Silver Bullet (1985)
Dir: Daniel Attias
"Whenever the moon is full...it comes back!"
The Netflix series Stranger Things has had all sorts of people coming out of the woodwork to sing the praises of 80's coming-of-age genre flicks like The Goonies, Stand By Me, the It miniseries and even the underrated Explorers, but there's one similar film I've noticed never gets brought up...Gas up your high-octane wheelchair and shut your door when the full moon rises, we're heading downstairs to "tap the rockies," Basement of Sleaze style with Silver Bullet!
In 1976, all isn't well in the sleepy New England hamlet of Tarker's Mills. As the little woodland town celebrates the bicentennial, a vicious killer emerges every full moon to mutilate a new victim. As the victims have no shared traits, local law enforcement agents (led by sheriff Terry O'Quinn, The Stepfather, TV's Lost) are baffled by the crimes. Out setting off fireworks late one summer night, paraplegic adolescent Marty (the late Corey Haim, The Lost Boys, License to Drive) is attacked by a bestial figure that he manages to drive off with a bottle rocket to the eye. Marty has a distant relationship with his parents, and an antagonistic one with his teenage sister, Jane (Megan Follows, the titular character from TV's Anne of Green Gables), but is tight with his deadbeat, alcoholic uncle Red (Gary Busey, Predator 2, Point Break). Convinced that the beast that attacked him was a werewolf, Marty convinces Jane to help him to canvas the town for eye-injured individuals. Jane discovers that benevolent preacher Reverend Lowe (Everett McGill, TV's Twin Peaks, The People Under the Stairs) is rocking a new eye patch, and the two put aside their sibling rivalry and attempt to convince the skeptical Red to help, while the desperate Lowe does his best to off poor Marty! As the killings continue, Marty and Jane finally convince Red to procure the titular weapon and help them lay a trap for the shapeshifter on Halloween night...
Silver Bullet is never spoken of with the same reverence as fellow 80's werewolf flicks The Howling, An American Werewolf in London and (to a lesser extent) Wolfen. While I wouldn't go so far as to call it an overlooked classic, it IS a good, mostly effective movie, though it suffers from some significant problems. Most damning is its treatment of the Reverend Lowe character, though McGill (a favorite 80s/90s character actor of mine thanks to his work with David Lynch) does his best with the role. The idea of a "man of the cloth" uncontrollably becoming a murderous monster by night is an interesting one and, early on, the film has Lowe express regret for his actions and explain that his victims were chosen from people that he, as a Christian, found "already damned (an alcoholic, a woman who had confessed to him her desire to commit suicide, a child beater)." In these early scenes, Lowe can be read as a "holy redeemer," a man who justifies his murderous affliction as a means to "save" victims who might've otherwise been doomed to eternal hellfire. In the beginning, the film also takes great pains to show the werewolf only killing "innocent" people who are actively out to do him harm. This all goes out the fucking window, however, as soon as Marty and Jane discover Lowe's true identity and he becomes just another boogeyman, attempting to kill poor Marty relentlessly even during the day in his "human" form (the car vs. wheelchair scene is, admittedly, suspenseful). The movie is also plagued by a comic relief scene in which a group of bumbling rednecks attempt to hunt the werewolf during a foggy night, which is tonally in-congruent with the rest of the film. Director Attias (who never made another feature, but went on to become an Emmy-winning television director for shows such as The Wire) brings a great sense of fear and dread to the werewolf attack scenes, but his work on the rest of the film is flat and TV movie-like. The performances are all solid, with kudos going to Busey, not yet in the constant self-parody phase of his career, as a man willing to set aside his own demons for those of his nephew. I guess I should mention Stephen King; he adapted (VERY loosely) the screenplay from his own (excellent) novella, Cycle of the Werewolf. At the end of the day, Silver Bullet isn't perfect, but is certainly worth a watch for fans of werewolf films or 80s coming-of-age horror flicks. Just don't skip The Howling for it!
Enter...If you dare!
Big thanks to "Diamond" Dave Wheeler for the bitchin' logo!
Wednesday, October 12, 2016
Monday, October 10, 2016
Entry 129: Microwave Massacre (1983)
Microwave Massacre (1983)
Dir: Wayne Berwick
"They came for dinner...to find they were it!"
This movie's opening credits begin superimposed over the image of a woman's jiggling tits as she walks down the sidewalk (don't worry, ass people; we're treated to a butt shot, as well), so you know exactly what kind of movie you're watching. After the credits, the aforementioned woman happens upon a group of construction workers taking lunch, and shoves the aforementioned pair of tits through a hole in a fence, taunting them. This is juxtaposed with Donald (stand-up comic Jackie Vernon), another construction worker trying, and failing, to eat a giant crab sandwich made with a full, shell-on crab. This, folks, is the sort of cutting-edge humor that you've come to Microwave Massacre for, and dammit, you'll not be denied! Donald and friends head out after work to a dingy strip club, where we're introduced to Sam, a bartender who deflects Donald's complaints about his life (mean-spirited wife, lousy job, pacemaker)
by talking about his hemorrhoids. Donald goes home to discover that his overbearing wife, May, has made a dish even more revolting than the full-crab sandwich for dinner. She then insults his masculinity, calls him a "human contraceptive" and compares him, unfavorably, with their little yappy dog. The next day at work, Donald resigns himself to eating a dog food sandwich while one of his co-workers makes time with tits girl from the beginning of the film. After work, Donald goes to the bar, gets shitfaced, then goes home and bludgeons May to death after another argument. Upon waking the next day, he discovers her body stuffed into their new industrial microwave, cooks her on "slow broil," chops her up and places her in their refrigerator ("Gotta make room for May!"). Donald views a true crime program on television that advises "The only perfect crime is one in which the perpetrator eats all of the evidence," and soon he finds himself eating pieces of May's nuked body as a midnight snack ("I guess it's better than nothing...Hey; that's not too bad!"). The next day, two things happen to further alter the course of Donald's life: he makes a sandwich from pieces of May and brings it to work; his friends/co-workers try it and are so enamored of the flavor that they demand Donald cook for them everyday AND he discovers that his long-dormant sexuality has awakened after cooking and eating May. So, this dumpy middle-aged schlub starts (improbably) picking up nubile young women, screwing them, killing them and cooking them. Donald's victims include a prostitute named DDD ("My mom wanted to name me Deliah, but she stuttered.") and a woman in a chicken suit (don't ask). In an out-of-nowhere scene that will have you doubting your own sanity, Donald fantasizes about making a human-sized sandwich with a still-living woman that he covers in Miracle Whip with a comically oversized butter knife! When Donald's nosey sister-in-law arrives looking for May, he can't bring himself to kill her, so he gags her with a a sandwich (!) and keeps her tied up in his closet. In a finale that's remarkably anticlimactic yet strangely fitting, Donald drops dead while preparing his latest victim's body for his buddies. As his friends arrive and disgustedly discover human remains in the microwave, we're shown a close-up of the label on its side: "Warning! May interfere with pacemakers!"
It's rare for a movie to leave me speechless, but I'll be damned if I know what to say about Microwave Massacre. It sort of reminds me of a Herschell Gordon Lewis movie remade by Porky's-era Bob Clark from a script by a 13 year-old boy. It's not good by any traditional means, but if you can get into it's peculiar combination of dumb/broad humor, gratuitous nudity and (intentionally?) awful gore effects, you might have fun watching it. I did; it's...unique. Come to think of it, Troma fans will probably eat this up! Vernon, who was a frequent guest on The Tonight Show and the voice of Frosty the fucking Snowman in the classic Rankin-Bass animated Christmas specials, gives pathetic loser Donald such a sweet personality that you can't help but feel a little sympathy for him, even once he turns into a murderous cannibal. The rest of the cast (none of whom went on to do anything of note) is amateurish but enthusiastic. Co-writer/producer Craig Muckler (a Minnesota native who also helped produce Basement of Sleaze favorite Malibu High) is, to this day, a frequent guest at horror conventions and is STILL trying to get a sequel made-you have to admire his dedication!
Dir: Wayne Berwick
"They came for dinner...to find they were it!"
This movie's opening credits begin superimposed over the image of a woman's jiggling tits as she walks down the sidewalk (don't worry, ass people; we're treated to a butt shot, as well), so you know exactly what kind of movie you're watching. After the credits, the aforementioned woman happens upon a group of construction workers taking lunch, and shoves the aforementioned pair of tits through a hole in a fence, taunting them. This is juxtaposed with Donald (stand-up comic Jackie Vernon), another construction worker trying, and failing, to eat a giant crab sandwich made with a full, shell-on crab. This, folks, is the sort of cutting-edge humor that you've come to Microwave Massacre for, and dammit, you'll not be denied! Donald and friends head out after work to a dingy strip club, where we're introduced to Sam, a bartender who deflects Donald's complaints about his life (mean-spirited wife, lousy job, pacemaker)
by talking about his hemorrhoids. Donald goes home to discover that his overbearing wife, May, has made a dish even more revolting than the full-crab sandwich for dinner. She then insults his masculinity, calls him a "human contraceptive" and compares him, unfavorably, with their little yappy dog. The next day at work, Donald resigns himself to eating a dog food sandwich while one of his co-workers makes time with tits girl from the beginning of the film. After work, Donald goes to the bar, gets shitfaced, then goes home and bludgeons May to death after another argument. Upon waking the next day, he discovers her body stuffed into their new industrial microwave, cooks her on "slow broil," chops her up and places her in their refrigerator ("Gotta make room for May!"). Donald views a true crime program on television that advises "The only perfect crime is one in which the perpetrator eats all of the evidence," and soon he finds himself eating pieces of May's nuked body as a midnight snack ("I guess it's better than nothing...Hey; that's not too bad!"). The next day, two things happen to further alter the course of Donald's life: he makes a sandwich from pieces of May and brings it to work; his friends/co-workers try it and are so enamored of the flavor that they demand Donald cook for them everyday AND he discovers that his long-dormant sexuality has awakened after cooking and eating May. So, this dumpy middle-aged schlub starts (improbably) picking up nubile young women, screwing them, killing them and cooking them. Donald's victims include a prostitute named DDD ("My mom wanted to name me Deliah, but she stuttered.") and a woman in a chicken suit (don't ask). In an out-of-nowhere scene that will have you doubting your own sanity, Donald fantasizes about making a human-sized sandwich with a still-living woman that he covers in Miracle Whip with a comically oversized butter knife! When Donald's nosey sister-in-law arrives looking for May, he can't bring himself to kill her, so he gags her with a a sandwich (!) and keeps her tied up in his closet. In a finale that's remarkably anticlimactic yet strangely fitting, Donald drops dead while preparing his latest victim's body for his buddies. As his friends arrive and disgustedly discover human remains in the microwave, we're shown a close-up of the label on its side: "Warning! May interfere with pacemakers!"
It's rare for a movie to leave me speechless, but I'll be damned if I know what to say about Microwave Massacre. It sort of reminds me of a Herschell Gordon Lewis movie remade by Porky's-era Bob Clark from a script by a 13 year-old boy. It's not good by any traditional means, but if you can get into it's peculiar combination of dumb/broad humor, gratuitous nudity and (intentionally?) awful gore effects, you might have fun watching it. I did; it's...unique. Come to think of it, Troma fans will probably eat this up! Vernon, who was a frequent guest on The Tonight Show and the voice of Frosty the fucking Snowman in the classic Rankin-Bass animated Christmas specials, gives pathetic loser Donald such a sweet personality that you can't help but feel a little sympathy for him, even once he turns into a murderous cannibal. The rest of the cast (none of whom went on to do anything of note) is amateurish but enthusiastic. Co-writer/producer Craig Muckler (a Minnesota native who also helped produce Basement of Sleaze favorite Malibu High) is, to this day, a frequent guest at horror conventions and is STILL trying to get a sequel made-you have to admire his dedication!
Thursday, October 6, 2016
Entry 128: Madman (1981)
Madman (1981)
Dir: Joe Giannone
"Deep in the woods lurks a hideous evil...Don't even whisper his name!"
For obvious reasons, October is a special month here in the Basement of Sleaze, so...Welcome to my October kickoff! Every entry this month will focus on a horror film; no porn, no action movies, no B-grade sci-fiers, nothing but ghoulish cinema designed to thrill and chill! I'm hoping for a bit of an increased output this month; I've got a few flicks "in the can" that I just need to find the time to write up.
Madman takes place at North Sea Cottages, a "special retreat for gifted children," which makes it sound suspiciously like the X-Men's headquarters. Kids sitting around a campfire are told a spooky tale about a local farmer who went mad and murdered his wife and children, before being lynched by the townsfolk...Predictably, his body disappeared. The farmer is one "Madman Marz," but the narrator refuses to say his name during the story because, as the legend tells it, he appears whenever his name is uttered to claim new victims. Punk-ass "gifted child" Richie (the most excellently-named Jimmy Steele, who rocks a sweet white guy jheri curl) calls bullshit on that and screams into the night for Marz to come and get them. Meanwhile, T.P. (the late Tony Fish), who is in charge of the male students, is all pissed off because Betsy (Gaylen Ross, from Romero's Dawn of the Dead and Creepshow), chaperone for the female students, is reluctant to return his amorous advances. After a counselor who goes off on his own to explore an abandoned farmhouse in the area is brutally murdered, T.P. and Betsy make up and engage in some freaky hot tub fornicating (Ross appears topless, which may explain her eventual use of the alias "Alexis Dubin" in the film's credits). When Richie disappears, T.P. goes looking for him and gets hanged by Marz for his trouble. As the other counselors (one of whom looks a LOT like John Oates!) wander off to search for T.P. and Ritchie, they're hunted down and dispatched by Marz in various ways (Axe through the chest, back-breaking, a particularly memorable decapitation via car hood), until shotgun-packing Betsy becomes the final girl, forced to defend the "gifted youngsters" from the brute. This movie doesn't exactly reinvent the wheel, folks, but it DOES feature an uncharacteristically bleak conclusion.
For the most part, Madman is just another derivative slasher; it's clearly inspired by Friday the 13th, but its look, pacing and story beats owe more to Halloween. Having said that, if you're predisposed to enjoying the pleasures of the slasher film, Madman has a lot to offer. Despite being filmed independently by a first-time direct, the movie looks better than many of its contemporaries; Giannone's prowling camera and the cinematography of James Lemmo (Ms. 45, Maniac Cop) give the film a great, misty gothic atmosphere. Ross is a capable and appealing lead, and, while none of them went on to do much of interest to genre fans, the rest of the cast turn in likable, naturalistic performances, a real treat in a genre dominated by stilted acting. The hairy, deformed, barefoot, overall-clad Marz is a memorable monster and the kills are bloody and effective. Speaking of kills, the final counselor to die before Ross is left alone isn't even killed by Marz...I won't spoil it, but it's a great gut-punch moment that'll stick with you. If you're in a slasher mood, definitely give Madman a shot!
Dir: Joe Giannone
"Deep in the woods lurks a hideous evil...Don't even whisper his name!"
For obvious reasons, October is a special month here in the Basement of Sleaze, so...Welcome to my October kickoff! Every entry this month will focus on a horror film; no porn, no action movies, no B-grade sci-fiers, nothing but ghoulish cinema designed to thrill and chill! I'm hoping for a bit of an increased output this month; I've got a few flicks "in the can" that I just need to find the time to write up.
Madman takes place at North Sea Cottages, a "special retreat for gifted children," which makes it sound suspiciously like the X-Men's headquarters. Kids sitting around a campfire are told a spooky tale about a local farmer who went mad and murdered his wife and children, before being lynched by the townsfolk...Predictably, his body disappeared. The farmer is one "Madman Marz," but the narrator refuses to say his name during the story because, as the legend tells it, he appears whenever his name is uttered to claim new victims. Punk-ass "gifted child" Richie (the most excellently-named Jimmy Steele, who rocks a sweet white guy jheri curl) calls bullshit on that and screams into the night for Marz to come and get them. Meanwhile, T.P. (the late Tony Fish), who is in charge of the male students, is all pissed off because Betsy (Gaylen Ross, from Romero's Dawn of the Dead and Creepshow), chaperone for the female students, is reluctant to return his amorous advances. After a counselor who goes off on his own to explore an abandoned farmhouse in the area is brutally murdered, T.P. and Betsy make up and engage in some freaky hot tub fornicating (Ross appears topless, which may explain her eventual use of the alias "Alexis Dubin" in the film's credits). When Richie disappears, T.P. goes looking for him and gets hanged by Marz for his trouble. As the other counselors (one of whom looks a LOT like John Oates!) wander off to search for T.P. and Ritchie, they're hunted down and dispatched by Marz in various ways (Axe through the chest, back-breaking, a particularly memorable decapitation via car hood), until shotgun-packing Betsy becomes the final girl, forced to defend the "gifted youngsters" from the brute. This movie doesn't exactly reinvent the wheel, folks, but it DOES feature an uncharacteristically bleak conclusion.
