EDDIE AND THE CRUISERS/EDDIE AND THE CRUISERS II: EDDIE LIVES! (Embassy Pictures/Scotti Bros. 1983-89) Shout! Factory
In 1983, Roger Ebert wrote of Martin Davidson’s Eddie and the Cruisers, “You
know, they could have had a good movie. They had the cast and even the
music…but the ending is so frustrating, dumb (and) unsatisfactory, that it
gives a bad reputation to the whole movie.” Albeit; the finale to this rock
n’ roller, catching a glimpse of a haggard Eddie Wilson, seemingly gone but not
forgotten, and staring back at a reasonable facsimile of his younger self from
a window display of TV screens, when the whole world thinks he took a header
off a bridge in 1963, left me a little defeated too. It isn’t that the premise
wasn’t truthful. There have been several high-profile celebs who walked off the
earth, only to resurface years, sometimes even decades later. But mid-way
through its scant 93 minutes, the screenplay, co-written by Martin and Arlene
Davidson, based on a novel by P.F. Kluge, becomes disastrously embroiled in a
McGuffin; a search for missing audio recordings and a mangled quest for the
truth by an overzealous cub reporter, played with tepid enthusiasm at best by
Ellen Barkin. Barkin would later openly admit to thinking Eddie and the Cruisers the worst movie ever made. Although
initially there were few, fans ultimately disagreed. Author, Kluge would also
weigh in on the movie’s reputation. “The
novel and the film have been described as a rock and roll Citizen Kane. To this, I do not object. The first ‘Eddie and the Cruisers’ was directed by
Martin Davidson. The sequel, Eddie Lives,
is a talent-free embarrassment.”
I’ll simply
confess to having missed Eddie and the
Cruisers on its initial and all too brief theatrical run, even passing on
the movie’s subsequent and virtually unthinkable resurrection on HBO, which
caused sales of John Cafferty’s soundtrack to suddenly fly off the charts (in a
sort of life imitating art scenario ripped directly from the movie). Through
endless replays on cable TV, Eddie and
the Cruisers developed the sort of enviable cult following few could have
imagined back in 1983. Then, it was all but eviscerated by the critics and
instantly forgotten by audiences. But time, as is so often the case, does
exceptionally strange things to movie art - or even, movie dreck; Eddie and the Cruisers spawning a
sequel six years later; the imperfect, though I would sincerely argue, still
moderately enjoyable, if not nearly as iconic, Eddie and the Cruisers II: Eddie Lives! (1989). The chief selling
feature for both movies is undeniably Brooklyn-born and blue-collar, Michael Paré
(so described by producer, Tony Scotti as ‘sexy as hell’) who, despite being
idiotically deprived of virtually any dramatic scenes in the original movie,
and, given far too many to grapple with in the sequel, nevertheless manages to
acquit himself rather nicely of this uneven material, lending credence to the
roughhewn exterior of this hell-raising, leather-wearing, muscly greaser with a
gravelly voice destined for super stardom. Not everything clicks as it should,
either in the original or its sequel; but enough of what is here holds together – even inelegantly so – to compel an
audience to keep watching. Perhaps, like
the proverbial train wreck, it is impossible to turn away.
True
confession #2: I only just finished watching both movies back to back in
preparation to write this review and already I feel like streaming John
Cafferty’s ‘On The Dark Side’ and ‘Pride & Passion’ for a second listen.
Cafferty who, along with The Brown Beaver Band have a smoky/edgy Springsteen/Joe
Cocker quality, keep the toes tapping long after the memory of each movie’s
horrendous dialogue (written for the sequel by Charles Zev Cohen and Rick
Doehring) has been mercilessly expunged from our collective memory. It is possible to separate the soundtracks
from the movies and thoroughly enjoy those little jabs of pleasure that remind
me of the sort of movie Eddie and the
Cruisers might have been if only handled with just a little more care and
compassion. But I fervently disagree with Roger Ebert’s claim Eddie and the Cruisers is “all buildup (with) no payoff”. The
payoff comes…just not in the first feature. Watching the sequel as mere
continuation does achieve a margin sense of finality for the character. In hindsight too, there’s something almost reassuring
about the way Eddie and the Cruisers
bounced back from its abysmal box office performance to become a gigantic hit
on HBO.
