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
