In Love Lies Bleeding, a dirtbag lesbian gym owner falls hard for a bisexual bodybuilder heading to a physique competition in Vegas. They share steroids, they fall in love, and then crime happens.

Before seeing this movie, I heard it described as genre-defying. That is nearly true. It would be fair to call this a crime movie with noir elements, too.

I posit that this is a queer wlw fantasy movie, almost exclusively. When I say fantasy, I mostly don’t mean fantasy elements (there is no Gandalf). I mean that this is a story written to please a lesbian, filmed to please a type of lesbian, depicting a lesbian story mostly through metaphor.

WLW here means woman-loving-woman, inclusive of those who are bisexual or lesbian — or the straight woman intimate with other women, which is more common than one might think. This is a broad category of human. The types of stories that speak to these humans will be as diverse and broad as the humans themselves.

I am a (sometimes) (often) wlw from the American West. I grew up a dirtbag in a small town, and I recognize this story. (Tag yourself: Are you the dirtbag enabler, the muscle mommy, or the flaky pasty one who’s always on something?)

A couple of broad lesbian stereotypes apply here. Have you heard of the U-Haul lesbian? The one where a couple of wlw meet and are instantly head-over-heels, lifelong commitment, ride-or-die? Yeah. That one. You also get the thing where wlw relationships can be extremely messy. There is the betrayal of realizing that your woman got dicked down, even though there’s nothing *technically* wrong with that.

Assumed boundaries are frequently, easily violated.

The size of wlw emotions are somehow bigger — perhaps because female socialization means that you’re likelier to have two people in contact with genuine emotion than you are in a het relationship. When things go wrong, they are very, very wrong. And when things go well, it is euphoria purer than any drug (sometimes there are also drugs).

What is a lesbian fantasy?

It’s the fantasy of men facing consequences: the man who hurts a woman you love, the man whose sperm helped bring you to this Earth, the man who is a fucking cop. It’s wishing so hard that you could kill your girlfriend’s girlfriend that you do it. It’s being able to recognize that women are tuned into the reality of pleasure more than any guy, who’s more in love with his dick. And it’s becoming so full of the love injected into you by your woman, you grow huge from it, capable of destroying anything, running away from everything, and being free.

Only in this context does Love Lies Bleeding make sense to me.

It’s a delirious, surreal piece of cinema noir that we’re lucky to have. This lens on womanly pleasure is uncommon, to say the least. You get dykes you don’t often see, and you see them well, writ with glorious artistic metaphor.

Even though I felt the energy flagged in the last minutes of the movie, I still left it thinking, “I am so happy I watched that. I really *liked* that.” I could criticize it by saying that it dropped the tension entirely, but I think what actually happens is that the climax isn’t when plot events peak, or when tension peaks, but when the women get what they needed the whole time. After that, cleaning up loose ends (including someone who seemed like a Big Villain) is just some simple housekeeping.

It’s a happy ending because we deserve a happy ending, not because it would be realistic. It’s a lesbian fantasy. Let us have it.

(image credit: Warner Bros.)

In THE THING, an alien shapeshifter emerges from the antarctic ice and takes the form of people stationed at an outpost to kill them one by one.

You wanna talk beginning in media res? This is a movie which begins in media res, and then some. We begin with a Norwegian scientist failing to kill a Husky from a helicopter, only to accidentally blow himself up instead. It’s too bad none of the Americans who witness this speak Norwegian. Surely the Norwegian pilot was warning them not to let the Husky spend all day wandering the base. Monolingualism loses again!

I’m used to horror, like most stories, beginning with some amount of “normal world.” It’s a common story mechanism. The Thing has no time for this. Our filmmaker, John Carpenter, doesn’t waste time trying to set up the movie. We’re in Antarctica, on a base, and it’s cold. There are Huskies. (For sleds?) Is it weird that I’m surprised to get so little exposition about the base’s intentions and the milieu of the outside world when we don’t *need* it? We already know what Americans get up to in Antarctica (SCIENCE), but many modern movies labor over clunky dialogue making sure the most basic assumptions are spelled out.

The reason I wonder if this is truly a “real world” setting is because some of our humans feel like aliens are a given. Of course, these kind of people do exist in reality. Carpenter just wasn’t worried about clarifying things. The closest we get to exposition is visiting the Norwegian base to see how badly they got rekt by the alien first.

I was delighted to jump into this one feet-first. That gives us ample room in its 100-ish minute run time to show everyone being suspicious of one another, trying to figure out the “rules” of the alien, and attempting to survive one another. There are times when I almost thought they’d already killed off the alien and they were just going to kill each other out of suspicion. Kind of like The Mist making humans the greatest enemy.

