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Remote Control

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Best known in pop-culture circles as the home of pretentious rock bands, Iceland nicely redeems itself with Remote Control (1992, Columbia TriStar, subtitled, unrated, priced for rental), an After Hours homage about a guy trying to track down his mother’s titular gadget while running up against idiot gangsters and longhaired rockers. Regardless of subtitles, you can’t take your eyes off the screen as assorted quirky characters heat Jelly Babies – on dashboards, search for the last bottle of Spur Cola, and obsessively look for cement in which to bury someone’s feet. The film’s abiding message: American hipster filmmakers can still get their stylistic butts kicked by folks who live in near darkness a few months out of the year. A