This should've been great. [**SPOILERS AHEAD.*** IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THE FILM AND WANT TO, PLEASE DON'T SPOIL IT FOR YOURSELF AND THEN ACCUSE ME OF SPOILING IT FOR YOU BY READING FORWARD. THANKS!]
A story that imaginatively mixes genres of horror, film noir, and detective pulp fiction, with elements of voodoo and an exotic New Orleans location, set in 1955? Lisa Bonet, in her first nude and erotic role? Robert DeNiro as a long-haired, sharp-nailed Beelzebub? What could go wrong?
Dismayingly, having created this spicy tossed salad and set up this tantalizing premise by adapting William Hjortsberg's novel, Falling Angel, director/screenwriter Alan Parker proceeded to deep-six the whole thing by perversely setting out to be as depraved and unappetizing as possible at nearly every story turn.
Why all the explicit, non-stop violence? Was it really necessary for the love scene between Mickey Rourke and Bonet - which many viewers were undoubtedly expecting to be titillating - to be so disgusting instead, with nauseating blood gushing down in buckets over their coupling? Was it necessary to add the proud little detail at the end that Epiphany Proudfoot was killed by a gun inserted in her vagina, a final, cynical f.u. from the director to his jaded, ticket-buying audience? Alan Parker is a sick bastard and a panderer.