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Like the title? It's the punchline to a joke I heard numerous times while I was a youngster. If you don't know the joke, look it up. There are lots of variations on it.
The point of the joke is the image of attempting to take something insubstantial and render it...umm, substantial by painting it. Kinda what people try to do with remakes, reboots, re-imaginings, and all that other crap Hollywood seems to be so in love with. You take something that was popular at one point in time and you attempt to capture its lightning a second time.
This method does work from time to time. A lot of the time, these "re-whatevers" just leave you pining for the original. After a while, you start wondering what else will Hollywood attempt to clone in an effort to take your money. North By Northwest? Citizen Kane? Or, heaven forbid, Bio-Dome?!?!
We have but to look at the train wreck that is the Psycho remake to realize that some films possess a special quality that defy being remade, no matter how great your intentions may be. That special something, that indefinable element of uniqueness, that magic, if you will, exists in other films, though you might object to the use of the word "magic" once you see the list for today.
In this entry, we are going to take a quick look at a few films that possess a certain quality, or qualities, that would render remakes pointless. You could also use words like "tasteless" and "inappropriate"; we aren't bashful around here.
Deadly Weapons and Double Agent 73
(1974)
Directed by Doris Wishman
I shall attempt to discuss these films without resorting to jokes about breasts. Seriously.
Basically, everything Doris Wishman directed would be outside the reach of being remade. Other than the "who cares about her movies" mentality, her films embody her make-do attitude (which is a nice way of saying her movies had insanely low budgets) to such an extreme that you cannot really recapture what makes her films fun.
Let's face it, her films did not have great stories. Unique, yes, but not great. I can see someone trying to remake some of her films, but it would be in vain.
Two of her films incorporated a gimmick in the form of an actress. The actress went by the name Chesty Morgan. How is an actress a gimmick? you might ask. Simple. She had a natural bust measurement of 73 inches. That's 6 feet. Yes, they are massive. No, they really aren't that sexy. Actually, you just feel sorry for her, and that's before you realize she cannot act AND that her voice was dubbed because her Polish accent was too thick.
Both films are built around exposing Morgan's breasts as often as possible. In Deadly Weapons, she uses her massive chest to smother the mob guys who killed her man. Double Agent 73 has a camera implanted in one of her breasts which results in Chesty hoisting her boob around with the sound of a camera shutter snapping looped over the "action".
While it does work as a gimmick, you end up feeling like you are watching some twisted freak show with only Doris Wishman's insane camera work diverting your attention.
See? I did not crack one boob joke.
Don't Go in the House
(1979)
Directed by Joseph Ellison
There is a story that Joseph Ellison, director of Don't Go in the House, was checking out his film on its opening weekend. He stuck his head in where Friday the 13th was showing, and he noted how the audience was lively with screams and laughter. When he found the screen showing his movie, he noted that the audience was dead quiet and that the room had an air of despair about it. He then realized that his movie had stuck a completely different nerve than he intended.
Don't Go in the House is a dark and disturbing film that tells the story of Donny (Dan Grimaldi) whose mother abused him with fire to cleanse his sins. He's all grown up, but still under his mother's oppressive and controlling thumb even as she lingers on her deathbed. When she finally dies, the repressed child in Donny comes out, and he wants all the things his mother said were bad and sinful.
Even in death, his mother won't leave him alone, and now Donny must burn away the sin.
People find this film dark and repellent. Oddly enough, it really is. Child abuse, repressed anger, co-dependent relationships, and using a flamethrower on naked women are just a few of the things that can make viewing this film more than a bit of a bummer. Add to that the intense violence towards women who are seen as sinful by the voices in the main character's head, and you have a film that is not likely to be remade any time soon, unless you find a way to shift the gruesomeness like the remake of Maniac did.
This movie is recommended only for people who want to watch a serious and depressing film about a severely mentally and emotionally abused man acting out years of repression and pain.
Who has the cold beer and pretzels?
Koyaanisqatsi (aka Koyaanisqatsi: Life Out of Balance)
(1982)
Directed by Godfrey Reggio
Koyaanisqatsi is an utterly singular piece of work. I'd even venture so far as to call it a work of art. Even with the themes intentionally placed in the structure of the film, each viewer will experience a different film given their differing points of personal reference. That is the essence of art.
What is this work of art about? The title is from a Hopi term meaning "life out of balance". The film is a series of filmed images contrasting and comparing nature to the constructs of mankind. Layered over these images is the music of Philip Glass. The whole film becomes something greater than its individual parts.
Yes, I love this film.
Like any work of art, Koyaanisqatsi is what it is. You make of it what you wish. While this can be said of anything, this film intends for you to take in its images, sounds, and forms to create something personal by way of response. Friday the 13th just wanted your money so it could make your girlfriend scream loud enough to damage your hearing.
That's why we've had remakes and reboots of the Friday the 13th films, but Koyaanisqatsi keeps resurfacing to show that something truly unique will endure history.
Okay, lemme yank this stick out of my butt. Ahhh...much better.
Black Devil Doll From Hell
(1984)
Directed by Chester Novell Turner
Admittedly, Black Devil Doll From Hell (referred to hereafter as BDDFH) falls into that category of films that are so bad and ineptly created that it doesn't deserve a remake, except for one small factor: it is infamous.
BDDFH is the story of Helen Black (Shirley L. Jones), a very moral and religious woman who is a bit lonely. One day she stops at a thrift store, and, while shopping, stumbles upon a black ventriloquist dummy. The clerk tells her that the doll is cursed and will give the owner her deepest desire. Helen buys the doll, takes it home, and props it up on the toilet while she takes a shower in front of it.
I think you can see where this is headed. You are treated to ample shots of the doll coming to life, tying her up, and sexually assaulting her while shouting insults. The woman becomes sex obsessed as she attempts to regain the levels of pleasure the doll gave to her.
The term "hot mess" comes to mind. This one hits all the marks: racism (even though made by African-Americans), sexual violence against women, somewhat questioning religion and faith, and just plain icky if you think about it too long. Even with a cult following, this title hits way too many sour notes these days to be considered worthy of a remake.
However, a sequel would be nice. Hello? Mr. Turner?
Poor Pretty Eddie (aka Black Vengeance, Heartbreak Motel, Redneck County)
(1975)
Directed by Richard Robinson and David Worth
A popular singer, Elizabeth Wetherley (Leslie Uggams), decides to take a break and drive herself to her next gig. She wants to see country life where she can be herself and get in touch with her inner being. Next thing you know, her car breaks down, and she finds herself dealing with some rather strange characters.
You have faded star Bertha (Shelley Winters) who uses her distant connection to fame as a way to control the man who gives her the attention she craves. There is tall and mostly quiet Keno (Ted Cassidy) and his desire to be left alone to do his work and take care of his dog. The local Justice of the Peace Floyd (Dub Taylor) and Sheriff Orville (Slim Pickens) are just a couple of good ol' local boys keeping the community safe from itself and outsiders.
Then you have Eddie Collins (Michael Christian). He may be a small-town boy, but he wants to be a famous singer. He puts up with Bertha because she is the closest connection to the world of show business he has. Eddie intends to stop at nothing to make his dream come true. It doesn't matter who gets hurt, or killed, as he crawls, beats, rapes, and screams his way to fame.
