THE ACT OF KILLING (Denmark/Norway/UK/Finland/Germany/Sweden/Poland - 2013)
One of the best films of 2013, the stunning documentary THE ACT OF KILLING is a classic of its kind, a horrifying examination of the death squads that helped overthrow the Indonesian government and secure a military dictatorship in 1965 by murdering over one million people. Primary director Joshua Oppenheimer, with co-directors Christine Cynn and one credited as, along with numerous hands-on technical crew and production assistants who still fear retribution for their participation, simply "Anonymous," approach the story from a unique perspective that Oppenheimer has called "a documentary of the imagination." Shot between 2005 and 2011, Oppenheimer established contact with the now-aged Anwar Congo, one of the primary figures in the genocide and, like many of his colleagues and co-conspirators, still a revered celebrity, and talks him into making a film that re-enacts the various torture and killing techniques used by the death squads, but done in a way that emulates Hollywood films. Congo and his cohorts were gangsters and killers hired by the military to exterminate all who weren't onboard with the new regime. They previously dealt in a black market operation to bring forbidden and popular Hollywood cinema to Indonesia, and as such, became obsessed with the gangster films of Humphrey Bogart and the westerns of John Wayne. They based their actions on what they learned in these movies, even though their brutality towards dissenters--given the blanket term "communists"--was far more barbaric than anything seen in a classic movie. Under the direction of Oppenheimer, Congo and his associates restage their atrocities in the guise of film noir, westerns, musicals, and horror set pieces. At first, Congo and the others gleefully recount their horrific acts ("This is who we are...people need to know the story") and enthusiastically partake in everything from auditioning to acting to the collaborative filmmaking process. Congo even gets a makeover with a dye job and dentures. But as the set pieces go further off the rails (Congo is playing a character tortured by associate Herman Koto, who's dressed up in a Carmen Miranda costume, trying to feed Congo his liver), some of the men start to express concern that the film will make them look bad. This ultimately takes its toll on Congo, whose exuberance begins to diminish to the point where he plays the victim in a torture scene and tells Oppenheimer "I don't want to do that again."
Oppenheimer isn't asking the audience to sympathize with Congo as he has this change of heart, but watching it happen is a sight to behold. The last 20 or so minutes of THE ACT OF KILLING contain some unforgettable images as Congo, haunted by the faces of his countless victims of atrocity and murder for which he's lauded as a hero, is overcome with emotion, directly addressing Oppenheimer ("Josh..."), and pitifully announcing "I never expected it would look this awful." He wonders about the children who witnessed his heinous acts. As the other "actors" burn a village, he looks on in shock, finally realizing the extent of his crimes. In a finale that's hard to watch, Congo takes Oppenheimer to the top of a building (now a purse store) where much of the torture took place. Looking around, picturing his victims, Congo becomes ill and can't stop dry-heaving. Oppenheimer just keeps filming. It's a stark contrast to the strutting audacity that Congo and his cronies displayed earlier. It's also fascinating watching the celebrity culture around them, including the media. Your jaw will hit the floor watching newspaper editor Ibrahim Sinik triumphantly crowing along with Congo, who says "We gangsters keep him well protected." Werner Herzog and Errol Morris are among the executive producers. THE ACT OF KILLING is a staggering achievement and a genuinely disturbing, unique film. (Unrated, 122 mins; review pertains to 122-minute theatrical version; Oppenheimer's 165-minute director's cut is also available)
WE ARE WHAT WE ARE (US/France - 2013)
This remake of Jorge Michel Grau's grisly and terrific 2010 Mexican horror film WE ARE WHAT WE ARE has been described by director/co-writer Jim Mickle (STAKE LAND) as more of a companion piece to its source as opposed to a straight-up remake. It retains the core of the plot--a family of cannibals--but changes just about everything else. Instead of the patriarch dying and the mother carrying on with her two sons and a daughter, we now have the sudden death of the mom (Kassie DePaiva), with dad Frank (Bill Sage) left to care for his two daughters--18-year-old Iris (Ambyr Childers) and 14-year-old Rose (Julia Garner), plus six-year-old son Rory (Jack Gore). Set in rural Delaware County, New York as opposed to a seedy Mexican slum, Mickle's WE ARE WHAT WE ARE immediately establishes a conflict in the aftermath of the mom's death in the way the daughters recognize that there's something seriously fucked-up with their family. Rose is fiercely protective of Rory and wants nothing more than to get him away from their father. Iris more or less agrees, but can't escape her sense of responsibility and the idea that family is family. Meanwhile, since this is one of those films where there's numerous disappearances in the town and its vicinity over the years and the local law can't seem to do the math, we have a missing teenage girl who's probably been killed and possibly eaten by Frank, and of course, folksy Doc Barrow (Michael Parks) just happens to have a daughter who went missing years earlier and takes charge of the latest investigation in the stead of one of recent horror cinema's more useless sheriffs (co-writer and STAKE LAND star Nick Damici, who continues to morph into the second coming of William Smith). There's also a sensitive deputy (Wyatt Russell) who tries to woo Iris with expectedly tragic results.
Mickle lets the tension and dread build to an admirably suffocating level, and setting the film in the middle of a days-long torrential downpour with extensive flooding and a power outage is a nice touch that adds to the gloomy despair, but he and Damici just throw it all away for a pointlessly transgressive finale that's probably meant to be a darkly funny but just comes off as gratuitous, silly, and completely at odds with what's preceded it, as the payoff for 95 or so minutes of ominous buildup seems to be nothing more than cheap shock value. It's too bad, because WE ARE WHAT WE ARE '13 is driven by some strong performances from Sage (a veteran of several early Hal Hartley films) and especially Parks, who checks his shopworn, twitchy Earl McGraw schtick at the door and gives us a quintessential Michael Parks characterization. Always underrated, Parks is one of those actors who can speak volumes with just a facial expression or even a look in his eyes and he's marvelous here, especially once Doc Barrow pieces everything together and does what he has to do. Also with Kelly McGillis in a useless supporting role as a neighbor--she only seems to be here because roles in STAKE LAND and THE INNKEEPERS have made the TOP GUN star an indie cult horror figure in recent years--and a mandatory cameo by Larry Fessenden, as required by cult hipster horror law. Until it shits the bed in its closing minutes, WE ARE WHAT WE ARE '13 is a worthy reimagining of a film that not many people saw. It is an interesting companion piece and a must-see if you're a Michael Parks fan, but Grau's original film is the one you need to seek out. (R, 105 mins)
Directed by Martin Dolman (Sergio Martino). Written by Elisabeth Parker, Jr., (Elisa Livia Briganti), Martin Dolman (Sergio Martino), Saul Saska (Dardano Sacchetti), John Crowther and Lewis E. Ciannelli. Cast: Daniel Greene, Janet Agren, John Saxon, Claudio Cassinelli, George Eastman (Luigi Montefiori), Amy Werba, Darwyn Swalve, Robert Ben (Roberto Bisucci), Pat Monti, Donald O'Brien, Frank Walden, Franco Fantasia, Sergio Testori, Bruno Bilotta, Alex Vitale. (R, 93 mins)
Arguably the silver screen's ultimate arm-wrestling cyborg movie, Sergio Martino's HANDS OF STEEL is a desert-set Italian TERMINATOR ripoff with elements of BLADE RUNNER and the yet-to-be-released OVER THE TOP. It was released in Europe in early 1986 and was acquired for US distribution by '80s exploitation outfit Almi Pictures (INVASION OF THE FLESH HUNTERS, THE HOUSE BY THE CEMETERY), by then running on fumes with HANDS OF STEEL its only 1986 theatrical release and also its penultimate one: Almi folded after 1987's Richard Ramirez-inspired slasher film THE NIGHT STALKER. Despite its severe budgetary limitations, troubled production, and spotty release by a company that was on life support, HANDS OF STEEL found an audience during the VHS glory days to become one of the more revered Italian exploitation films of the era, and one of its last highlights as the golden era of Eurotrash was beginning to wind down.
