To Live and Die in L.A. (William Friedkin, 1985)

Friedkin didn't seem all that interested in a story with no heroes and no outside to Crime (Reagan shows up in several guises, once blathering on about taxation without representation on the radio). So he uses it as an opportunity to give a FitzPatrick Traveltalk on sunstroked, long-lensed Los Angeles rot. And there are all sorts of odd narrative trills such as a naked Willem Dafoe (at his Eurotrash-looking apex) burning a bag of counterfeit money. As a non-narrative type, I much prefer it to The French Connection, The Exorcist, and Sorcerer (although I still think Friedkin has trouble directing action scenes). And for such a winningly vacuous endeavor, who else could score it save for Wang Chung (except maybe The Fixx)?

Also, I caught this on 35mm at the Alamo Drafthouse Brooklyn, my first time there, and I loved the entire well-curated experience including a short film on counterfeit money and trailers for Vice Squad, Colors, and a Bruce Beresford film I've never heard of called Money Movers. Best of all was my pal Jody Beth LaFosse and her bon mots: "There's nothing more L.A. than a British musician."  

Grade: A-minus