This is the third entry in my series on 1990s cinema and how the movies of that decade can shed a light on America’s history in that period. I’ve chosen 25 films that I think embody the values, style and characteristics unique to 1990s cinema. Part I, featuring films from 1990 and 1991, is here. Part II, relating to 1992 and 1993, is here. This is not a “best-of” list, or a “my favorites” list. It’s thematic and analytical. This article deals with films from 1994 and 1995.

Clerks (1994, Kevin Smith, Director)

Kevin Smith’s grainy, low-budget and blisteringly profane comedy Clerks, an unexpected hit in 1994, is about a lot more than just two guys (Brian O’Halloran and Jeff Anderson) who work shitty convenience store jobs and trade pop culture references. It’s about finding yourself at prime working age in a time when jobs like these are about all that’s left for most Americans. The traditional “American dream” began to evaporate in the 1970s as the U.S. ceded its manufacturing and economic dominance to Asia and became primarily a service economy. But it took about 20 years for everyone to notice. Generation X, much of which came into adulthood about the time Clerks came out, noticed right away. Instead of lamenting it, Kevin Smith, the first true breakout Gen-X director, chose to laugh at it.

Clerks could not have found resonance at any time than exactly when it was made. A few years earlier and it would have been just an indie oddity like Richard Linklater’s Slacker (1991); a few years later it would have had nothing left of any relevance to say. By the late 1990s the decline of the American dream was normalized and internalized. It was no longer news. The fact that Kevin Smith tried essentially to keep remaking this picture for the rest of his career, with increasingly diminishing results, shows how fragile and temporary Clerks’s cultural moment was. Still, it remains a funny and surprisingly intelligent movie, now as far back in our past as 1969 was when the film was made.

Interview With the Vampire (1994, Neil Jordan, Director)

Anne Rice’s atmospheric novel Interview With the Vampire was published in 1976, but it took the 1990s to bring it truly to life. Neil Jordan’s beautiful and daring adaptation is perfectly suited for the decade that gave us “Goths” as a subculture and flirted so openly with sexually-charged darkness. In the film, 1790s Louisiana nobleman Louis (Brad Pitt) impulsively agrees to be made a vampire by the predatory but emotionally needy Lestat (Tom Cruise). The decision dooms him to 200 years of a blood-soaked co-dependent relationship with Lestat and their “daughter” Claudia (Kirsten Dunst). The result is a vampire movie like no other, and uniquely of its time.

Interview With the Vampire is fun and trashy, but it pushed the envelope of 1990s cinema in important ways. The homoerotic charge of the relationship between Louis and arch-vampire Armand (Antonio Banderas) is as beautiful and vibrant as anything you see on the screen. This was daring for a mainstream Hollywood picture featuring A-list stars, and most importantly, it paid off; the film was a commercial and critical success. It might be overstating it to say that there would have been no Brokeback Mountain (2005) without Interview With the Vampire having come first, but there’s at least a little bit of trailblazing there, in bloody footprints.

Tank Girl (1995, Rachel Talalay, Director)

Tank Girl is a fascinating movie, though not necessarily a good one. It’s not very good (I’m told) if you’ve read the comic book, and it’s damn near incomprehensible if you haven’t; but it’s still one of the most quintessentially mid-90s movies you’ll ever see. Like Interview With the VampireTank Girl earns at least part of its place on this list by being groundbreaking within the stylistic conventions of the 1990s. Let’s face it, there weren’t many comic book movies being directed by women in the 1990s, and a post-apocalyptic sci-fi action picture featuring female leads and feminist themes is still far too rare 25 years later, much less in 1995. And, its shortcomings aside, Tank Girl is perversely enjoyable.

Set in a drought-stricken Australia years after an asteroid impact has devastated Earth, the eponymous Tank Girl (Lori Petty) controls the last outpost of water in the outback that hasn’t been corporatized by Kesslee’s (Malcolm McDowell) Water & Power company. The rest of the plot sort of meanders through various set-pieces–yes, involving a tank, and a jet fighter piloted by Jet Girl (Naomi Watts)–until the plot collapses into a hopeless muddle of incoherence, but at least Tank Girl honestly attempts to show an interesting world in an over-the-top visual and narrative style, and gets part of the way there. The plot element of an evil corporation trying to control the world’s fresh water was starkly prophetic. It’s exactly what the real Nestlē corporation is trying to do today, only in 2019 we don’t have Tank Girl and Jet Girl to save us. Sadly Tank Girl was a bomb when it came out, but has since developed a significant cult following in part because of its unapologetic feminist message, and also because of its rollicking fun visual and narrative style.

Dead Presidents (1995, Albert & Allen Hughes, Directors)

A fascinating and highly underrated film, the Hughes brothers’ Dead Presidents suffered, in a marketing sense, from an identity crisis: was it supposed to be a Vietnam War movie, or a crime drama about the rough streets of the Bronx? The answer is, it’s both, and each of its halves are fully dependent on the other. This was a bold move for a film in 1995, years after the heyday in which American cinema tried to come to grips with Vietnam, from 1978’s Coming Home to Oliver Stone’s Platoon 8 years later. Yet Dead Presidents had something new to say: it talked about the war from the African-American perspective (the book it was based on was called Bloods: An Oral History of the Vietnam War by Black Veterans) and emphasized how, when black veterans demobilized, they had even less to come home to than their white counterparts did.

The film centers on a small group of friends (Larenz Tate, Keith David, Chris Tucker and Freddy Rodriguez) who go off to Vietnam together, and whose lives spin into crime and despair after they get back. The Vietnam scenes in Dead Presidents are as gripping and raw as we’ve ever seen that war portrayed on the screen. They’re balanced by the much more famous and visually stylistic heist scene, featuring the group in eerie white facepaint. Perhaps both together were too much for 1995 audiences. Dead Presidents was also a bomb upon release, which was a shame for a film that had so many interesting–and painful–things to say.

Heat (1995, Michael Mann, Director)

Every decade has a cinematic apotheosis, a film that perfectly expresses the style of the time. If Michael Mann’s crime epic Heat isn’t the best film of the 1990s, it’s certainly the purest exemplar of ’90s cinema. Outwardly, Heat is a fairly straightforward cops vs. robbers saga. In the world of Hollywood, it’s an excuse for an acting cage match between Robert De Niro, who plays Neil, the chief of a crack robbery crew, and Al Pacino, who plays Vincent, the L.A.P.D. detective hot on his trail. Visually, photographically, musically and thematically, Heat encapsulates 1990s movies more perfectly than any film made in that decade ever did.

It’s also Mann’s finest achievement. A highly artistic director with a knack for melding sound and image, Mann’s back and future catalog (Thief, Manhunter, Miami Vice) continually returns to crime and criminals. But the crime story told here is so rich and slowly-paced that it’s like something out of Russian fiction. Heat also unwittingly foretold the future. The central action sequence involving a bank robbery in downtown L.A. and a running firefight with police through the streets with heavy weaponry came largely true less than two years later with the “North Hollywood shootout” of February 1997. It was another indication of a country sliding into angst-ridden entropy, a good definition of American history in the 1990s.

By the way, if you’re wondering where the “purple stuff” in the series title comes from, it’s an allusion to one of the most ludicrous and indelible TV commercials of the decade. It dates from 1991.

Stay tuned for the next segment of this series, when I’ll examine films from 1996 and 1997.

The poster for Heat is presumably copyright (C) 1995 by Warner Brothers Pictures. I believe my inclusion of it here is permissible as fair use. I am not the uploader of any Youtube clips embedded here.