Poor Pretty Eddie is one of those films that leaves you feeling like you've participated in something wrong and sleazy and require a long scalding hot shower to wash away the general ickiness of the movie. It is loaded with violence against women (well, mostly ONE woman who happens to be black in a Southern all-white community), racism, co-dependent issues, and brief dog porn as Eddie attempts to dominate the women in his world to achieve his goal and everyone else is along for the ride.
The subject matter is seedy and very dark. When I see a movie like this, I wonder what a star like Leslie Uggams saw in the script that made her think, "Oh, I get raped, molested, beaten, ignored, and called various ethnic slurs throughout the film. I can't wait to do this!" She does a very good job of portraying a woman who has had everything handed to her because of her fame but now she has to find a way to break free from the insanity around her. Still, I'd like to think she didn't take this role because she needed the money.
Poor Pretty Eddie is never a pretty film. With its message of control and dominance by using any method, including violence and race differences, this movie stands little chance to being remade. In 1975, coming out the turbulent racial conflicts of the 60s, this film most likely had a certain level of relevance. The same story now would be using current racial tensions as bait to draw in rubber-neckers to fill seats.
Oh, wait, that IS the nature of exploitation cinema! With that being said, this film is still too rough to have a valid place on modern movie screens. I'd love to see someone prove me wrong while still making the film relevant to modern concerns.
Good luck with that.
Fight for Your Life (aka Bloodbath at 1313 Fury Road, Getting Even, Held Hostage, I Hate Your Guts, The Hostage's Bloody Revenge, Hostage, Staying Alive)
(1977)
Directed by Robert A. Endelson
This wild and wooly 70s film is one of those movies that kept resurfacing throughout the era of VHS mania under various titles and various run times due to edits made in an attempt to get this certified for release in other countries. It has a history for being one of the most notorious of the "video nasty" tapes in England and has been denied release in many countries, even with various scenes removed.
I guess the main question would be: Does the film deserve this level of reaction? The answer is a flat out yes. But I'm not slamming the film by saying that. The film is written to be confrontational. The goal is to PUSH YOUR BUTTONS!!!
It does.
Liberals should probably avoid this movie. It contains so many racial slurs towards so many different races that even a racist would feel a touch embarrassed by the dialogue. Since so many of the slurs are mixed with violence, the effect of these terms do not lose their punch (no pun intended). Each one stings like a slap of a Bible across your face (which refers to a scene in the film, so pun intended here).
Yet this film is about much more than the racism of the main character, Jessie Lee Kane (William Sanderson in a very early role). This film looks at traditional roles that we all assume and asks how much pressure does it take to break that role and unleash the human animal inside. It also shows that no matter what our roles, we all carry a seed of racism inside of us; it's all just a case of how far do you need to be pushed before it comes out.
Basic story: group of convicts escape custody, invade the home of a preacher and his family, and proceed to assault, insult, abuse, and rape various members of the family. Add the whole racial layer with the convicts being white, Asian, and Hispanic and the family besieged being African-American, and we are off to exploitation realms with social questions about racism and breaking free of societal roles.
Not a film to be viewed lightly as it has something to piss off and offend just about everyone. Except PETA. I don't think animals entered into the mix. Watch it with an eye towards what it is saying, but expect a bumpy ride.
If you came here, say Hi and if you have a theme idea , let me know.
Parting Word of Advice: Never drop acid and watch A Serbian Film. I don't see anyone ever coming back from that trip.
I tend to avoid movies that came out after the early 1990's. That was when Hollywood started mining previous works for pointless remakes/reboots of familiar movies and television series. Sadly, that trend continues alongside the shitstorm of superhero movies. Don't get me wrong; I occasionally watch more recent films, and I tend towards Team Marvel when I want my superhero fix.
Given my vague cut off date for films I prefer to watch (not so hard to understand given 80+ years of cinema to choose from compared to just the last 20 or so years), I sometimes show up late to the game for certain films, like The Room and Birdemic: Shock and Terror.
Add to this the fact I'm not a huge fan of martial arts films in general (I mean, didn't they have two guys and one woman do 90% of the dubbing for most of the kung fu flicks from the Seventies?), and you can see how something like Pocket Ninjas wouldn't exactly make it on my film radar. Made in roughly 1994 and not released until 1997 and was apparently made for foreign markets in an effort to cash in on the vaguely similar 3 Ninjas movies, which were making some decent bucks back in 1992 and 1994, it's easy to see how this got lost in the shuffle.
Well, after watching it recently, I can honestly say I've seen worse, but I'll be damned if I can think of a title right off the top of my head.
Three young karate students are recruited by their instructor to help fight a rise in crime being perpetrated by a group call the Stingers. To be honest, given how bad the sound is, I kept thinking they were called the Stinkers. Doesn't really matter as they all look and act like stereotypical thugs just so you know they are the BAD GUYS.
At this point, please place your brain in a jar of pickling brine. It's for the best. I will attempt to explain the rest of the plot, but I only have what I was given by the movie, and even the film has no idea what the hell it is or wants to do or tell.
There is a supposed leader of the Stingers called Cobra Khan. You see him now and then, and the 3 kids are told never to engage him in combat as their instructor, who is also known as the White Ninja, is the only person capable of defeating him. But when we finally met the leader of the gang, we get some 12-year-old kid who is known as Cubby Khan. Aww, isn't that as cute as a LOLCat meme?
The Stingers are also helping some industry fat cats with dumping toxic waste into the ocean/river/lake. It would seem that this isn't terribly profitable as the gang still spends time roughing up the local citizens, though they never really seem to rob anybody. Again, the main thing is that you know they are the BAD GUYS.
Our supposed heroes hang out in a tree house where they spend a lot of time trading snarky insults and trying to figure out what is happening in a foreign language comic book called White Ninja, which features a guy dressed like their instructor, who is also the White Ninja. The kids envision wildly different interpretations of the comic which makes no sense as a comic book is a visual format so the only thing that would be up for interpretation would be the dialogue.
Toss in endless montages of the kids and Stingers training (this is obvious padding to get the film to a proper length for the foreign distributors as well as enhancing the mind-numbing factor of the film), an out-of-place and overly long fight sequence in a room full of balloons replete with cartoon sound effects and music cues, the bizarre sudden inclusion of one character's mom who chases after coupons and a beefcake photo pulled by fishing lines by the Stingers, and a weird injury suffered by the White Dragon that seems to come and go according to the needs of the plot.
If none of this seems to make much sense, you are right. The film supposedly started out being directed Donald G. Jackson, who, based on his other films (Roller Blade, The Roller Blade Seven, Roller Blade Warriors), has an unhealthy fascination with roller blades and fighting. After shooting a portion of the film, Jackson was cut loose by the producer, David Huey, who wasn't happy with what he was seeing. Supposedly, Huey stepped in and added to the script, then brought in Dave Eddy to finish off the shoot and try to make the whole thing come together.
Well, that would explain quite a bit about the disjointed mess we now know as Pocket Ninjas. Things happen and then are forgotten. Characters are introduced and suddenly no longer appear. Dialogue is beaten, chewed up and spat out by actors who appear to want to be anywhere but in front of the camera. And poor Robert D'Zar hitting a low point in a career that wasn't the most buoyant to begin with.
