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About The daily Nebraskan. ([Lincoln, Neb.) 1901-current | View Entire Issue (Jan. 31, 1989)
Arts & Entertainment Burl Reynold’s name is box office ‘ poison’ By Mkki Haller Senior Editor Holloywood’s sexiest man in the 1970’s has become the box office’s deadliest poison in the 80’s. Since starring in “Switching Channels,’’ a somnolent rip-off of “Broadcast News,” Burt Reynolds has gone on to star in a movie that is unique only in its overabundant cli ches, stereotypes and stock charac ters. In fact, “Burt Reynolds” has almost become an instant tip-off that anything connected with the name will be trash. He should have quit with “Cannonball Run II,” possibly the height of his dismal career. In “Physical Evidence,” Rey nolds plays a suspended police offi cer, war hero, lover, fighter and su per-lovable (in theory) slob who also happens to the prime suspect in the murder of a mobster. Theresa Russell as Jenny Hudson is his cold, professional, ultra-sophis ticated and ambitious lawyer. With this unlikely and mismatched combi nation, the audience is supposed to sit back and watch the sparks fly. But nothing flies in this movie except occasional popcorn kernels at the screen. Reynolds is totally believable as a quick-tempered, boozing slob - he should be, after playing die character so many limes. But Russell is wooden and stilted, or overacting as if her life depended on it. The woman is unnatural -- she seems like a pretty mannequin to hang the plot on. Theresa Russell and Burt Reynolds in one of the few mildly clever scenes of “Physical Evidence.” In fact, all of the women in the movie are beautiful and busty. A majority of them are blond floozies as well. On the other hand, most of the men are about as attractive as Tip O’Neill. The exception to this is Ted McGinley, who plays Jenny’s shal low, yuppie, stockbroker boyfriend. Perhaps most people will remember Ted as Ace on “The Love Boat.’’ Luckily, “Physical Evidence’’ hasn’tdemanded that Ted grow much as an actor. McGinley can play his role as a material brat who whines when his girlfriend becomes “man nish” while pursuing her case. “I thought we were going to spend some quality time,” he moans when Jenny has to work late. At any rate, the movie doesn’t really know what it wants to be. It starts out with a grisly suicide at tempt/discovery of the dead gangster, but has a “comic” twist. The man who tries to hang himself off a bridge first writes a sign that says “Happy now?” and hangs it around his neck. Throughout die film, comic asides are inserted at the most inopportune times. Someone involved with this movie does not have a very good grasp of comic relief. Ttiis could be the fault of writers Steve Ransohoff and Bill Phillips or director Michael Crichton's catastro phe. Crichton has aimed for the over dramatic in this film. He wants the audience to laugh, cry, scream, feel and exit the theater thinking “Ooh, what a succulent peach of a movie! ” The problem is, Crichton overma nipulates his audience. Movie-goers are not stupid; they know when they are being pushed to feel one way or the other. Crichton’s devices are sometimes more interesting to watch than his movie is. For instance, Jenny is portrayed as a little girl. Her boyfriend calls her “Jenzer,” she overreacts to situ ations, and she seems very insecure. When the prosecuting attorney, Ned Beatty, calls her a little girl, she flips him off behind his back. Do we: a.) feel sorry' for Jenny? b.) feel angry at the prosecuting attorney? c.) stalk out of the theater in disgust? At other points in the movie, the audience obviously is supposed to be excited, scared and sympathetic to the characters. Crichton only suc ceeds in scaring the audience. His directing is not enough to let the audience escape into a fantasy world. The acting had so little to do with what was going on in the plot, it’s ludicrous to deal with either point in any more depth. Let it suffice to say that Burt Reynolds’s name is like a jinx sign — it means run, do not walk, to the nearest exit, and scream “fire” to save the other movie-goers. In all fairness, “Physical Evi dence” may gain a devoted audience. In fact, Burt Reynolds may someday have a cult follow ng, much like the one that avidly watches for Tor Johnson, the 300-pound Swedish wrestler who starred in such hits as “Plan Nine from Outer Space.” Don’t waste any money on “Physical Evidence/’ Perhaps the viewing public can get Reynolds off the big screen, and into the cable boxes where he belongs. Alternative bands and musicians gather; make album By Bryan Peterson Staff Reporter “After all, if you can't stand the Big Chill, get out of the freezer. Better yet, burn it down.” - Jello Biafra “Oops! Wrong Stereotype” is the 68th release on Alternative Tentacles Records, former home of the Dead Kennedys. Jello Biafra, lead singer of the Dead Kennedys, assembled this compi lation album It features nine bands or per formers, and all have had prior releases on Alternative Tentacles. The tracks on the album span the spectrum of alternative sounds, from the 30-second thrash blast of Nomeansno to the 12-minute spo ken word selection of Biafra. My biggest complaint is the ab sence of a lyric sheet, a must for the listener to comprehend the incom prehensible. Mill, the general themes come through and all the performers have much fo say. Af ter all, they are part of the m irror of America. Biafra’s selection, “Love, American