We have to
briefly reconsider what a mess the film business was back in the early 1980s,
before its miraculous renaissance mid-decade; the seventies having effectively
eaten up and spit out what entrails remained of the time-honored studio system
from Hollywood’s golden age; MGM – gone, thanks to a hostile corporate
takeover; United Artists – put under the earth by its epic expenditures on
Michael Cimino’s Heaven’s Gate
(1980); the corporate shell game never ending: Paramount, bought out by Gulf +
Western; Warner Bros., the subsidiary of a mortuary franchise. Some of it must
have looked good on paper to the stockholders, but the image of Hollywood as a
starlit mecca where anything was possible and dreams really did come true
seemed far gone and nearly forgotten. Director, Martin Davidson was to discover
this chaos firsthand in attempting to finance Eddie and the Cruisers.
It was
initially sold to Time-Life; a fledgling operation by industry standards;
amateurs, really, who couldn’t stay the course and closed up shop after only
two theatrical releases. Next, Davidson had lunch with a former secretary who
offered to shop the movie to her distributors, Aurora (another fly-by-night that
would ultimately finance only three pictures – Eddie and the Cruisers being one of them). In the end, the movie was
distributed by Embassy Pictures. Through yet another merger and acquisition, Eddie and the Cruisers would wind up
the property of MGM/Fox Home Video. On a paltry $6 million budget, Davidson set
about the impossible task of creating ambitious flashbacks, presumably set in
1963. He also made a fortuitous decision
in hiring Kenny Vance, of ‘Jay and the
Americans’ fame, who helped immensely in background research to mold the
look of the picture.
In retrospect
it is interesting to think about Michael Paré as the star of Eddie and the Cruisers, as he does, in
fact, play the title character. And yet the original story is less involved
with Paré’s iconic rebel and more about the impressions he left behind. These
are recalled in flashback by surviving Cruiser, Frank Ridgeway (top-billed, Tom
Berenger) who spends the bulk of the movie’s scant 93 min. tracking down other
band members; Kenny Hopkins (David Wilson), still playing drums in Atlantic City;
Eddie’s best friend and bass player, Sal Amato (Matthew Laurence), now fronting
his own Eddie and the Cruisers
‘tribute band’; Eddie’s girl and lead back-up with a tambourine, Joann Carlino
(Helen Schneider), now a semi-successful Wildwood choreographer, and, their
one-time booking agent and manager - washed-up, frail and balding radio D.J.,
Doc Robbins (Joe Pantoliano), now spinning his records – and dreams – in
Ashbury Park. Frank was an optimistic youth, sweeping the floors of a seedy New
Jersey dance hall when Eddie picked his brain for compositions. Taking a chance,
Eddie gave Frank his start as a composer, affectionately known as ‘word man’ to
the other members and responsible for their hit single, ‘On the Dark Side’. But Frank would fall out of favor with Eddie
after Joann took more than a passing interest in his other talents after hours.
Alas, we never get to see any of this. One reciprocal smooch in public is all
it takes to get Eddie’s juices flowing. Later, out of petty jealousy, Eddie at
first refuses to introduce Frank on the piano during their campus concert at
Frank’s old alma mater; then, begrudgingly calls him out as ‘Toby Tyler’.
In the
present, Frank – the slightly rumpled and romanticized academic – is doggedly
pursued by TV reporter, Maggie Foley (Ellen Barkin) who along with Satin label record
producer, Barry Siegel (Barry Sand) would love to know what became of the
master tapes of those recording sessions for Eddie’s last – and unreleased
album; A Season in Hell. In 1963,
Satin’s brain trust considered Eddie’s pop opera ‘too progressive’ – code for
‘junk’. But only a day after Eddie’s car went off the bridge, these tapes
disappeared from Satin’s vaults. Eddie
and the Cruisers would have something more relevant to say about rock n’
roll, the lifestyle and/or the self-professed musical genius of an Eddie Wilson,
if only it wasn’t constantly trying to embroil everyone in its maladroitly
plotted ‘who done it?’ But no – in
the present, Frank returns from a day’s teaching to his trailer park home, only
to discover the entire place has been tossed. By thieves? And what were they
looking for? Nothing’s been stolen. After a late night rendezvous, catching up
on old times with Doc, Frank returns to Doc’s apartment to discover a similar
‘once over’ has occurred. Later, Joann confides someone broke into her home too
while she was out. Could it be the same someone who has been telephoning her in
the middle of the night, playing tracks from the Cruisers’ chart-topping album?