I spent the bulk of the film feeling fairly queasy. I'm not sure how much of it was the film and how much was the Cymbalta I started taking the day before. I think I'll put equal blame on both.
Is Pocket Ninjas worth checking out? Not really. It tends to be just bad instead so bad it's fun. I think even kids with low standards would have trouble sitting still for this after the third or fourth training montage. About the only good thing I can say is that I didn't fall asleep. Take that for whatever it is worth.
Recently, I pulled out a couple of DVDs that had been gathering much dust on my shelves. Well, not really gathering dust as I make the occasional excavation run through my DVDs to find titles I know I have on hand, but that I can't seem to find by just general review of the spines.
In any event, I pulled the two movies for two reasons: One, they were originally packaged together in a special deal from Blue Underground, and, two, the films deal with similar issues even though the method of how those issues are presented form completely different end results. The two films are Deathdream (also known as Dead of Night, Night Walk, and The Night Andy Came Home) and Uncle Sam.
Though both are incredibly low budget, both deal with themes of duty, loss, and love or the lack thereof. All very lofty targets for small movies, but how do the films handle their themes, and are they successful?
Deathdream does not beat around the bush with pretension or mystery. You see the major character Andy killed in Vietnam (though it never really states that war by name), so you know that when he shows up the night his folks are informed of his death that he is dead but has been drawn home by the power of his mother's love and prayers. Just because we think we want or need something or someone doesn't mean that our desires are the best for everyone involved, as we see Andy has returned as his mother wished, but that which made Andy ANDY was left on that battlefield thousands of miles away.
Uncle Sam has Sam Harper, a soldier who was MIA in a more recent Gulf War conflict, found dead due to "friendly fire" (meaning he was hit by weapons wielded by his own troops). His body is sent to his loved ones, a wife and a sister as well as a nephew who idolized Sam, back home. We find out that Sam is not the hero his nephew thinks he is. He apparently abused his sister and his wife to the point that both distrust and detest men. Even his closest friend, played by Isaac Hayes, admits that Sam was a person who enjoyed hurting and killing others, and that in no way makes him a hero. But Sam, possibly triggered by a vast number of "un-American" activities involving a Fourth of July celebration, rises from the grave to defend America once again.
Two stories of American dead returning from questionable conflicts. But, oh boy!, do they take different paths!
The script for Deathdream, written by Alan Ormsby and directed by Bob Clark, is a slow build up from the moment Andy returns home. He is different, quieter, and withdrawn. His lack of interest in much of anything begins to claw away at the tightly-drawn smiles of his family. Everyone keeps up a façade that everything is fine and dandy, but it is obvious that Andy is not the same person who left home many months ago to fight overseas. Whether it is intentional or not, it clearly notes the mental trauma of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) that has become connected with the Vietnam War, even though they use the fact that Andy is actually dead to convey the disconnected mental status.
We watch as Andy and those around him slowly descend into a pit of confusion, pain, and anger while Andy is rotting away (quite literally) in a half-life that he did not ask for and doesn't know how to escape.
The film is quiet and understated in such a way that the viewer is pulled into the story and is faced with the same questions the family has: What happened to the Andy they knew? How do they handle his changes and get on with what used to be a fairly happy and stable life? Why is this happening? How can they help Andy who now seems almost alien to them?
On the other hand, Uncle Sam trades the slow psychological burn for in-your-face splatstick and unsubtle commentary on patriotism and blind acceptance of "America: Love It or Leave It" jingoism. Of course, the film was directed by William Lustig (director of the supremely unsubtle Maniac) and written by genre veteran Larry Cohen. If you need an introduction to what you are about to get involved, watch Maniac Cop made by the same dynamic duo, and I think you'll understand the territory you are wandering into.
The first quarter of the film seems aimed at putting the viewer on the side of Sam Harper. We first see Sam, or what is left of him, in the wreckage of a helicopter downed by friendly fire. While the commanding officer tells his men that these kind of things happen in combat, Sam uses the last of his strength to shoot both the soldier examining him and the commanding officer and to say, "Don't worry. It's only 'friendly' fire!" As Sam's body is brought home, we are introduced to a weak-willed draft dodger posing as a kindly teacher, a pervert on stilts dressed as Uncle Sam, and some young punks who feel spray painting swastikas and burning American flags are fine ways of working off that teenage energy. Let's not forget the leering military officer assigned to inform Sam's widow that her husband's body has been located and is being returned, or the slimy politician who, in spite of being a known crook, is looking to rack up some votes at the small town's Fourth of July gathering.
When Sam begins picking off these miserable excuses for humans, we can feel a pinch of pride that the American way is being upheld.
Then we start learning the truth. Sam was a cruel and violent person before he ever joined the military. He committed acts upon his sister, starting when she was six, that she has trouble talking about when explaining them to her son, Sam's hero-worshiping nephew. He routinely terrorized and abused his wife. He took delight in hearing stories about war and killing and realized that the military would be his best chance to act on his twisted needs.
Okay, so his motivations aren't as noble as those of Andy in Deathdream.
Larry Cohen is a great writer for exploitation flicks. He manages to work in social and political commentary into a lot of his films like Q, It's Alive, and God Told Me To. Admittedly, he also directed his own screenplays in those instances, but even in Maniac Cop, directed by Uncle Sam's William Lustig, Cohen managed to get a few well-placed digs at social ills. Here, he sets up a number of characters primed for fleshing out to make some biting commentary on patriotism, military swagger, and honoring the country you live in, but his script does little more than give you characters with bull's eyes on their heads for the underplayed death scenes. Instant set up for off-hand kills by Sam.
Compared to Deathdream's slow build up that uses the family dynamic as a way to focus the story, Uncle Sam uses a scatter-shot approach that allows for a more inclusive look at the issues at hand but that same approach also dilutes and undermines the potential power the film could have had. Essentially, Uncle Sam comes across as mostly plot points with little story to give the film an impact of little more than a variation on the slasher genre. That Larry Cohen opted to go that route is such a shame given the split in the country over the Gulf War, similar to that of Vietnam, with one side pro-America with the ideal that we are right in our involvement overseas compared to those who feel the war is designed to protect the status of American petrodollars and bolster corporate bottom lines.
Admittedly, given the vast difference in how the films approach their topics, one could almost assume I am comparing pickles and grapes. Maybe I am, to a certain point. Still, with roughly similar ideas (those killed in the war returning to life in their home country which doesn't know how to process inner conflicts over the wars that caused the death of the soldiers), we could have had two strong films that rose above their horror film labels to be excellent commentaries on how those on the home front deal with the tragedy of war.
Instead, we have one potential classic and one attempt at satire that squanders its power in rapid-fire, mindless kills with minimal consideration towards commentary.
As a child, I grew up fascinated by the Gothic soap opera Dark Shadows. It came on in the late afternoon, so I was often able to catch it now and then after school. Nothing could be more perfect than a daily show that featured vampires, werewolves, ghouls, ghosts, and the like for a kid who was obsessed with horror movies and monsters.
