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!
Enter...If you dare!
Big thanks to "Diamond" Dave Wheeler for the bitchin' logo!
Monday, May 30, 2016
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!
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