The chief
problem with Eddie and the Cruisers
is it wants to spread out in all directions simultaneously, like spokes from
the hub of what otherwise ought to have been a very simple wheel, spinning
around Eddie’s mysterious disappearance and presumed death. At 93 min. there is
just too much going on in the Davidson’s screenplay, stylishly so – thanks to
Fred Murphy’s moodily lit cinematography – but without much substance to link
it all together as anything better than a series of disinteresting vignettes.
And yet, it isn’t the enigma wrapped inside a riddle, as presented by
Berenger’s sheepish academic and Barkin’s probing info-babe (at intervals
hinted to be having some sort of cerebral intercourse that may or may not lead
to other things) that sticks like porridge to our ribs. It’s Michael Paré’s
penetrating/wounded stares, his ability to perfectly lip-sync to John
Cafferty’s vocal tracks, veins popping from his neck, spit occasionally showing
as he shouts into the mic; Paré’s own speaking voice in perfect register with
the songs and seamlessly convincing; the way he holds his own with a guitar and
knows exactly how to work a room-full of impressionable, swooning girls.
There’s just something magnetic about the guy – a presence, in fact, only
partly accountable to his obvious good looks.
Eddie and the Cruisers begins to
take shape inside a meeting room at Media Magazine, as Maggie Foley and her
boss, Lew Elison (Kenny Vance) and Barry Siegel review some old footage of
Eddie and his band performing back in 1963. Perhaps, in part, due to his
limited budget, director, Davidson gets more than a little wonky with the
particulars of his narrative timeline. Inconsistencies abound and are rife for
ridicule – a futile exercise. But consider for one that the footage being
screened herein is in color. Even if Eddie and The Cruisers had appeared on
national TV back in 1963, this would have likely been shot on 35mm B&W film
stock, as is the similarly carbon-dated faux newsreel footage of lead sax, Wendell
Newton’s (Michael ‘Tunes’ Antunes) body being taken from the Ebb Tide Motel
after a fatal overdose, and subsequent footage, showing Eddie’s finned Bel Air
being pulled from the shallow waters off the Raritan Bridge. Maggie wants a
story. Satin needs a hook to continue promoting the band’s only album –
seemingly hotter than ever some twenty years later, despite changing times and
tastes. So Maggie taps into a correlation between Eddie’s disappearance, the
title of his unreleased album – A Season
in Hell – and a biography on French author, Jean Nicolas Arthur Rimbaud similarly
titled; Rimbaud, who at the age of 19, ‘committed suicide’, as Maggie points
out – not of the flesh, but of the mind and the soul. Translation: Eddie’s
music meant everything to him. Satin’s refusal to release A Season in Hell led him to the brink of an impossible quest to
discover his own ‘truth’ and ‘beauty’: by faking his own suicide.
Okay, so it’s
a little far-fetched. Where would Eddie be hiding these many years and why?
Even in an era before Instagram and cellphone cameras, how could a public
figure as high profile as Eddie Wilson simply vanish without a trace and manage
this twenty-year Houdini or, more apropos, Elvis Presley (if, as the Enquirer
would like us to believe, Elvis is still alive)? Maggie’s first pit stop on
this retro road tour is Frank Ridgeway; the Cruisers former keyboardist. But
Frank is not interested – at first – in revealing what he knows to these prying
eyes, even as Maggie makes the shallowest promise not to turn Frank’s quiet
life into a carnival. We regress in flashback to the summer of 1962 and meet a
‘presumably’ much younger Frank (even though there appears to be no physical disparities
between the man; then or now). Frank is sweeping floors inside Tony Mart’s
seedy nightclub in New Jersey. After a discrepancy of artistic temperaments
between Eddie and Sal, Eddie asks for Frank’s opinion on their music. His
honesty aligns with Eddie’s musical perceptions. So, Frank trades in his mop
for a chance to play back up with the band.