In the future of 1997, America is a polluted, destitute, overpopulated wasteland with dangerous acid rain zones. Blind politician Rev. Arthur Mosley (Franco Fantasia) has a plan to revitalize the country and turn its fortunes around, so of course, there's an attempt on his life by assassin Paco Queruak (Daniel Greene). Paco merely ruptures the Reverend's spleen and makes an escape through an underground "electrical conduit," with Inspector Banky (Frank Walden, who's terrible) and FBI psychologist Dr. Peckinpah (Amy Werba) in pursuit that could charitably be called "barely lukewarm." Paco makes his way to a middle-of-nowhere town on the outskirts of Page, AZ (actually Arcosanti, just outside of Page), the location of choice for numerous mid '80s Italian productions, where he takes a handyman job at a bar/truck-stop/no-tell-motel run by Linda (Janet Agren). For a while, Paco manages to keep his true nature a secret: he's 70% cyborg, reconstructed and programmed by a nefarious, big-money organization called the Turner Foundation, run by Francis Turner (John Saxon), a ruthless one-percenter who doesn't have time for Mosley's altruistic bullshit. The human Paco was "a veteran of the 1987 Guatemala Conflict," who was killed in an accident before being rebuilt by Prof. Olster (Donald O'Brien), who was employed by the Turner Foundation until he realized the extent of his boss' unscrupulousness. Paco was programmed by Turner hatchet man Cooper (Roberto Bisucci) but emotions still linger in the 30% of him that's still human (and Linda gets part of that 30%, if you catch my drift), which is why he couldn't bring himself to kill Mosley. Fearing his robo-experiment will get out of control, Turner has anyone with knowledge of Paco killed and hires "infallible European hit man" Peter Howell (Claudio Cassinelli) to track him down.
Meanwhile, back near Page, Paco makes a name for himself at Linda's place by dealing with asshole trucker Raoul (Luigi Montefiori/"George Eastman") and his posse of sub-literate rednecks, and taking the crown from local arm-wrestling champ Blanco (Darwyn Swalve), but earning his gratitude by saving him from a lethal snake. With Howell and another Turner flunky (Sergio Testori) unable to pin down the head-crushing Paco, an impatient Turner sends in a female cyborg in no way modeled on Daryl Hannah's Pris from BLADE RUNNER and then decides to take matters into his own hands, and if loving the idea of John Saxon hoisting an over-the-shoulder laser bazooka is wrong, then I don't want to be right.
HANDS OF STEEL is ludicrous and often unintentionally hilarious, from the cheap sets and special effects (Cooper starts destroying Olster's lab--which consists of randomly-placed aluminum dryer tubing--as Olster yells "Stop! You'll ruin everything!"; an FBI press conference updating Mosley's condition looks like it's taking place in a high-school classroom with about ten reporters in attendance; and yes, there's the obligatory scene with Paco tweaking his mechanized arm) to the stilted dialogue (Paco to Raoul: "You're a loser!"), but once you get past the clunky exposition and the action shifts to the desert town, it picks up quite a bit. As long as Martino (using his American-sounding "Martin Dolman" pseudonym) and his committee of screenwriters, including Italian genre vets Dardano Sacchetti (as "Saul Saska") and Elisa Livia Briganti (as "Elizabeth Parker, Jr") and an uncredited Ernesto Gastaldi, plus Lewis E. Ciannelli and American John Crowther (who also wrote such actioners as KILL AND KILL AGAIN, THE EVIL THAT MEN DO, and MISSING IN ACTION) stay focused on Paco and the yahoos at Linda's house of ill repute and Hallow's perpetually one-step-behind pursuit, HANDS OF STEEL is highly entertaining. The scenes with Werba and Walden (who, again, is a terrible actor) are filled with clumsy dialogue that explains the obvious ("It's possible that Turner developed a bionic killer to get to Mosley!") and only serves to slow down the action. Most of the interiors were probably shot in Rome, though Martino does make use of some Arcosanti locals in some scenes and most of the exteriors are definitely shot in the Colorado River area, with a climactic action sequence taking place on the Navajo Bridge over Marble Canyon, which marks the beginning of the Grand Canyon.
Claudio Cassinelli (1938-1985)
As fun as HANDS OF STEEL is, it's impossible to discuss without mentioning the dark cloud that still looms over the whole project: veteran Italian actor Cassinelli and a pilot were killed in a helicopter crash during production on July 12, 1985. Don Nasca, a local pilot hired by the producers, was flying the chopper as Cassinelli was being filmed firing out of the side at some actors on the Navajo Bridge. Nasca flew under the bridge, lost control of the helicopter, and crashed into the steel arch underneath. The chopper was destroyed on impact, killing both men instantly, with the pieces falling 470 feet into the Colorado River below. Nasca's body washed away and was never recovered and the current was so strong that it took rescue workers two days to find Cassinelli, whose body was still strapped to his seat. The actor was 46 years old, and left behind a wife and three children.