For the most part, Madman is just another derivative slasher; it's clearly inspired by Friday the 13th, but its look, pacing and story beats owe more to Halloween. Having said that, if you're predisposed to enjoying the pleasures of the slasher film, Madman has a lot to offer. Despite being filmed independently by a first-time direct, the movie looks better than many of its contemporaries; Giannone's prowling camera and the cinematography of James Lemmo (Ms. 45, Maniac Cop) give the film a great, misty gothic atmosphere. Ross is a capable and appealing lead, and, while none of them went on to do much of interest to genre fans, the rest of the cast turn in likable, naturalistic performances, a real treat in a genre dominated by stilted acting. The hairy, deformed, barefoot, overall-clad Marz is a memorable monster and the kills are bloody and effective. Speaking of kills, the final counselor to die before Ross is left alone isn't even killed by Marz...I won't spoil it, but it's a great gut-punch moment that'll stick with you. If you're in a slasher mood, definitely give Madman a shot!
Monday, September 26, 2016
Entry 127: Snuff (1975)
Snuff (1975)
Dirs: Michael Findlay, Horacio Fredriksson, Simon Nuchtern
"A film that could only be made in South America, where life is CHEAP!"
Hey there; c'mon down! Welcome to the Basement of Sleaze. Clear a path through the stale popcorn, used condoms and hypodermic needles and make yourself cozy. Y'know, I've been writing this stupid blog for TWO years and, though my output slowed a bit in my second year, I've no intention of stopping...It's just too much goddamn fun. I thought I might take a moment, on this momentous occasion, to reaffirm my statement of purpose. I spent a good deal of my late childhood and pretty much all of my teens digging through magazine bins at used bookstores, record shops and seedy newsagents trying to dig up cheap back issues of horror movie review 'zines (Psychotronic Video, Slime Time, Cinema Sewer, Shock Cinema, etc.). I poured over those goddamn rags, thrilling to the lurid descriptions of films I could only dream of tracking down and witnessing for myself. Later, when greater mobility (and the advent of the internet) made hunting said films down much simpler, I discovered a simple truth: oftentimes, READING about these movies is infinitely more fun than watching them! Many of those old mags aren't around any longer (though Steven Puchalski's Shock Cinema is still kicking and STILL the shit; check it out!), it is in the yellowed, dog-eared spirit of those publications and their various creators that I continue to do this.
Now then, I've decided no to do anything TOO special for this anniversary entry, but I will be taking a look at a particularly notorious piece of filth that I haven't covered here yet. Join me, won't you, for a stiff celebratory cocktail as we head down to South America...where life is CHEAP, for Snuff!
The film opens with a couple of choppers cruising down the highway to the strains of an instrumental version of Steppenwolf's "Born to be Wild" that's JUST different to avoid a lawsuit and driven by a couple of cute, leather-clad hippy chicks. The bikers are Susana and Carmela, disciples of Manson-like Brazilian cult leader Satan. When fellow cult member Ana holds out on some sweet drugs from the rest of the cult, Satan orders Susana and Angelica to disable her via gunshot and cut her toes off! We then see Angelica stab a man to death at an airport where exotic foreign film director Max Marsh and his beautiful leading lady, Terry, are arriving in Brazil to film a movie. Terry is publicly "with" Max, but she's actually fucking local playboy Horst on the side (Horst drives a sweet ChrisCraft speedboat, so you know he's loaded). In a plot twist that you absolutely WILL see coming, Horst has a housekeeper/fuck buddy who is...yup, Angelica, the murderous supplicant of Satan! In a goofy flashback scene, we see a naked Angelica swear allegiance to Satan while they frolic in a lake with his other (female) acolytes, and he orders her to get close to Horst; to infiltrate his world and "make them trust you." When Terry becomes pregnant with Horst's child, he kicks Angelica to the curb. We're then treated to an endless-feeling sequence at Carnaval, where scenes of Horst going down on Terry are intercut with scenes of street performers, "climaxing (heh heh heh)" in Terry reaching orgasm while Max is murdered by Angelica with a Rambo-style combat knife. Angelica and Satan show up at Horst's house but, after an incomprehensible argument involving Nazis, butchers and knives, are thrown out by Horst's father and blast down the highway on their sweet hog, while once again the "Born to be Wild" knockoff plays. After a lengthy flashback details the origin of Angelica (which involves rape, mutilation and patricide), Angelica and the rest of Satan's disciples descend upon Horst's home. At this point, the film jarringly cuts to a scene in which an actress (who I assume is supposed to represent Terry, but looks nothing like her) is (very unconvincingly) mutilated on-set by her co-stars and crew. Title explained, film over.
Having seen the recent, belated third sequel to The Blair Witch Project, I was recently reflecting upon the significance of that film; chiefly, how it represented an absolute triumph of film marketing. Using then-nascent internet culture, distributor Artisan turned a cheap found-footage film into a multimillion dollar success. Well, a quarter century earlier, Snuff exploited marketing in a similar fashion. If the results weren't quite as financially rewarding, they cast an even wider net over pop culture in general. In the early seventies, urban legends of "snuff" films began making tabloid headlines. Like any good exploitation producers, filmmakers Roberta and Michael Findlay (Shriek of the Mutilated, several porno flicks) seized the opportunity to make a buck. They took a Manson-inspired hippy cult murder film they'd made (and never released) in 1971 called The Slaughter and released it under a new title, complete with a tacked-on, newly-shot ending that made it appear as if the lead actress in the film had actually been murdered on-set. Taking into account the facts that the actress in the newly-shot footage bared little resemblance to the actress in the old footage, and that canny horror film aficionados would spot the deception a mile away, the Findlays presented the film as a limited-engagement, "roadshow"-style exhibition, and hired local actors to pose as priests, nuns and women's rights advocates protesting the film. The deception worked like gangbusters, and the notoriety surrounding the film made national headlines, culminating in the producers having to appear in court to testify to the fictitious nature of the film, all the while riding the wave of controversy to millions of dollars in ticket sales, and a film that continues to be condemned by those not "in the know" to this day. In actuality, Snuff is a pretty unremarkable film; it's poorly shot, filled with unconvincing blood and gore effects and features atrocious performances, further hindered by terribly ADRed dialogue. Worst of all, JUST as you're getting into the (threadbare) plot of The Slaughter, the film cuts away to the bullshit "snuff movie" ending, and you never get to see how the story concludes!
Snuff certainly deserves its place in the annals of film marketing, and even horror film history in general, but I'd be lying to you if I said it was a particularly engaging film to watch. The sad thing is, I would have genuinely liked to know how the pseudo-Manson flick The Slaughter ended! By all means, read an article or two about the film itself, but you can safely skip watching it.
That's a cap on two years, dear readers; if you stick with me, I'll see you for several more!
Dirs: Michael Findlay, Horacio Fredriksson, Simon Nuchtern
"A film that could only be made in South America, where life is CHEAP!"
Hey there; c'mon down! Welcome to the Basement of Sleaze. Clear a path through the stale popcorn, used condoms and hypodermic needles and make yourself cozy. Y'know, I've been writing this stupid blog for TWO years and, though my output slowed a bit in my second year, I've no intention of stopping...It's just too much goddamn fun. I thought I might take a moment, on this momentous occasion, to reaffirm my statement of purpose. I spent a good deal of my late childhood and pretty much all of my teens digging through magazine bins at used bookstores, record shops and seedy newsagents trying to dig up cheap back issues of horror movie review 'zines (Psychotronic Video, Slime Time, Cinema Sewer, Shock Cinema, etc.). I poured over those goddamn rags, thrilling to the lurid descriptions of films I could only dream of tracking down and witnessing for myself. Later, when greater mobility (and the advent of the internet) made hunting said films down much simpler, I discovered a simple truth: oftentimes, READING about these movies is infinitely more fun than watching them! Many of those old mags aren't around any longer (though Steven Puchalski's Shock Cinema is still kicking and STILL the shit; check it out!), it is in the yellowed, dog-eared spirit of those publications and their various creators that I continue to do this.
Now then, I've decided no to do anything TOO special for this anniversary entry, but I will be taking a look at a particularly notorious piece of filth that I haven't covered here yet. Join me, won't you, for a stiff celebratory cocktail as we head down to South America...where life is CHEAP, for Snuff!
The film opens with a couple of choppers cruising down the highway to the strains of an instrumental version of Steppenwolf's "Born to be Wild" that's JUST different to avoid a lawsuit and driven by a couple of cute, leather-clad hippy chicks. The bikers are Susana and Carmela, disciples of Manson-like Brazilian cult leader Satan. When fellow cult member Ana holds out on some sweet drugs from the rest of the cult, Satan orders Susana and Angelica to disable her via gunshot and cut her toes off! We then see Angelica stab a man to death at an airport where exotic foreign film director Max Marsh and his beautiful leading lady, Terry, are arriving in Brazil to film a movie. Terry is publicly "with" Max, but she's actually fucking local playboy Horst on the side (Horst drives a sweet ChrisCraft speedboat, so you know he's loaded). In a plot twist that you absolutely WILL see coming, Horst has a housekeeper/fuck buddy who is...yup, Angelica, the murderous supplicant of Satan! In a goofy flashback scene, we see a naked Angelica swear allegiance to Satan while they frolic in a lake with his other (female) acolytes, and he orders her to get close to Horst; to infiltrate his world and "make them trust you." When Terry becomes pregnant with Horst's child, he kicks Angelica to the curb. We're then treated to an endless-feeling sequence at Carnaval, where scenes of Horst going down on Terry are intercut with scenes of street performers, "climaxing (heh heh heh)" in Terry reaching orgasm while Max is murdered by Angelica with a Rambo-style combat knife. Angelica and Satan show up at Horst's house but, after an incomprehensible argument involving Nazis, butchers and knives, are thrown out by Horst's father and blast down the highway on their sweet hog, while once again the "Born to be Wild" knockoff plays. After a lengthy flashback details the origin of Angelica (which involves rape, mutilation and patricide), Angelica and the rest of Satan's disciples descend upon Horst's home. At this point, the film jarringly cuts to a scene in which an actress (who I assume is supposed to represent Terry, but looks nothing like her) is (very unconvincingly) mutilated on-set by her co-stars and crew. Title explained, film over.
Having seen the recent, belated third sequel to The Blair Witch Project, I was recently reflecting upon the significance of that film; chiefly, how it represented an absolute triumph of film marketing. Using then-nascent internet culture, distributor Artisan turned a cheap found-footage film into a multimillion dollar success. Well, a quarter century earlier, Snuff exploited marketing in a similar fashion. If the results weren't quite as financially rewarding, they cast an even wider net over pop culture in general. In the early seventies, urban legends of "snuff" films began making tabloid headlines. Like any good exploitation producers, filmmakers Roberta and Michael Findlay (Shriek of the Mutilated, several porno flicks) seized the opportunity to make a buck. They took a Manson-inspired hippy cult murder film they'd made (and never released) in 1971 called The Slaughter and released it under a new title, complete with a tacked-on, newly-shot ending that made it appear as if the lead actress in the film had actually been murdered on-set. Taking into account the facts that the actress in the newly-shot footage bared little resemblance to the actress in the old footage, and that canny horror film aficionados would spot the deception a mile away, the Findlays presented the film as a limited-engagement, "roadshow"-style exhibition, and hired local actors to pose as priests, nuns and women's rights advocates protesting the film. The deception worked like gangbusters, and the notoriety surrounding the film made national headlines, culminating in the producers having to appear in court to testify to the fictitious nature of the film, all the while riding the wave of controversy to millions of dollars in ticket sales, and a film that continues to be condemned by those not "in the know" to this day. In actuality, Snuff is a pretty unremarkable film; it's poorly shot, filled with unconvincing blood and gore effects and features atrocious performances, further hindered by terribly ADRed dialogue. Worst of all, JUST as you're getting into the (threadbare) plot of The Slaughter, the film cuts away to the bullshit "snuff movie" ending, and you never get to see how the story concludes!
Snuff certainly deserves its place in the annals of film marketing, and even horror film history in general, but I'd be lying to you if I said it was a particularly engaging film to watch. The sad thing is, I would have genuinely liked to know how the pseudo-Manson flick The Slaughter ended! By all means, read an article or two about the film itself, but you can safely skip watching it.
That's a cap on two years, dear readers; if you stick with me, I'll see you for several more!
Entry 126: Endless Descent (AKA The Rift-1989)
Endless Descent (AKA The Rift-1989)
Dir: Juan Piquer Simon
"You can't hold your breath and scream at the same time."
Jack Scalia (Fear City, TV's Dallas) stars as the improbably named (and even more improbably coifed-seriously, this guy has an 80's lion's-mane pompadour that would make Overboard-era Kurt Russel green with envy) Wick Hayes, a genius nautical engineer. When an experimental submarine he helped design disappears on its maiden voyage, Wick is strong-armed by the government into joining the crew of another submarine dispatched to recover its black box. The crew of stereotypes Wick accompanies includes a take-no-shit southerner captain (R. Lee Ermey, Full Metal Jacket, the Texas Chainsaw Massacre remake), a jive-talking comic relief black guy (John Toles-Bey, Trespass, Waterworld) a sexy-but-frigid woman (Ely Pouget from the underrated Death Machine), a snooty Frenchman (Emilio Linder, Pieces, Monster Dog), Wick's ex-wife (soap actress Deborah Adair) and...um...Ray Wise (Robocop, appearing here the same year he first played Leland Palmer on Twin Peaks). Arriving at the last known location of the previous sub, the crew must deal with mutated, enlarged algae and a gigantic, murderous cephalopod before they discover a naturally-pressurized underwater cave. Within the cave, they discover giant, mutated fish, aborted human/amphibian hybrid fetuses and giant brain-like mollusks that consume human flesh. It turns out that the first sub was involved in illegal government weapons testing, and (in a very Alien-inspired subplot) that the current crew has a traitor in their midst ordered to ensure they don't return to report their findings...I did mention Ray Wise was in the cast, right? Oh yeah, the algae they encountered earlier is also capable of spreading a fungal virus to any humans who touch it (think Stephen King in Creepshow). Can Scalia and Adair defeat Wise, avoid the fungus, escape to the surface AND rekindle their romance? I wouldn't bet against it!
Endless Descent was the last of the cycle of underwater monster movies unleashed in 1989, a cycle that also included The Abyss, Deepstar Six, Corman's Lords of the Deep and Leviathan. Actually, Leviathan producer Dino De Laurentiis also backed this much lower-budgeted flick on the side (he's uncredited). It's a C-movie, to be sure, but it IS a lot of fun. The sets are cheap-looking, but the creature effects (provided by folks who'd worked on Alien and The NeverEnding Story) are surprisingly decent and the gore is explicit and plentiful (including a GREAT half-decapitation). The performances are mostly just serviceable, but Scalia acquits himself well as an action hero (even if you never QUITE buy him as a savant-like engineer) and Wise gets to indulge in some joyous scenery-chewing once he's revealed as the villain. Director Simon also made the amazing slasher flick Pieces and legendary, MST3K-fodder E.T. knockoff Extraterrestrial Visitors (AKA Pod People). On a technical level, this is probably his best film, though it isn't QUITE as much fun to watch as Pieces.
Hey, I know I don't post this quite as often as I used to, but I'm working on it! I WILL be back in three days for my 2-year anniversary entry, which will probably be pretty much like every other entry.
Dir: Juan Piquer Simon
"You can't hold your breath and scream at the same time."
Jack Scalia (Fear City, TV's Dallas) stars as the improbably named (and even more improbably coifed-seriously, this guy has an 80's lion's-mane pompadour that would make Overboard-era Kurt Russel green with envy) Wick Hayes, a genius nautical engineer. When an experimental submarine he helped design disappears on its maiden voyage, Wick is strong-armed by the government into joining the crew of another submarine dispatched to recover its black box. The crew of stereotypes Wick accompanies includes a take-no-shit southerner captain (R. Lee Ermey, Full Metal Jacket, the Texas Chainsaw Massacre remake), a jive-talking comic relief black guy (John Toles-Bey, Trespass, Waterworld) a sexy-but-frigid woman (Ely Pouget from the underrated Death Machine), a snooty Frenchman (Emilio Linder, Pieces, Monster Dog), Wick's ex-wife (soap actress Deborah Adair) and...um...Ray Wise (Robocop, appearing here the same year he first played Leland Palmer on Twin Peaks). Arriving at the last known location of the previous sub, the crew must deal with mutated, enlarged algae and a gigantic, murderous cephalopod before they discover a naturally-pressurized underwater cave. Within the cave, they discover giant, mutated fish, aborted human/amphibian hybrid fetuses and giant brain-like mollusks that consume human flesh. It turns out that the first sub was involved in illegal government weapons testing, and (in a very Alien-inspired subplot) that the current crew has a traitor in their midst ordered to ensure they don't return to report their findings...I did mention Ray Wise was in the cast, right? Oh yeah, the algae they encountered earlier is also capable of spreading a fungal virus to any humans who touch it (think Stephen King in Creepshow). Can Scalia and Adair defeat Wise, avoid the fungus, escape to the surface AND rekindle their romance? I wouldn't bet against it!
Endless Descent was the last of the cycle of underwater monster movies unleashed in 1989, a cycle that also included The Abyss, Deepstar Six, Corman's Lords of the Deep and Leviathan. Actually, Leviathan producer Dino De Laurentiis also backed this much lower-budgeted flick on the side (he's uncredited). It's a C-movie, to be sure, but it IS a lot of fun. The sets are cheap-looking, but the creature effects (provided by folks who'd worked on Alien and The NeverEnding Story) are surprisingly decent and the gore is explicit and plentiful (including a GREAT half-decapitation). The performances are mostly just serviceable, but Scalia acquits himself well as an action hero (even if you never QUITE buy him as a savant-like engineer) and Wise gets to indulge in some joyous scenery-chewing once he's revealed as the villain. Director Simon also made the amazing slasher flick Pieces and legendary, MST3K-fodder E.T. knockoff Extraterrestrial Visitors (AKA Pod People). On a technical level, this is probably his best film, though it isn't QUITE as much fun to watch as Pieces.