It all goes
very well – for a while. Eddie has great respect for Frank’s talents, both as a
composer and lyricist and, indeed, the band begins to take on more creative
ballast, trying new things. Alas, friction begins to mount as Frank is drawn to
Joann and vice versa. She’s attracted to what she refers to as his ‘touch of class’ and he finds her
affected sense of dangerousness appealing. The obvious spark between them
festers. In the meantime, Eddie, who is
unaware of their blossoming ‘friendship’, employs Frank to write, as he puts
it, ‘songs that echo’; “See, the stuff
that we’re doin’ right now is like somebody’s bedsheets; spread ‘em out, soil
‘em, send ‘em out to laundry, you know? But our songs…I wanna be able to fold
ourselves up in forever…you know?”
In the
present, Frank visits Sal at the local Holiday Inn; Sal’s Eddie and the Cruisers tribute band still packing a ‘standing room
only’ audience; the pallid strains of songs that once ‘echoed’ with Eddie’s more robust flavor, nevertheless taking Frank
back to the best years of the band. Frank also finds Maggie in the audience.
After the show, Sal is elated to see Frank. But his disdain for Maggie grows
when Sal realizes her only interest in him is to find out what became of the missing
‘Season in Hell’ recording sessions. Despite the intrusion, Frank has no
compunction about talking to Maggie now, reflecting on the last of the band’s
golden moment in time; the Cruisers playing Frank’s old alma mater, Benton
College. Eddie is not in favor of the venue, perhaps feeling a little insecure
since he never went beyond high school in his own formal education. But the
deeper wound comes from realizing Joann is no longer ‘his girl’ – catching a
glimpse of Frank and Joann passionately locked in each other’s arms. They’re
hardly conspicuous. At the concert, Eddie makes a point of not introducing
Frank as a member of the band until he is forced by one of Frank’s old buddies
in the audience to do so. Instead, Eddie introduces Frank as ‘Toby Tyler’.
The narrative
timeline begins to wobble; the succession of flashbacks becoming more
perfunctory as Frank is reunited briefly with drummer, Kenny Hopkins on the
pier in New Jersey. Kenny reminds Frank of the bad times – the worst, the death
of their sax player, Wendell Newton. The official story Frank has always
believed was Wendell died of a heart attack at the age of 36. Now, Kenny bitterly
reveals the truth; having discovered Wendell on the bathroom floor of his
rented room at the Ebb Tide Motel, dead of a gruesomely fatal drug overdose. It
is really too bad what ought to have been a particularly poignant moment of
loss, instead translates in the movie as mere segue to another musical sequence.
The real problem with Kenny’s ‘big
reveal’ is it has been preceded by nothing; no hint of Wendell ever being a
junkie, thus, no precedence for the overdose (i.e. an argument, a fight, a
failed romantic relationship, a break-up with one or more of the band members,
etc. et al). Wendell, a tertiary character at best – ever present in the
background, but without ever being given a scene to distinguish his character –
dies alone, all but forgotten as background filler of only passing interest to
the rest of the story.
Frank and
Joann are reunited in the present. She is very glad to see him after all these
years and even suggests she has been carrying a torch for him all these many
years. From this reunion we delve into the finale flashback; Eddie’s failed
attempt to interest Satin’s Records in ‘A
Season in Hell’ – his most progressive album to date, regrettably shelved
and causing Eddie to fly off the handle. Together with Joann, who refuses to
abandon him in his anger, Eddie goes to ‘the Palace of Depression’ – his personal
retreat in times of crisis; actually, a junkyard in Jersey, once owned by an
old codger whom Eddie befriended as a boy and who built elaborate sculptures
from these caliginous and decaying metal relics collected over a lifetime. In
the present, Joann confides in Frank that after seeing Eddie for the last time
before his apparent suicide, she quietly snuck into Satin Records and signed
out the master tapes for ‘A Season in
Hell’ – hiding them inside one of the sculptures. It’s an interesting
concept, until we pause and consider twenty years have passed since her
thievery. In all this time no one has discovered the tapes? The junkyard hasn’t
been bulldozed or been taken over by new management who, in demolishing the
junk, either discovered or destroyed the tapes? The tapes themselves, housed in
flimsy cardboard packaging, have not decomposed beyond recognition, turned to
chalk and/or dust, especially given their twenty years of bad storage exposure
to moldy outdoor elements – wind, snow, rain – corrupted by the relatively damp
of this unsanitary environment? On a
multitude of levels, it is a fairly absurd premise to believe Eddie’s swan song
could have survived, much less still be in a condition ready for re-issue on
vinyl.