I love most of the tropes at play here, but it’s a bit frustrating when horror depends primarily on the hysterics of humans to sustain itself. It’s not unrealistic. I wouldn’t be level-headed in such a situation. Would you? And it’s not like anyone in 1982 had been playing Among Us enough to have preset strategies for making sure you’re never vulnerable to an imposter. Even so, it’s maddening to see them determine beyond a shadow of a doubt who isn’t an alien…then go off out of sight from one another, immediately isolated again. I wanted to jump into the tv and shake them. Then carefully step out of the tv again, because NO THANK YOU, alien.

I also never enjoy dogs in peril. I know, I know. Give me all the bloody effects in the world if they’re adult humans. But have a couple dogs in danger and I’m thiiiis close to quitting the whole thing.

Nonetheless, the effects are a hokey delight. They’re filmed in such a straightforward way, you can really appreciate the art design. The alien Thing is incredibly unnatural. Mouths will form out of the side of humanlike noggins. What looks like dripping veins can quickly turn into ropey tentacles. Did someone just lose his head? Well, now the head is crawling away like a spider. It’s all extremely slimy. For some reason it doesn’t bother me like the body horror of the Hellraiser movies, and I like that! I like how it’s just gross and amazing and sprawling. The stop motion is wonderful. The miniatures are fabulous, especially when they burn.

They can do realistic effects though — what bothered us most was simply seeing people cutting deeply into their own thumbs to draw blood. Clearly Carpenter et al were entirely in control of what we were experiencing the whole time. I know a masterpiece when I see one.

I always love movies where someone comes in with a vision and executes it with skill. The Thing is just a roller coaster of slimy fun, emphasizing the emotionality of humans as a major weakness, and it gives us Kurt Russell with gloriously fluffy hair through the whole thing. They really should have checked his fabulous hair to see if it had a life of its own. Maybe it could have saved them all.

(image credit: Universal Pictures)

In Little Shop of Horrors, a very poor man discovers he can have all the success in the world if only he murders people to feed a talking plant their blood. Did someone say “capitalism will eat you alive”? Alan Menken did!

I grew up watching the Theatrical Cut of Little Shop of Horrors. It was one of my favorite movies on tape as a kid! I watched it so much, I think I wore out the VHS. Like, it would get all fuzzy and weird when I watched the parts I kept rewinding and revisiting. I’m still not sure why I loved it so much as a child, but there is something deeply endearing about the giant murderous plant, and putting the plant-puppet to music was my catnip.

This means I had only seen the version with the happy ending. It’s not the version the director wanted, but test audiences *loathed* his original ending, and the movie wasn’t going to get released unless they scrubbed it. So in the Theatrical Cut, Seymour electrocutes Audrey II. He escapes to the suburbs with Audrey I. You get a glimpse of little Audrey II flowers at the end, but it feels like more of a cute wink-nudge than a threat of more plant murder.

Even in this version, Little Shop of Horrors is an outstanding movie. The songs, performances, and set are wonderful. As an adult, I’m just as obsessed with the many puppets that portray Audrey II. Apparently it took sixty people to operate the big version, and you get the most amazing sense of majesty from it. Steve Martin vs Bill Murray is like “When Sado met Masochist” — a real romcom.

With the Theatrical Cut, it remains a tale of deep poverty and the lie of the American Dream. Seymour begins with small, painful sacrifices to earn his commercial success — bleeding himself into the mouth of the plant — and then moves onto acceptable horror by feeding Audrey’s abusive boyfriend to the plant. But the plant is never satiated. It never stops growing. It always remains hungry. Letting the heroes escape alive isn’t necessarily unrealistic, but it’s such a softball.

The Director’s Cut is truer to the theme. Audrey II lures Audrey I to the shop, fatally wounds her, and devours her body. Then it humiliates and devours Seymour despite his best attempts to kill it. I had heard that these things happened in the Director’s Cut. It was still shocking enough to watch for the first time — like I said, I’ve seen this at least twenty times, and the ending was happy! What a divine sensation, watching a new version of a movie I know so well.

The plant goes on to eat the whole country. Probably the whole planet. You get a lot of amazing shots of giant Audrey II plants terrorizing New York City — think people running away from Godzilla screaming. The Greek chorus emphasizes that we got here because everyone was greedy for power and willing to feed their plants blood. And in the end, we see one of the plants clutching the Statue of Liberty, cackling because bazookas do nothing to kill it.

