Die Hard 2 (Renny Harlin, 1990)

In my Die Hard post last month, I urged all of us to get past the question of whether Die Hard is or is not a Christmas movie (it is and it isn't) and asked people to instead consider whether Die Hard is a slasher movie and, by extension, whether action movies are slasher movie subgenres in which the action hero is a version of both the slasher movie killer and final girl. Let's see how these questions apply to Die Hard 2.

Die Hard 2, like its predecessor, takes place during the Christmas season, and, also like its predecessor, was released in theaters in the summer (July 4, 1990), but Die Hard 2 looks a lot Christmas-ier than Die Hard. The setting changes from a skyscraper office party in sunny Los Angeles to Dulles Airport in snowy Washington, D.C., during a blizzard. The airport is covered in Christmas decorations, the luggage carousel is full of wrapped gifts, everyone wears winter clothing, eggnog is mentioned, and one of the action sequences involves a snowmobile chase. It's a freakin' winter wonderland over here. The Christmas spirit permeates Die Hard 2. On the other hand, most of the plot has nothing to do with Christmas, other than the holiday season making the airport and flight schedules busier. They could've done this same story on Thanksgiving or spring break or at any airport in any city that was hosting the Super Bowl or the Olympics.

My conclusion: Die Hard 2 is a Christmas movie, and Die Hard 2 is not a Christmas movie. Embrace the contradiction. You accept that this movie takes place at Dulles in D.C. even though it was filmed at various airports, military bases, and studio sets in Colorado, Michigan, and California. You accept that the terrorists shutting down the airport's communication system leaves the planes in the air helpless even though they could get information from hundreds of other nearby radio signals. You accept that John McClane faces a crazy madcap terrorist Christmas season showdown for the second time in two years in two completely different cities. Give that same leap of faith to a Christmas movie that is not a Christmas movie but is a Christmas movie but isn't a Christmas movie. Do it.

Admittedly, my slasher movie hypothesis is pretty shaky when it comes to Die Hard 2, despite John McClane (Bruce Willis) stabbing one of the baddies through the eye with an icicle and (accidentally) crushing another one. McClane does a hell of a lot less skulking around in this one, he gets a lot more help, and most of the villains are dispatched en masse in gun battles and explosions. Not very slasher-y, am I right? My larger point stands, but Die Hard 2 is not a shining example of action movie as bizarro-world slasher.

It is a shining example of the big-budget '80s/'90s Hollywood action movie. Despite repeating the first film's formula with a much stupider terrorist plot, the sequel is almost as fun. The action scenes are legitimately suspenseful and exciting, the returning actors retain their chemistry and charm, and director Renny Harlin (taking over for the first and third installment's John McTiernan, who was busy making The Hunt for Red October) has a real gift for handling big scenes in large locations with hundreds of individual moving parts. (I also love the scenes in all the weird airport nooks and crannies us passengers never get to see.) Especially in the hustling, bustling airport scenes, Harlin shows masterful skill at gracefully controlling a busy, chaotic visual space. It's thrilling stuff, enhanced by the shots of the empty, still expanse of the darkened runways after the landings are delayed.

Alan Rickman and his crew of Eurotrash hair-metal muscleheads are sorely missed, replaced in this installment with a gang of character-acting heavy hitters who don't get enough personality-defining moments, except for William Sadler's naked martial arts workout while watching the news. You know a guy's a coldblooded psycho in an '80s or early '90s movie when you get a scene of him exercising in the nude. While Die Hard's villains were thieves with vague ties to Communist revolutionaries, Die Harder's bad boys are an anti-Commie far-right ex-military militia planning to save their newly arrested anti-Commie drug lord boss from the plane transporting him to Dulles. Ah, Hollywood, always having it both ways.