Taking Frank
to her home, a veritable shrine to Eddie and the band, Joann reveals she has
been receiving mysterious phone calls in the middle of the night; someone
playing the band’s album over the telephone. Given Frank’s own enduring desire
to make love to Joann that now seems like an imminent prospect, he is
determined to protect her from this mysterious intruder. So, Frank parks his
car in an abandoned barn across the street from Joann’s house. But when he
returns, he finds the usually put-together Joann inexplicably giddy with an
almost hypnotic excitement. Eddie is coming over. It must be him. He honks the
horn to a 57’ powder-blue Chevy Bel Air convertible the same way he used to
when they were going steady. None of it makes much sense. Does Joann really
believe Eddie’s alive? If so, how and why is she so instantly ready and willing,
after so long a separation, to be reunited with him? Furthermore, the last act
to Eddie and the Cruisers never
entirely explains whatever became of Frank and Joann’s brief love affair back
in 1963. After gravitating to Frank over Eddie, Joann simply came back to Eddie
before his demise. But in all the intervening years since Eddie’s death, she
hasn’t bothered once to get back in touch with Frank. Now she is happy to see
him twenty years later, but then just as eager to ditch him when she hears the
sound of Eddie’s car horn?!? This is one fickle gal!
Evidently,
Frank is far more level-headed or perhaps merely thinking with his other head
and frustratingly determined, once and for all, to puncture Joann’s dreams
about Eddie still being alive. He hides behind a tree, then charges and
assaults the driver of the Bel Air parked in front of Joann’s home, revealing
him to be Doc, who has been after the master tapes all these years. Doc is the
movie’s real tragic figure; destroyed by the band’s failure to launch a second
album, discredited as a manager and since sunk to the abject sustainability of
a guy desperate to relive the past; consumed by his need to keep Eddie and the Cruisers alive. Taking
pity on Doc, Joann gives him the master tapes to ‘A Season in Hell’ – Doc,
elated, vowing to do right by the band as he drives off into the night. As
Joann and Frank stroll back to her house, presumably to pick up where they left
off 20 years ago, we cut away to the end of Maggie Foley’s news report, no nearer
to the truth than when she began her investigation; a montage of still photos
of the band flashing across multiple TV screens set up as a display in the
windows of a local department store; a crowd gathered around, including one
bearded fellow, looking defeated, yet strangely pleased. We suddenly realize
the man is Eddie Wilson. Eddie has indeed survived; implausibly so, living
obscurely, unable to recall his header off the bridge, but strangely
remembering, with sad-eyed clarity, these images in this tribute documentary.
He turns away and walks down the street – no explanation given for where he has
been all these years.
Tapping into
the then ever-present nostalgia craze, Eddie
and the Cruisers ought to have been a huge hit for Embassy Pictures. At the
very least, it should have launched an impressive movie career for Michael Paré.
It did neither. Instead, Paré, who began as a supporting cast member in
episodes of TV’s then popular action/drama, The Greatest American Hero (1981-83) slipped into quiet obscurity
as a B-movie actor. Although he has steadily worked in movies and on television
since, Paré’s roster of screen credits is a woeful reminder of what the pall of
one box office failure can do to crush a once promising career. Yet, in the
interim, Eddie and the Cruisers was
to take on a life of its own; endlessly revived on HBO – then a fledgling cable
channel – where it suddenly caught fire and became one of their most popular
movies of the week; its’ sudden and inexplicable surge in popularity causing
Frank Cafferty’s soundtrack album to go quadruple platinum. Regrettably, this
renewed success also caused independent film producers, the Scotti Brothers, to
erroneously believe there were more riches to be mined from second visiting to
the same well. Small wonder then, that when the opportunity came along six
years later to do a sequel, Michael Paré emphatically jumped at the chance.