I completely understand why everyone hated that ending. It was *dark*. But oh my God, I’m obsessed. It was hilarious for one. They played it up like a 50s monster movie, so it’s not exactly scary by modern standards. Watching the many ways the plant destroys things and eats people is a joy, especially because they laugh through the whole thing. The evil puppets are so great! I’m just so happy for them!

And at this point, it’s pretty obvious that capitalism really does work like that. It really will just eat everybody. It’s so blunt, without a whit of subtlety. But does anyone go see a horror comedy satire musical hoping for subtlety? Or do you go because you wanna see giant alien plants murdering the planet?

Personally, I think this version is so much better, and I’m delighted they remastered/completed the Director’s Cut for release. It takes the movie from “haha I loved that” to “OMG AMAZING.” I was downright giddy watching it. Let’s say that the Theatrical Cut is 5/5, but Director’s Cut is 11/10.

Everyone wanted to possess Isabeau d’Angou, daughter of the Comte. Her unearthly beauty captured the hearts of everyone who saw her, whether man or priest, and the Bishop of Aquila became obsessed with her. Yet the one man Isabeau wanted herself was Etienne Navarre, the handsome captain of the guard in Aquila. Isabeau and Etienne could have known such happiness if not for the bitter rage of the Bishop, who called upon the power of the Devil himself to curse the lovers: if the Bishop could not possess this woman, then nobody could, and damned be his immortal soul.

Once the curse befell them, Isabeau became a hawk by day, while Etienne became a ferocious black wolf by night. The two could always be together. But never as humans. Never at the same time. Navarre was truly forced to possess Isabeau as a man possesses a hawk, carrying her on his gloved arm with her face blindfolded and her legs in jesses. It’s easy to imagine they began their journey together with hope of finding salvation, but hope waned as it became obvious the Bishop of Aquila was untouchable.

And then came Mouse — Phillippe Gaston — a young thief who distinguishes himself as the only criminal to ever escape the dungeons of Aquila.

And also came some incredibly rad synth music.

And a convenient total solar eclipse.

The 1980s were a great time for fantasy movies. I could spend a long time listing them, but I’ll stick to my personal favorites: Legend, starring Tom “Babylegs” Cruise, and Labyrinth, starring David Bowie’s package. We also got The Princess Bride (flawless), The Neverending Story (traumatic), The Last Unicorn (divine), and so many more.

Amid its stylized brethren, LADYHAWKE stands out as a fairly grounded medieval fantasy story. You don’t get colorful puppets. There’s no amazing soliloquies from Tim Curry about unicorns. Instead of sets, they filmed in a couple of old castles and a lot of sweeping fields. The costumes, while anachronistic, are kept simple, focusing the visuals entirely on the performances of actors who aren’t exactly chewing scenery.

In fact, if the soundtrack weren’t completely out of place, I think Ladyhawke would be broadly better regarded. I love the synth score, personally. But you can’t tell me it wouldn’t age better for the general public if they’d stuck to something classically orchestral.

The real highlight of Ladyhawke, for me, is how deeply romantic it is. Watching Navarre clutch Isabeau’s dress as night falls, savoring the scent of a woman he hasn’t seen in two years, is just as heartbreaking as his anguish when he watches the hawk struck by an arrow. He must always put Isabeau’s needs before his own, even if that means surrendering his wounded lover to another man so that he can carry her to be healed.

Of course, ACAB means Navarre. He’s a former guard (let’s say medieval cops), and in a previous life, he would have been one of the hairy dudes hunting down poor little Mouse. His family history involves the Crusades. Yikes. But Navarre got his butt kicked by the Church, so he’s semi-reformed.

This reformation is shown with a stark palette: Navarre dresses in voluminous black capes while wielding his crucifix-like sword on the back of a black horse (named Goliath!). Meanwhile, agents of the Church are dressed largely in white, riding white horses. The Bishop of Aquila is pictured in lavish white gowns, entertained by sultry young women, while lamenting the poor commoners can’t be taxed when they have nothing. When Navarre arrives at the climax to fight against the Church, he has become the Hand of God, and it’s a stark contrast to the villains he fights.

There is no cooler aesthetic than Navarre with his huge-ass crossbow and sword mounted on his muscular destrier, hawk clutching his glove. None. I mean, this is the goddamn Bladerunner, and he’s a freakin knight. It’s so cool I’m in pain.