Hey, I know I don't post this quite as often as I used to, but I'm working on it! I WILL be back in three days for my 2-year anniversary entry, which will probably be pretty much like every other entry.
Monday, September 12, 2016
Entry 125: Sssssss (1973)
Sssssss (1973)
Dir: Bernard L. Kowalski
"Once this motion picture sinks its fangs into you, you'll never be the same."
I'm feeling a little cold blooded tonight, folks; better grab a sweater, bundle up and enjoy the 1973 fright flick Sssssss...Remember, "don't say it, HISS it!"
After his research assistant disappears under...*ahem*..."mysterious circumstances," herpetologist Dr. Carl Stoner (whose name will no doubt elicit endless guffaws from all your ganja-rocking buddies and who's played by Struther Martin, The Wild Bunch, Up in Smoke) hires grad student Dirk Benedict (TV's Battlestar Galactica and The A-Team) as his new assistant. Benedict moves in to Martin's rural southern home, where he conducts mysterious experiments on reptiles and raises money for his research by treating tourists to a show in which he milks his prized possession, a huge Indian Cobra. What Benedict doesn't realize is that Martin is a deranged coot who believes that reptiles are destined to inherit the earth, and that the "anti-venom serum" that Martin routinely injects him with is actually a mutagen designed to transform him into a snake. Martin, in turn, doesn't count on the handsome-ass Benedict catching the eye of his twentysomething research assistant daughter, Kristina (Heather Menzies, Piranha, TV's Logan's Run), who has no idea of the more sinister agenda behind her father's work. This raises the ire of her dumb, redneck, jock suitor, Steve (Reb motherfucking Brown, The Howling II, Space Mutiny, in a VERY early role), who retaliates by killing her favorite pet snake! As Benedict and Menzies get closer and begin swapping spit, Martin uses venomous snakes to bump off Brown and a meddling colleague (Richard Shull, Klute, Cockfighter). When Benedict and Menzies visit a traveling carnival, they encounter a pathetic, mewling reptile man in the freak show who makes them both uneasy. When Benedict refuses to see her the next day on the grounds of sudden illness, Menzies returns to the carnival for a closer look at the haunting reptile man. Back home, Benedict begins to rapidly mutate into a great-looking snake man (makeup effects courtesy of John Chambers, who had worked on the Planet of the Apes movies and would go on to do the prosthetic effects for Blade Runner). When Menzies gets a good look at the circus freak snakeman's eyes, she recognizes her father's previous research assistant and rushes home to warn Benedict...But can she possibly make it in time?
Sssssss was a late-night local station staple when I was a kid, and it served as one of my earliest introductions to the lurid, sleazy, often downbeat world of 70s exploitation flicks, and for that I owe it a debt of gratitude. It's a classic 50's mad scientist/creature feature retrofitted with a veneer of southern-gothic atmosphere and 70s cynicism (I remember the ending REALLY bumming me out as a kid). It's got GREAT effects and director Kowalski (Attack of the Giant Leeches, Flight to Holocaust) creates a nice, ominous atmosphere shot through with rural weirdness. The performances are solid, as well-Benedict is a fairly bland lead initially, but really pulls through in conveying his character's anguish in the final third of the movie. Martin brings just a bit of sympathy to his role as a murderous madman in the Victor Frankenstein mold and Menzies...Well, as much as I wallow in nudity and degradation down here (this IS the Basement of Sleaze), it's nice to see a female lead in this type of film who isn't overtly sexualized or victimized; her character is ultimately defined by her brains, not her boobs (though Kowalski can't resist slipping one brief topless shot into the movie's sole love scene). And it's DAMN fun to see Brown, several years before becoming a Z-grade action movie hero, bringing his...unique delivery and acting choices to a "douchy frat guy"-type role. As an aside, Menzies would reunite on-screen with Brown six years later, playing the love interest to his Steve Rogers in the 1979 Captain America TV movie.
Sssssss is EXACTLY the kind of movie folks went to the drive-in hoping to see 40 years ago. Those days are long gone, but there's no reason you can't have a blast watching it with a few friends...
Recommended!
Dir: Bernard L. Kowalski
"Once this motion picture sinks its fangs into you, you'll never be the same."
I'm feeling a little cold blooded tonight, folks; better grab a sweater, bundle up and enjoy the 1973 fright flick Sssssss...Remember, "don't say it, HISS it!"
After his research assistant disappears under...*ahem*..."mysterious circumstances," herpetologist Dr. Carl Stoner (whose name will no doubt elicit endless guffaws from all your ganja-rocking buddies and who's played by Struther Martin, The Wild Bunch, Up in Smoke) hires grad student Dirk Benedict (TV's Battlestar Galactica and The A-Team) as his new assistant. Benedict moves in to Martin's rural southern home, where he conducts mysterious experiments on reptiles and raises money for his research by treating tourists to a show in which he milks his prized possession, a huge Indian Cobra. What Benedict doesn't realize is that Martin is a deranged coot who believes that reptiles are destined to inherit the earth, and that the "anti-venom serum" that Martin routinely injects him with is actually a mutagen designed to transform him into a snake. Martin, in turn, doesn't count on the handsome-ass Benedict catching the eye of his twentysomething research assistant daughter, Kristina (Heather Menzies, Piranha, TV's Logan's Run), who has no idea of the more sinister agenda behind her father's work. This raises the ire of her dumb, redneck, jock suitor, Steve (Reb motherfucking Brown, The Howling II, Space Mutiny, in a VERY early role), who retaliates by killing her favorite pet snake! As Benedict and Menzies get closer and begin swapping spit, Martin uses venomous snakes to bump off Brown and a meddling colleague (Richard Shull, Klute, Cockfighter). When Benedict and Menzies visit a traveling carnival, they encounter a pathetic, mewling reptile man in the freak show who makes them both uneasy. When Benedict refuses to see her the next day on the grounds of sudden illness, Menzies returns to the carnival for a closer look at the haunting reptile man. Back home, Benedict begins to rapidly mutate into a great-looking snake man (makeup effects courtesy of John Chambers, who had worked on the Planet of the Apes movies and would go on to do the prosthetic effects for Blade Runner). When Menzies gets a good look at the circus freak snakeman's eyes, she recognizes her father's previous research assistant and rushes home to warn Benedict...But can she possibly make it in time?
Sssssss was a late-night local station staple when I was a kid, and it served as one of my earliest introductions to the lurid, sleazy, often downbeat world of 70s exploitation flicks, and for that I owe it a debt of gratitude. It's a classic 50's mad scientist/creature feature retrofitted with a veneer of southern-gothic atmosphere and 70s cynicism (I remember the ending REALLY bumming me out as a kid). It's got GREAT effects and director Kowalski (Attack of the Giant Leeches, Flight to Holocaust) creates a nice, ominous atmosphere shot through with rural weirdness. The performances are solid, as well-Benedict is a fairly bland lead initially, but really pulls through in conveying his character's anguish in the final third of the movie. Martin brings just a bit of sympathy to his role as a murderous madman in the Victor Frankenstein mold and Menzies...Well, as much as I wallow in nudity and degradation down here (this IS the Basement of Sleaze), it's nice to see a female lead in this type of film who isn't overtly sexualized or victimized; her character is ultimately defined by her brains, not her boobs (though Kowalski can't resist slipping one brief topless shot into the movie's sole love scene). And it's DAMN fun to see Brown, several years before becoming a Z-grade action movie hero, bringing his...unique delivery and acting choices to a "douchy frat guy"-type role. As an aside, Menzies would reunite on-screen with Brown six years later, playing the love interest to his Steve Rogers in the 1979 Captain America TV movie.
Sssssss is EXACTLY the kind of movie folks went to the drive-in hoping to see 40 years ago. Those days are long gone, but there's no reason you can't have a blast watching it with a few friends...
Recommended!
Monday, August 29, 2016
Entry 124: Nomads (1986)
Nomads (1986)
Dir: John McTiernan
"If you've never been frightened by anything, you will be frightened by this."
This is a rare occasion, folks; a BoS entry that you can safely watch with the missus! So grab a bottle of red wine, buy a nice bouquet of roses and cuddle up down in the Basement of Sleaze for Nomads!
After a ranting, raving French anthropologist (Pierce Brosnan, TV's Remington Steel, the fifth James Bond) dies under her watch in the emergency room, Los Angeles M.D. Lesley-Anne Down (Countess Dracula, The Great Train Robbery) begins experiencing hallucinatory visions of his life shortly before his demise. Brosnan specialized in documenting the lives and customs of nomadic tribespeople and had moved with his wife (Anna Maria Monticelli, The Dark Room, Silver City) to settle down and take a teaching job. As Down begins to question her sanity, through her visions we see how Brosnan and Monticelli were menaced by some punk rocker-looking delinquents (including New Wave rock legend Adam Ant Mary Woronov from Eating Raoul and Rock n Roll High School) in a black van who seemed drawn to their home because it had been the scene of a brutal murder some time ago. In the past, Brosnan discovers that the figures menacing him don't show up on film and that they are, in fact, a group of restless, nomadic souls, all of whom had died violent deaths and feel compelled to assault the living. Brosnan attempts to confront them, sealing his doom while, in the future, Down and Monticelli flee Los Angeles, but not before being chased by a mysterious, spectral biker whose identity (the last shot of the film) shocks them both.
Despite it's outlandish tagline, Nomads isn't remotely scary. In fact, it isn't really even a horror film. Rather, it's a simplified, filmic version of the "dark urban fantasy" genre that would later be favored and popularized in literature by Clive Barker and Neil Gaiman. Nomads has a great, dreamy 80's music video look and, in it's action sequences, McTiernan showcases some of the visceral edge he would mine to great effect in his next two films, Predator and Die Hard. The performances, if not revelatory, are at least solid and the whole cast seems to be putting their best foot forward (Brosnan's French accent takes a bit of getting used to and is never entirely convincing). The problem with the film is that McTiernan (who wrote as well as directed) chooses to sacrifice substance for style and pacing and, in so doing, turns out a film that makes no goddamn sense. We're never told (or even shown) how, exactly, Brosnan's memories are transferred to Down after she witnesses his death, nor are the rules by which the "nomads" operate (how do they come back from the dead? Why? Can just anyone become a nomad?). The film alternately implies that they're Inuit spirits that have followed Brosnan from a previous expedition AND that they're actually drawn to Brosnan's home because of it's violent history and that he's just a victim of circumstance. This lack of defined rules for the supernatural characters makes the film's final scene, meant to be shocking, kind of silly and nonsensical. Oh yeah, about halfway through the film, Brosnan meets a blind nun (Frances Bay, Twin Peaks' Mrs. Tremond) in an abandoned building and has a cryptic conversation with her before suddenly being menaced by a whole gaggle of writhing, rotting and half-naked nuns in a sequence that looks like an outtake from a metal video and has no real relation to anything else in the film. If The Bros gets you all hot and bothered, take note that he has a surprising full-frontal nude scene here (which seems to be the sole reason for the film's R rating). For you music enthusiasts, Nomads DOES feature a GREAT score by Bill Conti (Rocky, I, The Jury), with some screamin' electric guitar provided by Ted Nugent, PLUS the Nuge himself appears in a cameo as one of the Nomads! To review, Nomads looks and sounds great and is never boring, but it makes no sense whatsoever. Also, it's tame enough that you should feel free to watch it with a non-horror fan. That's all.
Dir: John McTiernan
"If you've never been frightened by anything, you will be frightened by this."
This is a rare occasion, folks; a BoS entry that you can safely watch with the missus! So grab a bottle of red wine, buy a nice bouquet of roses and cuddle up down in the Basement of Sleaze for Nomads!
After a ranting, raving French anthropologist (Pierce Brosnan, TV's Remington Steel, the fifth James Bond) dies under her watch in the emergency room, Los Angeles M.D. Lesley-Anne Down (Countess Dracula, The Great Train Robbery) begins experiencing hallucinatory visions of his life shortly before his demise. Brosnan specialized in documenting the lives and customs of nomadic tribespeople and had moved with his wife (Anna Maria Monticelli, The Dark Room, Silver City) to settle down and take a teaching job. As Down begins to question her sanity, through her visions we see how Brosnan and Monticelli were menaced by some punk rocker-looking delinquents (including New Wave rock legend Adam Ant Mary Woronov from Eating Raoul and Rock n Roll High School) in a black van who seemed drawn to their home because it had been the scene of a brutal murder some time ago. In the past, Brosnan discovers that the figures menacing him don't show up on film and that they are, in fact, a group of restless, nomadic souls, all of whom had died violent deaths and feel compelled to assault the living. Brosnan attempts to confront them, sealing his doom while, in the future, Down and Monticelli flee Los Angeles, but not before being chased by a mysterious, spectral biker whose identity (the last shot of the film) shocks them both.
Despite it's outlandish tagline, Nomads isn't remotely scary. In fact, it isn't really even a horror film. Rather, it's a simplified, filmic version of the "dark urban fantasy" genre that would later be favored and popularized in literature by Clive Barker and Neil Gaiman. Nomads has a great, dreamy 80's music video look and, in it's action sequences, McTiernan showcases some of the visceral edge he would mine to great effect in his next two films, Predator and Die Hard. The performances, if not revelatory, are at least solid and the whole cast seems to be putting their best foot forward (Brosnan's French accent takes a bit of getting used to and is never entirely convincing). The problem with the film is that McTiernan (who wrote as well as directed) chooses to sacrifice substance for style and pacing and, in so doing, turns out a film that makes no goddamn sense. We're never told (or even shown) how, exactly, Brosnan's memories are transferred to Down after she witnesses his death, nor are the rules by which the "nomads" operate (how do they come back from the dead? Why? Can just anyone become a nomad?). The film alternately implies that they're Inuit spirits that have followed Brosnan from a previous expedition AND that they're actually drawn to Brosnan's home because of it's violent history and that he's just a victim of circumstance. This lack of defined rules for the supernatural characters makes the film's final scene, meant to be shocking, kind of silly and nonsensical. Oh yeah, about halfway through the film, Brosnan meets a blind nun (Frances Bay, Twin Peaks' Mrs. Tremond) in an abandoned building and has a cryptic conversation with her before suddenly being menaced by a whole gaggle of writhing, rotting and half-naked nuns in a sequence that looks like an outtake from a metal video and has no real relation to anything else in the film. If The Bros gets you all hot and bothered, take note that he has a surprising full-frontal nude scene here (which seems to be the sole reason for the film's R rating). For you music enthusiasts, Nomads DOES feature a GREAT score by Bill Conti (Rocky, I, The Jury), with some screamin' electric guitar provided by Ted Nugent, PLUS the Nuge himself appears in a cameo as one of the Nomads! To review, Nomads looks and sounds great and is never boring, but it makes no sense whatsoever. Also, it's tame enough that you should feel free to watch it with a non-horror fan. That's all.
Monday, August 22, 2016
Entry 123: The Dark (1979)
The Dark (1979)
Dir: John "Bud" Cardos
"A Chilling Tale of Alien Terror."
Hi, and welcome back to the Basement of Sleaze. I know it's been a month since my last entry; I'm working on making a few changes around here that will hopefully help me to be more prolific and...
"DARKNESS! THE DARK!"
Who the fuck said that? Weird. Anyway, as I was saying...
"THE DARK! DARKNESS!"
Alright, that's gonna get fucking irritating. Y'know, maybe I should...
"DARKNESS! THE DARK!"
Y'know what? Fuck it. On to the entry.
After a tacked-on (more on that later) prologue in which an alien spacecraft crashes to earth while an uncredited narrator (whose voice you'll recognize from every 80s/early-90s action movie trailer) warns us that a visit from an extraterrestrial being is both very likely to occur and very unlikely to be pleasant, a cute blonde is brutally murdered while leaving a movie theatre playing The Night Child and BoS favorite Beyond the Door. It turns out that her father is William Devane (Rolling Thunder, Marathon Man), a hard-assed, Norman Mailer-inspired novelist who's just gotten out of the slammer for killing a man he caught nailing his wife. The police are baffled by the girl's disintegrated head and the skin cells left behind by the killer, which seem to indicate he has a grey complexion (this is explained to us by "special guest star" Casey goddamn Kasem, playing a crime lab pathologist). To make matters worse, the lead on the investigation is veteran cop Richard Jaeckel (Grizzly, Starman), who happens to be the cop that put Devane away for manslaughter! As corpses killed in a similar fashion begin to pile up (including a horny old black guy, some would-be vigilantes and a mugger), Devane begins looking into the murders himself and hooks up with plucky reporter Cathy Lee Crosby (Coach, TV's original Wonder Woman), who has been covering the murders for the local news. In the climax, Devane and Crosby form an uneasy alliance with Jaeckel and his cops to confront the killer in an old warehouse. The killer, of course, turns out to be a muscular alien who can shoot laser from his eyes capable of both levitating and disintegrating people! You'll begin to doubt your sanity as this alien creep uses his eye beams and brute strength to chuck cops around like rag dolls until Devane lights him on fire and he explodes (!). Oh, I didn't even mention that the creature shares an unexplained psychic link with a crazy old lady named De Renzy (Jacquelyn Hyde, They Shoot Horses, Don't They?, Going Ape!), who helps our heroes track down the killer and moves in and out of the story with little explanation. Yeesh.