Martino and the cast decided to finish the movie, but it took some extensive rewriting to get Cassinelli's character out of the film. The Arizona scenes were shot first, with the Rome interiors to follow, and after Cassinelli was killed during the first half of production, Bisucci was hired to play Cooper, a new character whose consistent screw-ups result in his termination and the subsequent hiring of Cassinelli's Howell. Cooper and Hallow were originally supposed to be one character, Howell. Also, for most of the film, Saxon's Turner is seated at his desk barking "Find Paco Queruak!" into his phone and interacting with his co-stars as little as possible. But he eventually joins the pursuit of Paco and Linda when he grows frustrated with Howell's lack of progress. Turner shows up with some goons and one of them shoots "Cassinelli" and kills him (there's a cloud of smoke and you can't see his face), and all we see is Howell lying face down in the dirt. Obviously, this was shot after Cassinelli's death to give his character a hasty exit. Considering that the film seems to be building up to a Paco/Howell showdown, it seems odd--if you don't know the circumstances--why Turner would suddenly show up when he doesn't seem like the kind of guy who wants to get his hands dirty. It's entirely plausible that Saxon's guest appearance was expanded after Cassinelli's death, since Cassinelli was obviously intended to be part of the climax on the Navajo Bridge. Now there's a sequence with Linda escaping with Blanco intercut with close-ups of Saxon firing at them before he gets off the helicopter and has the laser bazooka showdown with Paco at the same abandoned Rome factory that's in nearly everyone of these Italian post-apocalypse dystopia movies, resulting in Turner learning one of life's harshest lessons as Paco informs him "You don't own a man until you control his heart."
Knowing that one of the stars was killed during filming, the seams are very apparent but HANDS OF STEEL makes a valiant effort to hide the stitching, even with the cumbersome way Cassinelli's character is taken out of the film. Cassinelli and Martino were long-time friends and colleagues--Martino directed him in several films, including 1975's THE SUSPICIOUS DEATH OF A MINOR, 1978's MOUNTAIN OF THE CANNIBAL GOD, 1979's ISLAND OF THE FISHMEN and THE GREAT ALLIGATOR, and 1982's THE SCORPION WITH TWO TAILS, and to the best of my knowledge, Martino hasn't discussed this tragedy in any interviews I've seen or read. Perhaps it's not a custom in Italian cinema the way it is in Hollywood movies, but considering their long working relationship and that he died making the film, the absence of a dedication to Cassinelli in the closing credits feels odd.
Agren, Eastman, O'Brien, and Fantasia are no strangers to Eurocult fanatics, plus Bruno Bilotta/"Karl Landgren" and STRIKE COMMANDO's immortal Alex Vitale can be seen as Mosley security guards. The voices of dubbing regulars Ted Rusoff, Ed Mannix, Susan Spafford, and Frank Von Kuegelgen can be heard, and Claudio Simonetti composes a catchy score that recycles at least one major cue from his soundtrack for Ruggero Deodato's CUT AND RUN (1985). This was the first in a string of Italian B-movies for American TV actor Greene, a GENERAL HOSPITAL vet who had appeared in T&A comedies like THE ROSEBUD BEACH HOTEL (1984), STITCHES (1985), and WEEKEND WARRIORS (1986) and was just coming off a two-year run on the CBS series FALCON CREST (oddly, a show in which Saxon was just beginning a two-year stint around this time). After HANDS OF STEEL, Greene would go on to star in four more Martino films: THE OPPONENT (1987), AMERICAN TIGER (1990), BEYOND KILIMANJARO (1990), and AFTER THE CONDOR (1991), as well as Enzo G. Castellari's HAMMERHEAD (1987) and Pierluigi Ciriaci's SOLDIER OF FORTUNE (1990), in addition to playing Elvira's love interest in 1988's ELVIRA: MISTRESS OF THE DARK. After his sojourn in Italy, Greene continued in TV and various bit parts but acts very sparingly these days, usually only in Farrelly Brothers comedies. The Farrellys--perhaps closet HANDS OF STEEL superfans?--have cast Greene in small parts in KINGPIN (1996), where he appeared as Woody Harrelson's dad, ME, MYSELF & IRENE (2000), SHALLOW HAL (2001), STUCK ON YOU (2003), FEVER PITCH (2005), and HALL PASS (2011). By no means an actor who had an Oscar in his future, Greene was beefy enough that he made a competent action hero, and even if tiny roles in Farrelly Brothers movies are what's keeping a roof over his head, he'll always be Paco Queruak for HANDS OF STEEL fans and disciples of classic '80s Italian Eurotrash ripoffs.
UPDATE: In February 2017, Code Red released a special edition Blu-ray of HANDS OF STEEL that features interviews with Greene, Saxon, Eastman, Martino, and Bisucci. Of the interviews, Saxon's is the least essential, basically a four-minute series of random recollections about working in the Italian film industry that have nothing specific to do with HANDS OF STEEL (Saxon on JOE KIDD co-star Clint Eastwood, who he's known since their 1950s Universal contract days: "Clint's done very well for himself"). Everyone else talks at length about the production, the location shooting, and Cassinelli's death, with Greene--a soft-spoken and immensely likable guy--describing witnessing the crash, calling it "one of the worst days of my life," and sharing fond recollections of working with Cassinelli and socializing with him off-set. Martino states "Ultimately, I'm responsible. Claudio was like a big kid and he wanted to fly in the helicopter so he could tell his son about it. He asked me if he could ride in it for the shot, and I should've told him no." Eastman's comments are a bit more extreme, calling the pilot an "asshole," a "hothead," and a "fanatic," painting him as an unstable Vietnam vet who was trying to show off, doing a U-turn inside the gorge, where a downdraft caused him to lose control and crash into the bridge. Eastman blames the entire production for Cassinelli's death, saying no one knew he was even on the helicopter except himself and an assistant director. When the crash happened, Eastman says he screamed "Claudio is inside!" and his entire account contradicts Greene's and Martino's recollections that Cassinelli was excited about the opportunity to ride in the helicopter.
After the release of 2010's NINJA, a formulaic throwback to the likes of ENTER THE NINJA and AMERICAN NINJA, director and DTV action auteur Isaac Florentine and star Scott Adkins both expressed disappointment at the outcome, with Florentine saying the film relied too much on CGI and wirework. For the sequel, both he and Adkins wanted to make a back-to-basics martial-arts movie, essentially crafting it as a do-over to function as both a sequel and a reboot. Well, they got it right this time. NINJA: SHADOW OF A TEAR is maybe the best movie Golan & Globus never made. The CGI is very conservatively used, mainly on greenscreen work and background visuals, and even the Bulgarian clown crew at Worldwide FX seems to have brought their A-game for this one. Adkins, who starred in Florentine's two excellent sequels to Walter Hill's UNDISPUTED, has been slowly making a name for himself in the cult action scene, with increasing visibility in films like THE EXPENDABLES 2 (as Jean-Claude Van Damme's chief henchman) and John Hyams' amazing UNIVERSAL SOLDIER: DAY OF RECKONING, as well as a brief supporting role in the Oscar-nominated ZERO DARK THIRTY. And Florentine really needed to get back on the horse after the disappointment of NINJA and the disastrous ASSASSIN'S BULLET, easily his worst film. NINJA: SHADOW OF A TEAR is a ninja film in the classic tradition, and looks much more expensive than it really is. It's a shame that it, and Florentine for that matter, are confined to the world of DTV. 30 years ago, this would've been released in theaters and it would've been a hit.