Leading the operation is Stuart (the aforementioned Sadler, of Bill & Ted's Bogus Journey, Trespass, various Tales from the Crypt movies and TV episodes, and The Shawshank Redemption fame), and his crew includes Don Harvey (The Untouchables), Robert Patrick (Terminator 2), and a blink twice and you'll miss him John Leguizamo. '60s and '70s spaghetti western and giallo star Franco Nero, who's worked with almost everyone from Fassbinder to Tarantino, plays the drug kingpin Esperanza. The returning cast besides Willis includes Bonnie Bedelia (this time given a much better role with zippier dialogue despite being stuck on a plane), William Atherton (also stuck on the plane) and Sheila McCarthy (their journalist characters are both working in D.C. now in one of many plausible coincidences), and, in a cameo, Reginald VelJohnson. What about Argyle, man? Joining the cast as McClane's allies, foils, secret enemies, or eventual allies are Dennis Franz, John Amos, Art Evans, Fred Thompson, and Tom Bower. This is a solid group of character actors who have been in a dizzying array of high-quality (and low-quality) projects, and they get a lot more to do than Sadler and his boys.

Sadly, Die Hard 2 really drops the ball in the zinger department. John McClane in the first movie was loaded with action-movie quips that hit the sweet spot between dad-joke stupidity and screenwriter cleverness, and Willis knew how to deliver the goods. The quips in Die Hard 2 are so lame, tired, try-hard, and dumb-bad (as opposed to dumb-good) that even Willis can't get some of them over. Not even the return of "yippie-ki-yay, motherfucker" can save it. The best McClane dialogue is the simplest. When he launches himself out of an ejector seat into mid-air as a plane explodes underneath him, he drops a well-timed, humorously delivered "oh shiiiiittt." When "oh, shit" is your funniest quip, a dialogue punch-up is sorely needed. It's a minor complaint overall, but a missed opportunity to capture more of the first movie's flavor.

Die Hard 2 was director Harlin's first big Hollywood job and second hit. After making short films and TV commercials in his native Finland, he moved to the U.S. and debuted with low-budget action thriller Born American, followed by low-budget horror movie Prison (reviewed on this site many years ago) and A Nightmare on Elm Street 4: The Dream Master. His other credits include The Adventures of Ford Fairlane (starring the insane lineup of Andrew "Dice" Clay, Wayne Newton, Gilbert Gottfried, Priscilla Presley, Morris Day, Vince Neil, David Patrick Kelly, Ed O'Neill, Robert Englund, Sheila E, Pamela Adlon, Kurt Loder, and Tone Loc), Cliffhanger, Cutthroat Island and The Long Kiss Goodnight with his then-wife Geena Davis, Deep Blue Sea, 12 Rounds (with John Cena), and The Strangers trilogy. 

The Body Shop aka Doctor Gore (J.G. Patterson Jr., 1972)

The Body Shop, retitled Doctor Gore in 1973 (Dr. Gore became my primary care physician after Dr. Butcher stopped accepting my employer's insurance), is a prime example of regional DIY '70s exploitation weirdness. Every scene is either hilariously nuts or boring as shit, nothing in between. If you can make it through those inert stretches and you share my love of underground regional wackiness, you'll have at least half of a great time.

Charlotte, North Carolina-based exploitation filmmaker J.G. Patterson Jr., born as (if IMDb isn't telling tales out of school) Jr Junius Gustavious Patterson and also known as Pat Patterson (not the pro wrestler/wrestling executive) and Don Brandon, was a jack-of-all-trades and clearly master-of-none drive-in/grindhouse Renaissance man and protégé of Florida-based exploitation king Herschell Gordon Lewis (Blood Feast, Two Thousand Maniacs!, Color Me Blood Red) (all three reviewed on this site). In Patterson's relatively short life (he died of melanoma in 1975 at the age of 45), he had a hand in many low-budget exploitation movies in almost as many roles (director, producer, writer, actor, makeup artist, special effects artist, assistant director, production manager).

Patterson's showbiz career started in the late '50s, when he hosted local Charlotte television's late-night horror show Shock Theater as the Mad Daddy. This is not to be confused with Cleveland's late-night TV horror show Shock Theater, which was hosted by Ernie Anderson (Paul Thomas Anderson's dad) as Ghoulardi. To make things even more confusing, one of Cleveland's most popular rock radio DJs at the time, Pete Myers, also went by the name Mad Daddy and had a brief and unsuccessful run of his own as a late-night TV horror host a few years before Ghoulardi hit the scene to much greater success. (Myers would go on to radio stints in San Diego and New York City before committing suicide in 1968 at age 40, though some people think it was a murder. I'm digressing now.)