This movie's a big mess, folks. It started out, under original director Tobe Hooper (The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, Poltergeist), as a zombie movie about a long-dead murderer rising from the grave to kill again on the eve of the 100th anniversary of his death. Hooper was fired by producer DICK FUCKING CLARK (yes, the American Bandstand/Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve host) for being "too slow and artsy" and was replaced with the infinitely faster/less talented Cardos (Kingdom of the Spiders, Gor II). THEN, nearing the end of production, Clark and his cohorts caught wind of this new movie Alien coming from Fox and decided by beating it to the punch by changing the killer from a zombie to an alien. As there wasn't time to reshoot the whole film, they simply tacked on the awkward prologue and reworked/refilmed a few of the death scenes, adding the clumsily-rotoscoped laser eye-beams in post. The result is a very standard, mostly forgettable piece of late-night schlock with a couple of fairly suspenseful sequences, particularly a scene where Crosby's boss Keenan Wynn (Dr. Strangelove, Once Upon a Time in the West) is menaced by the killer in a silent parking garage.
There are, however, two REALLY memorable aspects to The Dark. First is the presence of Devane, a severely undervalued character actor who appears here in a rare leading man role. As an actor, Devane's always intense and committed, and his (often bizarre) performance here is a joy to behold, whether he's mouthing off casually to the cops or belching uncontrollably during his daughter's autopsy. Plus, he looks fucking rad prowling the streets of nighttime of L.A. with his shaggy '70s hair, aviator shades and black leather jacket. Also, the movie has a ridiculous/awesome score by Roger Kellaway (Evilspeak), in which sinister synth lines are punctuated by an uncredited male vocalist hissing
"DARKNESS! THE DARK!"
every time a victim is being menaced by the alien. You...really need to experience it for yourself.
A couple more random points before I sign off. Interestingly, The Dark features a couple of elements that would be co-opted by later, better movies. The spaceship crashing to earth at the film's opening is shot almost exactly the same as similar openings in The Thing (1982) and Predator (1987) and Crosby's TV newswoman on the hunt for a serial killer on the streets of L.A. might well have influenced Dee Wallace's VERY similar character in The Howling (1981). Oh yeah, keep an eye out for Tubbs himself, Phillip Michael Thomas, in a brief appearance as a bare-chested street kid.
Dir: John "Bud" Cardos
"A Chilling Tale of Alien Terror."
Hi, and welcome back to the Basement of Sleaze. I know it's been a month since my last entry; I'm working on making a few changes around here that will hopefully help me to be more prolific and...
"DARKNESS! THE DARK!"
Who the fuck said that? Weird. Anyway, as I was saying...
"THE DARK! DARKNESS!"
Alright, that's gonna get fucking irritating. Y'know, maybe I should...
"DARKNESS! THE DARK!"
Y'know what? Fuck it. On to the entry.
After a tacked-on (more on that later) prologue in which an alien spacecraft crashes to earth while an uncredited narrator (whose voice you'll recognize from every 80s/early-90s action movie trailer) warns us that a visit from an extraterrestrial being is both very likely to occur and very unlikely to be pleasant, a cute blonde is brutally murdered while leaving a movie theatre playing The Night Child and BoS favorite Beyond the Door. It turns out that her father is William Devane (Rolling Thunder, Marathon Man), a hard-assed, Norman Mailer-inspired novelist who's just gotten out of the slammer for killing a man he caught nailing his wife. The police are baffled by the girl's disintegrated head and the skin cells left behind by the killer, which seem to indicate he has a grey complexion (this is explained to us by "special guest star" Casey goddamn Kasem, playing a crime lab pathologist). To make matters worse, the lead on the investigation is veteran cop Richard Jaeckel (Grizzly, Starman), who happens to be the cop that put Devane away for manslaughter! As corpses killed in a similar fashion begin to pile up (including a horny old black guy, some would-be vigilantes and a mugger), Devane begins looking into the murders himself and hooks up with plucky reporter Cathy Lee Crosby (Coach, TV's original Wonder Woman), who has been covering the murders for the local news. In the climax, Devane and Crosby form an uneasy alliance with Jaeckel and his cops to confront the killer in an old warehouse. The killer, of course, turns out to be a muscular alien who can shoot laser from his eyes capable of both levitating and disintegrating people! You'll begin to doubt your sanity as this alien creep uses his eye beams and brute strength to chuck cops around like rag dolls until Devane lights him on fire and he explodes (!). Oh, I didn't even mention that the creature shares an unexplained psychic link with a crazy old lady named De Renzy (Jacquelyn Hyde, They Shoot Horses, Don't They?, Going Ape!), who helps our heroes track down the killer and moves in and out of the story with little explanation. Yeesh.
This movie's a big mess, folks. It started out, under original director Tobe Hooper (The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, Poltergeist), as a zombie movie about a long-dead murderer rising from the grave to kill again on the eve of the 100th anniversary of his death. Hooper was fired by producer DICK FUCKING CLARK (yes, the American Bandstand/Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve host) for being "too slow and artsy" and was replaced with the infinitely faster/less talented Cardos (Kingdom of the Spiders, Gor II). THEN, nearing the end of production, Clark and his cohorts caught wind of this new movie Alien coming from Fox and decided by beating it to the punch by changing the killer from a zombie to an alien. As there wasn't time to reshoot the whole film, they simply tacked on the awkward prologue and reworked/refilmed a few of the death scenes, adding the clumsily-rotoscoped laser eye-beams in post. The result is a very standard, mostly forgettable piece of late-night schlock with a couple of fairly suspenseful sequences, particularly a scene where Crosby's boss Keenan Wynn (Dr. Strangelove, Once Upon a Time in the West) is menaced by the killer in a silent parking garage.
There are, however, two REALLY memorable aspects to The Dark. First is the presence of Devane, a severely undervalued character actor who appears here in a rare leading man role. As an actor, Devane's always intense and committed, and his (often bizarre) performance here is a joy to behold, whether he's mouthing off casually to the cops or belching uncontrollably during his daughter's autopsy. Plus, he looks fucking rad prowling the streets of nighttime of L.A. with his shaggy '70s hair, aviator shades and black leather jacket. Also, the movie has a ridiculous/awesome score by Roger Kellaway (Evilspeak), in which sinister synth lines are punctuated by an uncredited male vocalist hissing
"DARKNESS! THE DARK!"
every time a victim is being menaced by the alien. You...really need to experience it for yourself.
A couple more random points before I sign off. Interestingly, The Dark features a couple of elements that would be co-opted by later, better movies. The spaceship crashing to earth at the film's opening is shot almost exactly the same as similar openings in The Thing (1982) and Predator (1987) and Crosby's TV newswoman on the hunt for a serial killer on the streets of L.A. might well have influenced Dee Wallace's VERY similar character in The Howling (1981). Oh yeah, keep an eye out for Tubbs himself, Phillip Michael Thomas, in a brief appearance as a bare-chested street kid.
Thursday, July 21, 2016
Entry 122: The Perfect Weapon (1991)
The Perfect Weapon (1991)
Dir: Mark DiSalle
"No gun. No knife. No equal."
Real-life karate champ Jeff Speakman (Street Knight, Escape from Atlantis) stars in this minor action flick as...um...Jeff, a former JD kid who learns discipline through studying the martial art kenpo and grows up to become a kenpo-fighting construction worker (yes, really). He returns to his old L.A. neighborhood when his old mentor (Mako, Midway, Conan the Barbarian) is murdered by Korean gangsters led by James Hong (Blade Runner, Big Trouble in Little China) and Cary-Hiroyuki Tagawa (Showdown in Little Tokyo, Mortal Kombat). In a vaguely Yojimbo-inspired plot, he pits two families of gangsters against one another and teams up with his cop younger brother (John Dye, Best of the Best, TV's Tour of Duty) and a foul-mouthed street kid (Dante Basco, Hook, Fist of the North Star). Professor Tanaka (Pee-Wee's Big Adventure, The Running Man) plays Hong's unstoppable, superhuman henchman, who speaking defeats by lighting on fire and exploding(!). It all ends in a relatively exciting nighttime showdown at the docks.
The Perfect Weapon is a perfectly acceptable low-budget 80's-type action flick, released in the waning years of the genre's popularity. Speakman (who looks and sounds A LOT like a buff Perry King) is likeable and, while not a fantastic actor, has enough charisma to carry this type of role. An accomplished martial artist, his action sequences are fairly impressive and well-coordinated (though Kickboxer director DiSalle tends to overindulge in slow-motion shots). The barely 80 minute movie does suffer from some pacing issues and wastes A LOT of time on flashbacks showcasing Speakman's troubled youth. Mariska Hargitay (TV's Law and Order: SVU) appears in two scenes as a kimbo student. Acceptable Saturday afternoon action fare.
Dir: Mark DiSalle
"No gun. No knife. No equal."
Real-life karate champ Jeff Speakman (Street Knight, Escape from Atlantis) stars in this minor action flick as...um...Jeff, a former JD kid who learns discipline through studying the martial art kenpo and grows up to become a kenpo-fighting construction worker (yes, really). He returns to his old L.A. neighborhood when his old mentor (Mako, Midway, Conan the Barbarian) is murdered by Korean gangsters led by James Hong (Blade Runner, Big Trouble in Little China) and Cary-Hiroyuki Tagawa (Showdown in Little Tokyo, Mortal Kombat). In a vaguely Yojimbo-inspired plot, he pits two families of gangsters against one another and teams up with his cop younger brother (John Dye, Best of the Best, TV's Tour of Duty) and a foul-mouthed street kid (Dante Basco, Hook, Fist of the North Star). Professor Tanaka (Pee-Wee's Big Adventure, The Running Man) plays Hong's unstoppable, superhuman henchman, who speaking defeats by lighting on fire and exploding(!). It all ends in a relatively exciting nighttime showdown at the docks.
The Perfect Weapon is a perfectly acceptable low-budget 80's-type action flick, released in the waning years of the genre's popularity. Speakman (who looks and sounds A LOT like a buff Perry King) is likeable and, while not a fantastic actor, has enough charisma to carry this type of role. An accomplished martial artist, his action sequences are fairly impressive and well-coordinated (though Kickboxer director DiSalle tends to overindulge in slow-motion shots). The barely 80 minute movie does suffer from some pacing issues and wastes A LOT of time on flashbacks showcasing Speakman's troubled youth. Mariska Hargitay (TV's Law and Order: SVU) appears in two scenes as a kimbo student. Acceptable Saturday afternoon action fare.
Monday, July 18, 2016
Entry 121: Inserts (1975)
Inserts (1975)
Dir: John Byrum
"A degenerate film with dignity."
In a bizarre prologue, a group of men (including what appears to be an uncredited Bill Murray, who was a good friend of both writer/director Byrum and Richard Dreyfuss) gather in silhouette to watch a 16mm stag reel. They cheer the violent sex (during which the man chokes his female partner with a necktie), but boo and walk away in disappointment at the lack of a cumshot. The remainder of the film flashes back to 1930 to show us the origin of the clip. We are introduced to Boy Wonder (Richard Dreyfuss, directly before Jaws made him a star) sitting alone at a piano in his decrepit Hollywood mansion. Once a great silent-era filmmaker, some unnamed trauma has left him broken and impotent, an alcoholic who never leaves his house (or even changes out of his bathrobe). He now makes his living shooting porno reels out his home and is awaiting the arrival of his star, one-time lover and only friend Harlene (Veronica Cartwright, Invasion of the Body Snatchers, Alien), a silent-era actress whose grating voice has left her jobless and addicted to heroin. In the middle of shooting the scene from the beginning of the film, a violent, energetic encounter between Harlene and her brutish, stupid, vain co-star Rex the Wonder Dog (Stephen Davies, The Long Good Friday, The Nest), Boy Wonder is paid a visit from Big Mac (the late Bob Hoskins, Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, Super Mario Brothers, in his film debut), the thuggish gangster who finances Boy Wonders films (they have a "six picture contract!"). Big Mac is accompanied by his fiancee, Cathy Cake (Jessica Harper, Phantom of the Paradise, Suspiria), an up-and-coming actress. Big Mac doles out money to Boy Wonder and Rex and heroin to Harlene and, while Mac argues with Boy Wonder over the merits of his filmmaking style, Harlene OD's upstairs. When Boy Wonder fails to make a case for finishing the picture with her still-warm body, Mac and Rex leave to hide the corpse, leaving Cathy and Boy Wonder alone. Cathy is eager to learn from the once-great Wonder, whose specialty, even in disgrace, is helping actors reach their "peak," the point at which the barriers separating performance and reality fall away. She convinces Boy Wonder to use her to film some "inserts" for the reel, and her purity and enthusiasm arouse him for the first time in ages. Seducing Boy Wonder into making love to her, Cathy brings him to his own "peak," and he believes that, with Cathy by his side, he can give up booze and solidarity and return to making "real" pictures. Alas, Cathy becomes enraged and drops her facade when she realizes Boy Wonder didn't have the camera running during their encounter, an enraged Big Mac returns and confiscates Boy Wonder's camera and film and departs with Cathy and Rex. The already damaged Boy Wonder is left thoroughly destroyed and alone again at his piano, leading to a final line that's both devastating and laugh-out-loud funny.
Inserts is a supremely odd film. Made for almost nothing on a backlot in the UK, it was conceived as a film yet feels extremely theatrical; it's one-house setting is VERY stagey and no attempt is made to make the audience feel like it isn't looking at a set, and it's dialogue is delivered with a pitch and rhythm more associated with stage plays. The film was part of a cycle of films produced as the 60s bled into the "cynical 70s" that reveled in taking the piss out the romanticizing of "Old Hollywood (notable among them Peter Bogdanovich's Nickelodeon and John Schlesinger's adaptation of The Day of the Locust). This certainly makes sense, as 70s "New Hollywood" was built upon the ideal of "freeing" filmmakers from the old studio style. Inserts tears into it's glamorous targets with reckless abandon, taking (usually sexual) shots at legends like DeMille, F.W. Morneau, Lillian Gish and, most frequently, Clark Gable (a recurring subplot involves Gable seeking an audience with Boy Wonder).
Inserts was a passion project for Dreyfuss; in addition to starring, he helped with the casting a ghost co-wrote the script with Byrum (he's credited as "production associate). Although shooting on this film wrapped shortly before Jaws began principal photography, it's release was held up for a year due to censorship and rating issues and Dreyfuss used his newfound Jaws stardom to relentlessly promote it. Despite his efforts, the film was met with lukewarm reviews and catastrophic box office failure. Part of the fault certainly lays with the film's X-rating; by the time the film was released in 1976, "porno chic" was on it's way out, and while earlier X-rated films had been released by major studios to great success (1969's Midnight Cowboy and Medium Cool, 1972's Last Tango in Paris), the "X" novelty had by this time worn off and stigma had set in. The rating also kept the film from finding new life on home video when it was released in 1988, as it was relegated to "adults only" back rooms, to be rented only by the bishop-boppers who were no doubt pissed as fuck when they discovered they'd rented a black comedy with two (brief) sex scenes instead of a hardcore fuck flick. When the film was finally issued on DVD in 2005, Dreyfuss, perhaps hoping it'd finally find an audience, successfully lobbied to have it resubmitted for an NC-17 rating, which it now carries.
I suspect more than the rating is to blame for the film's failure to find an audience. For one thing, very little happens in the film. It's pleasure stem primarily from the quirky, rapid-fire banter between it's down-and-out characters, and what character development does take place is subtle (but, in the case of Boy Wonder, crucial). It's also an exceedingly ugly film, from the faded walls and broken furniture of Boy Wonder's mansion to the excessive makeup applied to the actresses to Boy Wonder's saggy, puffy alcoholic's eyes and five o'clock shadow. Above all else, the film is, quite frankly, bleak as fuck. It's a movie about broken, pathetic, self-loathing and self-abusing characters. Only Boy Wonder raises even the tiniest modicum of sympathy from the audience (and then only in the film's final act), and for our modest investment in him we're treated to watching him torn completely apart. At the end of the film, he's jobless, soon-to-be homeless and what shred of dignity he'd held onto has vanished with his career.
If you haven't gotten a sense of this from the proceeding paragraphs, Inserts is a comedy, and it's funny as hell. The performers are all excellent, and the fast-paced, period-appropriate, and often cleverly-repetitious dialogue remind me very much of Clue, which was also an enormous box office flop a decade later (that film, at least, eventually found a very appreciative audience over time). Harper in particular is revelation and should've become a genuine star. While perhaps off-putting at the time, it's ribald humor concerning subjects such as necrophilia and what, exactly is the proper dirty euphemism for the female sex organ ("Cunt? Slit?") are perfectly at-home in a post-Troma, post-Tarantino society. If you're reading this blog I know you're not a prude, so please, check this movie out. Don't concern yourself with where it's going, just enjoy the ride and delight in the clever dialogue and character interactions. I'd love to see this film gain a bit more recognition.