Picking up where NINJA left off, Casey Bowman (Adkins) is living in Japan with his pregnant wife Namiko (Mika Hijii), the daughter of his late sensei. When Namiko is brutally killed, an enraged, grieving Casey goes to Thailand to visit the dojo of her family friend Nakabara (Kane Kosugi, son of ninja genre legend Sho Kosugi). Unable to contain his anger and prone to violent outbursts that bring shame to Nakabara's dojo, Casey decides to avenge Namiko's death after Nakabara tells him of a longstanding grudge held against his and Namiko's family by Myanmar drug cartel lord Goro (Shun Sugata). Of course, Casey journeys to Myanmar and proceeds to ninja the living shit out Goro's organization and anyone who gets in his way. David White's script won't win any awards for originality and, based on the fact that a prominently billed genre figure has very little to do, you'll probably figure out the twist long before Casey does, but with its jaw-dropping fight choreography, NINJA: SHADOW OF A TEAR is one of the top action films of 2013, and further proof that Florentine and Adkins are ready for bigger and better things. There's absolutely no reason--other than the big-name actors' inability to keep up with his requirements--that Florentine shouldn't be helming something like THE EXPENDABLES 3. There's always the possibility that he enjoys the relative autonomy he's granted working for Avi Lerner's Millennium/NuImage and is happy with the niche he's carved for himself. After all, his experiences away from the company were unpleasant for him (I liked Florentine's 2008 Van Damme film THE SHEPHERD, though Stage 6 Films took it away from him in post-production) and/or his fans (the less said about ASSASSIN'S BULLET, the better), but even with a fervent cult following, Florentine is the best-kept secret in action filmmaking, and NINJA: SHADOW OF A TEAR is the real deal. (R, 95 mins, also streaming on Netflix)
SWEETWATER (US/UK/Germany/Canada - 2013)
With the ever-changing world of film distribution, good films inevitably get lost in the shuffle, often getting dumped in a just a few theaters and quietly turning up on DVD or on streaming services. The $7 million-budgeted SWEETWATER, which grossed a paltry $6000 during its very limited US theatrical release, isn't necessarily a "good" movie by the classic definition, but it's entertaining to an almost absurd degree, a frequently audacious and gleefully nasty little gem that comes very close to being the PUNISHER: WAR ZONE of westerns. The Prophet Josiah (Jason Isaacs) is an insane minister/cult leader in the small, middle-of-nowhere Sweetwater, New Mexico. After a property dispute involving his sheep grazing on the land of struggling--and unwelcome--immigrant farmer Miguel Ramirez (Eduardo Noriega) escalates, Josiah brutally kills Ramirez and has his underling Daniel (country music star Jason Aldean) bury the body. Ramirez's pregnant, ex-prostitute wife Sarah (January Jones) awaits his return, miscarries, and is then abducted and raped by Josiah (who calls the vile act "purification"), who already has two wives and a daughter he intends to make his third (at one point, regarding his young daughter, he suggests the experienced Sarah "teach her how to fuck"), in addition to his fanatically-devoted flock, which seems to constitute the entire racist population of Sweetwater. Meanwhile, eccentric lawman Cornelius Jackson (Ed Harris) arrives in town and immediately declares himself sheriff. He ends up in Sweetwater while on the trail of two missing brothers (played by director/co-writer Logan Miller and his twin brother, co-writer Noah) who never turned up at their sister's ranch. They were killed by Josiah for trespassing on the outskirts of his property, where they built a camp after a series of unfortunate travel mishaps, like a busted wagon wheel and a dead horse. With Sweetwater being the place directly in the middle of where they came from and where they were headed, it doesn't take long for Jackson to zero in on Josiah.
SWEETWATER actually has enough space to accommodate two thoroughly demented performances: Isaacs is great in a fire-and-brimstone way as the homicidal Prophet Josiah, while Harris, who's never cut this loose onscreen before, enthusiastically hams it up as the not-quite-all-there Jackson. Introduced screaming into a canyon, Harris just gets crazier from there, dancing his way into Sweetwater as he beats the shit out of the useless sheriff, exhumes the corpses of the two brothers and leaves them in Josiah's dining room, and later recites Lord Byron as Josiah crucifies him upside-down. Jones underplays it as Sarah, which is fitting since the Millers basically turn her into a frontier Terminator once she escapes from Josiah's stronghold and goes on a vengeance-fueled killing spree throughout Sweetwater. Let's just say SWEETWATER is the kind of movie where a masturbating, pantsless Peeping Tom gets a gun shoved up his ass and the trigger pulled. It's the kind of movie where Harris' Jackson is attending a formal dinner at Josiah's and asks "You ever fuck a sheep?" before taking a knife and carving a map into the Prophet's cherished oak table. Mean, misanthropic, hilarious, and often in questionable taste, the tragically under-the-radar, hard-R SWEETWATER is a film that should be embraced with open arms by connoisseurs of Batshit Cinema. You know who you are. (R, 94 mins)
LAST LOVE (Germany/Belgium/US/France - 2013)
It's easy to imagine the meeting where the producers of LAST LOVE approached Michael Caine and told him something along the lines of "It's like VENUS with Peter O'Toole, but with you!" The film ultimately goes in a bit of a different direction, but the comparison is still appropriate. Caine is Matthew Morgan, a retired American philosophy professor living in Paris, still coping with the death of his wife Joan (Jane Alexander) three years earlier. He still sees her and talks to her, and more or less goes about his days detached and biding his time until it's his turn to go. Matthew befriends Pauline (Clemence Poesy), a young dance instructor he repeatedly sees on the bus. The two become close friends, with Matthew being a father figure for her. Matthew may or may not develop romantic feelings for her, but whatever he feels prompts him to (perhaps half-heartedly) attempt suicide by overdosing on sleeping pills. Enter Matthew's estranged children, Miles (Justin Kirk) and Karen (Gillian Anderson), who come over from the States to convince him to move back home. He refuses to leave Paris, where he's stayed since Joan's cancer diagnosis, at which time she decided to live out her last days there. They're also suspicious of what's going on with "the French bimbo" who's entered their father's life. When the self-absorbed Karen heads home, Miles, whose own wife just left him, decides to stick around as Pauline attempts to heal the rift between father and son.