King of the Dark Shadows collection of monsters was none other than Barnabas Collins. If his vampire character was on the screen, nothing else mattered. Played with amazing reserve, Barnabas is the most understated, likeable, and down-right scary vampire I had to pleasure to hide behind furniture from. Jonathan Frid played the character of Barnabas for years and became a hero to us Monsterkids who grew up during that time.
Now, I have been aware of today's movie, Seizure, for a few decades because of Jonathan Frid's starring role as its focal character. When I was much younger, I thought, "Why is Barnabas playing someone who isn't Barnabas?" I understood that Frid was just an actor, but he had painted such a bold image for his vampire character that I just could not fathom him playing another role. Seeing pictures from Seizure in my monster magazines just left me confused.
Add to this mix the knowledge that the director of Seizure was Oliver Stone. This fact made little impact on me until I stumbled out of the theater after seeing Platoon and was horrified and stunned by what I had just witnessed. I suddenly (though this was many, many years ago) wanted to watch EVERYTHING Oliver Stone made.
Here we are in 2016, and I finally got around to watching Stone's first feature film release. I can definitely say that he has GREATLY improved since making Seizure, but the film does merit some consideration. Let's take a look, shall we?
Jonathan Frid plays a writer, Edmund Blackstone, who is working on a children's story that deals with three characters who have been haunting his nightmares for a number of days. He and his wife invite a number of family friends up for a fun weekend to help lift the writer's spirit. However, the three figments of his imagination manifest themselves in our world and proceed to play lethal games with the hosts and their guests. But are the three really creations of the writer's imagination, or are they three dangerous escapees from a mental facility?
Seizure is a fairly disjointed affair with a lot of focus on characters other than Jonathan Frid's. This wouldn't be a problem if the film didn't seem to attempt to be an exploration of death and how we approach it. Ideally, there would be a more even distribution of focus for each character so they could represent how death is viewed, be it viewed in fear, acceptance, indifference, or lovingly embraced.
Yet we are constantly being pulled back to Frid's character and his weak heart and his on-going nightmares that are all the same; none of which has anything to do with Charlie Hughes and his lust for money, of which we are given at least 2 drawn-out sequences as evidence.
Yet, in spite of the few hiccups the film experiences, the film has a definite dream-like quality with scenes that almost seem to randomly happen but ultimately pull together until the audience has no one and nothing left to contemplate except Edmund, his absolute fear of death, and how far he is willing to go to avoid his fear, no matter who suffers as a result.
I find Seizure to be a stronger film than Stone's next feature, The Hand, but The Hand is far more fun. In Seizure, you see a filmmaker who is attempting to balance the fantastic with common fears of death and strangers. He works at bending the Last House on the Left home invasion concept into something with enough weight and power as to comment on Mankind and Emotions and those other lofty ideals. Oliver Stone succeeds when he isn't distracted by supporting characters who are strong enough to carry their own film.
Now I can pop in The Hand and revel in Michael Caine's gradual, and then sudden, descent into over-acting greatness.
Ah, the 70s. How I miss them!
Beautiful girls in bell-bottom jeans and gauzy tops with no bra underneath. Television trying to tell what it was really like out on the streets, but always caving in to 50s era mentality by the final act. Everyone still freaked out by the political and racial marches and riots of the late 60s. And most everyone turning a blind eye to the deeply wounded, in both body and mind, veterans returning from Vietnam.
Okay, so I only miss the beautiful bra-less hippie chicks. The 70s had a lot of sucky stuff.
With that in mind, let's get to know Blackenstein.
Lovely Dr. Winifred Walker goes to her former mentor and teacher, Dr. Stein, seeking help. It seems her fiance was wounded in Vietnam. and he no longer has arms or legs. Good ol' Dr. Stein just happens to be the Nobel Prize-winning, leading researcher into limb transplants who works without control or supervision in a basement lab that couldn't legally pass for anything other than an electrical hazard zone.
In next to no time, Eddie Turner, the wounded veteran, has two new arms and legs. Before Eddie can do his first waltz with Winifred, the good doctor's butler mixes up Ed's medication with the intent of getting Eddie out of the way so he can woo Winifred. Throw in an illegitimate child and a natural disaster, and you could have a soap opera.
Eddie changes into a rather comical variation of the Boris Karloff version of the Frankenstein monster with a high forehead and a flat-top afro. Since no one sees the need to lock his cage door (yes, cage door), he wanders off to kill people at random. Given his short and shuffling gait, I can't help but wonder how he can get further than the end of the block before sunrise, yet he always catches up to the perkiest of the mostly female victims. Why slaughter people? Who knows? The movie doesn't really explain much other than one understandable killing of a hospital attendant who insulted Eddie before the limbs had been attached.
Still, it is the 70s, and white people don't take kindly to black monsters killing mostly white people. You can imagine the end of the movie without my spoiling it for you.
Blackenstein is not a good movie. It's cheap looking with sub-par Al Adamson-looking style and a story that moves like a square tire with a vague connection to reality. The dialogue is good for a laugh or two when it doesn't make you consider sticking your hand in the running fan blades of your car's engine. While Ivory Stone and John Hart, who play the two doctors, do a passable job, Joe De Sue plays Eddie as flat as a soda left unsealed for a week.
If you stop and consider the year this film came out, you can make a fairly compelling case for the redemption of Blackenstein. It came out in 1973. America had just come through a series of events that had left the country trying to reclaim the perceived calm of the 50s after the upheavals of the 60s. We had radical political movements, race riots, marches on Washington for civil rights and to protest America's involvement in Vietnam, wounded veterans returning to an indifferent public (at best), feminism (which picked up more strength and speed in the 70s), etc., and we had television there to bring all of this into our homes without warning or even being asked.
I will never accuse the writer of Blackenstein to have purposefully addressed these issues in the film, yet you can see all of it there. Winifred is not only black but a woman, and she has a doctorate (signs of feminism and a shift in race acceptance).
Her fiance is a Vietnam veteran who returns disabled and is harassed by a Veteran's Administration male nurse who complains about everyone celebrating the return of soldiers from Vietnam. We know that a large number of blacks were drafted and sent to Vietnam, leading some to believe it was intended to reduce black populations. We also know that most Vietnam veterans were not celebrated upon return to the States; a large number were either ignored or treated with contempt based on various political movements and tempers at the time. Also, during that time, the Veteran's Administration was not known for working in a timely fashion to assist these returning veterans.
Once Eddie becomes the killing machine wrought by science, we open more touches of the 60's legacy. White America still feared racial anger and further rioting. Mixed-race relationships were becoming another coal of fear for those who wished to hold the status quo. When Eddie goes on a rampage AND kills mostly whites, especially white women, you can get a sense of serious white insecurity underlying some of the on-screen antics. Ultimately, we have a black character attacked by police dogs who tear the person apart. We have seen numerous images, both photos and film, of black people being literally hounded by police dogs during civil rights marches and during riots.
All of these images were brought into your homes and minds due to television. Even if there was no purposeful intent to address these issues, the images related to these issues build the basis of the film, of what you see. An audience in the 70s were most likely put off by the cheap-looking film, but all the images were ones they had seen unless they had been living under a rock for years.