At some point after Shock Theater's demise, Patterson befriended Herschell Gordon Lewis and learned the ropes of exploitation filmmaking as assistant director on Moonshine Mountain, Lewis's personal assistant on She-Devils on Wheels, Just for the Hell of It, and How to Make a Doll, and assistant producer on The Gruesome Twosome. Through his association with Lewis, he met other indie exploitation filmmakers and helped them out, too, acting in and producing Albert T. Viola's Southernsploitation Preacherman, editing and producing Frederick R. Friedel's Axe (aka California Axe Massacre aka Lisa, Lisa) (reviewed on this site), and doing makeup effects for William Girdler's Three on a Meathook. The ill-fated Girdler, probably the most talented of everyone mentioned so far, cranked out a dizzying array of drive-in/grindhouse movies while still in his twenties, including Abby, 'Sheba, Baby', Grizzly, Day of the Animals (probably the only movie in which a shirtless Leslie Nielsen gets into a fistfight with a grizzly bear), and The Manitou before dying in a helicopter crash in the Philippines at the age of 30 while scouting locations for his next film.

Patterson kicked off his own short-lived directing career with The Body Shop, a low-rent Bride of Frankenstein-ish tale of a mad scientist creating his ideal woman from the body parts of multiple women and reanimating the results in his lab. Patterson plays the lead role, Dr. Don Brandon, under the name Don Brandon, or, as the opening credits bill him, "America's No. 1 Magician: Don Brandon," which is hilarious for all kinds of reasons, a few prominent ones being Patterson aka Brandon was not a magician and does not play one in this movie (though he does hypnotize some of his victims), a small supporting character in the movie is a magician, and Don Brandon was the real name of a well-known magician (billed as Brandon the Magician) who was halfway through his career when this movie was made.

The movie begins with a wistful Dr. Brandon gazing into a lake, listening to a DJ on a transistor radio announce the death of his beauty queen socialite wife in a plane crash before segueing into weepy country ballad "A Heart Dies Every Minute" by local band Bill Hicks (not the comedian) and the Rainbows. Hicks and the Rainbows perform the song live in its entirety in a nightclub scene near the halfway point. (Speaking of music in The Body Shop, the film's score was composed by the aforementioned Girdler and is a creepy variation on "My Favorite Things" with new lyrics.) After the funeral, feminist icon Dr. Brandon gets to work assembling the perfect woman, one even more beautiful than his late wife, to become his lifelong companion. He's aided in his mad scientist lab by his hunchbacked assistant Greg (Roy Mehaffey) who cannot speak, communicating through grunts, moans, and various other mouth sounds.

The first half of the film mostly takes place in the lab and involves test runs of the equipment, deliveries of a woman in a crate (the doctor to the enormously hunchbacked Greg when delivery men knock on the door with the crate: "Put your coat on so they don't know you're a hunchback"), and various women drugged or hypnotized by Dr. Brandon because he likes their arms, legs, hands, torsos, etc. As the doctor explains to Greg, "Hands on a woman are most important. It's the delicate feminine hand that brings out the true femininity." I'm always saying this. The doc then gruesomely removes the desired body part, Greg puts it in frozen storage, and the rest of the body is dissolved in an acid bath. An attempt to reanimate a whole, intact dead woman by covering her in tin foil, taping the foil down with Scotch tape, and then blasting her with the mad science equipment for a ridiculously extended stretch of time ends in failure and the acid bath, but by the time the assembled ideal woman is ready to be zapped with the science, Dr. Brandon has upgraded to a glass and metal tube.