However, six
years is a long time. In movie terms, it might as well be a century. Times and
tastes do change. So do people: Paré’s boyish charisma and sinewy body reinvented
with a more buffed up and slightly harsher masculine appeal. As producer, Tony
Scotti assessed, “he’s still sexy as hell”;
albeit, now hidden behind dark sunglasses and an unprepossessing moustache for
most of the sequel. In some ways Eddie
and the Cruisers II: Eddie Lives! is a more interesting picture than its
predecessor; alas, afflicted by the same abysmal misfires along the way that
otherwise would have sunk any other picture entirely, once again, if not for
Michael Paré’s charismatic presence. Presumably, because there is nothing further
to tell about the characters of Frank or Joann, neither appears in the sequel
or is even referenced (except in flashbacks). Instead, screenwriters, Charles
Zev Cohen and Rick Doehring have cobbled together an even more incoherent and
implausible scenario to inveigle our wounded cult figure into a comeback,
gradually coaxing him from his self-imposed exile. For the last twenty years
Eddie has been working in construction under the non de plume Joe West in
Montreal, Canada of all places; his memory of that other life as a premiere
rock n’ roller stirred after seeing a television broadcast featuring his old
band. It seems Satin Records has unearthed some ‘never-before-released’
recordings of Eddie playing with Fats Domino. Interestingly, the movie makes no
reference to ‘A Season in Hell’. So,
either Doc never managed to get those masters into the right hands, or he
simply gave up and the masters died along with him in Ashbury Park.
One of the
most disheartening aspects about Eddie
Lives! is that if virtually abandons all of the narrative possibilities
established in the first movie to attempt being its own stand-alone piece of
fluff entertainment. As such, Eddie meets Diane Armani (Marina Orsini) while
frequenting a seedy Montreal nightclub where Rick Diesel’s (Bernie Coulson)
rock/pop band is playing. Diesel is a strictly wet-behind-the-ear kid with a
guitar and a dream, but, as Eddie deduces, only a little talent and a lot to
learn. After being dared by the band’s sax player, Hilton Overstreet (Anthony
Sherwood) to prove his meddle, Eddie does exactly that, engaging the band in a
soulful riff. Everyone is impressed, especially Diesel, who begs Eddie to join
their motley crew. It’s a non-starter, as Hilton’s earthy sax painfully reminds
Eddie of Wendell’s suicide. Presumably, Eddie has never been able to come to
grips with Wendell’s loss. So, the plot shifts to Eddie and Diane’s burgeoning
love affair. She’s an artist who wants to paint his portrait. He’s not
interested – at first. Then, Diane drags Eddie…I mean Joe, back to her place.
She’s preparing for her first public showing at a downtown gallery. Eddie’s not
interested in art. But he definitely knows what he likes. So, after Diane’s
premiere is a bust (she only sells three paintings, and one of them, her
portrait of Joe, that she did from memory, back to him) the two share a steamy
night of hot ‘mutual pity’ sex.
Unable to make
up their mind about the crux of our story, the Cohen/Doehring screenplay
toggles between Joe, working construction and endlessly pursued by Diesel with
a puppy-dog’s devotion for its new chew toy (Joe’s musical genius), and, an up
and coming contest being held in New York by Satin Records’ insidious promoter,
Dave Pagent (Michael Rhoades) with Sal Amato’s complicity to find the perfect
Eddie Wilson look-a-like. Satin’s hook remains their parceling out the newly
discovered Eddie Wilson recordings, one at a time. Even in Canada, these
unearthed treasures receive an unprecedented amount of playtime; all but
ruining Eddie’s first real date with Diane at a roller skating rink.
Miraculously, wannabe hardcore rocker, Diesel turns up there too, once again
imploring Eddie to joint his band. Eddie tells Diesel the first thing he has to
do is fire everyone he currently plays with – except Hilton – and recast the
band from scratch. And so the auditions begin; Eddie acquiring drummer, Charlie
'Sexy' Tanzie (Paul Markle), keyboardist and classically trained pianist,
Stewart Fairbanks (David Matheson), and backup guitarist, Quinn Quinley (Mark
Holmes) to partake in the new venture. The acquisition of these band members is
dealt with rather perfunctorily. They simply join, despite already having other
lucrative prospects. No sense of loyalty there! And none of these characters are
given any real playtime in the screenplay, apart from the moments when they
perform together as the band. They’re not even given dialogue scenes.
We advance –
or devolve (depending on one’s point of view) into a rather syrupy series of
love scenes between Joe and Diane (you know the kind, conflicted, sweaty; Joe
wearing nothing but a towel and Diane cleverly concealing her nipples beneath
strategically placed bedsheets). Joe eventually reveals to Diane he is Eddie
Wilson. She doesn’t believe him at first, but then comfortably – and
predictably – settles into the idea she is having an affair with a presumably
dead, forty year old rocker who, despite the superfluous camouflage of a
moustache, still looks as though he hasn’t aged a minute beyond his
twenty-sixth birthday. Diesel is encouraged by local festival promoter, Lyndsay
(Kate Lynch) to capitalize on Joe’s uncanny resemblance to Eddie Wilson.