Take Blackenstein any way you wish: social allegory, crap cinema, or a reasonable cure for insomnia. You really can't go wrong with any approach, but don't expect anything profound. Just don't.
Lately, it seems that every movie I've decided to watch, and review, has been a foreign film. Not that I intended to do this. You just get into a groove. Maybe it was a subconscious craving after watching nearly all of the Friday the 13th movies over a couple of weeks. That's enough to put you off American films, trust me.
I dug back in my library of movies to find an American weird flick. Ooh, what's this? Hellgate? A movie from 1989, starring none other than Ron Palillo. Ron Palillo? Yes, RON muthafuckin' PALILLO!! And it's supposed to be a horror movie. Count me in; I want to see Horshack as the hero of a horror movie.
Unfortunately, even though the movie is set in California, it was actually shot in South Africa. Not that I have anything against South African films, but so much for watching an American film. Before you argue that the director and the star are American, I know that. Still, in my book, this is basically another foreign film.
Okay, what the hell? I pop it in. Oh, Mama, what have I stumbled into with this movie?
Three "young" people, two women and a guy, are in a cabin telling scary stories in front of a fireplace as they wait for the fourth member of the party. Their ages are never mentioned, but it's almost like having George Clooney playing a college freshman who is straight out of high school. I'm thinking 30s at the very least here. And they all seem to talk slightly weird. It wasn't until I found out it was shot in South Africa that I realized these were native actors trying their best to wrap their mouths around American accents. It doesn't quite work, especially when you have an American actor playing the main character.
One of the girls proceeds to tell the "rural" legend about the Hellgate Hitchhiker. Back in the 50's, some motorcycle toughs (dressed more like late 60s Hell's Angels) snatch a not-too-bright girl named Josie, played by the stunningly lovely, though not very good actress, Abigail Wolcott. Rather stupidly, they take her to her hometown of Hellgate, which is also a tourist-trap recreation of an 1800s mining town. There they proceed to terrorize her in full view of her father, who is also the town mayor.
Her father attacks the bikers, killing three of them, but Josie is killed in the collateral damage, and one of the bikers escapes. After that, the father dislikes all strangers in his town. Well, don't we all, but we don't go throwing hatchets at their freaking heads, dude!
Moving along, we follow a old hired hand of the Mayor's as he goes into the mine shaft tour to do some work. He is attacked by the most silly-looking fake bat on a visible wire ever to grace a screen outside of Jerry Warren's movies. He kills it before stumbling upon a glowing blue crystal. While looking at his treasure, the crystal shoots a beam at the bat, which then springs back to life at a twitch of the wire.
Oh, yes. You know exactly where this is going. And it does. Zaps his beloved Josie back to life. But the story goes that she wanders the road to Hellgate and leads people back to the town where the Mayor kills them because they are strangers. Let's not overlook the rather creepy subtext of what seems to be a rather inappropriate relationship Daddy and daughter have, at least from the Father's side.
We jump back to present day where we meet Matt, played by Ron Palillo. He's the hero of the movie. In case we don't get that, we are reminded by his car's vanity plate that reads, "THEHERO". He nearly runs over poor reanimated Josie as he attempts to find the cabin where his friends are waiting. He volunteers to take Josie home. All kinds of heck breaks loose after that as Matt pulls his friends into the mess he stumbled into.
First thing about this movie that should have been a warning sign is the director, William A. Levey. Don't recognize the name? How about a couple of his other movies, like Blackenstein or the tender classic Wham! Bam! Thank You, Mr. Spaceman or even his music-laden epic Skatetown, U.S.A.? Not the best of calling cards when attempting to impress folks with your track record. About the best thing that can be said is Skatetown, U.S.A. was Patrick Swayze's first movie.
Next, the film just cannot decide exactly where it wants to go. While it seems to be fairly tongue-in-cheek, the tone will drift into horror and back, then you get a jarring scene that appears to have been a blooper someone added in. I don't mind a mixture of horror and comedy, but this film kind of slaps you around to no good purpose. Maybe they were trying to be edgy. Beats me.
Hmm, there's an image: someone trying to be edgy during the 80s. As if.
Here's the weird thing: It almost works now and then, so you keep rooting for it, like a squirrel judging whether the limb it's about to jump to will hold it or snap. And there are bits of pieces of the story that could amount to a decent film, if handled correctly. Just a bit frustrating all the way around.
Bottom line is that Hellgate is watchable for a wreck. I mean, where else are you going to see Ron Palillo making out with a total fox in a movie?
I have gone on record as saying there is no required viewing in the world of weird cinema. Some people will tell you there is. I think every fan should follow their own line of strange when it comes to movies of this type. I have also said that there ARE certain names and genres (and sub-genres and sub-sub-genres) that are good to know even if you don't care for their films as this information can help put weird cinema into some form of overall context as well as make references in some film reviews and review collections more understandable.
Today, we are going to talk about Joe D'Amato's Beyond the Darkness (original title Buio Omega). Joe D'Amato, whose real name is Aristide Massaccesi, was an Italian director/writer/producer/cinematographer who is well-known by most fans of weird cinema for his very low-budget and often gruesome horror, giallo, and sexploitation films, though he also made westerns, war stories, and a ton of hardcore sex films. Basically, if he could turn a dime in a genre, he did. Some refer to him as The Evil Ed Wood, though his films are, for the most part, better made than the bulk of Ed Wood's work. Still, if you are looking for masterpieces of fine cinema, look elsewhere.
Finding all of his films without help may cause cranial bleeding because the man used multiple names for his work in cinema. Yes, I am about to lift this list from idmb.com, and, no, I have no idea what name was used where, although a few were attached to some of his better-known works. His list of alternate credits are: Joe D' Amato | Donna Aubert | Steven Benson | Anna Bergman | John Bird | Enrico Biribicchi | Alexander Boroscky | Alexandre Borsky | Bernard Brel | James Burke | David Carson | Lynn Clark | O.J. Clarke | Oliver J. Clarke | Hugo Clevers | Joe De Mato | Raf De Palma | Michael Di Caprio | Dario Donati | Robert Duke | Oscar Faradine | Romano Gastaldi | John Gelardi | Robert Hall | Richard Haller | David Hills | Igor Horwess | George Hudson | Fred Sloniscko Jr | Kevin Mancuso | A. Massaccesi | Aristice Massaccesi | Aristide Massaccesi | Aristide Massaccessi | Aristede Massacesi | Aristide Massacesi | Aristide Massacessi | Arizona Massachuset | Arizona Massachusset | Andrea Massai | J. Metheus | Peter Newton | Una Pierre | Robert Price-Jones | Zak Roberts | Joan Russel | Joan Russell | Tom Salima | John Shadow | Fred Sloniscko Jr. | Federico Slonisco | Frederick Slonisco | Fédérico Slonisco | Federico Slonisko Jr. | Federiko Slonisko Jr. | Frederico Slonisko Jr. | Dan Slonisko | Federico Slonisko | Federiko Slonisko | Frederico Slonisko | Frederic Slonisko | Frederiko Slonisko | Fred Slonisko | Chana Lee Sun | Chang Lee Sun | Michael Wotruba | Robert Yip | Joe d'Amato | Raf de Palma
Many thanks to all the people who may contributed to that list, and to imdb.com for having it on their site. Please, oh please, do not sue me!