Occasionally, the doctor gets out of the lab to hypnotize attractive young women at the country music and live magic nightclub, the beach, or an office's reception desk and bring them back to the lab for body part extractions and acid baths. At the nightclub entrance, he's hit on by an attractive, age-appropriate woman who was a friend of his wife's. He brushes her off and makes a disgusted grimace and exhaled sigh of relief when she goes inside. I don't mean to be rude, but the good doc should look at himself in the mirror. He's in his early forties and looks 62 (this may have something to do with the chain smoking and lack of hydration that was the style of the time), sports a ridiculous combover, has an aggressively large head and crazy eyes, and has the charisma of Pat Sajak on Quaaludes, and he has the audacity to reject attractive women and/or most of their body parts? This guy just might be #problematic.

Anyway, physically ideal woman (Jenny Driggers, former Miss Pro Am Dragway at the Rockingham, NC, Dragway) assembled, the doc and Greg zap some more science into her, and it works. She's alive! She's alive! The doc names her Anitra and tells Greg he will never gaze upon her again, with punishment of death. The only man she will ever see from now on is Dr. Brandon so that he can mold her into the perfect companion. We hear his thoughts in voice-over as he hypnotizes her. He wipes her past memories ("she won't even remember how to drink a glass of water") and re-educates her to cater to his every whim. They have a few laughs, he tells her how to drink water (for a guy who looks like he never drinks water, he's sure obsessed with the stuff), she finally understands that he's the man and she's the woman after some madcap misunderstandings, he introduces her to sex, they have sun-dappled good times in the woods near the lake, and the future is golden.

Unfortunately for Dr. Brandon, he makes some bonehead plays. Anitra easily wanders into the lab unsupervised and hugs Greg ("you're a man!"), which is bad news for Greg. Then, the doc decides to run some errands even though a water heater is being delivered, leaving Anitra on the couch in a bikini reading Hot Stuff magazine (I'm a subscriber but only for the articles). The delivery driver gets an eyeful of Anitra, she tells him he's a man (his response: "Boy, you sure ain't!"), and he invites her to his truck, leading to our exciting (?) denouement.

I live for this kind of trash, but there are long stretches where not much is happening or too much is happening or the same thing happens for way too long. If you're a fan of regional DIY lunacy, you've probably developed a solid strain of immunity and can handle it. The freakishly nutty scenes and time-capsule local color moments are the reward. If your main jam is the Marvel Cinematic Universe or middlebrow Oscarbait or prestige TV, this ain't gonna light you on fire, but the worst of the worst of these movies is worth more than 100 Avengers movies to me. Each one is such a reflection of the flawed and unique human person who made it and the local flavor of the area where it was filmed and has its own weird energy even when the goal is to make a quick, cheap buck. Part of that local flavor includes the Overlook Castle, a famous mountaintop mansion in Asheville. The castle is the exterior location of the lab, and Patterson somehow got permission to do some filming inside the mansion, making excellent use of the large picture windows.

Despite creating the occasional memorable scene or image, Patterson was the filmmaking equivalent of a carny grifter and was not a man for retakes or too much attention to detail. In one of the final scenes, the clapperboard is fully visible. He needed the dialogue and didn't have a replacement shot, so he just left it in. Accidentally meta, brother. In a hilarious scene, a good ol' boy Southern patrolman knocks on the door. Even though the scene takes place at night, every shot of the patrolman is in blinding daylight. The conversation proceeds as follows: "What the heck is goin' on in here? You boys makin' 'shine?" "No, officer, I'm a doctor." "OK, sorry to bother ya." I love it. Patterson directed two more movies after The Body Shop, the last one hitting theaters a year after his death. The followup, Boots and the Preacher, a crime thriller about a murder at a radio station, was presumed lost for years until Vinegar Syndrome got their hands on an elusive print, restored it, and released it on Blu-Ray last year. His final film, The Electric Chair, is an eccentric courtroom drama.

I'll leave the last word to whichever genius created the copy for The Body Shop's local poster when the movie played the Tryon Hills Shopping Center in Raleigh: "(picture of a blonde bikini babe who does not appear in the movie) She's the monster in 'The Body Shop' and it's X rated! You won't believe how they make her! It is gorrific. . . .  That is why it's rated X. Filmed entirely in North Carolina! Maybe one of her parts came from your street."