Although published in 1994, Bret Easton Ellis’ The Informers is surely a product of the 1980s, reconstructing the decades’ tireless myths via a collection of terse, loosely interconnected short stories that the author wrote while still a Bennington debutante. I doubt I’ll ever get to see the early version of Gregor Jordan’s adaptation of The Informers that Ellis referred to as “an outstanding movie floating out there somewhere” in his recent interview with Scott Tobias over at A.V. Club, but the version that will make its way to theaters today is a hopelessly boring effort, one which only escapes its slapdash aesthetic when it verges on camp transcendence, exploiting its aging cast’s built-in Hollywood in the sleazy 80s vibe. It’s by no means however, quite as gut wrenchingly unwatchable as a few of zeitgeist-leeching 80s lit adaptations below, many of which happen to be authored by Ellis’ brat pack co-conspirators.

A Bonfire of the Vanities

Brian De Palma’s infamously troubled 1990 adaptation of Tom Wolfe’s latest attempt at fusing his brand of “new journalism” with the 19^th century social novel was FUBAR from the start, with the usual culprits at hand; mindless studio meddling in the source material, poor casting (warm and cuddly Joe Versus the Volcano-era Tom Hanks as Master of the Universe Sherman McCoy?), moody stars (Bruce Willis, cast at the studios behest in the wake of Die Hard, through notorious fits) and an auteurist director who’s prone to getting lost in the forest of his own ambitions. Gorgeously shot by frequent De Palma collaborator Vilmos Zsigmond, it contains one of those Dave Grusin scores that is the immediate death knell for any attempt to take the proceedings seriously. The whole ordeal, perhaps fittingly, spawned a terrific book by Julie Salamon, The Devil’s Candy: The Anatomy of a Hollywood Fiasco.

Bright Lights, Big City

Soon to be remade by the co-creator and executive producer of CW’s Gossip Girl, James Bridges’ 1988 version of Jay McInerney’s Bright Lights, Big City was stuck in development limbo for many years following the acclaimed 1984 novel’s release. Bouncing from Columbia to United Artists, with names like Joel Schumacher, Charlie Sheen and Tom Cruise and attached to it at different moments, it was adapted by its author, whose version of the script, after many rewrites and half a dozen different writers, was restored by Bridges and producer Sydney Pollack. It didn’t make much difference -– McInerney’s tale of a broken man, long stuck in mourning for his dead mother, hopelessly moored in a dead-end fact checking job, drunk and high for most of his waking moments, is rendered in a respectful but pulse deadening way by Bridges, who culled the performance from Michael J. Fox that solidified his status as someone, at least at that age, who was only fit for light comedy. The great DP Gordon Willis, whose best work was long past by this point, seems asleep at the camera.

Slaves of New York

Originally to be directed by Andy Warhol, who died before he could see it through, leaving this mess to the unlikely team of Merchant-Ivory, this 1989 adaptation of a pair of stories contained in Tama Janowitz’s 1986 collection, seems, when viewed now, like some sort of perverse ancestor of (check your trucker hats at the door) mumble…. Young, white, would-be “creatives” stew and mindlessly joke in apartments that seem way more affordable than their apparent income level would suggest. Of course the camera’s on a tripod and there’s little if any actual fucking, but the hats Bernadette Peters’ character makes are perhaps the most hideous and simultaneously non-ironic fashion item in a film since Diana Ross’ character leaves Italy in the final reel of Mahogany.

New Rose Hotel

Although it never seems to get old, Abel Ferrara’s 1998 straight to video adaptation of William Gibson’s 1981 short story New Rose Hotel, which first appeared in Omni in that year and later in Gibson’s 1986 collection Burning Chrome, seems, more so than this notoriously uneven director’s other work, to be an unfinished film. Taking an already thin narrative, Ferrara’s low rent version eliminates the high concept corporate espionage heist at its center, creating what is essentially a short film that he then has loop back onto itself, if just to expand the running time by thirty minutes or so. Tour de force camp is on display from virtually the entire cast, especially Christopher Walken and a very young Asia Argento, who was having more fun that she should have been, both on an off camera. Remember to look for that great Cat Power cue during the club orgy tracking shot! Perhaps more than anything else in his oeuvre, this scene captures the high wire combination of smut and rugged artfulness that defines Ferrara’s style, sometimes for better, more often for worse.

Less Than Zero

Where does one even start when attempting to unravel the signs and wonders contained within Marek Kanievska’s downright dreadful adaptation of Ellis’ seminal 1985 novel? Well, like many of the films discussed, we have a top-notch DP (in this case Ed Lachman) working with an unseasoned director who was chosen as a yes man, someone who would rather mindlessly go about injecting a Nancy Reagan, “just say no” ethos into a hard edged narrative about hedonism and spiritual emptiness among the young and wealthy. Of course, the film contains one of Robert Downey Jr.’s great, early performances, one that often succeeds despite the pervasive laziness and cynicism of the filmmakers and their backers.