Now that you know a little more about the director (probably more than you care to know), let's turn to Beyond the Darkness.
Frank Wyler, our main character, is your average, orphaned, rich-from-inheritance kind of guy whose hobby is taxidermy. Since he doesn't seem to have a regular job, he has lots of free time during the film. He would probably like to spend a lot of that time with his girlfriend/fiancee Anna. Unfortunately, his scheming housekeeper Ida has an old lady use a voodoo doll to make poor Anna sick. As soon as we see the final pin go into the doll, the film cuts to Anna in some low-rent version of ICU (Intensive Care Unit, in case you don't watch "Grey's Anatomy") on the verge of death.
After a belated announcement from Ida that there had been a call from the hospital (no mention of what the call was about), Frank rushes to Anna's bedside where he tells her not even death can keep them apart and seals the pact with a kiss during which Anna flatlines. Whoa, talk about a kiss that takes your breath away!
Frank returns home to mope around. In an effort to ease his suffering, Ida allows him to breastfeed. Yes, I said "breastfeed". Don't ask me what brought this on. Actually, don't ask the film either as it never explains their history or individual characters. What you see is what you get with this movie. On second thought, I don't really want to know more about these people. Neither will you by the time the whole thing is over.
Unable to part with Anna, Frank visits her at the funeral home and injects her with a solution he uses prior to prepping subjects for taxidermy (taxiderming? Never mind.). What Frank doesn't notice is the mortician watching him do this.
After Anna is planted in the ground, Frank returns that night and digs her up. I always thought most caskets are buried at least 6 feet, but in this graveyard, 6 inches seems to be the proper depth. Italian cemeteries must smell pretty rough in the summer heat if this is factual.
While driving home with his dead girlfriend in the back of his van, he has a flat tire. What purpose does this serve? Why, it gives a hitchhiker time to sneak past him and climb into the passenger seat of his van. Again, don't ask. She's really just there to be killed in a bid to keep the audience awake.
Meanwhile, our crafty mortician is intent on discovering Anna's stolen body for reasons other than seeing justice done. Ida goes from creepy to freaking nuts. Frank keeps meeting women and ends up killing them while spending an uncomfortable amount of time with Anna's stuffed body. Yeah, there are no heroes in this movie, just varying levels of creepy and sick.
Beyond the Darkness has a reputation for being weird and gory. It definitely lives up to that. From Frank and Ida's twisted mother/child/mistress/lover relationship to lots and lots of blood and guts delivered by prepping bodies for stuffing, dumping in acid baths, and roasting in a crematorium (every home should have one), the viewer gets her/his money's worth. For me, the most stomach-turning scene shows Ida shoveling large amounts of some seriously gloppy stew into her mouth as she makes hogs into masters of decorum and etiquette by comparison.
What you don't get is any depth of character. You end up knowing as little about the characters at the end of the film as you did when you took the DVD out of its case. There are events that take place which will leave you scratching your head as to why they are there; the worst case is when Frank picks up a blond lady at a disco (it looks more like a poorly knocked-together shack with colored lights), and after she shows us her body as she bathes in icky green-tinted water, Frank supposedly takes her home when Anna's twin sister shows up at his villa. Maybe they needed more nudity for foreign markets. Maybe someone owed the actress a favor. Maybe she lost a bet. Who knows?
Not much of a movie, but Beyond the Darkness does give you the required gore and naked bodies at a fairly decent pace. While you might be sickened by the film's blood, guts, and fucked-up characters, it shouldn't put you to sleep.
However, if you want to see Joe D'Amato at his ape-shit insane best, you might just skip this movie and grab an uncut copy of Emanuelle in America. If you want tedium AND gore, then grab an uncut version of Anthropophagus. If you want a bit of unintentional giggles with your tedium and gore, watch Absurd.
See? Joe D'Amato has a little something for everyone.
When it comes to movies in general, and especially horror/weird films specifically, I try my hardest to be kind, though I may have issues with certain aspects of a film. I mean, someone took the time to write, film, edit, and release a movie. I haven't done it. And so what if it stinks? As Ferris Bueller once said, "I don't even have a piece of shit; I have to envy yours."
Unfortunately, everyone has a line that sometimes gets crossed. Mine has been crossed by the Matrix movies and pretty much EVERYTHING directed by Zach Snyder (he has replaced Tony Scott as most annoying director in my book). When that line gets crossed by someone you respect, it hurts almost as bad as having a paper cut on your finger while handling salt and lemon juice. It is a sharp, sudden pain that goes down to the bone.
I really like Lamberto Bava as a director. I thought Macabre was a rather fine bit of Southern Gothic horror. I found both of the Demons films to be great fun with some incredible, violent set pieces and a lightly self-mocking sense of humor. Even Delirium struck me as a nicely put together shocker.
Then I watched A Blade in the Dark. If only I could take back ever putting it into my DVD player, I would.
The film starts with a scene that lured me in like a rube to a carny sideshow. Three boys (one of them being Giovanni Frezza, best known for his role of little Bob in Fulci's The House by the Cemetery) sneak into a dark building. The two dark-haired kids taunt Giovanni's character, calling him a "FE-male" when he hesitates to go after a tennis ball one of the kids tossed down some even darker stairs. Keep in mind the original Italian title of the film was
Seeing as the last film I reviewed here was a Mexican horror film that had some class, I figured we would venture into the opposite side of things with a different Mexican horror movie that -- well, let's just say class is not one of its virtues, though it does have a certain something. Actually, it has a lot of somethings; none of them are classy.
The Brainiac (original title El baron del terror) is a movie that has been floating around for years thanks to K. Gordon Murray's habit of buying up unusual films (mostly from Mexico, it seems) on the cheap, adding English dubbing, slapping English credits on, and then kicking them out the door to terrorize both television and theaters. Many a childhood, if you are at least over 40 or so, may have been uplifted or scarred by seeing these films at Saturday matinees.
It begins with Baron Vitelius before a religious inquisition facing charges of heresy, necromancy, violating the honor of both married and unmarried women, dogmatism (can we bring this one back to use against annoying hipsters?), and other nasty things that were apparently illegal in Mexico in 1661. Even after a fresh-faced young man attempts to speak in favor of the Baron, Vitelius is sentenced to death by fire. Oh, and the young man is given 200 lashes for his kindness. I wonder what the punishment would be for spitting on the sidewalk.
As the Baron burns (with some cheap forced perspective special effects), he calls out the inquisitors by name and promises to return in 300 years, by way of comet no less, and destroy their ancestors. Yeah, that'll show those guys!
In the year 1961, the Baron makes good on his threat. He returns, but now he is a hideously, or hilariously, ugly creature with sucker pincers for hands and a forked tongue that Gene Simmons would kill for. After sucking out some random guy's brain with that tongue (don't ask, just go with it), we find Vitelius can also morph back into his former human self and magically remove clothes from others. Oh, just think of what Russ Meyer could have done with that premise!
The Baron weasels his way into the upper-crust society to gain the confidence of the descendants of his persecutors. Once in place, he starts killing them, one family at a time. In between, he stops to taste the brains of a few random people just to keep things interesting.