This is one of those films where there's inevitable Big Revelations and the expected airing of long-dormant grievances. Working from Francoise Dorner's novel La Douceur Assassine (translated: "Murderous Sweetness"), writer/director Sandra Nettelbeck (MOSTLY MARTHA)goes into areas that a mainstream American film wouldn't, chiefly that Matthew is kind of a prick to his kids. And not in an amusing curmudgeonly way, either. He tells Pauline that he never really wanted to have children but only did so to make Joan happy, and despite his expectations that he would, he never warmed up to the idea. Once Joan passed on, it seems both Matthew and his children realized they had nothing more holding them together. What Pauline provides for Matthew is that fatherly bond that he never felt with his own children. In that sense, it's almost a European art film take on GRAN TORINO if you consider the way Clint Eastwood feels a kinship with his Hmong neighbors that he never felt with his own family, in similar tatters after the matriarch's passing. LAST LOVE provides a nice showcase for 80-year-old Caine, though his attempt at an American accent is inconsistent, to put it mildly. He slips into his usual Michael Caine voice a lot, but his idea of sounding American is mainly to talk deeper and slower. You wouldn't even know he's supposed to be playing an American if it wasn't mentioned in every other scene. But, living legend that he is, he still maintains the screen presence. His scenes with Poesy are sensitively and believably conveyed by the actors. US distributor Image Entertainment didn't even try to do anything with this, dropping half of the title (it was released overseas as MR. MORGAN'S LAST LOVE) and giving it a one-screen US release a few weeks before its DVD/Blu-ray debut. The film and its star deserved a little more effort than that. By no means a great film, but it's a nice, low-key one that Caine fans will want to seek out. (Unrated, 116 mins)
Written and directed by Giuseppe Tornatore. Cast: Geoffrey Rush, Jim Sturgess, Donald Sutherland, Sylvia Hoeks, Philip Jackson, Dermot Crowley, Kiruna Stammel, Liya Kebede. (R, 131 mins)
There's a strong Hitchcockian influence on the first half of the Best Film winner at the 2013 David di Donatello Awards, the Italian equivalent of the Oscar. The latest film from CINEMA PARADISO director Giuseppe Tornatore is equal parts psychological thriller and sometimes corny love story, the pieces of the puzzle eventually fitting if you heed the advice of one character who states "If you're patient, everything falls into place." In one of his best performances, Geoffrey Rush is Virgil Oldman, an abrasive, erudite auctioneer and art appraiser who lives in such a bubble that he even has his own dinnerware (complete with his own "V.O." crest on the glassware) set aside for him at the posh restaurants he frequents. A germphobe, Virgil resists all human contact that isn't necessary, and only interacts with his staff on a need-to basis. He's been running a scam for years with his accomplice Billy (Donald Sutherland), a failed artist who places the winning bids on the high-quality forgeries that Virgil auctions off at events--their scam is that the paintings are the real deal and Virgil tells no one, paying Billy to bid on the priceless art at much cheaper forgery prices for Virgil to acquire and hoard in a secret room in his house. Soon, Virgil is contacted by Claire Ibbitsen (Sylvia Hoeks), a 27-year-old agoraphobic heiress and shut-in who hasn't left her bedroom in 12 years. Her parents died a year earlier and the family villa has fallen into a dilapidated state. Through a series of phone calls that grow increasingly testy due to Virgil's impatience and snobbery, Claire reveals that she wants her parents' extensive art and furniture collection to be catalogued, appraised, and sold at auction.
Virgil's huffy exasperation changes to genuine intrigue when he keeps finding discarded pieces of a machine scattered about the premises. Consulting Robert (Jim Sturgess), a fix-it associate of his, Virgil deduces that it's an automaton of some sort, but can't figure out why stray pieces are in the basement of Claire's villa. He later sees the gears of the mystery device turn up in a painting he's asked to evaluate. As time goes on, dealing with Claire from outside her locked room, the prickly Virgil begins to develop genuine feelings for the young woman, eventually drawing her out of her shell--and out of her room--with romantic advice from the affable Robert. The more mechanical pieces Virgil finds, the more Robert is able to reassemble the automaton, during which time the more empathetically human Virgil becomes. But, as one might say in the trailer if this was a dumbed-down American thriller, in a world of forgery where nothing is as it seems...
Tornatore's set-up is tricky and requires some patience and an exercise of good faith from the viewer. It's not a slowly-paced film--indeed, it would probably be a moderately popular thriller if it was widely released--but it starts to stumble and bumble midway through until you realize that it's by design. As Virgil loosens up from his usual uptight, asshole self (Rush sinks his teeth into Virgil's sneering pomposity--just listen to the way he snaps "Alright...put her through!" when he's told Claire is on the line), he starts to sound and act like a lovestruck puppy, from his getting romantic tips from Robert to the repetitive, foot-stomping arguments he and Claire have from opposite sides of a door ("I think you're more interested in my furniture and paintings than me!" she exclaims) to a groaner of a conversation Virgil has with his assistant (Dermot Crowley), who tells him "Women are like taking part in an auction...you never know if yours will be the best offer" to Virgil standing in the middle of the villa courtyard and screaming "Claire!" at the top of his lungs. This also holds in the advice he gets from Billy: "Human emotions are like works of art...they can be forged." It doesn't take a film historian to see that someone is playing Virgil and that he's either too dense or too in love to realize it. Tornatore also throws in some obvious symbolism with mirrors and you just know that an autistic, physically-disabled young woman (Kiruna Stammel) who's always observing everything from the bar down the street from Claire's villa will somehow prominently figure into the plot.
That the wrap-up is a bit on the predictable side doesn't make it any less effective, thanks to Rush's outstanding performance. He carries the entire film on his shoulders even when it occasionally threatens to drag him down. You'll probably figure out what is going to happen long before Virgil does, but the how is very well-handled by Tornatore, who doesn't lay everything out and expects you to have paid attention because small details matter with THE BEST OFFER. Without going too deep into spoiler territory, for such a smart man, it is admittedly hard to buy Virgil not figuring out that something else is amiss--even after he's told not to trust someone, he continues to trust them implicitly, and can never seem to notice the machinations taking place around him. Whether it's that he's too blinded by his infatuation with Claire or that we as viewers have been trained to expect the unexpected to the point that the unexpected is now an expectation is up for debate. Still, with Rush's stellar performance, the cinematography by Fabio Zamarion, who captures the stunning beauty of the mostly ornate settings as well as the depressing ruins of the Ibbitsen villa (if you like vintage Italian films set in decayed mansions, this will be pure eye candy), and the majestic score by the maestro Ennio Morricone (complete with operatically haunting Edda Dell'Orso vocals), THE BEST OFFER is a lot better than its release in the early January dumping ground would lead you to believe.