Death Squad Style,” is one of the best portions of the al bum. Think of combining Dick Gregory, Mark Russell, Jonathan Swift and a man charged with “distributing harmful material to minors.” The result is both caustic and comic. Who else could refer to Oliver North as “a sexy, home-spun, no nonsense Nazi Andy Griffith with fangs?” And people took this man seriously when he modestly pro posed the H-bomb was created to “Kill the Poor.” Among other things, Biafra pre dicts the Contras will move to America to operate and suggests an American police stale is less than a decade away. “Lei us all choke on ihc vomit of Olliemania,” Biafra sings. “A coldly calculated ploy, if there ever was one, to get freedom-lov ing Americans everywhere to ac tually look forward to living in a police slate.” Also notable is “Pre-war America” by The Beatnigs, with its unrelenting drumbeat and simple lyrics: “Pre-war America/ Collect your medals now/ Because after the next one/ There won’t be anyone left to give them to you.” 4Let us all choke on the vomit of Olliemania9 Biafra The diversity continues with Slickdog, which could have taken its pneumatic guitar introduction directly from Mannequin Beach. At the same lime, Tragic Mu latto gives a primordial perform ance which must have been more harsh on the singer’s throat than swallowing hot gravel after gar gling with formaldehyde. False Prophets, one of the long est-surviving and most innovative hardcore bands in America, adds a violin for “Never Again, Again.” Stephen Ieldi’s vocals are as grip ping as ever and arc well comple mented by those of Debra Adclc. Bernard Goetz, a would-be American hero, comes to life in towns across America in “Neigh borhood Watch” by Christian Lunch, referred to as the “bionic hermit crab from hell.” But in this song, handguns arc replaced by machine guns: “1 gel my rocks off/ with my Kalashnikov.” It can be a crazy country. Drive by shootings, shopping mall tours, giant, four-wheel drive vehicles with tires taller than persons and flag-waving fascists. What is next in the capitol of convenience? How about those little comics distributed by fundamentalist Christians on street comers? Alice Donut does a good job setting the comic book story “Lisa’s Father” to music, but comes across as un concerned about the problem of incest. Other selections on the compi lation include two each from Klaus Flouride, former bandmatc of Biafra, and Canadians Nomcansno. For a good slice of the Ameri can underground music scene and a glimpse of forthcoming releases on Alternative Tentacles, listen to “Oops! Wrong Stereotype.” Be prepared to share a disturbing view of America in decline with ranting voices in the wilderness. “I’m scared,” Biafra sings. “I seriously wonder if people like me have only five more years. Five more years to say what's on our mind, five more years to even have a mind.” The straight edge movement has been a sub-subculture within the punk movement since the early 1980s. “Real” edgers must have a crew cut and big. black X’s marked on one’s hands. The X’s arc to show everyone that the marked one does not par take of alcohol or drugs. The idea is to have a clear mind anti a clear body. For some reason, women do not seem to be in straight edge bands. It is a very sweaty male thing, as shown by photos on almost every straight edge album cover. Then again, the entire punk scene is male dominated, despite all its equality rhetoric. The straight edge ideal is admi rable, but many young devotees take it to excess, trying to convert the world to their own ideals. Most straight edge bands sound pretty much the same and point a lot of fingers. They often form a local clique of followers and sell lots of T-shirts that all look the same. Insted is a straight edge band which does not do much finger pointing but does sound the same on almost every song. Insted re leased its “Bonds of Friendship” album last year on Wishingwell Records, home of Uniform Choice. The album’s 13 songs are pretty standard thrash fare; snort, repeti tive and full of anger. Straight edge bands sing about POSITIVE things, so Insted does have much hope and talks about “us” or “we” instead of “them” or "you.” S traight edge bands also have to sing about UNITY. Insted is no ex ception. Like most other straight edge bands, when the vocalist (Kevinstcd) sings about UNITY and POSITIVE things, the lyrics arc overly vague. Lyrics like the following arc more trite than inspirational: “If you’re in doubt/ Don’t count your self out/ Believe in yourself/ And keep the faith.” Still, some songs like “Live and Let Live” have lyrics which set Insted somewhat apart from other straight edge bands. “But rather than pointing/ At someone's bad points or problems/ Why not look at yourself and search” is a good example. While full of good intent, most of the songs are u itc and have even more mundane choruses, as in 'Tm confused/I’m confused/ I’m confused” or ‘‘Unite/Unite/ Unite/ Unite.” Now add in some lame “whoa-oh-o’s” and try not to groan. If Insted would broaden its hori zons both musically and lyrically, it could produce some powerful songs about personal topics. The introduction and some of the lyrics of the songs “Tell Me” and ‘‘Time to Chance” are steps in the right direction but the rest of the songs are bloated and blase. Insted is more thoughtful and relaxed than most straight edge bands but still remains too con strained by the straight edge stere otype. he fth umn album review