Unless I missed my guess, it's almost time for lunch...
Dir: John Byrum
"A degenerate film with dignity."
In a bizarre prologue, a group of men (including what appears to be an uncredited Bill Murray, who was a good friend of both writer/director Byrum and Richard Dreyfuss) gather in silhouette to watch a 16mm stag reel. They cheer the violent sex (during which the man chokes his female partner with a necktie), but boo and walk away in disappointment at the lack of a cumshot. The remainder of the film flashes back to 1930 to show us the origin of the clip. We are introduced to Boy Wonder (Richard Dreyfuss, directly before Jaws made him a star) sitting alone at a piano in his decrepit Hollywood mansion. Once a great silent-era filmmaker, some unnamed trauma has left him broken and impotent, an alcoholic who never leaves his house (or even changes out of his bathrobe). He now makes his living shooting porno reels out his home and is awaiting the arrival of his star, one-time lover and only friend Harlene (Veronica Cartwright, Invasion of the Body Snatchers, Alien), a silent-era actress whose grating voice has left her jobless and addicted to heroin. In the middle of shooting the scene from the beginning of the film, a violent, energetic encounter between Harlene and her brutish, stupid, vain co-star Rex the Wonder Dog (Stephen Davies, The Long Good Friday, The Nest), Boy Wonder is paid a visit from Big Mac (the late Bob Hoskins, Who Framed Roger Rabbit?, Super Mario Brothers, in his film debut), the thuggish gangster who finances Boy Wonders films (they have a "six picture contract!"). Big Mac is accompanied by his fiancee, Cathy Cake (Jessica Harper, Phantom of the Paradise, Suspiria), an up-and-coming actress. Big Mac doles out money to Boy Wonder and Rex and heroin to Harlene and, while Mac argues with Boy Wonder over the merits of his filmmaking style, Harlene OD's upstairs. When Boy Wonder fails to make a case for finishing the picture with her still-warm body, Mac and Rex leave to hide the corpse, leaving Cathy and Boy Wonder alone. Cathy is eager to learn from the once-great Wonder, whose specialty, even in disgrace, is helping actors reach their "peak," the point at which the barriers separating performance and reality fall away. She convinces Boy Wonder to use her to film some "inserts" for the reel, and her purity and enthusiasm arouse him for the first time in ages. Seducing Boy Wonder into making love to her, Cathy brings him to his own "peak," and he believes that, with Cathy by his side, he can give up booze and solidarity and return to making "real" pictures. Alas, Cathy becomes enraged and drops her facade when she realizes Boy Wonder didn't have the camera running during their encounter, an enraged Big Mac returns and confiscates Boy Wonder's camera and film and departs with Cathy and Rex. The already damaged Boy Wonder is left thoroughly destroyed and alone again at his piano, leading to a final line that's both devastating and laugh-out-loud funny.
Inserts is a supremely odd film. Made for almost nothing on a backlot in the UK, it was conceived as a film yet feels extremely theatrical; it's one-house setting is VERY stagey and no attempt is made to make the audience feel like it isn't looking at a set, and it's dialogue is delivered with a pitch and rhythm more associated with stage plays. The film was part of a cycle of films produced as the 60s bled into the "cynical 70s" that reveled in taking the piss out the romanticizing of "Old Hollywood (notable among them Peter Bogdanovich's Nickelodeon and John Schlesinger's adaptation of The Day of the Locust). This certainly makes sense, as 70s "New Hollywood" was built upon the ideal of "freeing" filmmakers from the old studio style. Inserts tears into it's glamorous targets with reckless abandon, taking (usually sexual) shots at legends like DeMille, F.W. Morneau, Lillian Gish and, most frequently, Clark Gable (a recurring subplot involves Gable seeking an audience with Boy Wonder).
Inserts was a passion project for Dreyfuss; in addition to starring, he helped with the casting a ghost co-wrote the script with Byrum (he's credited as "production associate). Although shooting on this film wrapped shortly before Jaws began principal photography, it's release was held up for a year due to censorship and rating issues and Dreyfuss used his newfound Jaws stardom to relentlessly promote it. Despite his efforts, the film was met with lukewarm reviews and catastrophic box office failure. Part of the fault certainly lays with the film's X-rating; by the time the film was released in 1976, "porno chic" was on it's way out, and while earlier X-rated films had been released by major studios to great success (1969's Midnight Cowboy and Medium Cool, 1972's Last Tango in Paris), the "X" novelty had by this time worn off and stigma had set in. The rating also kept the film from finding new life on home video when it was released in 1988, as it was relegated to "adults only" back rooms, to be rented only by the bishop-boppers who were no doubt pissed as fuck when they discovered they'd rented a black comedy with two (brief) sex scenes instead of a hardcore fuck flick. When the film was finally issued on DVD in 2005, Dreyfuss, perhaps hoping it'd finally find an audience, successfully lobbied to have it resubmitted for an NC-17 rating, which it now carries.
I suspect more than the rating is to blame for the film's failure to find an audience. For one thing, very little happens in the film. It's pleasure stem primarily from the quirky, rapid-fire banter between it's down-and-out characters, and what character development does take place is subtle (but, in the case of Boy Wonder, crucial). It's also an exceedingly ugly film, from the faded walls and broken furniture of Boy Wonder's mansion to the excessive makeup applied to the actresses to Boy Wonder's saggy, puffy alcoholic's eyes and five o'clock shadow. Above all else, the film is, quite frankly, bleak as fuck. It's a movie about broken, pathetic, self-loathing and self-abusing characters. Only Boy Wonder raises even the tiniest modicum of sympathy from the audience (and then only in the film's final act), and for our modest investment in him we're treated to watching him torn completely apart. At the end of the film, he's jobless, soon-to-be homeless and what shred of dignity he'd held onto has vanished with his career.
If you haven't gotten a sense of this from the proceeding paragraphs, Inserts is a comedy, and it's funny as hell. The performers are all excellent, and the fast-paced, period-appropriate, and often cleverly-repetitious dialogue remind me very much of Clue, which was also an enormous box office flop a decade later (that film, at least, eventually found a very appreciative audience over time). Harper in particular is revelation and should've become a genuine star. While perhaps off-putting at the time, it's ribald humor concerning subjects such as necrophilia and what, exactly is the proper dirty euphemism for the female sex organ ("Cunt? Slit?") are perfectly at-home in a post-Troma, post-Tarantino society. If you're reading this blog I know you're not a prude, so please, check this movie out. Don't concern yourself with where it's going, just enjoy the ride and delight in the clever dialogue and character interactions. I'd love to see this film gain a bit more recognition.
Unless I missed my guess, it's almost time for lunch...
Thursday, July 7, 2016
Entry 120: Sorceress (AKA Temptress-1995)
Sorceress (AKA Temptress-1995)
Dir: Jim Wynorski
"She gets what she wants. She keeps what she gets. She never lets go."
Well, it's been about six weeks of silence, but I can remain silent no longer. I've felt like something's been missing from my life, and I knew that the only way to fill that hole was to journey back into the Basement of Sleaze, but I couldn't do it alone; this trip would require me to once again enlist the aid of BOS all-star Linda Blair. Join me now, as I journey down into the basement and attempt to resist the supernatural wiles of the Sorceress...
For obvious reasons, this movie was a Cinemax staple in the mid-90s, and even had a brief showing (in a heavily truncated form) on USA’s “Up All Nite” programming block before it’s demise. This is a straight-up T&A flick, but director Wynorski (who, inexplicably, is a close friend of legendary SF author Harlan Ellison in real life and also made the highly-undervalued Return of Swamp Thing-yes, you read it here; if you’re not down with Return of Swamp Thing, I have no use for you), along with Strain and most of the cast, is aware enough of what kind of movie he’s making to raise the camp value of the picture to near-eleven volumes, making this at least mildly entertaining for folks who aren't part of the typical "Skinemax" jerkoff crowd. The same cannot be said of Blair (very near her current, born-again Christian phase), whose boredom/indifference clashes with the “fuck it, let’s have fun!” nature of the rest of this ridiculous movie. I truly believe that, had she given her all in D-level films like this, Blair would've received some sort of (at least minor) career revival by now. Wynorski wrote the screenplay for 1982's Sorceress, which is a sword 'n sorcery flick that has absolutely nothing to do with this movie.
Dir: Jim Wynorski
"She gets what she wants. She keeps what she gets. She never lets go."
Well, it's been about six weeks of silence, but I can remain silent no longer. I've felt like something's been missing from my life, and I knew that the only way to fill that hole was to journey back into the Basement of Sleaze, but I couldn't do it alone; this trip would require me to once again enlist the aid of BOS all-star Linda Blair. Join me now, as I journey down into the basement and attempt to resist the supernatural wiles of the Sorceress...
This “film (and I use that term lightly)” begins with with an extended full-frontal scene of an exceedingly-sweaty Julie Strain (Double Impact, Heavy Metal 2000) gyrating and fondling her silicon-enhanced body while indulging in some sort of satanic ritual designed to bring harm to her ex-husband (Edward Albert, Galaxy of Terror, Killer Bees). It totally works, as his car goes careening off of a mountain road! Julie is caught in the act by her current husband (Larry Poindexter, Night Eyes, Dead of Night), who slightly overreacts by pitching her off their deck railing to her death! Months later, Albert is recovering from his accident with some help from his current wife (Blair) and his law partner (motherfucking Blacula himself, William Marshall), while Poindexter (now a junior partner at Albert’s firm) is haunted by visions of Strain. Being a softcore flick, the visions this “haunted” man experiences consist mostly of tit-bouncing fuck scenes. Deciding that “the best way to get over someone is to get under someone,” Poindexter enters into an affair with ex-girlfriend Rochelle Swanson (star of Illicit Dreams and T-Force which, sadly, has nothing to do with Mr. T) and we’re treated to more softcore sex, including Swanson kissing Poindexter’s ass for an uncomfortably long time. Poindexter takes a case defending a man accused of murdering his family (Then Came Bronson’s Michael Parks, in the middle of a post-Twin Peaks, pre-Tarantino/Rodriguez career slump), who claims that Strain was the real murderer and attempts to kill Poindexter! Jesus, for a movie designed primarily to allow adolescent boys lucky enough to grow up in a house with cable the opportunity to see a couple of boobs, this thing is goddamn convoluted! Beyond the aforementioned, the following things occur in this movie:
-Poindexter does the bone dance with yet another woman (43 year-old Toni Naples, Deathstalker 2, Chopping Mall, who, like a white, female Danny Glover, looks too old for this shit) who has a vague link to Strain.
-Parks threatens Albert and Blair and heat-packing Blair blows him away with a hand cannon!
--Blair uses a bloody pentagram to somehow eavesdrop on Pondexter and Swanson’s pillow talk and forces Swanson to masturbate to visions of leather-clad Strain and Naples (the first thing I’d do if I was granted Satanic powers!). I’d be remiss if I didn’t point out that this scene features an uncomfortably long shot of Strain licking Swanson’s ass.
-Swanson gets possessed by Strain, dyes her hair black and tries to rape Poindexter.
Not that ANY of this makes sense, but it turns out that Strain, Blair and Naples are witches from the same coven; Blair has been manipulating Poindexter and Swanson in retaliation for what Strain did to Albert, and “good” witch Naples has been trying to stop it. It turns out that Blair, not Strain, has possessed Swanson, and she uses her to murder two of Poindexter’s friends (who were only guilty of helping him paint his house). Will Linda win, or will someone save Poindexter at the last minute? Will this movie end with a bizarre, inexplicable plot twist? You bet your ass it will!
For obvious reasons, this movie was a Cinemax staple in the mid-90s, and even had a brief showing (in a heavily truncated form) on USA’s “Up All Nite” programming block before it’s demise. This is a straight-up T&A flick, but director Wynorski (who, inexplicably, is a close friend of legendary SF author Harlan Ellison in real life and also made the highly-undervalued Return of Swamp Thing-yes, you read it here; if you’re not down with Return of Swamp Thing, I have no use for you), along with Strain and most of the cast, is aware enough of what kind of movie he’s making to raise the camp value of the picture to near-eleven volumes, making this at least mildly entertaining for folks who aren't part of the typical "Skinemax" jerkoff crowd. The same cannot be said of Blair (very near her current, born-again Christian phase), whose boredom/indifference clashes with the “fuck it, let’s have fun!” nature of the rest of this ridiculous movie. I truly believe that, had she given her all in D-level films like this, Blair would've received some sort of (at least minor) career revival by now. Wynorski wrote the screenplay for 1982's Sorceress, which is a sword 'n sorcery flick that has absolutely nothing to do with this movie.
Monday, May 30, 2016
Entry 119: The Legacy (1978)
The Legacy (1978)
Dir: Richard Marquand
"It is a birthright of living death..."
Successful architect Katherine Ross (The Graduate, The Stepford Wives) receives a mysterious job offer from England, so she and beau Sam Elliott (Shakedown, Road House) jet across the pond. No sooner do they arrive then American-as-shit Elliott is involved in collision with wealthy, mysterious Jason Mountolive (John Standing, The Elephant Man, Torture Garden) while out riding his Triumph. Mountolive insists that Ross and Elliott stay at his palatial estate while the bike is fixed, and soon five other guests arrive, all of whom are wealthy and/or powerful individuals. As Mountolive locks himself away in his room, the visitors begin mysteriously and brutally dying one-by-one. It turns out, of course, that each of the individuals is in thrall to Mountolive, who is directly responsible for their life successes. Mountolive, you see, is Satan's emissary on Earth, and the visitors are his five "seals," gathered to await the sixth seal so that Mountolive might choose one of them to pass his power on to. Yeah, you guessed it; turns out that Ross' success as an architect has been secretly influenced by Mountolive, and she is the sixth seal chosen to inherit the power of the devil. Will she attempt to escape, or embrace her legacy? You probably won't care either way...
When asked about this film in an interview a couple years after it's release, Elliott said "Don't rush out to see it. It's about fifteen years behind it's time." I agree. The Legacy might've made a passable 60's Hammer flick, or maybe even a decent early 70's TV movie, but as a major theatrical release in 1978, when Nick Roeg's Don't Look Now and Robin Hardy's The Wicker Man had already redefined British horror and Ridley Scott's Alien was just around the corner, it feels VERY old-fashioned. The Legacy is, for the most part, a series of hoary haunted house cliches (a shower turns boiling hot, a fireplace becomes a crematorium, the only road always circles back to the mansion, etc.) grafted on to a then-popular satanic subplot. Thank fucking god, then, for the VERY out-of-place Elliott, who livens up the stodgy proceedings with his mustache and southern drawl...In one unbelievable scene, Elliott attempts to escape the mansion by beating the shit out of the hired help, stealing a horse and LIGHTING A MAN ON GODDAMN FIRE! Keep in mind that this happens about halfway through what is otherwise a very low-key, almost "stuffy" film. Also, if you're into dudes, Elliott (during the brief "sex symbol" phase of his career) has a buttocks-bearing shower scene. As for the rest of the cast, Ross is pretty but bland; she never really brings across the conflicted conscious that needs to be at the core of her character to make her interesting. Most of the middle-aged British supporting cast is pretty interchangeable, but Charles Gray (Diamonds are Forever, The Rocky Horror Picture Show) and The Who's Roger Daltrey turn in memorably scenery-chewing performances as two of the guests. Director Marquand (best known as the human puppet hired by George Lucas to direct Return of the Jedi for him) brings very little in the way of suspense, atmosphere or tension to the proceedings. Unless you're a big Elliott fan, watch the previous year's The Sentinel, instead...It's VERY similar, but much trashier and a helluva lot more fun!
Dir: Richard Marquand
"It is a birthright of living death..."
Successful architect Katherine Ross (The Graduate, The Stepford Wives) receives a mysterious job offer from England, so she and beau Sam Elliott (Shakedown, Road House) jet across the pond. No sooner do they arrive then American-as-shit Elliott is involved in collision with wealthy, mysterious Jason Mountolive (John Standing, The Elephant Man, Torture Garden) while out riding his Triumph. Mountolive insists that Ross and Elliott stay at his palatial estate while the bike is fixed, and soon five other guests arrive, all of whom are wealthy and/or powerful individuals. As Mountolive locks himself away in his room, the visitors begin mysteriously and brutally dying one-by-one. It turns out, of course, that each of the individuals is in thrall to Mountolive, who is directly responsible for their life successes. Mountolive, you see, is Satan's emissary on Earth, and the visitors are his five "seals," gathered to await the sixth seal so that Mountolive might choose one of them to pass his power on to. Yeah, you guessed it; turns out that Ross' success as an architect has been secretly influenced by Mountolive, and she is the sixth seal chosen to inherit the power of the devil. Will she attempt to escape, or embrace her legacy? You probably won't care either way...
