COVER ME BABE (1970).
Robert Forster is riding high nowadays, with his kick-ass, Oscar-nominated 'comeback' in JACKIE BROWN. Of course, SC fans have never forgotten the guy, who started his career with the acclaimed MEDIUM COOL, but continued to pay his rent with drive-in gems like ALLIGATOR, STUNTS and VIGILANTE. But if you want a look at the type of over-baked tripe which helped kill off his promising career back in the early '70s, COVER ME BABE is a prime example (along with equally obscure fare like 1970's PIECES OF DREAMS, in which Priest Forster falls for Lauren Hutton). It starts like some tripped-out US-version of EL TOPO--complete with a vast desert, topless babes, and an overdose of hippie-dippy, avant-garde imagery that left me in awe. Too bad, this four-minute intro is only a college film project by director Tony Hall (Forster); and for this pre-BANYON gig, he plays a cynical, anti-establishment filmmaker who's always bucking The System. Of course, he's also a heartless bastard (glimpsed when he opportunistically films a beach tragedy involving a child), manipulating everyone around him and doing anything to finish his latest work. This offers up Forster at his most callous and rebellious. I don't remember him cracking a smile once, and in his eyes, truly great cinema is Jack Ruby shooting Lee Harvey Oswald. The rest of the cast are merely pawns. A pre-Eastwood-parasite Sondra Locke plays Forster's girlfriend, who allows herself to be nearly raped in one of his sleazy, on-camera scenarios. In addition, Susanne Benton (A BOY AND HIS DOG) is another of his actresses, Sam Waterston plays his cameraman, Michael Margotta (DRIVE, HE SAID) is Hall's more-commercial student competition, while future-director Floyd Mutrux (AMERICAN HOT WAX) appears as Forster's gay friend. Originally lensed under the equally senseless title RUN SHADOW RUN, Noel Black directs this character-driven dirge, hot on the heels of his black comic gem, PRETTY POISON. This time, he delivers a delirious free-for-all which might indeed capture that self-indulgent era, but doesn't give us any reason to give a shit about any of the characters. Sure, Forster is solid, but its impossible to warm up to such a self-serving blowhard, who rambles uncontrollably about how unnecessary actors are, and eventually abuses (and loses) even his closest friends. The best moments involve Forster's spontaneous "filmmaking-within-a-film" moments, which have a blissfully impromptu edge and provide a relief from the heavy-handed melodrama. Sprinkled with intriguing ideas, but ultimately uneventful, it's no wonder this pic fell through the cracks (and stayed there).
© 1996 by Steven Puchalski.