This is How Movies Should Be Made

Lack of good storyline.

The movie's not perfect, but it sticks the landing of its message. It was engaging - thrilling at times - and I personally thought it was a great time.

It really made me laugh, but for some moments I was tearing up because I could relate so much.

"The Foreigner" wasn't the first underground movie I ever saw, but I was tempted to make it my last. Clearly influenced by Andy Warhol, writer-director Amos Poe's movie is, at first glance, appealing for featuring a lot of familiar faces from the 1970s punk/new wave scene (most notably Deborah Harry, but also Anya Phillips, Patti Astor, and the Cramps), as well as treating us to shots of New York in all its grimy glamor. But while the movie is interesting as a time capsule, it's insufferable as a 90-minute film (not 77 minutes as this site lists, or viewers would hope). Eric Mitchell is the titular foreigner Max Menace, a dour blond secret agent whose reason for being in New York is as vague as the reasons so many people want him dead. His wandering around NYC comprises the bulk of the movie. Sometimes he's hanging out in his room at the Chelsea Hotel; sometimes he's held captive by an verbally abusive harpy; sometimes he's getting beaten up at CBGBs; but mostly Max is just wandering, much as the movie wanders.If you're watching this for Deborah Harry (my reason for checking this one out), you'll have to wait almost an hour for an appearance that lasts maybe three minutes. "Hey blondie, got a cigarette?" she asks our protagonist, her voice sounding as if it were looped in a subway station restroom. Between puffs she sings a German song (her "character" name is Dee Trick), then… well, that's it. And even though it's not much of a scene, it's one of "The Foreigner's" better moments, especially if you're a Deborah Harry fan.I could overlook the movie's technical shortcomings – lousy sound, iffy cinematography, bad acting – but not the crushing dullness of its barely-there narrative. Though Warhol made some patience-trying movies in his day, he at least had the good sense to pander to our prurient interests now and again. Poe, on the other hand, doesn't appeal to our interests at all, prurient or otherwise.

spoilers within, but absolutely nothing can spoil this movie, so no spoilers in fact.one can see why such a great movie inspired such another great movie like 'permanent vacation'. to think of what it's all become since this, now that order has returned. and wasn't this made the same year the apocalypses sounded with the star wars parade? it just stuns me to think how mediocre popular films are compared to something as hugely magnificent as this.Menace comes to town and is under the constant threat of cat-women in an obvious homage to feuillade (and if it isn't an homage to feuillade, who cares and if they aren't cat-women, who cares too, though they sure look like them). the usual causality in ordered movies is made fun of and ridiculed and shattered in sequences like the one where we find two leathered women knocked on the floor, the lights having been lit up, the shot having emerged from a sea of night city lights.the cinema has not ever witnessed a sequence as emotionally powerful as the one in which Menace tries to throw the kitten out of the window. both the montage before and after collide unto and away from this masterful kitten sequence, making it the most powerful in my long time as cineaste.the love affair between Harlow and menace beats anything by bresson, and we all know bresson was great. but this is just sublime. pressing their faces against the wall, returning to the silent age of movie making.Menace gets locked into an apartment by some weirdo dame and the dialog between the two reaches artistic heights unreached by anything ever or before, at least from what i've seen. if dialog in movies mirrors normal conversations in life, this movie testaments to the sublime nature of dialog in modern cinema, that which belongs to the loony bin mode, the cosmic, which we in our chronic mediocrity, pandering to the 'bitch-goddess', as d.h.Lawrence would say, continuously try to avoid. the sheer copy- mimesis- of normal people that cinema has returned to being. this, nah, this is a cinema of sheddin off layers of skin, discovering new languages and planets.the conversation between the punks, organizing their offensive on Menace and banging their heads on walls, is sheer genius. the cinematic orchestration, even better, absolutely sublime.the position of the camera is absolutely God-like, filming Menace's conversation from a distance in the beginning, with the river beyond them in an exemplary use of depth of the image both the conversation with that first agent and, as Menace walks away, the hilariously suspicious interchange of looks with some guy. these are truly amazing moments in the history of the cinema.the conversation with the cab driver is of historical importance, light years in front of silly nonsense like collateral and night on earth, and yes, far better than Melville.the first image of Menace, walking towards us down a well lit corridor is stunningly beautiful.Menace starts out alright asking for help and some such stuff but ends in a bad patch, watching him walk down the street battered and drunk is yet another cinematic pleasure.i dunno, it actually isn't that stunning, but it's still absolutely stunning. very recommendable stuff.p.s. the grumpy gremlins at IMDb only allow 1000 word essays, so i'll stick the second part of my review in my blog: http://theblobarchives.blogspot.com/

A step forward from "Unmade Beds," this black-and-white, semi-improvised movie with late '70s punk elements is obviously influenced by Godard and Warhol (as Amos Poe frankly admits on the DVD commentary). Yes, it has its maddening, amateurish elements (such as bad sound), but it also has something intriguing going on in the photography and in the idea of minimal, "existential" filmmaking. Poe reports that Jim Jarmusch liked this film and it influenced his "Permanent Vacation"--one can see this clearly.

New Wave cinema in all its...um...glory? This mediocre "art" film follows the foreigner, a one Max Menace, as he quotes Hesse in a non-descript European accent, and runs around the streets of NYC, on the lam from...someone--it's not quite clear. The best part of this film is without a doubt the rag-tag gang of punks that are chasing our hero, that is, when they're not busy banging their heads on the wall or playing with knives. Then there's the appearences of late '70's NY icons like Debbie Harry, Anya Phillips, Pati Astor, and punk venue CBGB's, which are the only reasons why I sat through this mess in the first place. How can such an exciting philosophy as existentialism, produce such boring art? P.S.Watch out for the Cramps (as the 'Erasers') blasphemous version of the Iggy/Bowie tune "Fun Time".