Whe-e-re's Johnny?

Mickey Rourke has indubitably (like that word?) placed himself at the top of the heap of B-movie kingpins in Tinseltown. After having distinguished himself in three-star flicks such as "Diner" and "The Pope Of Greenwich Village", he settled for a piece of Basinger Pie in "9 1/2 Weeks", and it's been downhill or lateral ever since. "Barfly" was a gallant effort to rise from the mat but "Wild Orchid" just dropped him back for the three count. "Bullet" was a recent effort that just confirmed what we thought about Mickey all along: anything for the sake of art. After all, wasn't he in John Gotti's cheering section when the Teflon Don dropped a decision to Federal prosecutors in the Brooklyn RICO suit? "The Rainmaker" was a valiant effort to fulfill the expectations of all his diehard fans, but "Angel Heart" was where it all began.

Alan Parker (of recent "Angela's Ashes" melodrama) directed this mystery flick that pitted NYC private eye Harry Angel (Rourke) against a cast of characters ever more sordid than his own. Robert De Niro is a Pentecostal cult leader who hires Rourke to locate Jonathan Leibling, a WWII vet who has reneged on a personal debt De Niro intends to settle. Rourke sets off on the path of the elusive Leibling, who seems to be doing his best to eliminate everyone in his wake who might aid Rourke in making the connection. The bewitching Charlotte Rampling is among those who are downtrodden in Johnny's path, along with Lisa Bonet who plays an intrinsic part in determining Johnny's whereabouts. In the climactic finale we find that it is De Niro who holds the keys to Leibling's true identity, and the plot takes an unexpected turn that titillates the most jaded of mystery flick buffs.

For you Boomers out there, perhaps the most amusing piece of memorabilia about this film is the fact that old Bill Cosby (of "Cosby" megabuck infamy) had a cow after seeing his co-star undulating in the softcore porn segments. Lisa, however, was not to be deterred, and it is noteworthy that Rourke lived to survive Bill's wrath while Bonet apparently did not. It appears that sexism was still alive and well in Auld Tinseltown.

Parker's streetwise approach to the subject matter made this a flick to remember. I still get homesick when watching the Coney Island Boardwalk segments, and the backwater New Orleans scenes bring back memories of my honeymoon. He didn't do too bad in purveying the voodoo culture along the seedy underside of N'Awlins, but that's something I'll let you be the judge of.

The cinematography in his flicks is something to be admired. In "Angela's Ashes" the use of rain, cloudy days, darkened and dirty streets, listless pedestrians and unkempt rooms encumbered the viewer with a subliminal feeling of depression that perfectly set the tone for the movie. It seems as if "Angel Heart" was where he perfected the technique, imbedding the tale in a cheerless ambiance that doesn't give us a chance to read any other meaning into this classic piece of film noir. Parker wants you to know what hate and fear are all about, and a flick like "Angel Heart" is nothing less than a grim trip into that frightening intersection where reality collides with the supernatural.

Also of particular note is De Niro's fling as spiritual guru. He gets a big thumbs up for his effort, tastefully understating his metaphysical power rather than relying on his tried-and-true idiosyncratic displays of manic rage to make a climactic point. Compare this to Pacino's role as a prancing, barking hellhound in "Devil's Advocate" and Hoffman's job as a cynical, insinuating watchdog in "The Messenger" and Bad Bob's effort stands up favorably. De Niro's always been a giant among his peers, but Rourke...he's in a class by himself.