Though it's meant to be about a legendary set of prank phone calls, Red is actually a testament to what our popular culture is losing in the 21st Century.
Made in the early 1990s by Chris Gore, the founder of Film Threat, the movie is largely built on tapes of an actual series of prank calls made to a New Jersey tavern called The Tube Bar. The caller pesters the volcanically profane yet ultimately hapless bartender Red by asking is Al Coholic is there? Or Phil DeGrave or Cole Cutz. Sometimes Red doesn't realize he's being had, but when he does he unleashes a storm or obscenity, though with a limited vocabulary that mainly focuses on the word "motherf----r". The first part of Red is just the playing of the tapes, accompanied by a slide show of black-and-white photographs of a fictional Tube Bar, with legendary gangster actor Lawrence Tierney standing in for the real life Red. The second part focuses on a fictional Red and his fantasies of murderous revenge and spoiled prosperity.
The real prank calls themselves are pretty funny. The caller himself isn't exactly a comic genius, but the explosive reactions of the real Red are mesmerizing. Gore manages to pair the verbal warfare with a slew or visually arresting still images of Tierney as a man locked in telephonic battle to the death. The live-action bit is essentially just an excuse for some over-the-top, bloody violence and crude humor, but it completely justifies itself by providing us the scene of a shirtless Tierney getting fussed over by cute girls in bikinis.
As what it's intended to be, a "cult" movie about a set of prank phone calls, Red is okay. But as a tribute to Lawrence Tierney, Red becomes something quite noteworthy. Photogenic is a word usually only associated with fresh-faced young girls or dark haired young men, but no one has ever more perfectly symbolized what photogenic means than Tierney in Red. Tierney's bald head is like a monument carved to honor some ancient, angry god. And it's in watching Tierney in that way that you realize what is being lost in our world of the modern image.
Tierney's face is like a movie unto itself. It doesn't need a script. It doesn't need a director. It carries a terrible but unknown history, a legion of stories of pain and loss and hard triumph. It's a face that glows with the fires of a lifetime of dark and bright passions. It's the sort of face that's disappearing from film and television today. Tierney spent over 50 years in show business, but at the end of his career he could have passed for an old factory worker, an old bartender or just some mean-looking old guy, sitting on his stoop, reading his morning paper. Actors and performers will never look that way again. The culture and industry of stylists, nutritionists, personal trainers and plastic surgeons is creating a class of entertainers that will never be able to look like ordinary folks. Madonna is 50 years old and still passing herself off as a dancing queen. Harrison Ford is in his 60s and still tried to star in an action movie. Arnold Schwarzengger is in his 60s and looks neither old nor young, but like a piece of well preserved luggage.
Lawrence Tierney's face was the face of a man who lived and fought far beyond the confines of the business called show. It was a thunderbolt of reality in the make believe world of entertainment. But like the thunderbolts of Zeus, that sort of face is being lost as civilization changes. I'm glad I got a chance to appreciate all its stark glory in Red.
Made in the early 1990s by Chris Gore, the founder of Film Threat, the movie is largely built on tapes of an actual series of prank calls made to a New Jersey tavern called The Tube Bar. The caller pesters the volcanically profane yet ultimately hapless bartender Red by asking is Al Coholic is there? Or Phil DeGrave or Cole Cutz. Sometimes Red doesn't realize he's being had, but when he does he unleashes a storm or obscenity, though with a limited vocabulary that mainly focuses on the word "motherf----r". The first part of Red is just the playing of the tapes, accompanied by a slide show of black-and-white photographs of a fictional Tube Bar, with legendary gangster actor Lawrence Tierney standing in for the real life Red. The second part focuses on a fictional Red and his fantasies of murderous revenge and spoiled prosperity.
The real prank calls themselves are pretty funny. The caller himself isn't exactly a comic genius, but the explosive reactions of the real Red are mesmerizing. Gore manages to pair the verbal warfare with a slew or visually arresting still images of Tierney as a man locked in telephonic battle to the death. The live-action bit is essentially just an excuse for some over-the-top, bloody violence and crude humor, but it completely justifies itself by providing us the scene of a shirtless Tierney getting fussed over by cute girls in bikinis.
As what it's intended to be, a "cult" movie about a set of prank phone calls, Red is okay. But as a tribute to Lawrence Tierney, Red becomes something quite noteworthy. Photogenic is a word usually only associated with fresh-faced young girls or dark haired young men, but no one has ever more perfectly symbolized what photogenic means than Tierney in Red. Tierney's bald head is like a monument carved to honor some ancient, angry god. And it's in watching Tierney in that way that you realize what is being lost in our world of the modern image.
Tierney's face is like a movie unto itself. It doesn't need a script. It doesn't need a director. It carries a terrible but unknown history, a legion of stories of pain and loss and hard triumph. It's a face that glows with the fires of a lifetime of dark and bright passions. It's the sort of face that's disappearing from film and television today. Tierney spent over 50 years in show business, but at the end of his career he could have passed for an old factory worker, an old bartender or just some mean-looking old guy, sitting on his stoop, reading his morning paper. Actors and performers will never look that way again. The culture and industry of stylists, nutritionists, personal trainers and plastic surgeons is creating a class of entertainers that will never be able to look like ordinary folks. Madonna is 50 years old and still passing herself off as a dancing queen. Harrison Ford is in his 60s and still tried to star in an action movie. Arnold Schwarzengger is in his 60s and looks neither old nor young, but like a piece of well preserved luggage.
Lawrence Tierney's face was the face of a man who lived and fought far beyond the confines of the business called show. It was a thunderbolt of reality in the make believe world of entertainment. But like the thunderbolts of Zeus, that sort of face is being lost as civilization changes. I'm glad I got a chance to appreciate all its stark glory in Red.
