Sugar Hill

Wesley Snipes is back, and in a black gangster film, so the screen is going to be ablaze in non-stop action, right? Think again homeboys. Does the title Rumble Fish mean anything to ya? In some ways, that’s what Sugar Hill most resembles, and many of ol’ Wesley’s fans may wonder what this half-loopy, left turn to drama is all about.

Snipes plays a drug lord who spends a lot of his time – i.e. the whole movie – brooding. He broods about his mother, who OD’ed in front of him when he was a kid. He worries about his addict father (Clarence Williams III), who’s wasting away because of drugs and bitter memories. He’s frustrated with his brother (Michael Wright), who’s become his hot-headed business partner on the streets. He’s concerned about the impending gang war that the mob is provoking and the strain it’s placing on his oddly personal relationship with his Mafia connection (Abe Vigoda). Last but not least, he’s confused about his deepening feelings for Theresa Randle.

But what Snipes should be worried about is the fact that Sugar Hill doesn’t go any place. It’s nice to see Snipes handling a major dramatic role; he has a greater range than he’s given credit for, and his performance always contain an edgy quality that’s captivating. But Sugar Hill only allows him to look worn out and serious. Even the almost embarrassing conclusion of this movie – in which the Oedipus complex goes for an odd-ball triple hitter – doesn’t give Snipes any emoting room to act in. Besides, the two-part ending simply confuses all of the movie’s issues, instead of resolving them.

So, what is Snipes doing in this thing? At this very moment, he may be asking his agent that very question.

Demolition Man:

Film Theorists, please note: Sylvestor Stallone has become a deconstructionist. Of course, Sly probably thinks that the word “deconstruction” refers to de crew at de work site around de corner. Actually, that’s not such a bad definition. It fits his newest film like a fist in a chain-mail glove.

Demolition Man is wildly violent, irredeemably awful and occasionally crazy enough to be almost watchable – especially if you are half warped and laugh at Jeffery Dahmer jokes. It’s also the oddest movie ever to be partly based on the novel Brave New World. I am not kidding. One of the main characters is even named Lenina Huxley. You just know that one of the writers of this sucker is an English Lit. major gone bad.

The flick opens as a parody of Blade Runner. It’s 1996, and the Hollywood sign is in flames above a riot-torn Los Angeles. Stallone is Sgt. John Spartan of the LAPD, the kind of cop who blows up whole sections of the city just to catch one man. Which he does while arresting Simon Phoenix (Wesley Snipes with blond hair). Phoenix is the self-proclaimed king of South Central L.A. and a full-time homicidal maniac. This combo insures a double-digit body count before the opening credits.

Spartan catches his man, but allows 30-some hostages to get wasted. As a result, both he and Phoenix are sentenced to serve some time frozen in a cryogenic prison. Fast skip to 2032, where a defrosted Phoenix stages a bloody escape. The 21st century cops of the San Angeles Police Force have no experience with dangerous criminals, so guess who they pop loose from the fridge?

It’s at this point Demolition Man tries to be a satire. We learn that after the great quake – and the administration of President Schwarzenegger – Los Angeles merged with Santa Monica. To prevent further war and violence, the entire society was reconditioned by its patron savior, Raymond Cocteau, who created a politically correct haven that outlawed all forms of bad language, physical contact and aggressive behavior. It’s a perfect new order that’s vaguely threatened by a pesky pack of subterranean civil libertarians. In other words, the whole place is ripe for a head-bashing fest.

This is not the dumbest flick that Stallone ever starred in. But, it’s close, real close. (Actually, someone like Roger Corman could have milked it into a great drive-in piece – it’s incoherent enough to be post-modernist, and its ironies are piled high.)

Too bad Demolition Man isn’t worse – it’s almost bad enough to be good.