Streetlights that beam like diffused moons. Tenement buildings cast in a purple haze. Wet streets where a Trans Am speeds through the night, blinding the camera with its headlights. All to the synth-funk sounds of Nile Rogers composing the score. These are some of the aesthetic delights of Alphabet City (1984), a neo-noir crime drama that I’d never even heard of until it was released onto Blu-ray by Fun City Editions. Directed by No Wave scenester Amos Poe and starring Vincent Spano, the movie follows a familiar beat from crime movies of the 1940s and 1950s. A drug dealer has one night to burn a tenement building that he grew up in – if he doesn’t, the mob who gave him control of collections and organising the drug trade in Alphabet City (Avenue A, B and C) will take him out. From the splashy, stylish opening where Johnny (Spano) gets into his outfit – tight close ups on his buckles and boots, driving through the midnight hour – it feels like a low-rent, low-budget aping of American Gigolo – but there’s a distinct New York vibe matched by the unpolished gritty funk of Rogers’ music. Taking place over one night, Johnny does the rounds, visiting his mother (Zorah Lampert) and sister (Jami Gertz), talking shop with his second in command (Michael Winslow pre-Police Academy) and making collections from everywhere; a hellish drug spot in a bombed out building, then a neon club where everyone pops and locks. I was hooked into the movie’s vibe from the start and even though the plot doesn’t follow through the thematic undercurrents in Johnny’s refusal to burn down his childhood home, reducing the drama down to a tense action climax, I still thought it was an engaging neo-noir. Particularly the work of cinematographer Oliver Wood (Who would later work on Miami Vice the TV show, Die Hard 2, Face/Off) where the lighting turns the deserted streets into a purple and green tinted nightscape, all of which really pops on the remastered version. Spano is a sympathetic, hunky lead, and the supporting cast make impressions in their limited screen time. Available to purchase through Vinegar Syndrome. Recommended.
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