Directed by Martin Scorsese. Written by Terence Winter. Cast: Leonardo DiCaprio, Jonah Hill, Matthew McConaughey, Margot Robbie, Kyle Chandler, Jean Dujardin, Rob Reiner, Jon Bernthal, Jon Favreau, Cristin Milioti, Shea Whigham, Joanna Lumley, Ethan Suplee, Jake Hoffman, P.J. Byrne, Kenneth Choi, Brian Sacca, Henry Zabrowski, Robert Clohessy, Christine Ebersole, Fran Lebowitz, Bo Dietl. (R, 180 mins)
Right on the heels of David O. Russell's de facto Martin Scorsese tribute AMERICAN HUSTLE comes the real thing, and while Scorsese, arguably American cinema's greatest living filmmaker, doesn't break any new ground here, there's nothing quite like watching a master do what he does best. Yes, THE WOLF OF WALL STREET finds Scorsese going back to the GOODFELLAS and CASINO well with his trademark relentless pacing, the precision editing skills of the great Thelma Schoonmaker (who hasn't worked on every Scorsese film but has been his partner-in-crime for the better part of 45 years, going back to his 1968 feature debut WHO'S THAT KNOCKING AT MY DOOR?), the breaking of the fourth wall with the protagonist directly addressing the audience, and a killer song selection propelling the action. In telling the story of convicted Wall Street investment broker Jordan Belfort (Leonardo DiCaprio) in the same manner he did with Ray Liotta's Henry Hill in GOODFELLAS and Robert De Niro's Sam "Ace" Rothstein in CASINO, Scorsese is squarely in "give the fans what they want" mode. Yes, it's familiar, but nobody does it like Scorsese and there's something about this particular manner of storytelling and the way he manages it that makes it pure, unabashed cinema at its most electrifying. There's a palpable, kinetic energy to this film and in its expert assembly that makes three hours fly by and a convoluted storyline coherent. Jaded cynics might accuse Scorsese of spinning his wheels, but he's 71 and has nothing left to prove. He's earned it. You won't find a bolder, more free-wheelingly insane, and just flat-out entertaining film in theaters right now. There's only one Scorsese, even he's said he might only have one, maybe two films left in him. So just enjoy it. We'll lose something irreplaceable when he's gone.
On the day he's hired at a prestigious Wall Street firm in 1987, Belfort is advised by his boss Mark Hanna (Matthew McConaughey) to jerk off at least twice a day and do plenty of coke if he wants to make it in the stock market. Recently married to Teresa (Cristin Milioti) and coming from a strong blue-collar background, Belfort makes some headway but the firm goes under in the Black Monday crash. Starting over at a cut-rate penny stock outfit in a strip mall, Belfort quickly establishes himself and with some guys from his neighborhood--whose sales experience is mainly confined to weed--creates a new firm called Stratton Oakmont. Belfort's right hand is the odd Donnie Azoff (Jonah Hill), a socially inept, frequently boorish individual who married his cousin and quits his job to join Belfort after seeing his car and a $72,000 pay stub. Roping in investors with blue-chip stocks and then conning them on the bullshit penny stocks which provide 50% commission, Belfort and his Stratton Oakmont underlings rapidly grow obscenely wealthy and prone to every over-the-top indulgence imaginable: a day at the office is tantamount to an id-driven bacchanal, with booze, cocaine, Quaaludes, prostitution, public sex, orgies, etc. By now a hopeless drug and sex addict, Belfort leaves the plain Teresa for the stunning Naomi (Margot Robbie), but his hunger for excess only grows, including S&M sessions with a dominatrix who inserts a lit candle up his ass. As the money keeps rolling in, Stratton Oakmont catches the attention of FBI agent Denham (Kyle Chandler) as Scorsese takes the film into an extended "last half hour of GOODFELLAS" territory when Belfort has to come up with convoluted schemes to get his money into a Swiss bank and keep the Feds off his back.
Anyone who knows Belfort's story (which inspired the 2000 film BOILER ROOM) is already aware that he was ultimately convicted of fraud and stock market manipulation and got a reduced sentence after he turned informant on his co-conspirators. He's since become an infomercial guru and motivational speaker. Even with the structural familiarity, Scorsese takes somewhat of a different approach to THE WOLF OF WALL STREET. Until Belfort's irrational behavior becomes violent near the end and the film turns deadly serious, the first 150 or so minutes are primarily conceived as a broad comedy. The sexual escapades of Belfort and his crew are almost CALIGULA-esque in their excess and depravity (Scorsese had to make some cuts to avoid an NC-17), and the drug episodes--the Lemmon 714 sequence is one of the most hilarious set pieces of 2013--almost take the film into the grotesquely comic territory of FEAR AND LOATHING IN LAS VEGAS, with some marvelously-executed physical acting by DiCaprio and Hill. In his fifth film with Scorsese, DiCaprio has never been better. While a good chunk of the film is played for often uncomfortable laughs in situations that are prone to going overboard, DiCaprio is given space to show the charisma that Belfort possessed amid his frequent atrocities. Belfort is an asshole and Scorsese shows that, but he's an asshole that people are drawn to, and even though success unleashes a monster, sometimes that decent blue collar kid shows up. DiCaprio explores this dichotomy in a terrific scene where he's about to leave the film as part of his plea deal and he singles out one broker--a single mom who was behind on her rent when she was hired--and speaks from the heart about how he gave her a salary advance because he believed in her.
