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"His soul is still dancing."

As perhaps is befitting for such a bizarre, loosey-goosey, genre-busting piece of purple poetry as The Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call-New Orleans (title as presented in the on screen credits and from here on, affectionately known as POCNO), I don't know if I can write a straightforward review that either praises it, defiles it, or effectively captures the unnerving/arresting/hilarious/boring experience of watching it. This derives primarily from two factors. The first has to do with the fact that I watched POCNO for the first time only a few hours ago. Normally, I like to let a film stew in my brain for a while; if I have viewed it on previous occasions and allowed sentences and half-paragraphs to already start taking shape in my mind, so much the better. But for once, I thought I would feel the thrill of writing under some sort of deadline, even if only an arbitrarily self-imposed one. As such, this review may serve as a second screening (or a viewing 1.5).

The second factor is that I have never been good about taking notes, outside of classroom settings several lifetimes ago in my secondary, collegiate and graduate school phases. For someone who has spent the tens of thousands of hours that I have in darkened auditoriums to connect with the world of cinema, it probably would have been helpful, not to mention enlightening from a historical perspective to have those comments, those unadulterated thoughts and insights from my younger selves upon which to reflect back. But I sucked at keeping a diary and I (in) conveniently never find myself carrying around a notepad and pen. In lieu of this, I have a series of moderate-length observations prior to, during and after POCNO. Imagine them on eight-and-a-half by 11 size note cards if you prefer, although in the case of the longer ones, the writing might be fairly cramped.

Observation #1: Is this even a Chapter Two? I still don't have an answer to this, except to say, I chose to write on it. There is a great article/interview in the Los Angeles Times from last month about director Werner Herzog and actor Nicolas Cage agreeing to collaborate for the first time with POCNO. Contained within is a fairly detailed account of the genesis of the project, which I had hoped would clear up any and all confusion about how this movie is (or is not) a remake/reimagining/homage/continuation/thematic kin to the 1992 Abel Ferrara drama Bad Lieutenant. That NC-17 tale of Catholic guilt, NYC style featured Harvey Keitel at the apex of his omnipresence in the independent film world of 20 years ago baring his soul, his agony and - most famously - his penis. Keitel was an unnamed cop, a family man by day and a gambler, junkie, thief and sexual profligate by night who becomes unhinged while investigating the rape of a nun who refuses to identify her attackers. Even with his moral compass out somewhere taking a hit of crack, he cannot fathom her ability to forgive and it gets to him.

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