I dunno man, I took the Blue Sunshine and I feel fine

It doesn't really have all its marbles together, but Blue Sunshine (1978) is an interesting composite of low-rent 70s filmmaking that's roughly comparable to De Palma's Sisters, Romero's The Crazies (both 1973), and Cronenberg's Rabid (1977). It melds approximated Hitchcockian romantic comedy momentum to terminal capitalist 70s politically-tinged horror, shoe-strung in a manner that promises gore and lysergically intense thrills, and like the best carny pitchman, delivers the bare minimum to keep you from hitting stop and going back to Sarah Silverman reruns. The plot involves people randomly going bald and homicidal in a swath of Stanford alums, but why? And why does Zalman King have to run around stopping it all single-handed?

Like its leading character, Sunshine can never figure out where it wants to go. It lacks the nerve to take two tabs like everyone else in the room, and so it 'misses the party' that splitscreen crazy Hitchcockophilic obsessiveness like De Palma, and druggy clinicians like Cronenberg, and blue collar Swifts like Romero all took three tabs at, and flew into immortality. Director Jeff Lieberman doesn't follow through on the film's promise. Has he even dropped? The only person you know for sure is lit up is Leon the replicant (below) and the guy in the poster at top. And alas, Zalman King is a bit of a Sean Penn-ish scowler. He likes to barge in on people and then not explain what's going on, just stand there and almost formulate sentences while refusing to explain himself or volunteer one iota of information to anyone who might use it to some universal benefit.

"wake up, time to fly!"

Meth, I hear you callin'

The plot sets in motion when at a druggy party a crazy guy kills three women, and King takes it on himself to run like an outlaw from said party, not trusting the cops to realize he's innocent, and not bothering to clarify why it's so important he finds out who the political candidate about to be elected sold blue sunshine (acid) to ten years ago at Stanford. Apparently the guy was a kind of local Tim Leary, but he's now a Mitt Romney, as unlikely a transformation as you're liable to find with a budget this low. The murderous freak-outs are pretty hilarious, with the victims apparently all right until someone rips off their wig and exposes them as bald and they go apeshit with superhuman strength. Also hilarious is the way old Zalman King has to race around and reach these crazy baldheads before they go on their rampages, as if it's exactly ten years after they took the stuff, so all the alumni dosers are popping over a period of a week or so. Seriously, no human central nervous system has that kind of Swiss watch accuracy.

 

Deborah Winters is cute and alert as the girlfriend who King uses for odd jobs and leaves in the dust of parking lots. She seems ready to be beamed up into a marginally better De Palma film, and deserves a much cooler lading man. She's sassy, sweet, and able to shine big dudes who took acid ten years ago at Stanford. Adriana Shaw (above and below) however, is not so lucky, but she does look like my old college flame and gets the scariest scene when in her blazing red bathrobe she finally snaps from the noise some kids she's babysitting are making. The blocking is a little clumsy but it's great to see a director other than Spielberg dare to 'go there' - and to paraphrase William Carlos Williams, so much depends on a bald lady in a red robe / with a butcher knife / chasing small children.

My doctor added Abilify

While I expected more from a film named after a brand of blotter acid there are various points where it almost all comes together, like not a 39 Steps but maybe 20? It never if you'll forgive the expression, gels. Still, I'm glad it's around, in the freezer, waiting for just the right time to blow the world's mind. Just don't invite old King to the party, at least not until he gets his Red Shoes laced.

May also induce Jason Patric scowlingitis