Isabeau looks pretty great in Navarre’s cloak, though. She’s dressed more neutrally in grays. Her hair is cut short and appropriately feathered, giving her the look of a noble daughter on the lam. I’ve spent my entire life thinking Michelle Pfeiffer is the most beautiful woman on the planet, and her performance as Isabeau is the main reason why.

Philippe “The Twink” Gaston is adorably portrayed by Matthew Broderick at peak fame. It’s sorta like having an especially mousy Ferris Bueller running around medieval France, except he totally lacks the raw charisma…or the brain cells.

Mouse is actually kind of the main character, serving multiple narrative functions. His humble origin as a scrappy little thief who knows nothing about the curse makes him a good viewer avatar. But his main relationship is with God, meaning he also offers stark contrast to the Bishop of Aquila, just not with colors. (Appropriately, Mouse wears brown.) Mouse is way too foolish to survive everything he survives.

But he is devoted to God, and God clearly likes the kid. God’s probably the one who tosses Mouse in front of Navarre. It’s Mouse who most earnestly seeks God’s approval — not the Bishop who sold his soul, and not even the priest Imperius, who’s constantly drunk and lazing around. And so it’s Mouse who is most truly blessed.

It’s so mythic, having the good-hearted lil thief be the holy one who needs to light a path for Navarre and Isabeau’s salvation. He bears Navarre’s sword until it’s time to skewer the Bishop of Aquila in the most majestic of fashions. And by lying his butt off to Navarre and Isabeau separately, he keeps their spirits high enough to fight through the end of the curse.

I really couldn’t offer any genuine criticism for this movie. Is it a little too grounded? Maybe a little slow? Maybe some of the characters’ actions are a wee bit nonsensical at times? I have no idea. I’ve watched this movie a couple times a year for my entire life, no joke, and I think I’ve spent my entire life trying to write something as grandly mythic and shatteringly romantic as this.

Ladyhawke was made by a skilled filmmaker whose effects never get real special, which is smart, given the budgetary and technological limitations of the time. The simple framing, grading, and lighting makes it feel vividly real, as anachronistic as the choices are. It’s not nearly as much of a kids’ movie (or even a family movie) as its contemporaries in 80s fantasy films.

If you haven’t revisited this one in a while, I urge you to go back. I think it must not be very popular because I haven’t seen a remastered version. The copy I got off Amazon is janky. Let’s not let Ladyhawke fade into memory, though. This one is worth keeping around.

(image credit: Warner Bros.)

SCOOP is a lightweight drama about a famous TV interview with Prince Andrew, where he ate his whole entire foot talking about his relationship with trafficker Jeffrey Epstein, as well as allegations of abuse.

My immediate impression of the movie was, “Why did they make that?” There isn’t a lot of incisive material behind the scenes. It focuses on the women who made the interview happen, but only dips a toe into their ambitions, regrets, and the class differences between them. Some time is taken to flesh them out as individuals, but not in any particularly meaty way.

Little drama actually occurs in the setup for the interview. Basically, the news team asks if they can interview him, and Andrew happily accepts. A little time is dedicated to Andrew’s staff fussing about it, but it never grows claws.

The interview itself is loyally performed — but you can just go watch the Andrew interview yourself, if you don’t yet know the prince’s role in the nightmarish sex trafficking that women endured through Epstein and Maxwell.

I suppose the main argument for making such an unembellished version of the interview is that it puts the interview in the news again. And, as the journalists discovered (both in reality and the movie), they just needed to let Andrew speak for himself. He’s his own worst enemy. Yet SCOOP was reluctant to go any deeper than that.

I do get a sense, somewhat, that the filmmakers mostly wanted to show off how well they could transform Rufus Sewell into Prince Andrew — an extremely angular, handsome actor becoming a soft-faced royal he doesn’t ordinarily resemble.

Or perhaps they just wanted to get Billie Piper and Gillian Anderson working together, which is a victory for the lesbians.

The whole thing feel like an ephemeral, fashionable snippet of journalism history. It’s appropriate enough to show in school or watch with your mum. It doesn’t do anything that might risk legal action. It might barely even offend the British royal family, who don’t seem embarrassed enough to tuck Prince Andrew away; he continues to make appearances with the family to this day.

If the intention is to remind us all that Prince Andrew is a predator and buffoon, then it succeeds, and it does it with competent filmmaking. At least the journalism students who have to watch this down the road won’t be bored.

You can watch the original interview with Prince Andrew on BBC Newsnight’s YouTube Channel.

Scoop is streaming on Netflix.

(image credit: Netflix)

My original Letterboxd review for this is pretty thorough and I stand beside it.