hardcore adult movies were these mood-driven urban nightscapes of violence, sex and young punks looking for kicks, David Aaron Clark's Sex Driver - City of Night, for Heatwave Gold, is one of those succinct gems, that, with a precise, economy of word and a maximum of imagination, skillfully recaptures the profane elegance of the art house skinflick. Why, you can practically smell the popcorn, the Pine Sol and the b.o. of the slimeball working his rod in the theater seat across from you.
In those clipped moments of human resolve when words all but seem to get in the way of the story, the writing team of Marcel Marceau and Johnny Belinda couldn't have done a better job. No painful Greek tragedy soliloquies hamper this dour little tale which basically speaks volumes by its characters' twilight body language. A group of thugs trolling the streets in a vintage cadillac harass Giselle Yum who's on her way to meet her lover, Suzi Suzuki.
The ladies dispense little time chewing the Chow Yun-Fat before they share the mutual pleasures of the flesh. But the scene, like great won ton, doesn't have a satisfying ending. Suzi's kidnapped by two of the thugs - Jack Hammer and Kyle Phillips and is forced to submit to the indiginities of music unaccompanied pole dancing in a little hideaway reserved for that purpose. Saying nothing but urging her on with the rhythmic claps of their hands, Hammer and Phillips pile the sex on via the d.p. route and Jack finishes off the scene with a stunt where he pops a load from 30 feet up on a catwalk that lands square on Suzi's sternum. Nothwithstanding the fact that she returns the favor from out of her handbag, Suzi downloads her venom with a grimace and an automatic that takes out the two creeps.
Headlines from a newspaper give an indication where the story goes next as Suzi obtains the cadillac and employs emotional down-and-outer Ted Hunter to assist her in her evening sojourns. Like some Flying Dutchman, the caddy roams the night and picks up its denizens for rendezvous with Hunter's cock. Mesha, dressed as a schoolgirl, gets it in the ass during the course of a threeway that brings her hooker compatriot, Felony, into the chemistry; and Aurora, who spins on Hunter's dick like a frenzied, human compass needle, takes it in the ass in a rousing follow-up scene. But, being an offending member of the male gender, guarantees the fact that Hunter won't be around for a sequel. Great noir is as matter-of-fact as the tug on a trigger.
In a follow-up conversation, Clark claims he got what he got on the screen with a budget of $8,000.
Clark: "That's all I can keep repeating."
G. Ross: "Then you achieved some kind of minor miracle."
Clark: "There are some tiny things in there that make me cringe."
G. Ross: "That aside, this is about the great economy of story-telling."
Clark: "I learned my lesson on Poison Candy when I wrote this wordy script that even though I tried to write it in the rhythms of the people who would be saying it, the thing is they get self-conscious. Even if that's the way they talk, suddenly when this is the thing they have to say, it takes so long to get them not to be self-conscious. I decided to do something that was just a little bit of dialog...we shot this in one night. That's all I could afford. By the time we were shooting the last scene it was six o'clock in the morning. Aurora was on her cell phone making sure somebody was taking her kids to school. I think the next one's even better."
G. Ross: "What inspired this?"
Clark: "It's the kind of themes I always end up dealing with, frankly. I'm deep into that tragedy-thing, having had a few experiences in my own life along the lines. It sticks in my brain."
