“Suicide Kings” (1997)
If there’s one marker that helps you identify a late-’90s “Pulp Fiction” copycat, it’s the appearance of Christopher Walken, who after only cameoing in the real deal, seemingly refused to turn down any work at all so long as there was some kind of involved, possibly blackly comedic murder or kidnapping. Here, Walken is the victim himself: a former crime boss, Charlie Barret, who’s nabbed by a quartet of college friends hoping to get $2 million from him so they can in turn retrieve one of their kidnapped sisters. Walken manages to get word to his bodyguard/enforcer Lono (Denis Leary), who sets out to track the boys down. It’s not a bad set-up, perhaps more Coens than Tarantino in premise, but certainly indebted to the latter more with its lengthy, would-be comic monologues. And Walken’s great, as ever, owning the screen every moment he’s on it. But that’s not entirely surprising, because his kidnappers are played by the universally bland quartet of Henry Thomas, Sean Patrick Flanery (two-time offender on this list), Jay Mohr, Jeremy Sisto and Johnny Galecki (the only one to make something even close to an impression, mainly because of how annoying he is). There are a few twists and turns that are mildly surprising, but there’s a truly painful sense of dancing in the footsteps of better films throughout. Mostly ignored on release, it’s picked up a tiny cult audience in subsequent years, presumably of bros who can’t find their “Boondock Saints” DVD (see below)—enough so that a sequel is supposedly in development, though we wouldn’t hold our breath in terms of actually seeing the thing. [D+]
“8 Heads In A Duffel Bag” (1997)
In 1999, Oscar-winning “Goodfellas” and “Raging Bull” star Joe Pesci announced his retirement from acting (he’s mostly been good to his word since, bar a cameo in “The Good Shepherd” and a more substantial role in the little-seen “Love Ranch”). After the trio he went out on, you wouldn’t blame him: dire crime comedy “8 Heads In A Duffel Bag” was the first in a trifecta of terrible completed by J.J. Abrams-scripted slapstick comedy “Gone Fishin’ ” and diminishing-returns sequel “Lethal Weapon 4.” But the first of the three was very much the worst: a tonally bonkers comedy with the trappings of a post-Tarantino black comedy, but the soul of “Weekend At Bernie’s.” Pesci plays a mob hitman hired to transport the titular eight bonces across the country, only to lose them in a baggage mix-up with innocent Charlie (Andy Comeau), who’s en route to meet his girlfriend’s parents for the first time. His life threatened if he can’t find the missing cargo, Pesci enlists the aid of Charlie’s roommates (David Spade and Todd Louiso), while Charlie has to convince his prospective in-laws that he’s not a serial killer, and keep the heads intact until Pesci can come pick them up. The result is a broad, deeply unfunny picture caught between several stools, none of which are very entertaining. It makes sense, then, that it’s the lone directorial outing of screenwriter Tom Schulman, whose schizophrenic credits include the very funny “What About Bob?” and winning an Oscar for writing “Dead Poets Society,” along with worthless comedies “Holy Man” and “Welcome To Mooseport.” [F]
“Palookaville” (1995)
Often overshadowed by not only “Pulp Fiction” but also the somewhat similar “Bottle Rocket,” “Palookaville” is now probably best remembered as the first feature from director Alan Taylor, who went on to be a key director for golden age TV dramas like “Oz,” “The Sopranos,” “Mad Men” (of which he helmed the pilot), and “Game Of Thrones,” before recently making a move into the blockbuster world with “Thor: The Dark World” and the upcoming “Terminator: Genesis.” That’s a shame, because while “Palookaville” couldn’t possibly be more different from the latter two tentpoles, it’s a rather charming, low-key crime comedy that deserves a much better reputation. The film focuses on a trio of small-town pals, Sid (William Forsythe), Jerry (Adam Trese) and Russell (Vincent Gallo), who are fed up of their dire economic straits and collapsing personal lives, and plan an armored car robbery together, the only problem being that they don’t have violent bones in their bodies, and are entirely unsuited to lives of crime. Unlike most of the crime movies of this era, there’s no pretense at “cool,” no cutting-edge soundtrack or over-written dialogue: it’s mostly using the crime set-up to examine these three warm, slightly dim fellas, the people around them, and their relationships together. Taylor does handle the final robbery well, though, and there’s such a sweetness to the film (and in particular the often underrated Forsythe’s performance) that it’s able to coast along quite happily on that. Despite winning the Best First Film prize at Venice, it wasn’t able to gain much of an audience, but it’s better than the majority of the films on this list. [B]