When asked about this film in an interview a couple years after it's release, Elliott said "Don't rush out to see it. It's about fifteen years behind it's time." I agree. The Legacy might've made a passable 60's Hammer flick, or maybe even a decent early 70's TV movie, but as a major theatrical release in 1978, when Nick Roeg's Don't Look Now and Robin Hardy's The Wicker Man had already redefined British horror and Ridley Scott's Alien was just around the corner, it feels VERY old-fashioned. The Legacy is, for the most part, a series of hoary haunted house cliches (a shower turns boiling hot, a fireplace becomes a crematorium, the only road always circles back to the mansion, etc.) grafted on to a then-popular satanic subplot. Thank fucking god, then, for the VERY out-of-place Elliott, who livens up the stodgy proceedings with his mustache and southern drawl...In one unbelievable scene, Elliott attempts to escape the mansion by beating the shit out of the hired help, stealing a horse and LIGHTING A MAN ON GODDAMN FIRE! Keep in mind that this happens about halfway through what is otherwise a very low-key, almost "stuffy" film. Also, if you're into dudes, Elliott (during the brief "sex symbol" phase of his career) has a buttocks-bearing shower scene. As for the rest of the cast, Ross is pretty but bland; she never really brings across the conflicted conscious that needs to be at the core of her character to make her interesting. Most of the middle-aged British supporting cast is pretty interchangeable, but Charles Gray (Diamonds are Forever, The Rocky Horror Picture Show) and The Who's Roger Daltrey turn in memorably scenery-chewing performances as two of the guests. Director Marquand (best known as the human puppet hired by George Lucas to direct Return of the Jedi for him) brings very little in the way of suspense, atmosphere or tension to the proceedings. Unless you're a big Elliott fan, watch the previous year's The Sentinel, instead...It's VERY similar, but much trashier and a helluva lot more fun!
Thursday, May 26, 2016
Entry 118: Pray for the Wildcats (1974)
Pray for the Wildcats (1974)
Dir: Robert Michael Lewis
"They're off on a wild motorcycle trip into hell...a bully...a coward...a survivor...and a man who faces his own death and finds a courage he never knew he had."
For this, the first of a hopefully-annual series of Marjoe May entries, Marjoe is joined by "America's best-loved actor" in the fucking bonkers role of a lifetime, as well as a KILLER supporting cast! You'll never look at old Andy Griffith Show episodes the same way again! Grab your dirt bike and helmet, pack a lunch and for fuck's sake, don't forget to Pray for the Wildcats as we journey from the Basement of Sleaze to the darker side of Mayberry...
In this ABC-TV movie, TV's Andy Griffith (The Andy Griffith Show, Matlock) plays scumbag pillar-of-industry and dirtbike enthusiast Sam Farragut, who enjoys shredding some sick sand mounds with his favorite trio of ad men, TV's Bill Shatner (Star Trek, T.J. Hooker), TV's Robert Reed (The Brady Bunch, Roots) and our Marjoe, while their wives gossip and unpack picnic baskets. Reed is married to bitchy, entitled Angie Dickinson (Big Bad Mama, Dressed to Kill), Shatner is married to meek, supportive Lorraine Gary (Jaws, 1941) and Marjoe is partnered with artsy free-spirit Janet Margolin (Annie Hall, Ghostbusters II). You know you're in trouble when Dickinson refers to Griffith as "Big Daddy" and her gropes young Margolin lustily during the group's lunch! Anyway, the ad boys have devised a new campaign for Farragut, but he'll only agree to accept it if they agree to accompany him on a several-thousand mile bike trip through Baja, Mexico. Beleaguered Shatner is reticent, but he's secretly been terminated and only gets to collect his severance package if the campaign is approved. Ex-hippy Marjoe (complete with fantastic leather pants and a cowboy shirt!) agrees to the trip (and declined to refute Farragut's earlier groping of his gal-pal) because he's enjoying his acceptance by corporate America and is slowly subverting his once-free lifestyle, but his life suddenly becomes complicated when Margolin announces she's pregnant. Reed, meanwhile, is consumed by his work and sees the trip as a chance to further distance himself from his marital problems with Disckinson, who's secretly having an affair with the Shat! Consumed by guilt over his affair, and worried about providing for Gary and their children after his impending termination, Shatner takes out a hefty life insurance policy...the stone-cold motherfucker doesn't intend to come back! Under these soap opera auspices, Farragut and the boys head down to Mexico, resplendent in custom "Wildcats" jackets that Farragut's had designed for them. They stop off at a bar south of the border, where they drink tequila while a hippy girl belly dances to a mariachi tune. Then, in a scene that will absolutely make you doubt your sanity, goddamn MATLOCK gets visibly aroused by the girl; he starts hooting, hollering and cat-calling, then tries to force himself upon her ("It's just you and me, baby...Here I come, honey!") and beats the shit out of her long-haired boyfriend, before he's restrained by Shatner and Reed. When Farragut and Marjoe (who's now wearing pink and white striped leather pants, by the way) make a detour, they come upon the hippy couple from the bar, at which point Andy GODDAMN Griffith tries to buy a piece of ass with a hundred dollar bill! Holy shit, this movie is something else! When the boyfriend refuses to pimp out his girl, Andy hacks the radiator on their van with an axe, stranding this peace-practicing couple in the desert! Later, the boys are stopped by police officers who inform them that the couple has died; him from exposure and her from a snakebite. The rest of the movie's fairly mundane, with all of the disparate plot threads converging in a climax in which Gary admits to Dickinson that she knows of the affair, Dickinson admits knowledge of the life insurance policy, reliable Reed lets his simmering anger with Shatner boil over to the surface and Shatner has a breakdown ("I'm the man of 1,000 faces, but...when I look in the mirror, there's no one staring back.") before confronting Griffith in a fateful cliffside race! Oh yeah, shithead Marjoe gets a MAJOR bummer of a twist-ending when he reunites with Margolin...
HOLY. SHIT. I love, love, LOVE this movie! They don't make 'em like they used to, folks! Today, TV movies are intentionally-crappy, CGI-fueled shark-fests or touchy-feely relationship dramas, but in the '70's, we got FANTASTIC shit like this, with slumming already-B-listers bringing their all and elevating what would otherwise be hackneyed, B-movie drivel into absolute GOLD! Where else are you going to find Andy Griffith cast as an irredeemable villain, with Marjoe Gortner as his toady, pitted against Captain Kirk and Mike fucking Brady? Production values really don't matter in a film like this; it's all about the performances, and Pray for the Wildcats delivers in spades, with a cast of has-been or up-and-coming stars competing against each other AND everybody winning! From Griffith's unhinged madman to Reed's steely-eyed corporate lifer, from Gortner's hippy who realizes true value too late to Shatner...doing his Shatner thing, they're all winners. Best of all, this flick was sold in Hallmark stores as part of a DVD 4-pack to elderly folks looking for entertainment in the vein of The Andy Griffith Show or Matlock...I'd give my goddamn arm to be a fly on that wall! Chock full of great seventies fashions (dig Shatner's suits and Griffith's country westernwear!), cut-rate, slower than hell dirt bike "stunts" and characters who are all either irredeemable assholes or unlikably pathetic, Pray for the Wildcats gets my highest possible recommendation!
Dir: Robert Michael Lewis
"They're off on a wild motorcycle trip into hell...a bully...a coward...a survivor...and a man who faces his own death and finds a courage he never knew he had."
For this, the first of a hopefully-annual series of Marjoe May entries, Marjoe is joined by "America's best-loved actor" in the fucking bonkers role of a lifetime, as well as a KILLER supporting cast! You'll never look at old Andy Griffith Show episodes the same way again! Grab your dirt bike and helmet, pack a lunch and for fuck's sake, don't forget to Pray for the Wildcats as we journey from the Basement of Sleaze to the darker side of Mayberry...
In this ABC-TV movie, TV's Andy Griffith (The Andy Griffith Show, Matlock) plays scumbag pillar-of-industry and dirtbike enthusiast Sam Farragut, who enjoys shredding some sick sand mounds with his favorite trio of ad men, TV's Bill Shatner (Star Trek, T.J. Hooker), TV's Robert Reed (The Brady Bunch, Roots) and our Marjoe, while their wives gossip and unpack picnic baskets. Reed is married to bitchy, entitled Angie Dickinson (Big Bad Mama, Dressed to Kill), Shatner is married to meek, supportive Lorraine Gary (Jaws, 1941) and Marjoe is partnered with artsy free-spirit Janet Margolin (Annie Hall, Ghostbusters II). You know you're in trouble when Dickinson refers to Griffith as "Big Daddy" and her gropes young Margolin lustily during the group's lunch! Anyway, the ad boys have devised a new campaign for Farragut, but he'll only agree to accept it if they agree to accompany him on a several-thousand mile bike trip through Baja, Mexico. Beleaguered Shatner is reticent, but he's secretly been terminated and only gets to collect his severance package if the campaign is approved. Ex-hippy Marjoe (complete with fantastic leather pants and a cowboy shirt!) agrees to the trip (and declined to refute Farragut's earlier groping of his gal-pal) because he's enjoying his acceptance by corporate America and is slowly subverting his once-free lifestyle, but his life suddenly becomes complicated when Margolin announces she's pregnant. Reed, meanwhile, is consumed by his work and sees the trip as a chance to further distance himself from his marital problems with Disckinson, who's secretly having an affair with the Shat! Consumed by guilt over his affair, and worried about providing for Gary and their children after his impending termination, Shatner takes out a hefty life insurance policy...the stone-cold motherfucker doesn't intend to come back! Under these soap opera auspices, Farragut and the boys head down to Mexico, resplendent in custom "Wildcats" jackets that Farragut's had designed for them. They stop off at a bar south of the border, where they drink tequila while a hippy girl belly dances to a mariachi tune. Then, in a scene that will absolutely make you doubt your sanity, goddamn MATLOCK gets visibly aroused by the girl; he starts hooting, hollering and cat-calling, then tries to force himself upon her ("It's just you and me, baby...Here I come, honey!") and beats the shit out of her long-haired boyfriend, before he's restrained by Shatner and Reed. When Farragut and Marjoe (who's now wearing pink and white striped leather pants, by the way) make a detour, they come upon the hippy couple from the bar, at which point Andy GODDAMN Griffith tries to buy a piece of ass with a hundred dollar bill! Holy shit, this movie is something else! When the boyfriend refuses to pimp out his girl, Andy hacks the radiator on their van with an axe, stranding this peace-practicing couple in the desert! Later, the boys are stopped by police officers who inform them that the couple has died; him from exposure and her from a snakebite. The rest of the movie's fairly mundane, with all of the disparate plot threads converging in a climax in which Gary admits to Dickinson that she knows of the affair, Dickinson admits knowledge of the life insurance policy, reliable Reed lets his simmering anger with Shatner boil over to the surface and Shatner has a breakdown ("I'm the man of 1,000 faces, but...when I look in the mirror, there's no one staring back.") before confronting Griffith in a fateful cliffside race! Oh yeah, shithead Marjoe gets a MAJOR bummer of a twist-ending when he reunites with Margolin...
HOLY. SHIT. I love, love, LOVE this movie! They don't make 'em like they used to, folks! Today, TV movies are intentionally-crappy, CGI-fueled shark-fests or touchy-feely relationship dramas, but in the '70's, we got FANTASTIC shit like this, with slumming already-B-listers bringing their all and elevating what would otherwise be hackneyed, B-movie drivel into absolute GOLD! Where else are you going to find Andy Griffith cast as an irredeemable villain, with Marjoe Gortner as his toady, pitted against Captain Kirk and Mike fucking Brady? Production values really don't matter in a film like this; it's all about the performances, and Pray for the Wildcats delivers in spades, with a cast of has-been or up-and-coming stars competing against each other AND everybody winning! From Griffith's unhinged madman to Reed's steely-eyed corporate lifer, from Gortner's hippy who realizes true value too late to Shatner...doing his Shatner thing, they're all winners. Best of all, this flick was sold in Hallmark stores as part of a DVD 4-pack to elderly folks looking for entertainment in the vein of The Andy Griffith Show or Matlock...I'd give my goddamn arm to be a fly on that wall! Chock full of great seventies fashions (dig Shatner's suits and Griffith's country westernwear!), cut-rate, slower than hell dirt bike "stunts" and characters who are all either irredeemable assholes or unlikably pathetic, Pray for the Wildcats gets my highest possible recommendation!
Sunday, May 22, 2016
Entry 117: Solarbabies (1986)
Solarbabies (1986)
Dir: Alan Johnson
"Who will rule the future?"
Hoo boy...No host introduction this time; let's just get to it...I don't even know where the fuck to start...
In post-nuke year 41, America is in a perpetual state of civil war between the Protectorate, a group of Nazi-like fascists, and the mysterious, benevolent Eco Warriors (no, not the G.I. Joe sub-team). The Protectorate raises it's children in orphanages (initially, these children seem to be war orphans, but it's later intimated that the Protectorate takes children from their families to raise them in these group homes...I dunno, this script is a fucking mess), where they're encouraged to divide into teams and play skate lacrosse as a sort of discipline/team building exercise. The best team on the circuit is the Solarbabies, made up of a demographic-pleasingly diverse cast of then-young, up-and-coming Hollywood stars. The Solarbabies discover Bodhi, a mysterious, Heavy Metal-inspired glowing, floating orb which appears to possessed of a great intelligence and is able to communicate with them telepathically. The Solarbabies escape their orphanage in an attempt to keep Bodhi out of Protectorate hands. As they skate across the wasteland (!) and Bodhi continually changes hands, they encounter bounty hunters, a vaguely Native American dude with spectacular feathered hair and an owl, a Bartertown-inspired ramshackle dwelling called Tiretown, Protectorate enforces in silly-looking cars, a mulleted team of evil skaters and some Eco Warriors led by a guy who looks like Jesus if he'd reached middle age. Eventually, Bodhi helps the Solarbabies destroy the Protectorate headquarters and bring water to the parched Earth.
This goddamn movie was written by Walon Green, who penned The Wild Bunch and Sorcerer, and I can't tell you what the fuck he was thinking, or even begin to parse out what this movie's about. What are the philosophies of the Protectorate and the Eco Warriors and why are they at war? What the fuck is Bodhi; by what rules does he operate, what does he want and where does he come from? We're told by benevolent orphanage overseer Charles Durning (The Fury, When a Stranger Calls) that Bodhi's return is prophesied-by whom and why?! And why is the goddamn Protectorate so hellbent on destroying him?!?! Jesus fuckin' Christ, this thing makes my head feel like it's going to explode! This EXTREMELY underdeveloped mashup of a Mad Max-knockoff post-nuke flick, Rollerball and Lord of the Flies with a little Dune tossed in was produced by Mel Brooks in the hope that it would become the next Star Wars...Bad call, Mel. Solarbabies isn't entirely without it's pleasures, however. Richard Jordan (Logan's Run, Dune) and Sarah Douglas (Superman II, Conan the Destroyer) chew the scenery with aplomb as the Nazi-ish villains, the climactic battle involves a spider-like robot built by the great Richard Edlund (the Star Wars trilogy, Ghostbusters) and the imaginative costumes are by Bob Ringwood (Excalibur, Dune, Batman). Best of all, there are some surprising (and REALLY fucking inappropriate) gore effects by Steve Johnson (Big Trouble in Little China, Species), including a torture device that makes a man hallucinate the the flesh is falling away from his arm and, in the final battle sequence, Douglas' hands bursting into flames and melting...and this is supposed to be a children's film! Only in the '80's...the young main cast is pretty bland and interchangeable, but includes Jason Patric (The Lost Boys, Sleepers), Jami Gertz (Less Than Zero, Jersey Girl), Lukas Haas (Witness, Mars Attacks!), James Le Gros (Drugstore Cowboy, Point Break), Peter Deluise (TV's 21 Jump Street) and Adrian Pasdar (Top Gun, TV's Agents of SHIELD). Also, watch for a brief appearance from the great Bruce Payne (Passenger 57, Warlock II: the Armageddon), teaching the Solarbabies a lesson in Payne as evil skater Dogger.
I always try my best to find the good in every film I watch, but to be honest, there isn't much of value in Solarbabies beyond kitsch. If you're having a few drinks with some friends and need something to chuckle at, feel free to pop it in. Otherwise, you'll get more of value out of watching one of George Miller's Mad Max films or really any random Italian post-nuke flick.
Dir: Alan Johnson
"Who will rule the future?"
Hoo boy...No host introduction this time; let's just get to it...I don't even know where the fuck to start...
In post-nuke year 41, America is in a perpetual state of civil war between the Protectorate, a group of Nazi-like fascists, and the mysterious, benevolent Eco Warriors (no, not the G.I. Joe sub-team). The Protectorate raises it's children in orphanages (initially, these children seem to be war orphans, but it's later intimated that the Protectorate takes children from their families to raise them in these group homes...I dunno, this script is a fucking mess), where they're encouraged to divide into teams and play skate lacrosse as a sort of discipline/team building exercise. The best team on the circuit is the Solarbabies, made up of a demographic-pleasingly diverse cast of then-young, up-and-coming Hollywood stars. The Solarbabies discover Bodhi, a mysterious, Heavy Metal-inspired glowing, floating orb which appears to possessed of a great intelligence and is able to communicate with them telepathically. The Solarbabies escape their orphanage in an attempt to keep Bodhi out of Protectorate hands. As they skate across the wasteland (!) and Bodhi continually changes hands, they encounter bounty hunters, a vaguely Native American dude with spectacular feathered hair and an owl, a Bartertown-inspired ramshackle dwelling called Tiretown, Protectorate enforces in silly-looking cars, a mulleted team of evil skaters and some Eco Warriors led by a guy who looks like Jesus if he'd reached middle age. Eventually, Bodhi helps the Solarbabies destroy the Protectorate headquarters and bring water to the parched Earth.
