Q - Thanks for the fun, Larry

When I learned about the death (from Cancer) of Larry Cohen, like many of my peers (some of whom are Facebook buddies), I couldn't help but want to revisit one of his all-time greats. Yes, Cohen pretty much benefited from the incredible Michael Moriarty (who just appears to improvise all of his dialogue, knowing his character so well, the low-time, put-upon crook, Jimmy Quinn, isn't just a one-note hood the police dump in the slammer after fucking up again), certainly the key gem you take away from this film, Q (short for Quetzlcoatl), from 1982. But I just love this mishmash of monster movie and crime comedy.

While Moriarty is indeed the star (his use of Method was praised by critics, although they were not so kind about the rest of the film) and key takeaway, I think David Carradine never gets the credit he richly deserves, a wink-wink, tongue-in-cheek effort as a homicide detective easily dismissed by his superiors for a theory on the giant lizard/bird hybrid creature snatching up folks on highrises...that its reason for existing is because an acting priest has picked up Aztec worship practices (involving skinning alive willing human victims volunteering to be sacrifices!), conjuring the monster. It is easy to see why Carradine's theory is considered laughable and crackpot, but my favorite moment (besides working over Moriarty with some serious Jedi manipulation in a restaurant) has him responding unfavorably to his boss making sure he does not mention again his Aztec god theory, with the detective ripping up his report in disgust. Sure marching up to the top of Chrysler building with machine gun in tow to lead a police warfare with the flying serpent is perhaps one of the reasons why Carradine's casting makes sense but his back and forth with Moriarty (and his camaraderie with partner, Richard Roundtree) is the good shit. Roundtree and Moriarty have the real tension that you often see in cop dramas involving a detective assuring a criminal he'll get what's coming to him.

Moriarty's volatile and on-again/off-again relationship with girlfriend, Candy Clark (who is an 80s staple), can get a bit uncomfortable, especially when she cites past domestic abuse ("What? You gonna hit me again?") and late in the film he tosses a lamp and vase across the apartment. I like to see Candy, though. I recently just loved her in Blue Thunder (1984), as a girlfriend for Roy Scheider who wants a commitment and never fails to work some magic over him. In this film she just wants Moriarty to get his act together and tells him to do the right thing and tell the cops where he took the two hoods (responsible for getting him involved in a heist gone bad since Jimmy Quinn was hit by a cab and lost the loot during the injury), discovering the nest, monster, and egg. The inability to give up a chance to secure a cool million, "be a hero" and no longer continue serving as some crook tossed back into jail (complaining of coke planted on him in the past), Jimmy Quinn isn't about to pass that up.

The editing is fast and moves the story along without hardly any lulls despite plenty of chatty Moriarty and his magnetic improv (the piano tryout at a bar before the bartender starts up a jukebox to drown out his scatting is a significant highlight), and I just dig the overhead shots of the city imitating the creature as it flies about looking for heads to chomp off innocents. There is of course a bathing nude tanning her naked body before Q swoops down on her while a swimming rich hippie is grabbed in the beast's claws. The stop motion effects (David Allen was involved) set against real life Chrysler building are sketchy but with not a lot of money Cohen did the best he could. And so he used footage of camera flying at the building with animated gunfire shooting at the creature is what Cohen relied on to get the point across. The stop motion serpent pulling away clay police victims from the Chrysler is hilarious. This is why Cohen was (and continues to be) so beloved and admired. He took not a lot of eggs and little ingredients available and made a half-decent omelet. He wasn't always successful but they were often more than not entertaining. And he's bound to be a cult curiosity for quite some time.

As to be expected, there are cringe-inducing pre-#metoo moments like a voyeur peeping at the sunbathing lady snatched by Q through his telescope and a sleazy window washer eyeballing an office woman waving to him while calling him creep under her breath and to a friend on the phone.