But those meaningful, pensive moments are few and far between. Like its subject, THE WOLF OF WALL STREET is all about unabashed debauchery. It's profane, outrageous, raunchy, and gloriously offensive, whether Donnie's talking about the possibility of mentally-challenged children with his cousin/wife, saying if they had a "retard," he'd just take the child for a drive to the woods and just "set it free," or one stockbroker's inappropriate reaction to seeing Naomi for the first time ("I'd let her give me AIDS"). Scorsese and screenwriter Terence Winter (BOARDWALK EMPIRE) give the story space to develop and do a great job of keeping it contained even as its absurdity goes off the charts. Most other filmmakers would've had to whittle it down and still would've lost control, and a director with less clout would've been told to trim the Lemmon 714 section and probably the airplane orgy and probably the scene of DiCaprio and Hill double-teaming a hooker and definitely the scene of a prosthetic-penis-sporting Hill masturbating in a Quaalude-induced stupor. It's the kind of film where you're laughing even though you're appalled. Anchored by a career-best DiCaprio performance and a stellar supporting cast where everyone gets at least one memorable moment to shine (Rob Reiner, as Jordan's dad, losing his shit over getting a phone call during THE EQUALIZER; every time you see P.J. Byrne as Belfort's buddy Rugrat, with his "piece of shit hairpiece"; and a meeting between Belfort and Denham on Belfort's obnoxiously large yacht with its own helipad, where DiCaprio and Chandler do a brilliant job of showing both men psychologically wearing on one another), THE WOLF OF WALL STREET is almost like comfort food for Scorsese-philes. You've seen a lot of it before, but Scorsese is smart enough to not mess with success and doesn't fix what isn't broken. This is just great showmanship by a legend who may no longer have the drive and hunger of his MEAN STREETS youth, but he's still at the top of his game.
Shout! Factory's second "Cult Movie Marathon" set gets off to an inauspicious start with ANGELS FROM HELL, a loose follow-up to 1967's essential HELL'S ANGELS ON WHEELS, and one of the dullest entries in the late '60s biker subgenre. After supporting roles in films like THE SPY WHO CAME IN FROM THE COLD (1965) and THE DEVIL'S BRIGADE (1968), Tom Stern was about to find a brief niche in these things with ANGELS FROM HELL and HELL'S ANGELS '69, but his time in the spotlight was over before it started. Here, Stern plays Mike, the leader of the Madcaps of Bakersfield motorcycle club who returns from Vietnam to take his MC to the next level. He hangs with a hippie commune, gets involved with a Hollywood producer and tangles with local sheriff Bingham (Jack Starrett), who, interestingly, is actually sympathetic to bikers and reminds his deputies that they have the same rights as everyone else. Tensions keep flaring, but nothing really happens, Stern is a terrible actor, and the dialogue is atrocious (Mike, laying out his agenda to the rest of the club: "I'm gonna lay some jazz on your minds..."), though it does have a memorably nasty leg break and a gut-punch of a final shot that might make you think you saw a better film than you did. But for 85 of its 86 minutes, ANGELS FROM HELL is a snore-inducing drag and Jerry Wish's script lays the verbiage of the era on so thickly that it starts to sound like it's trying entirely too hard. Also with Ted Markland and Arlene Martel, and songs by The Peanut Butter Conspiracy. Director Bruce Kessler only made a few features, most notably 1969's THE GAY DECEIVERS, a sort-of proto-I NOW PRONOUNCE YOU CHUCK AND LARRY where two buddies pretend to be gay to avoid the draft, and the 1971 cult horror film SIMON, KING OF THE WITCHES, and went on to become a busy TV director until the late '90s. Most of these biker movies haven't aged very well, but this one especially feels like it was laughably dated the moment it was released. (R, 86 mins)
CHATTERBOX! (US - 1977)
Easily cinema's all-time greatest talking vagina film, CHATTERBOX! is mildly amusing at times and plays like an R-rated sitcom pilot. Nice hairdresser Penelope Pittman ('70s drive-in icon Candice Rialson) finds her vagina (called "Virginia") is suddenly capable of talking, singing, and in the case of her overconfident boyfriend Ted (Perry Bullington), roasting ("You call that a fuck?" Virginia screeches after Penelope and Ted have sex). Virginia initially causes all sorts of problems for Penelope, especially at her job (Rip Taylor plays her boss!), but the pair soon become a media sensation, going on the game show The Mating Game, appearing at the Rose Bowl parade, and performing such elaborate musical numbers as "Cock-a-Doodle Doo," and "Wang Dang Doodle." CHATTERBOX! has quite a B-movie pedigree: the screenwriters were involved in such films as THE GREAT TEXAS DYNAMITE CHASE and SAVAGE STREETS, director Tom De Simone went on to make HELL NIGHT (1981), THE CONCRETE JUNGLE (1982), REFORM SCHOOL GIRLS (1986) and ANGEL III: THE FINAL CHAPTER (1988), and doubled as a gay porn director using the name "Lancer Brooks." And of course, Rialson (1951-2006) logged time in several Roger Corman productions, like CANDY STRIPE NURSES (1974) and HOLLYWOOD BOULEVARD (1976) before retiring from movies in 1979 to focus on raising her family. CHATTERBOX! is pretty bad, but it has some entertainment value as a nice snapshot of late '70s softcore porn in the guise of a markedly less-sophisticated Mel Brooks-style smutty comedy. It's nothing spectacular, but if you see only one talking vajayjay movie in your life, it should probably be CHATTERBOX! Also with Larry Gelman (THE BOB NEWHART SHOW, MAUDE) as Penelope's doctor, Jane Kean as her mother, and Professor Irwin Corey as himself. 1.33:1 (R, 73 mins)
THE NAKED CAGE (US - 1986)
Three years after his legendary 1983 cult classic CHAINED HEAT, director Paul Nicholas, a pseudonym for German exploitation vet Lutz Schaarwachter, returned to the women-in-prison genre with this entertaining trash for Cannon. Nice girl Michelle (Shari Shattuck) is in the wrong place at the wrong time when her ex (John Terlesky) and psycho bad girl Rita (Christina Whitaker) rob the bank where she works. The ex is killed and the cops think Michelle was in on it, so like most WIP protagonists, she's a dewy-eyed innocent (and she has a horse!) who's about to get schooled. And of course, it's a prison filled with rape by drooling male guards, drugs, racial conflicts, and the corrupt warden (Angel Tompkins) has lesbian hookups with inmates. Not quite on the level of CHAINED HEAT, but really, what is? This could probably use a slumming big name or two, but there's enough hilarious dialogue and nasty violence (one inmate is force-fed a large mirror shard) to make it required viewing for fans of such delightful sleaze. Also with Lucinda Crosby, Aude Charles, the frightening Faith Minton (who looks like a roid-raging Mark Gregory), the inevitable Carole Ita White, and "Tuff Enuff" by the Fabulous Thunderbirds, thereby fulfilling THE NAKED CAGE's apparently ASCAP-mandated obligation that it be featured in every film released in 1986. 1.33:1 (R, 97 mins)
SAVAGE ISLAND (US - 1985)
Empire Pictures and future Full Moon honcho Charles Band acquired two sleazy Italian/Spanish women-in-prison films from 1980--ESCAPE FROM HELL and ORINOCO: PRISON OF SEX--both shot back-to-back by Italian exploitation vet Edoardo Mulargia with much of the same cast (Anthony Steffen, Cristina Lai, and transsexual Eurotrash icon Ajita Wilson), and had them re-edited into one film. The resulting cut-and-paste hack job, was then bookended with new footage shot five years later in Los Angeles with Linda Blair and HOGAN'S HEROES co-star Leon Askin, and released to drive-ins and grindhouses in 1985 as SAVAGE ISLAND--probably to cash in on Blair's 1984 drive-in hit SAVAGE STREETS. It's as much of an incoherent mess as you can imagine, but bad-movie lovers will rejoice at such sights as night switching to day in the middle of the same action scene, constant back-and-forth wardrobe and hairstyle changes, the same actor playing two different characters, and one character getting killed only to have same actor turn up later and get killed again--all the inevitable results of carelessly trying to fuse two movies into one. The credited director on SAVAGE ISLAND is Nicholas Beardsley, who has no other IMDb credits before or since, so it may very well be a pseudonym for someone in the Empire stock company. Empire, or Beardsley, or whomever, obviously didn't even know who some of the actors were. Wilson is credited as Maria and Lai as Muriel, when it's vice versa, the venerable Luciano Pigozzi is credited as "Paco," but plays the prison warden, and not the guy everyone calls "Paco." Luciano Rossi also seems to be playing the warden in some scenes, because he was in ORINOCO and Pigozzi wasn't.