This goddamn movie was written by Walon Green, who penned The Wild Bunch and Sorcerer, and I can't tell you what the fuck he was thinking, or even begin to parse out what this movie's about. What are the philosophies of the Protectorate and the Eco Warriors and why are they at war? What the fuck is Bodhi; by what rules does he operate, what does he want and where does he come from? We're told by benevolent orphanage overseer Charles Durning (The Fury, When a Stranger Calls) that Bodhi's return is prophesied-by whom and why?! And why is the goddamn Protectorate so hellbent on destroying him?!?! Jesus fuckin' Christ, this thing makes my head feel like it's going to explode! This EXTREMELY underdeveloped mashup of a Mad Max-knockoff post-nuke flick, Rollerball and Lord of the Flies with a little Dune tossed in was produced by Mel Brooks in the hope that it would become the next Star Wars...Bad call, Mel. Solarbabies isn't entirely without it's pleasures, however. Richard Jordan (Logan's Run, Dune) and Sarah Douglas (Superman II, Conan the Destroyer) chew the scenery with aplomb as the Nazi-ish villains, the climactic battle involves a spider-like robot built by the great Richard Edlund (the Star Wars trilogy, Ghostbusters) and the imaginative costumes are by Bob Ringwood (Excalibur, Dune, Batman). Best of all, there are some surprising (and REALLY fucking inappropriate) gore effects by Steve Johnson (Big Trouble in Little China, Species), including a torture device that makes a man hallucinate the the flesh is falling away from his arm and, in the final battle sequence, Douglas' hands bursting into flames and melting...and this is supposed to be a children's film! Only in the '80's...the young main cast is pretty bland and interchangeable, but includes Jason Patric (The Lost Boys, Sleepers), Jami Gertz (Less Than Zero, Jersey Girl), Lukas Haas (Witness, Mars Attacks!), James Le Gros (Drugstore Cowboy, Point Break), Peter Deluise (TV's 21 Jump Street) and Adrian Pasdar (Top Gun, TV's Agents of SHIELD). Also, watch for a brief appearance from the great Bruce Payne (Passenger 57, Warlock II: the Armageddon), teaching the Solarbabies a lesson in Payne as evil skater Dogger.
I always try my best to find the good in every film I watch, but to be honest, there isn't much of value in Solarbabies beyond kitsch. If you're having a few drinks with some friends and need something to chuckle at, feel free to pop it in. Otherwise, you'll get more of value out of watching one of George Miller's Mad Max films or really any random Italian post-nuke flick.
Wednesday, May 18, 2016
Entry 116: The Women in Cell Block 7 (1973)
The Women in Cell Block 7
Dir: Rino Di Silvestro
"What makes a nice girl die in a place like this?"
I'm on vacation! That's right, dear reader, for the next 30-odd hours, I'm faced with precisely ZERO responsibilities! What am I gonna do with myself? If you guessed "have a couple of stiff drinks and watch some movies" you're fuckin' A right!
Alright, me and this movie have a goddamn relationship. You younger readers won't remember this but, back in the early '90's, Comedy Central was called The Comedy Channel and it was infinitely cooler than it was now. In addition to great shows like the Seattle-based sketch comedy show Almost Live, The Kids in the Hall, Supercar and (*Ahem!*) Mystery Science Theatre 3000, the network would occasionally show random exploitation movie trailers in between scheduled programs. A trailer for this film (the specific version of which, sadly, I couldn't find to link) was one of those and, with it's images of badass babes rioting, tearing each others' clothes off and, through the magic of editing, seeming to burn a man alive immediately caught my attention. This is COOL, I thought. I was roughly 10 years old at the time, which probably explains a lot.
When a movie’s title card is displayed before a frozen image of a rubber-clad finger and it’s opening credits play out during a female-on-female rectal/vaginal exam, you know EXACTLY what kinda flick you’re in for! If you’re a normal person, you probably turn it off in disgust...If you’re me, you grab hold of your seat and enjoy the fuckin’ ride! After the credits, this movie begins as a typical Eurocrime flick, with mobsters trying to out-muscle each other leading to a pretty goddamn fantastic car chase, in which stunt drivers careen through the narrow streets of Florence with reckless abandon. Wrecked at the end of the chase, Masumeci (Paola Senatore, Eaten Alive, Salon Kitty) is taken prisoner by rival mafioso. We’re then introduced to Masumeci’s daughter Hilda (Anita Strindberg from Fulci’s Lizard in a Woman’s Skin), who goes undercover in the titular cell block in an attempt to get information from Daniela (Jenny Tamburi, star of another Fulci flick, The Psychic), the incarcerated girlfriend of one of her father’s enforcers. Daniela may know the location of a “shitload” of missing heroin; if Hilda can discover its location before INTERPOL, she might save her father from a life of imprisonment. While Masumeci ends up murdered by his kidnappers (which also leads to pissed-off mobsters burning bungling enforcer Louie alive in an oven, leading to the scene in the aforementioned trailer that made the greatest impact on my young mind), Hilda bears witness to/participates in several WIP tropes: bare-breasted shower sex, clothes-ripping exercise yard catfights, sleazy male prison staff making advances, shiv-stabbings, etc. The film climaxes in a ridiculous/awesome riot in which the inmates tear their clothes off, only to have the guards turn the fire hoses on them. These turn out, naturally, to have all the pressure of garden hoses and the girls prance around in the gentle stream to the benefit of the (presumably male) audience. After this, it limps to a (surprisingly) downbeat conclusion.
Women in Cell Block 7 is a pretty typical WIP film; it has all of the expected nudity, but features neither the brutality and hardcore sex of some of it's European competitors, nor the attitude of it's AIP-produced American counterparts (I'll take Pam Grier in The Big Bird Cage or Black Mama, White Mama over these bland Euro-trash beauties any day). That said, the less-scrupulous viewer will be pleased by it's copious nudity (though the sex scenes are strictly softcore) and I was kept entertained by it's always creative and pithy dialogue ("Up your ass, you bitch! I still say you're a whore!" "Get back in the sack, you rotten lesbo!"). If it isn't a classic of the genre, Women in Cell Block 7 is never less than entertaining, and I can't deny it it's role in leading me to where I am today (such lofty heights, eh?). I don't think my 10 year-old self would've been completely disappointed.
Dir: Rino Di Silvestro
"What makes a nice girl die in a place like this?"
I'm on vacation! That's right, dear reader, for the next 30-odd hours, I'm faced with precisely ZERO responsibilities! What am I gonna do with myself? If you guessed "have a couple of stiff drinks and watch some movies" you're fuckin' A right!
Alright, me and this movie have a goddamn relationship. You younger readers won't remember this but, back in the early '90's, Comedy Central was called The Comedy Channel and it was infinitely cooler than it was now. In addition to great shows like the Seattle-based sketch comedy show Almost Live, The Kids in the Hall, Supercar and (*Ahem!*) Mystery Science Theatre 3000, the network would occasionally show random exploitation movie trailers in between scheduled programs. A trailer for this film (the specific version of which, sadly, I couldn't find to link) was one of those and, with it's images of badass babes rioting, tearing each others' clothes off and, through the magic of editing, seeming to burn a man alive immediately caught my attention. This is COOL, I thought. I was roughly 10 years old at the time, which probably explains a lot.
When a movie’s title card is displayed before a frozen image of a rubber-clad finger and it’s opening credits play out during a female-on-female rectal/vaginal exam, you know EXACTLY what kinda flick you’re in for! If you’re a normal person, you probably turn it off in disgust...If you’re me, you grab hold of your seat and enjoy the fuckin’ ride! After the credits, this movie begins as a typical Eurocrime flick, with mobsters trying to out-muscle each other leading to a pretty goddamn fantastic car chase, in which stunt drivers careen through the narrow streets of Florence with reckless abandon. Wrecked at the end of the chase, Masumeci (Paola Senatore, Eaten Alive, Salon Kitty) is taken prisoner by rival mafioso. We’re then introduced to Masumeci’s daughter Hilda (Anita Strindberg from Fulci’s Lizard in a Woman’s Skin), who goes undercover in the titular cell block in an attempt to get information from Daniela (Jenny Tamburi, star of another Fulci flick, The Psychic), the incarcerated girlfriend of one of her father’s enforcers. Daniela may know the location of a “shitload” of missing heroin; if Hilda can discover its location before INTERPOL, she might save her father from a life of imprisonment. While Masumeci ends up murdered by his kidnappers (which also leads to pissed-off mobsters burning bungling enforcer Louie alive in an oven, leading to the scene in the aforementioned trailer that made the greatest impact on my young mind), Hilda bears witness to/participates in several WIP tropes: bare-breasted shower sex, clothes-ripping exercise yard catfights, sleazy male prison staff making advances, shiv-stabbings, etc. The film climaxes in a ridiculous/awesome riot in which the inmates tear their clothes off, only to have the guards turn the fire hoses on them. These turn out, naturally, to have all the pressure of garden hoses and the girls prance around in the gentle stream to the benefit of the (presumably male) audience. After this, it limps to a (surprisingly) downbeat conclusion.
Women in Cell Block 7 is a pretty typical WIP film; it has all of the expected nudity, but features neither the brutality and hardcore sex of some of it's European competitors, nor the attitude of it's AIP-produced American counterparts (I'll take Pam Grier in The Big Bird Cage or Black Mama, White Mama over these bland Euro-trash beauties any day). That said, the less-scrupulous viewer will be pleased by it's copious nudity (though the sex scenes are strictly softcore) and I was kept entertained by it's always creative and pithy dialogue ("Up your ass, you bitch! I still say you're a whore!" "Get back in the sack, you rotten lesbo!"). If it isn't a classic of the genre, Women in Cell Block 7 is never less than entertaining, and I can't deny it it's role in leading me to where I am today (such lofty heights, eh?). I don't think my 10 year-old self would've been completely disappointed.
Tuesday, May 10, 2016
Entry 115: Mother's Day (1980)
Mother's Day (1980)
Dir: Charles Kaufman
"I'm so proud of my boys...They never forget their mama."
Yeah, I'm a couple days late on this entry in particular, and a couple weeks late on a new entry in general. It's been a LONG couple of weeks, and in addition to some craziness at work, I've been sleeping like complete shit and am very, VERY tired. So if I can't muster my usual sleazy enthusiasm for this film, know that I enjoyed it very much.
In a pre-credits sequence, a couple of dirty Moonies are slaughtered by two mentally-deficient rednecks and their leering, elderly mother after attending a self-help seminar. We're then introduced to the "Rat Pack," a trio of late-20s former college roommates who reunite once a year for a long weekend getaway. There's street smart, spunky Jackie (Deborah Luce), the defacto leader of the group, spoiled Beverly Hills socialite Trina (Tiana Pierce) and mousy wallflower Abbey (Nancy Hendrickson). The ladies decide to spend this year's getaway camping in rural New Jersey, where they're set upon by the terrible trio from the prologue: Mother (Beatrice Pons, from the TV series The Phil Silvers Show and Car 54, Where are You?) and her seemingly-inbred, dim-witted sons Ike (Frederick Coffin, Hard to Kill, Wayne's World) and Addley (Michael McCleery, L.A. Confidential, Joy Ride). The ladies are hauled back to the demented family's run-down, kitschy Americana-filled shack, where Trina and Abbey are restrained and Jackie is forced to act in a demented play before being beaten and raped by Addley for mother's pleasure. Trina and Abbey manage to escape their bonds and locate Jackie just in time for her to succumb to her injuries. With the most capable member of their group gone, meek Abbey and sheltered Trina tap into their inner savagery to exact bloody revenge on their tormentors.
Mother's Day is one helluva movie. Released during the very beginning of the slasher boom, it does feature a few tropes from that soon to be ubiquitous genre, but it owes much more to rape-revenge flicks like The Last House on the Left and I Spit on your Grave or even the civilized city dweller vs savage country folk theme of Peckinpah's Straw Dogs. Director Kaufman (brother of Lloyd, who produced this with his longtime partner Michael Hurtz pre-Troma), however, establishes a lightness of tone that keeps it from wallowing in the unpleasantness of those films. I wouldn't call the film a "horror comedy," as that calls to mind either parody (Student Bodies), over-the-top cartoonishness (Evil Dead 2, Braindead) or near-masturbatory salf-congratulatory "cleverness (Scream and anything else written by Kevin Williamson)," but Kaufman deploys a series of bizarre non-sequiturs (the aforementioned self-help seminar, the doorman who screams at Jackie "I'll never have a free weekend as long as I'm a black man in America!" as she wishes him well on her way out of town) that give the film an absurdist edge, as if reminding us we shouldn't take any of this too terribly seriously. He also keeps the most brutal scenes short or off-camera. Perhaps Kaufman's greatest strength, however, is his three unknown female leads; they're all FANTASTIC and have wonderful chemistry together, and I'm disappointed that none of them went on to fruitful acting careers. In fact, the film spends nearly forty minutes with the Rat Pack before they're abducted, allowing us to get to know and like them before the horror sets in. That's a goddamn effective tool! Mother's Day is a real under-the-radar treat; don't miss it!
Dir: Charles Kaufman
"I'm so proud of my boys...They never forget their mama."
Yeah, I'm a couple days late on this entry in particular, and a couple weeks late on a new entry in general. It's been a LONG couple of weeks, and in addition to some craziness at work, I've been sleeping like complete shit and am very, VERY tired. So if I can't muster my usual sleazy enthusiasm for this film, know that I enjoyed it very much.
In a pre-credits sequence, a couple of dirty Moonies are slaughtered by two mentally-deficient rednecks and their leering, elderly mother after attending a self-help seminar. We're then introduced to the "Rat Pack," a trio of late-20s former college roommates who reunite once a year for a long weekend getaway. There's street smart, spunky Jackie (Deborah Luce), the defacto leader of the group, spoiled Beverly Hills socialite Trina (Tiana Pierce) and mousy wallflower Abbey (Nancy Hendrickson). The ladies decide to spend this year's getaway camping in rural New Jersey, where they're set upon by the terrible trio from the prologue: Mother (Beatrice Pons, from the TV series The Phil Silvers Show and Car 54, Where are You?) and her seemingly-inbred, dim-witted sons Ike (Frederick Coffin, Hard to Kill, Wayne's World) and Addley (Michael McCleery, L.A. Confidential, Joy Ride). The ladies are hauled back to the demented family's run-down, kitschy Americana-filled shack, where Trina and Abbey are restrained and Jackie is forced to act in a demented play before being beaten and raped by Addley for mother's pleasure. Trina and Abbey manage to escape their bonds and locate Jackie just in time for her to succumb to her injuries. With the most capable member of their group gone, meek Abbey and sheltered Trina tap into their inner savagery to exact bloody revenge on their tormentors.
Mother's Day is one helluva movie. Released during the very beginning of the slasher boom, it does feature a few tropes from that soon to be ubiquitous genre, but it owes much more to rape-revenge flicks like The Last House on the Left and I Spit on your Grave or even the civilized city dweller vs savage country folk theme of Peckinpah's Straw Dogs. Director Kaufman (brother of Lloyd, who produced this with his longtime partner Michael Hurtz pre-Troma), however, establishes a lightness of tone that keeps it from wallowing in the unpleasantness of those films. I wouldn't call the film a "horror comedy," as that calls to mind either parody (Student Bodies), over-the-top cartoonishness (Evil Dead 2, Braindead) or near-masturbatory salf-congratulatory "cleverness (Scream and anything else written by Kevin Williamson)," but Kaufman deploys a series of bizarre non-sequiturs (the aforementioned self-help seminar, the doorman who screams at Jackie "I'll never have a free weekend as long as I'm a black man in America!" as she wishes him well on her way out of town) that give the film an absurdist edge, as if reminding us we shouldn't take any of this too terribly seriously. He also keeps the most brutal scenes short or off-camera. Perhaps Kaufman's greatest strength, however, is his three unknown female leads; they're all FANTASTIC and have wonderful chemistry together, and I'm disappointed that none of them went on to fruitful acting careers. In fact, the film spends nearly forty minutes with the Rat Pack before they're abducted, allowing us to get to know and like them before the horror sets in. That's a goddamn effective tool! Mother's Day is a real under-the-radar treat; don't miss it!
Monday, April 25, 2016
"Lost" Entry 50.5: Prometheus (2012)
Prometheus (2012)
Dir: Ridley Scott
"The search for our beginning could lead to our end."
My 50th entry of this here blog was a four-part look at the Alien franchise. It was meant to be a five-part series, but I just never got around to Ridley Scott's 2012 sort-of Alien prequel Prometheus. I can't remember why; it's possible I just didn't feel like popping it into the player. It's not a bad film overall, but it definitely falls below the first three Alien pictures. Anyway, in honor of the first official "Alien Day," here's the "lost" entry on Prometheus. Pack your spacesuit, be careful what you drink and for fuck's sake don't get lost...