Remarkably, after only briefly meeting Joe even she can see past his moustache
– something none of the other band members, including Diesel, who have lived,
breathed and sweated their art together, have been able to figure out. Okay,
who says musicals protégés have to be smart too? And truth be told, apart from
Diesel (who looks like a prepubescent kid next to these guys) and Hilton
(perpetually covered up in long-sleeved shirts), the new band Eddie has put
together is more about raw brawn than musical prowess; everyone well-muscled
(Charlie, perpetually shirtless and steroidally flexed), showing off their more
obvious physical assets to the groupies. Mercifully, they have John Cafferty’s genius
to lip-sync and it is quite enough to compensate.
Diesel takes
Lyndsay’s hint and secretly sends off a demo tape of the band to Satin Records.
Naturally, Dave Pagent is impressed; enough to make the journey to Montreal to
hear the band perform at the festival. Alas, Joe isn’t sure he wants to play
this gig, his fear of success still stemming from his inability to accept
Wendell’s death. Eventually, Hilton gets a clue about Joe and calls him out.
Hilton knew Wendell; knew Eddie and the
Cruisers too, and, also knew of Wendell’s crippling addiction. There was
nothing anyone could have done to save him from himself. But there still might
be something Eddie can do for this new band whose dreams are pinned on opening
the rock festival. So, Eddie agrees to take the gamble. But first, he must
truly confront his past. So, on a windswept beach in Jersey, Joe (I mean Eddie)
materializes from the fog, sans moustache, and dressed in his old leathery
duds, revealing to Sal he is still very much alive. Sal, who never waned in his
loyalty to a fallen friend, is understandably stunned, shocked and then,
momentarily enraged. He takes a few failed potshots and is subdued by Eddie. The
two old friends now share a good cry and reconciliation.
Eddie claims
to still not being able to remember what happened after he drove his car off
the bridge 20 years earlier; only that he realized he could not go on with the
Cruisers after Wendell’s death and the failure of ‘A Season in Hell’. Sal forgives Eddie and tells him “maybe this time you’ll get it right.”
But Eddie’s anxiety nearly gets the better of him again when Diesel reveals,
moments before they are about to go on at the festival, Dave Pagent is waiting
to meet him. Dave instantly identifies Joe as Eddie. Recognizing Dave as the worm
he is, only interested in taking advantage of Eddie’s comeback for the publicity
it will garner, Eddie decks Dave on the steps of the stadium before attempting
to make his getaway. Diane intervenes, bringing up the specter of Eddie’s first
faked death and telling him that while the whole world will know tomorrow Joe
West is Eddie Wilson, he has tonight and the opportunity to do what he set out
to do twenty years earlier with Eddie and
the Cruisers. Without ever disclosing his true identity to the other
members of the band, who (apart from Hilton) presumably still do not know who
he is, Eddie takes to the stage, mesmerizes the audience with ‘Pride & Passion’ then, reveals to
all he is Eddie Wilson. It’s no joke – Eddie lives and he is back with a
vengeance.
Eddie and the Cruisers II: Eddie Lives! doesn’t
really hold up under closer scrutiny the way the original film does – even if
it too is hardly the ‘Citizen Kane’ of all rock n’
rollers. René Verzier’s cinematography in the sequel is just flat; the few
inserted flashbacks from the first movie, desaturated in their color-processing
to remain in step with Verzier’s limpid hues and severely understated lack of
gritty glamor in the sequel that ought to have added both depth and meaning to
this backstage glorified music video comeback special. The Scotti Brothers,
famous for their record-producing, not their film-making prowess, made no
apologies at the time about where the focus of their movie remains – squarely
on the music, or rather, a series of music video styled inserts, showcasing an
all new score by John Cafferty. Cafferty (vocally a cross between Springsteen
and Joe Cocker) and The Beaver Brown Band shot to the top of the charts
following the rediscovery by fans of the original Eddie and the Cruisers on HBO. To some extent, setting the sequel
in the 1980’s frees up Cafferty to explore the then reigning sounds of the
decade and, in truth, he does come up with a few memorable singles that
resonate, including the poignant ballad, ‘Just
A Matter of Time’ and the head-banging finale, ‘Pride & Passion’.
