Rushes

BRING ON THE NIGHT

Is Sting the perfect person? If we are to believe this film, the rock idol comes as close to that status as mortal man may aspire. It chronicles, from early rehearsals through first concerts, the formation of his new band, composed entirely of black American jazz musicians. Sting is convinced that their music and his should cross-fertilize. Besides, he is striking a blow against the "reactionary and racist" music business. Objectively, it has never seemed a dangerous hotbed of those sentiments, but the man's heart is in the right place. Just watch him being loyal, trustworthy, gutsy and modest. Also creative, wise and sensitive. One could almost imagine Mother Teresa sitting in for a set. But Michael Apted's documentary is lively and well made and has a saving sense of humor. If Sting is only half as good as the movie makes him out to be, that may still be enough for most earthly purposes. KRUSH GROOVE

Now, rappin' is the latest form of talkin' the blues/ By the bro's from the Bronx in their burgundy shoes./And now their story's on the screen at the Multiplex./ (Ralph Farquhar wrote the script; Michael Schultz he directs.)/ And the boys who made the noise are in their very own show:/ Run-D.M.C., the Fat Boys, Kurtis Blow./ Then there's Blair Underwood, a kind of Poitier hunk,/ And Sheila E. (Prince's princess) in her foppery funk./ Now there've been fights at the Plexes, kids've got out of hand,/ But they must've spiked the sodas at the popcorn stand/ Because this movie has the innocence of bygone years,/ Like the films of Fred (Rock Around the Clock) F. Sears./ I mean they even got a deacon who berates the boys/ By sayin' "That's not music--just screamin' an' noise."/ And when Blair and Sheila E. meet romantic-like, Jack,/ You can hear the Mantovani sugar up the sound track./ Like I say, this ain't art like you find in the Louvre,/ But if you wanna go deaf you oughta rush to Krush Groove. TO LIVE AND DIE IN L.A.

Bad Guy: Why're you chasin' me? T-Man: Why're you runnin'? Bad Guy: Because you're chasin' me!

That's about as complex as the dialogue and characters get in this chic, wanton thriller. To which Director William Friedkin might riposte, "They're called movies, you know, not chatties or peo-plies." L.A. does move, notably in a brutal, bloated car-chase sequence pilfered from Friedkin's nifty The French Connection. In his God's-eye-view shots and acrobatic love scenes, he also pays tribute to the styles of Martin Scorsese and MTV. So the villain, Counterfeiter Willem Dafoe, is no more rotten or less picturesque than the hero, William Petersen. So everybody stinks. It matters not when, like Friedkin, you have fashioned a fetid movie hybrid: Miami Vile.