In the year 2093, archaeologists/lovers Shaw (Noomi Rapace, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, The Drop) and Halloway (Tom Hardy-lookalike Logan Marshall-Green, TV's 24, Devil) discover cave paintings beneath the Isle of Skye that appear to represent a star map leading to what they believe to be the origin of mankind. The deeply Catholic Shaw hopes to find proof of the existence of God, while the atheistic Halloway is looking for the meaning of life. They convince billionaire tech guru Peter Weyland (Guy Pearce, L.A. Confidential, Ravenous) to bankroll an expedition to the planet indicated on the map and soon find themselves rocketing through the stars aboard the advanced scientific research vessel Prometheus. Joining them on the expedition are Weyland's representative Vickers (Charlize Theron, Monster, Mad Max: Fury Road), android assistant David (Michael Fassbender, Inglorious Basterds, X-Men First Class), ship's captain Janek (Idris Elba, TV's Luther, Pacific Rim), Geologist Fifield (Sean Harris, Creep, MacBeth), biologist Milburn (Rafe Spall, Shaun of the Dead, Life of Pi) and a host of cannon fodder mercenaries and technicians. Arriving at the planet, they discover an abandoned temple filled with enormous humanoid corpses and a room of urns filled with a strange black liquid. While the other return to the Prometheus during a violent storm, Fifield and Milburn get lost in the temple's tunnels and are attacked by a snakelike creature. Back on the ship, David exposes the belligerent Halloway to a sample of the black liquid, who is killed by Vickers with a flamethrower after he begins mutating into a zombielike creature. Fifield, having mutated into a similar creature, returns to the ship and murders several of the crew members before being put down. Having done the bone dance with Halloway after his exposure to the black liquid but before his mutation, the infertile Shaw discovers that she's miraculously become pregnant with a rapidly-gestating, inhuman fetus, which turns out to be a writhing, tentacled monster when she aborts it using the ship's MedPod. Weyland shows up and reveals that, with help from David and Vickers, he's stowed away aboard the ship in a cryotube; he's close to death and hoping that the planet will provided him with a key to extending his life. David reveals that one of the "engineers (the giant corpses discovered within the temple) is still alive in suspended animation and he, Weyland, Vickers and Shaw head back to the temple to arouse him. Meanwhile, Janek discovers while studying a holomap that the temple is actually a hangar housing a ship that was bound for Earth with the intent of wiping out mankind when an accident befell it 2,000 years prior. Back in the temple, the awakened engineer kills Weyland, rips David's head off and, eager to resume his old mission, begins to prep his ship for flight. In a suicide maneuver, Janek crashes the Prometheus into the alien ship and Vickers is crushed by the debris, leaving Shaw alone to face the enraged engineer. As Shaw prepares to defend herself from the huge, superstrong humanoid, it is attacked and smothered by the creature that Shaw extracted from her body earlier, now grown to an immense size, which forces a tube of some sort down the engineer's throat. David's still-functioning severed head reveals to Shaw that there are other alien ships left vacant on the planet and that he knows how to fly them. As Shaw and her disembodied companion set off to find transport, a somewhat familiar-looking creature bursts from the chest of the comatose engineer...
At least as far back as the commentary track for the 1997 DVD release of Alien, Scott had expressed his interest in returning to that world. While he expressed admiration for James Cameron's Aliens (which took the story in a tonally different direction, emphasizing action over horror), Scott felt that the Alien sequels missed following up on the most interesting "unanswered question" from the movie-the "space jockey" discovered in the derelict ship and the origin of the alien creature itself. In 2004, promoting the 25th anniversary theatrical re-release of Alien, Scott announced that he and Fox were actively pursuing scripts for a prequel movie, which Scott would produce with his brother Tony (The Hunger, True Romance) in the director's chair. Eventually, a script by a emerging screenwriter John Spaihts (The Darkest Hour, the upcoming Dr. Strange) called "Alien Engineers" came across Scott's desk that so excited him, he decided to take on the directorial duties himself. Scott and Spaihts worked closely for several months fine-tuning the script but the execs at Fox, perhaps mindful of both Scott's recent box-office losing streak and the financial disappointment of the past several Alien-related films, wanted another "name" attached to help sell the picture. They settled on Damon Lindelof, co-creator of the recently wrapped and very popular television series Lost. As Spaihts was summarily dismissed, Lindelof stepped in and convinced Scott to downplay the prequel aspects of the film, eliminating any direct connections to Alien and crafting a script that served as a sort of "sidequel;" a film taking place in the same universe but without any direct connection to the previous film(s). Prometheus was the final result of their efforts. It was released in the summer of 2012 to mixed reviews and solid (but not overwhelming) box office returns.
Prometheus is a flawed but interesting film. Though they cause some canonical problems with the Alien films (more on this later), it's production design and visual effects are astonishing; it's the best-looking science fiction film in years and, even though I'm FAR from a 3-D enthusiast, seeing it in IMAX 3-D on the largest screen in my state was a special treat. Though many of the characters are either unlikable or underwritten, the performances are all solid, with Fassbender's David being an absolute standout. The creature design is top-notch; the hulking, Giger-inspired engineers are genuinely menacing with their black, shark-like yes and chalky white skin. The "proto-alien" creatures, while sadly lacking any Giger's biomechanoid influences (that's something that will supposedly be addressed/explored in the upcoming sequel), have a slippery, sea life-like quality that's unsettling in a Japanese hentai sort of way. I also get a kick out of how anti-Catholic the script is; it's not often that you see a multi-million dollar studio franchise pic that heavily implies that Jesus Christ was an albino alien and features a legitimate on-screen abortion (albeit of an alien life form). Speaking of the script, however, it's here that the film's flaws begin. It feels like an early draft, without all of its ideas properly fleshed out. Why does Halloway descend into drunken belligerence when when he can't speak with a living engineer? Why, exactly, does David choose to experiment on/doom the crew? Why plant the suggestion that Vickers might be an android without following up on it and/or giving it any relevancy to the greater plot? Why raise all sorts of questions about the origin of mankind, the purpose of our creation and the intent of the engineers and then not even begin to answer any of them? A lot of this may have to do with the "built-in sequel" mentality of current Hollywood blockbusters; the studio is SO sure of the film's potential that a sequel is seen as a sure thing. Lindelof stated in interviews that he intended this to be the first of three films that would run parallel to the original Alien trilogy; perhaps the biggest problem with Prometheus is that it FEELS like just a bunch of setup for the film(s) that Scott and Lindelof REALLY wanted to make (ironically, Lindelof was not asked to return for Alien: Covenant, the currently in-production sequel to this film). Perhaps the most infamous script problem (the rage over which can still be felt echoing through the halls of the internet) is that of Fifield and Milburn getting lost in the temple and encountering the alien "hammerpede." The "two characters go wandering alone through the old dark house and get killed" scenario is an accepted horror trope at this point, but it strains even the most forgiving credulity when the guy getting lost is the one who mapped the goddamn temple and the guy who antagonizes the alien life form is a fucking world-class biologist! In actuality, this is an error of editing, as deleted scenes show the storm wreaking havoc with Fifield's mapping device and Milburn encountering earlier, benign worm-like alien creatures. Scott was offered the chance to prepare a director's cut for home video but declined-he shouldn't have; it might've given the masses cause to re-evaluate the film. Finally, to address the canon problems caused by the production design that I mentioned earlier, despite this film being part of the Alien franchise and taking place several years prior to Alien, no attempt is made to give the film a low-fi, "retro future" look to match up with the previous film. Prometheus features 3-D hologram maps, advanced stasis chambers that appear capable of monitoring their occupants' dreams, sleek, form-fitting space suits and a MedPod capable of performing complex surgical procedures in minutes. Compare this with Alien, with it's Apple II-esque computer tech, bulky, Moebius-designed pressure suits and decided lack of MedPod technology (Kane needs to be frozen for return to Earth in order to remove the alien within him). Compared side-by-side, the two just don't match up (the Star Wars prequels suffer from the very same problem).
So is Prometheus an Alien prequel? No, not really; it's a side story that sheds a little bit of light on a mysterious scene from the first movie, but ultimately raises more questions than it answers. It's undeniably a great looking, well-acted movie that's more brazen and ballsier than most of it's big-budget brethren, but there's as much to be irritated about as there is to admire. It is, however, required viewing for all Alien fans, especially in preparation for the upcoming Alien: Covenant, which will hopefully see the big-screen return of our favorite biomechanoid. Also, it officially knocks those shitty Alien vs Predator movies out of continuity!
Well, that was fucking long, huh? Happy Alien Day, folks!
"In space, no one can hear you scream."
Dir: Ridley Scott
"The search for our beginning could lead to our end."
My 50th entry of this here blog was a four-part look at the Alien franchise. It was meant to be a five-part series, but I just never got around to Ridley Scott's 2012 sort-of Alien prequel Prometheus. I can't remember why; it's possible I just didn't feel like popping it into the player. It's not a bad film overall, but it definitely falls below the first three Alien pictures. Anyway, in honor of the first official "Alien Day," here's the "lost" entry on Prometheus. Pack your spacesuit, be careful what you drink and for fuck's sake don't get lost...
In the year 2093, archaeologists/lovers Shaw (Noomi Rapace, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, The Drop) and Halloway (Tom Hardy-lookalike Logan Marshall-Green, TV's 24, Devil) discover cave paintings beneath the Isle of Skye that appear to represent a star map leading to what they believe to be the origin of mankind. The deeply Catholic Shaw hopes to find proof of the existence of God, while the atheistic Halloway is looking for the meaning of life. They convince billionaire tech guru Peter Weyland (Guy Pearce, L.A. Confidential, Ravenous) to bankroll an expedition to the planet indicated on the map and soon find themselves rocketing through the stars aboard the advanced scientific research vessel Prometheus. Joining them on the expedition are Weyland's representative Vickers (Charlize Theron, Monster, Mad Max: Fury Road), android assistant David (Michael Fassbender, Inglorious Basterds, X-Men First Class), ship's captain Janek (Idris Elba, TV's Luther, Pacific Rim), Geologist Fifield (Sean Harris, Creep, MacBeth), biologist Milburn (Rafe Spall, Shaun of the Dead, Life of Pi) and a host of cannon fodder mercenaries and technicians. Arriving at the planet, they discover an abandoned temple filled with enormous humanoid corpses and a room of urns filled with a strange black liquid. While the other return to the Prometheus during a violent storm, Fifield and Milburn get lost in the temple's tunnels and are attacked by a snakelike creature. Back on the ship, David exposes the belligerent Halloway to a sample of the black liquid, who is killed by Vickers with a flamethrower after he begins mutating into a zombielike creature. Fifield, having mutated into a similar creature, returns to the ship and murders several of the crew members before being put down. Having done the bone dance with Halloway after his exposure to the black liquid but before his mutation, the infertile Shaw discovers that she's miraculously become pregnant with a rapidly-gestating, inhuman fetus, which turns out to be a writhing, tentacled monster when she aborts it using the ship's MedPod. Weyland shows up and reveals that, with help from David and Vickers, he's stowed away aboard the ship in a cryotube; he's close to death and hoping that the planet will provided him with a key to extending his life. David reveals that one of the "engineers (the giant corpses discovered within the temple) is still alive in suspended animation and he, Weyland, Vickers and Shaw head back to the temple to arouse him. Meanwhile, Janek discovers while studying a holomap that the temple is actually a hangar housing a ship that was bound for Earth with the intent of wiping out mankind when an accident befell it 2,000 years prior. Back in the temple, the awakened engineer kills Weyland, rips David's head off and, eager to resume his old mission, begins to prep his ship for flight. In a suicide maneuver, Janek crashes the Prometheus into the alien ship and Vickers is crushed by the debris, leaving Shaw alone to face the enraged engineer. As Shaw prepares to defend herself from the huge, superstrong humanoid, it is attacked and smothered by the creature that Shaw extracted from her body earlier, now grown to an immense size, which forces a tube of some sort down the engineer's throat. David's still-functioning severed head reveals to Shaw that there are other alien ships left vacant on the planet and that he knows how to fly them. As Shaw and her disembodied companion set off to find transport, a somewhat familiar-looking creature bursts from the chest of the comatose engineer...
At least as far back as the commentary track for the 1997 DVD release of Alien, Scott had expressed his interest in returning to that world. While he expressed admiration for James Cameron's Aliens (which took the story in a tonally different direction, emphasizing action over horror), Scott felt that the Alien sequels missed following up on the most interesting "unanswered question" from the movie-the "space jockey" discovered in the derelict ship and the origin of the alien creature itself. In 2004, promoting the 25th anniversary theatrical re-release of Alien, Scott announced that he and Fox were actively pursuing scripts for a prequel movie, which Scott would produce with his brother Tony (The Hunger, True Romance) in the director's chair. Eventually, a script by a emerging screenwriter John Spaihts (The Darkest Hour, the upcoming Dr. Strange) called "Alien Engineers" came across Scott's desk that so excited him, he decided to take on the directorial duties himself. Scott and Spaihts worked closely for several months fine-tuning the script but the execs at Fox, perhaps mindful of both Scott's recent box-office losing streak and the financial disappointment of the past several Alien-related films, wanted another "name" attached to help sell the picture. They settled on Damon Lindelof, co-creator of the recently wrapped and very popular television series Lost. As Spaihts was summarily dismissed, Lindelof stepped in and convinced Scott to downplay the prequel aspects of the film, eliminating any direct connections to Alien and crafting a script that served as a sort of "sidequel;" a film taking place in the same universe but without any direct connection to the previous film(s). Prometheus was the final result of their efforts. It was released in the summer of 2012 to mixed reviews and solid (but not overwhelming) box office returns.
Prometheus is a flawed but interesting film. Though they cause some canonical problems with the Alien films (more on this later), it's production design and visual effects are astonishing; it's the best-looking science fiction film in years and, even though I'm FAR from a 3-D enthusiast, seeing it in IMAX 3-D on the largest screen in my state was a special treat. Though many of the characters are either unlikable or underwritten, the performances are all solid, with Fassbender's David being an absolute standout. The creature design is top-notch; the hulking, Giger-inspired engineers are genuinely menacing with their black, shark-like yes and chalky white skin. The "proto-alien" creatures, while sadly lacking any Giger's biomechanoid influences (that's something that will supposedly be addressed/explored in the upcoming sequel), have a slippery, sea life-like quality that's unsettling in a Japanese hentai sort of way. I also get a kick out of how anti-Catholic the script is; it's not often that you see a multi-million dollar studio franchise pic that heavily implies that Jesus Christ was an albino alien and features a legitimate on-screen abortion (albeit of an alien life form). Speaking of the script, however, it's here that the film's flaws begin. It feels like an early draft, without all of its ideas properly fleshed out. Why does Halloway descend into drunken belligerence when when he can't speak with a living engineer? Why, exactly, does David choose to experiment on/doom the crew? Why plant the suggestion that Vickers might be an android without following up on it and/or giving it any relevancy to the greater plot? Why raise all sorts of questions about the origin of mankind, the purpose of our creation and the intent of the engineers and then not even begin to answer any of them? A lot of this may have to do with the "built-in sequel" mentality of current Hollywood blockbusters; the studio is SO sure of the film's potential that a sequel is seen as a sure thing. Lindelof stated in interviews that he intended this to be the first of three films that would run parallel to the original Alien trilogy; perhaps the biggest problem with Prometheus is that it FEELS like just a bunch of setup for the film(s) that Scott and Lindelof REALLY wanted to make (ironically, Lindelof was not asked to return for Alien: Covenant, the currently in-production sequel to this film). Perhaps the most infamous script problem (the rage over which can still be felt echoing through the halls of the internet) is that of Fifield and Milburn getting lost in the temple and encountering the alien "hammerpede." The "two characters go wandering alone through the old dark house and get killed" scenario is an accepted horror trope at this point, but it strains even the most forgiving credulity when the guy getting lost is the one who mapped the goddamn temple and the guy who antagonizes the alien life form is a fucking world-class biologist! In actuality, this is an error of editing, as deleted scenes show the storm wreaking havoc with Fifield's mapping device and Milburn encountering earlier, benign worm-like alien creatures. Scott was offered the chance to prepare a director's cut for home video but declined-he shouldn't have; it might've given the masses cause to re-evaluate the film. Finally, to address the canon problems caused by the production design that I mentioned earlier, despite this film being part of the Alien franchise and taking place several years prior to Alien, no attempt is made to give the film a low-fi, "retro future" look to match up with the previous film. Prometheus features 3-D hologram maps, advanced stasis chambers that appear capable of monitoring their occupants' dreams, sleek, form-fitting space suits and a MedPod capable of performing complex surgical procedures in minutes. Compare this with Alien, with it's Apple II-esque computer tech, bulky, Moebius-designed pressure suits and decided lack of MedPod technology (Kane needs to be frozen for return to Earth in order to remove the alien within him). Compared side-by-side, the two just don't match up (the Star Wars prequels suffer from the very same problem).
So is Prometheus an Alien prequel? No, not really; it's a side story that sheds a little bit of light on a mysterious scene from the first movie, but ultimately raises more questions than it answers. It's undeniably a great looking, well-acted movie that's more brazen and ballsier than most of it's big-budget brethren, but there's as much to be irritated about as there is to admire. It is, however, required viewing for all Alien fans, especially in preparation for the upcoming Alien: Covenant, which will hopefully see the big-screen return of our favorite biomechanoid. Also, it officially knocks those shitty Alien vs Predator movies out of continuity!
Well, that was fucking long, huh? Happy Alien Day, folks!
"In space, no one can hear you scream."
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