epiphany (a provocative Lisa Bonet, in her breakout from "Cosby"); and a blues guitarist named Toots Sweet (musician Brownie McGhee), among other fascinating locals. Some of them end up dead shortly after Angel interacts with them. And the viewer needn't be a seasoned investigator to piece together the plot puzzle and figure out where this is headed.
Parker -- the elegant British filmmaker behind "Midnight Express," "Shoot the Moon," and "Mississippi Burning," among other hits -- pens a clever script, and he is a master at pacing. He also knows how to capture a sultry sex scene. You probably need to be a fan of Rourke's to buy into the fetishistic touches (that was easier to do back then), but this is solid storytelling and guilt-free entertainment.
* - Fear of chickens.
TRUE STORIES (1986) (B+) - David Byrne is now an old man who dresses like a celebrity communist and performs palatable songs on awards-show telecasts. But during the peak of his power in the mid-'80s, he walked the same tightrope that David Lynch trod in transitioning from the avant garde to the mainstream.
Byrne's ode to small-town America imagines the fictional town of Virgil, Texas, peopled by a diverse group of oddball Americans. It is on the one hand a glimpse of ordinary Americana but on the other hand an anomaly. It celebrates the state's sesquicentennial, and so the simple townfolk are putting on airs -- a fashion show, a parade (featuring an all-accordion marching band), a talent show.
John Goodman, in one of his first big roles, grounds the film as lovelorn Louis Fyne, a mid-30s bachelor searching for a wife. Goodman is surrounded by character actors who add depth and soul to their portrayals. Byrne addresses the camera as the outsider conducting his sociological study of small-town America. It might come across as condescending if it weren't so heartfelt; this isn't an elitist artist mocking the plebes. It rises above the smirking snark of a John Waters film of the same era.
The film is buoyed by one of Byrne's best song collections. You probably remember the "Wild, Wild Life" video from that year, and it is taken essentially from a lip-sync scene in the movie. In most other instances, the movie characters sing Byrne's tunes -- Pops Staples doing "Papa Legba"; Tito Larriva interpreting "Radio Head"; and Goodman pouring his heart out to "People Like Us," which always tugs at my heart.
The narrative is shaggy and meandering, but it holds together. Swoosie Kurtz charms as a bed-ridden socialite who experiences life through contraptions (they feed her and turn the pages of her magazines) and TV commercials (real ones interspersed with fake pitches). Byrne's halting, innocent delivery sets just the right tone. Annie Culver and Spalding Gray play well off of each other as a snooty couple who communicate only through their children. And journeyman actress Jo Harvey Allen delivers skewed laughs as the Lying Woman. Byrne brings it all together in a technicolor dreamscape that still feels lived-in to this day.
BONUS TRACKS
Over the "True Stories" end credits, the sweet and sorrowful "City of Dreams":
And Steve Jordan and his band crank out "Soy de Tejas" during a rowdy bar scene:
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