If that description sounds loopy, just watch the movie. You see things that will have your jaw thumping the floor if you aren't curled into a fetal position from laughter. We have the comet/meteor, lowered by visible wires (not visible if you are watching a low-resolution copy), that bounces and threatens to break apart on impact. You'll see entire scenes play out in front of backdrops that appear to be enlarged photos, and, yes, you can see the shadows of the actors on the "objects" supposedly in the distance. You will satisfy your inner foodie as you watch Vitelius eat brains out of a goblet with a very, very long spoon. You can scratch your head in confusion at a police force that issues flamethrowers to inept plainclothes detectives.
Deserving its own bit of recognition is the Brainiac creature. The head looks appropriately ugly, but it seems that was not scary enough. What would be more frightening? Why, having the creature's head inflate and deflate to cover the fact that actor could not manipulate the features, of course! You really have to admire, or pity, the person in the costume. Oh, and let's not forget those weird pincer hands with the suckers of the end of the, umm, fingers. They seem to be fairly useless as far as grabbing victims, so the Baron usually ends up grabbing a person in a bear hug as he adds unlicensed trepanation to his ever-growing list of crimes against man, nature, God, and the poor audience.
Shockingly, I found this piece of insanity on Netflix, and the version they have seems to be taken from the restored and remastered version released by CasaNegra and Panik House Entertainment. On Netflix, they had it in the original language with English subtitles. If you buy the DVD, and why wouldn't you?, you have the option of original language as well as the English dubbed version. Note that scenes originally trimmed from the K. Gordon Murray version have been restored, but they are still in the original language, so don't freak when a scene is suddenly filled with Spanish. Just turn on the English subtitles and leave them on.
If you are looking for a film to introduce someone to the wonderful world of weird cinema, this would be a good selection, especially if paired with some alcohol or the mind-altering substance of your choice, though I wouldn't recommend LSD. Save that stuff for Old Yeller.
Occasionally, if you are a fan of weird cinema, you stumble across a film that you can never really tell if it is a work of art or maybe just plain batshit insane. Art is great, but insanity certainly has its own appeal, if done right.
Alucarda is one of those movies. I originally saw it a number of years ago on VHS under the title Sisters of Satan, and it struck me as rather tame. In hindsight, I believe that version had been trimmed of some of the more shocking scenes. Maybe I was distracted or disappointed by realizing I had apparently rented a nunsploitation movie; it isn't my favorite genre (half-rung under Nazisploitation on my "don't care for that stuff" ladder).
One thing stuck with me from the film: Tina Romero as Alucarda. I think a small part of me fell instantly in love with her. Hey, I'm a guy, and she is mysterious and beautiful. Get over it. Still, that vague attraction led me to buy the wonderful Mondo Macabro DVD released a few years back. Oh my! The colors! The camerawork and lighting! The eardrum-numbing screaming!
The film begins with a young mother, who has just given birth to Alucarda, giving her still blood-covered child to a strange person with orders to deliver the child to the convent to be raised. No sooner than the door is closed to the chamber in which the mother remains, we hear growling of unseen forces that are approaching the woman. We do not see what happens as the film's opening credits kick in.
15 years later, a young woman named Justine (the beautiful Susana Kamini), whose last parent has just died, is dropped off at the convent/orphanage. She is roommates with Alucarda. Before you can say "invasion of personal space", Alucarda is assuring Justine they will be the best of friends, and we know that things are not going to end well.
After a strange encounter with gypsies, the girls unwittingly unleash the demonic spirits that had been sealed in the casket with Alucarda's mother, and The Devil is ready to play with his two new friends.
Much has been made of the anti-religious tone and imagery of the film, and it is definitely there. Torture of the young women to purge The Devil from them, group flagellation of all the members of the religious order who heard the words of blasphemy from the girls, and hysterical panic spreading through nuns each time someone says "The Devil" are just a few of the jabs taken at the religious here. What most don't say is that, ultimately, the power of faith is the only weapon the nuns and priests have that has any hope of saving them.
Juan Lopez Moctezuma directed this film outside the government-sanctioned film industry in Mexico. Whether that prompted him to include the ample amounts of nudity and blood to make it more marketable in the world market (he also shot it with the cast delivering their lines in English even though most of the dialogue sounds recorded in post-production) is a debatable issue.
What is not debatable is the incredible job he did in bringing this wild tale of possession, friendship, faith, and horror to life. Odd touches like having the nuns wrapped in white, gauze-like cloth from head to toe, and having that cloth stained with what appears to be menstrual blood (the older the nun, the larger the stain seems to be) raises questions that are never addressed. The convent appears to literally built on the shoulders of who came before as we see what appears to be rotted bodies, often in a crucified pose, encased in the walls. These and other random images build an aura of a horrific fairy tale told by a lunatic.
The film itself moves at an amazingly brisk pace which keeps it from wearing out both the audience and its welcome. You get to see nuns bursting to flames, levitating, and sweating and crying blood. You get to see Tina Romero in her unclothed glory (as well as Susana Kamini). You get to see people burned by holy water, necks ripped out by human teeth, and a Satanic priestess smacked down by, I think, the power of prayer. Did I say that you get to see Tina Romero naked? It is worth mentioning a second time.
Both beautiful, in its own way, and outrageous, Alucarda is film that weird movie fans with very liberal religious attitudes will find worth watching, if not wanting to own for repeat viewing.
All I can say is that The Devil certainly has good taste when it comes to beautiful women.
I promise I will avoid further canine puns after that title. Not because I intend to be kind to those who might read this, but -- well, I'll explain in the review.
Some time ago, I purchased a few collections released by VideoAsia. If you know of the company, then you know why the sets were pretty cheap considering you were getting some fairly obscure titles on DVD. For those of you who haven't heard of VideoAsia, let me clue you in. They release "digitally remastered" films on DVD that originally came from VHS copies. Technically accurate in that they took whatever VHS copy, transferred it to a digital copy (with bad tracking, rolling images, and other glitches the tape had), and used that digital copy as the "master" to create the DVDs.
I am not busting the chops of this company. I'm actually tickled to own some of these very strange and weird movies. Without this company, the subject of today's review would have most likely never crossed my path.
The version I saw was called Vengeance; while on the DVD cover, the title is listed as A Dog Called... Vengeance. (It can be found on the Tales Of Voodoo, Vol. 5, DVD, in case you are wondering.) You might even run across the title The Dog, which is a more direct translation of the original title El perro. I like the original title as it makes it sound foreign and kinda mysterious.
The film begins with a tracker with a dog wandering through reeds and water. They are searching for a couple of escaped prisoners who are sniffed out by the dog. When one attempts to make a run for it, the dog deftly pursues and kills the prisoner. The other decides it is smarter to sit still.
We find out that the survivor is known as The Professor. He is taken back to a hellhole of a prison where he is interrogated for hours as an entire building full of other prisoners watch and wait to see what happens. The tension is broken as The Professor leaps to his death from the interrogation room window.