But Eddie
Lives! does not live up to our expectations on many levels. Foremost of
the disappointments are the band members who remain little more than cartoon
cutouts; Paul Markle’s frizzy-haired stud-drummer looking like a Twisted Sister
reject with muscles, and, David Matheson’s effete pianist cast out of a Culture
Club concert. The sycophantic devotion to Eddie, expressed by Bernie Coulson’s
bright-eyed kid/rocker is queerly unsettling. He’s even willing to scale a
high-rise under construction to follow his newfound idol. But there’s no camaraderie
here either; and virtually zero chemistry between Michael Paré and Marina
Orsini. Even the moment where Orsini’s Diane, either out of desperation, or
even unknowing of what will happen, throws caution to the wind by taking to the
dance floor with a nondescript college kid for a little bump n’ grind during
one of the band’s concert gigs, incurring Eddie’s jealousy, is a dud. He pulls
her aside in the middle of a set and chastises her for making him nuts. She
says “oh yeah?” and then melts with an apology, reciprocated by Eddie before
the two go off for some more passionate love-making. It’s dull, dumb and drippy
moments like this that nearly sink Eddie
Lives! Again, I didn’t find the sequel as idiotic as some. But I will
concede it’s not the sort of follow-up to satisfy die-hards of the first movie.
Shout!
Factory’s licensing of both movies for an Eddie
and the Cruisers/Eddie Lives! double bill is commendable - mostly. The
first film exhibits some very satisfying and rich hues. There is some mild
built-in flicker sporadically scattered throughout. Also, at times, grain
levels become marginally exaggerated. But otherwise the image quality is quite
satisfying and, better still – incredibly free of age-related debris. Digital
anomalies are a non-issue. Contrast is solid. Perhaps MGM/Fox, the parent company lending
out these 1080p transfers, has done some marginal preservation work, but I
doubt it. More than likely, the print masters were simply archived in impeccable
condition. It shows and I am grateful. The results are not nearly as impressive
on the sequel; exaggerated grain that veers dangerously close to becoming
digitized, tepid colors, unnatural flesh tones veering toward the orange
extreme, a lot of age-related debris, and some very obvious telecine wobble
during the first two reels. Black crush is also a problem, the dimly lit club
scenes becoming a sea of ‘floating heads’
bobbing about indistinguishable black ether. While both clarity and sharpness
are fairly impressive on the first movie, the sequel suffers from a residual
softness. Again, it’s not terrible – but
it is extremely disappointing. Eddie Lives! is hardly high art, but it
nevertheless deserved better than what is here.
The outlook
for both movies is rosier when considering the soundtracks; a pair of DTS 2.0
tracks; surprisingly robust, particularly when showcasing John Cafferty’s
score. Dialogue is crisp and clean, albeit, with a decidedly front channel
focus. I was pleasantly surprised by the fidelity and dynamic range of these recordings;
excellent, if not exceptional, but nevertheless capturing vintage 80’s sound
recording with zero in the way of distortions or damage. So, good stuff. We get
virtually NO extras on the original movie – sad – and a few superfluous junkets
on the sequel. The ‘Behind-the-Scenes’ option is not a ‘making of’ featurette
as one might expect, but some slapdash full-frame footage of director, Jean-Claude
Lord shooting the climactic comeback (presumably, in Montreal, though actually
taking advantage of a full-size venue erected in Vegas for a Bon Jovi
concert). We also get vintage interviews
with Michael Pare and producer, Tony Scotti, the latter given the most in-depth
commentary on the making of the sequel and the reasons behind it. Bottom line:
while neither is an outstanding contribution to the world of entertainment, the
original Eddie and the Cruisers has
found its niche as a cult classic worthy of the adulation. The sequel is
inferior – as sequels generally are.
Nevertheless, it rectifies the downer of an ending from the original, giving
audiences a reason to root for the underdog Eddie Wilson yet again. Bottom
line: recommended with caveats.
FILM RATING (out of 5 – 5 being the best)
Eddie and the
Cruisers 3.5
Eddie Lives!
2.5
VIDEO/AUDIO
Eddie and the
Cruisers 3.5
Eddie Lives!
2.5
EXTRAS
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