Cinemavenger

   The funniest, nastiest movie reviews anywhere.


Leaving Las Vegas


When the fuck did bikers start voting Republican? Instead of being all Harleys, booze, and felonies, the news out of Sturgis this year has been about 250,000 fuckwits refusing to wear masks, social distance, or take Covid seriously in any way, shape, or form, and most of the bearded beer-bellies are citing Trump as their guiding light. You used to be cool, bikers.


If that, on top of the rest of the Covid blues, doesn't already have you lining up the Drano shots and you really want to lean into your depression, check out Leaving Las Vegas, one of the sad-sackiest films ever made. Not just on screen either. The guy who wrote the book it's based on killed himself right before it was released, so he never got to see his vision come to life or career take off.


People often forget, but before "Saint" Nicolas Cage went to the Dark Side and started banging out enough shit-ass, direct to video turdburgers to fill a Blockbuster he was actually a pretty fucking amazing actor. Leaving Las Vegas showcases Cage at the height of his game, when the crazy flavored the role instead of the other way around.


Cage plays Ben, a guy who's lost everything to his raging alcoholism. Awesome job as a Hollywood executive? Gone before the opening credits. Pretty wife and young son? Gone before the film even starts. In a move that makes as much sense as outlaw bikers for Trump (who wouldn't piss on one of them if they were on fire), Ben decides to go to Las Vegas and literally drink himself to death.


He's only in town a couple of days when he runs into the hottest streetwalker ever to walk a street in Sera (Elisabeth "Soft" Shue). She may be smart and sexy as fuck, but she's just as damaged as he is, and they quickly fall into one of the most nightmarishly codependent couplings since, well, outlaw bikers and Trump.


Shue was obviously trying to shake off her girl next door, goody two shoes (or would that be Shues?) image, so her foul mouth and fair (by which I mean spectacular) tits are front and center. Add some incredible soundtrack choices, including - no offense Mr. Sinatra - one of the best versions of "Come Rain or Come Shine," and you get one strong motherfucking cocktail.


August 14, 2020

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