One of the prisoners is Aristides Ungria, played by Jason Miller (better remembered for his role of Father Karras in the original The Exorcist). Ungria is a mathematician who we see writing a complex equation on a chalkboard as he asks for updates about the interrogation. Later, as the prisoners pause while doing hard labor to watch the guards unceremoniously dump The Professor's body in the water near their work site. As other prisoners say prayers, we hear Ungria repeating the math equation with the same solemn tone.
When an accident takes place while transporting the prisoners back to the prison, Ungria has a chance to escape, and he does. The same tracker and dog from the beginning find Ungria, who manages to injure the dog, kill the tracker, and slip away once more.
Unfortunately, the tracker lives long enough to give his faithful canine one last command: "Kill him." With that, the chase is on.
What could have just been a very long film of a man being chased by the titular animal becomes something bigger. Through a series of flashbacks, we find out that The Professor gave Ungria a list of people of supreme importance for rebels fighting against the country's despotic government. As this information could not be written down, Ungria memorized the information in the form of a complicated mathematical equation, the very same one we saw him writing and repeating to himself earlier. He has to deliver this list to the rebel leaders if there is any hope for the country.
Ungria receives help from various sources as he attempts to reach his goal, but the dog becomes a constant shadow and threat, often catching up to our hero just when he thinks he is safe.
This may sound odd, but as the film peeled back more and more layers of the story, I couldn't help but be reminded of Clint Eastwood's Firefox. Firefox told the story of an American pilot, haunted by memories of years spent in a Vietcong prison, who is brought out of retirement to sneak into Cold War Russia to steal an experimental jet that could turn the Soviets into an imminent threat to the USA. A lot of people did not care for the movie because you don't get to the fancy jet until the last 20 minutes or so. What amazed me as I watched Firefox was the dedication of all the people who risked their lives and families lives (and sometimes lost their lives) just to help Clint's character achieve his mission.
The Dog relates a similar story as we see common folk risk, and sometimes lose, everything as they aid Ungria in his journey. Jason Miller makes his character believable as he reacts in shock and bewilderment of all the destruction that takes place around him. All the while, he is haunted by his past in form of the dog who refuses to give up on its master's last command.
I won't give away the ending, but trust me when I say that the tension is maintained until the very end of the film. The movie is not a masterpiece, but it carries its story and characters through several changes and twists while never insulting the intelligence of the audience. In this age of mindless explosions and glorified car chases, it is always refreshing to see a movie that doesn't rely on cheap gimmicks to keep your interest. Out of respect for this unexpected gem, I choose to forgo the dog jokes.
It may be too much to ask, but I hope someone finds a good copy of the original film elements, and we get a decent release of this title. Actually, since Hollywood is all about remakes these days, maybe a screenwriter and/or director can keep the intelligence and tension while making this story accessible to modern viewers. I have more hope for a crisp re-release of the original on DVD and Blu-Ray.
One last thing: If you do find this film, watch for the reference to Jason Miller's role as Father Karras. I'm not sure if it was intentional, but it made this film fan smile when it happened.
Hey, I made it through without cheap puns, doggone it!
Oops. Dammit!
Never been a fan of baseball (or any sports except old-school roller derby, if I'm being honest), but I do like the concept of the "three strikes and yer out" when applied to life. Of course, it does not apply to every single situation. Some screw ups are so massive that it only takes one, while other boo-boos are small enough to overlook more than 3 times.
Does this mean we are talking about a sports-focused film today? Am I going to relate my sports history as a way to explain the meaning behind the subject of this review? Why can't I just get on with the damn review and drop this stalling?*
*Answers: No. No. I think I may have a mental condition that prevents me from doing so.
With that being said, let's move on to our film, Nomad Riders.
We see three rough looking guys on various types of motorcycles riding towards the camera. Cool. Given the title, we expect a biker film. Maybe these guys are coming back to the rest of the pack where the biker action will begin.
Cut to: Some guy in a glider being pulled into the air as his wife and daughter are left behind to clean up the campsite, which is about two feet from the runway. Once Daddy is airborne, the three bikers ride up to the campsite and begin taunting the woman and child. The eagle-eyed father sees this from his lofty position and evidences zero emotional reaction.
Our scuzzy bikers rough up the woman and throw her into the tent. Almost as an afterthought, they toss the little girl inside as well. Oh, and a hand grenade is generously given as a tent-warming gift as the bikers ride off while the dad casually lands the glider. Before the man can get out and reach the tent, the grenade explodes. Cue the man's only attempt at an emotional response for the rest of the film as he watches his supposed loved ones die.
Next the bikers blow up a portable toilet with some random land surveyor inside. Please note that this scene has nothing to do with the rest of the movie. Nothing. Maybe they had some leftover explosives and wanted to get rid of them. Beats me.
We then find out that bikers were hired to threaten the family to keep the super-stoic dad, who is a cop, from digging into the mob who are involved in a lot of very, very bad things. Since the man's family was killed, the mob boss and his underlings panic because they know Stoic Cop will not give up until he has his revenge, inside or outside the law. Get this -- the cop's name is Steve Thrust. Yeah. Steve THRUST!!!
Cue standard and, in this case, dull revenge movie that makes a couple of minor attempts at expanding the story with under-developed characters in both the mob and the police force as well as including the most passionless love/sex scene I can recall witnessing. Did I mention the cop's name is Steve THRUST?!?!
I will say that the movie did not put me to sleep, mainly because every other line is SHOUTED by our vengence-seeking man of no facial expression. I also had fun watching the boom mic come close to bonking a few actors on the noggin.
Given my comments, it may surprise you that I actually wanted to see this movie, and have been wanting to see for a few years now. Two reasons that amount to almost the same thing: Frozen Scream and Frank Roach. What? Who?
Frozen Scream is a jaw-droppingly weird and inept hot mess of a movie that will probably become an indelible stain (and strain) on your brain once you see it. Lunatics, cult murders, syringes in the eye, very 70s-looking guys in hoods, and a narrator who is almost as confused as the viewer are some of the highlights of this film, which is a personal favorite of mine.
Frank Roach directed both Frozen Scream and Nomad Riders. For the second film, our subject today, he also wrote the movie AND stars as the head of the mob who piss off the wrong cop. Oddly enough, he seems to be only person with any acting ability, so maybe he picked the wrong side of the camera for his profession.
There is a nine-year gap between the two films. Not sure why. There has been nothing since Nomad Riders if IMDb.com is accurate.
Now we come to the baseball connection. The guy makes two movies. Sure, they aren't high quality, but you can see a definite improvement after nine years. I don't mean that as an insult, either. Two strikes, and the guy walks away.
Don't get me wrong. Nomad Riders went straight to video because the market had changed since 1975. Independent distributors had vanished as the major studios realized that drive-ins made for good second-run venues to suck more cash out of their no-longer-fresh releases. Then the video tape became the rage, and what few drive-ins that were left bowed to the mall multiplexes and vanished in a puff of suburban expansion.
Or maybe he just found a better paying gig doing something else. What the hell do I know?
Frank Roach, if you should happen to hear about this review or even read it, let me know why you stopped, if you would be kind enough to do so. I really want to know. Also, I'd really, really love to see a sequel to Frozen Scream. Heck, you can work the stoic cop character into it and kill two sequels with one film. Umm, kill? Sorry, but I think you get the idea.
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