Blair and Askin worked one day on the wraparound scenes. A slumming, career-in-the-toilet Blair, who claims she was "conned" into appearing in this and urged fans to stay away from it while happily starring in things like the wretched POLICE ACADEMY ripoff NIGHT PATROL, plays Daly, a former inmate in a South American prison who shows up at the office of emerald dealer Luker (Askin) after killing his security guard (Penn Jillette!). She's there to explain that women forced into slave labor are procuring his precious jewels, and then the two haphazardly-assembled Mulargia films proceed, with intermittent voiceover from Blair in a hapless attempt to pull the plot together. It's all for naught, and Beardsley eliminates most of the sleazier elements. He does leave some nudity--Lai plays an entire action sequence with her breasts popped out of her top--but the focus is ultimately more on action, with some nice over-the-top gunshot splatter near the end. Also with Stelio Candelli and WIP sleaze fixture Serafino Profumo, who looks like the Italian Sid Haig, and played similar sadistic guard roles in such dubious Nazisploitation gems as S.S. EXPERIMENT LOVE CAMP and S.S. CAMP: WOMEN'S HELL. Barely watchable and feeling endless even at 79 minutes, but aficionados of truly awful cinema will have a strange appreciation for it. 1.33:1 (R, 79 mins)
This drive-in and late-night TV staple was previously released on DVD by MGM as part of the late, great "Midnite Movies" line but is back on DVD once more, kicking off a rather random four-film Shout! Factory "Cult Movie Collection." A sci-fi satire on Women's Lib, INVASION OF THE BEE GIRLS is a sterling example of early '70s exploitation trash as men in a college town are being screwed to death by a hot-and-heavy band of radiation-mutated hotties under the command of entomologist Dr. Susan Harris (Anitra Ford). The government sends in State Department security agent Neil Agar (legendary B-movie badass William Smith) to investigate. Teaming up with campus librarian Julie Zorn (Victoria Vetri, aka Angela Dorian, 1968's Playmate of the Year), and local cop Peters (Cliff Osmond), Agar is expectedly one step behind as one lecherous prof after another turns up dead. BEE GIRLS was directed by Denis Sanders, whose credits include 1962's WAR HUNT (the film debut of Robert Redford) and the 1970 concert film ELVIS: THAT'S THE WAY IT IS, and written by Nicholas Meyer, who would go on to direct such highly-regarded films as TIME AFTER TIME (1979) and STAR TREK II: THE WRATH OF KHAN (1982). It's silly and stupid, but it seems to know it's silly and stupid, which really helps. 1.78 anamorphic. (R, 86 mins)
Cranked out quickly to cash-in on MGM's Raquel Welch hit KANSAS CITY BOMBER, the Roger Corman production THE UNHOLY ROLLERS is a meaner, grittier look at the world of Roller Derby. Chronicling the rise and inevitable fall of Karen (Claudia Jennings) as she quits her job at a cat food factory and aces a tryout for the L.A. Avengers, THE UNHOLY ROLLERS doesn't really break any new ground as far as these kinds of stories go, and gets off to a slow start, but director Vernon Zimmerman (best known for the 1980 cult horror film FADE TO BLACK) and veteran Corman screenwriter Howard R. Cohen eventually find their groove. It's helped by a strong performance by Jennings, the troubled 1970 Playmate of the Year who would die in a tragic car accident in 1979 at just 29. Zimmerman and Cohen take a risk in making Jennings' Karen a frankly unlikable, self-absorbed bitch from the start, and it makes a little too easy to see her downfall coming, especially when team owner Mr. Stern (Louis Quinn) makes obviously prophetic statements like "Every #1 started out as a #2." So, just the way Karen toppled the team's star player Mickey (Betty Anne Rees), so shall happen to her with the introduction of Beverly (Charlene Jones). Karen soon becomes an out-of-control liability as her success turns her into a monster and alienates her from her teammates. Jennings does a great job playing a thoroughly despicable person, and Zimmerman handles the Roller Derby sequences very well, probably with some assistance from editor Martin Scorsese, who made BOXCAR BERTHA for Corman the same year and would soon hit the big time with 1973's MEAN STREETS. Also with Roberta Collins, Alan Vint, Candice Roman, Victor Argo, and Kathleen Freeman as Karen's trailer-trash mother, who rejects a kiss from her estranged daughter and responds to her financial gift with "I got my cigarettes, I got my TV...what more do I need?" The packaging indicates full-frame, but it's actually 1.78 anamorphic. (R, 88 mins)
VICIOUS LIPS is still early Pyun, and he's already in decline in his only film for Empire Pictures. A sort-of companion piece to his 1986 film RADIOACTIVE DREAMS, VICIOUS LIPS centers on an all-girl new wave band called Vicious Lips, who've just hired a new singer, Judy Jetson (Dru-Anne Perry), rechristening her "Ace Lucas" before taking a lucrative gig on a distant planet. On the way, they crash-land and they're chased around the ship by a crazed wolfman-type creature. There's also a lot of fighting and yelling, and some extended rock montages. The whole thing ends up being some weird fever dream about Judy being driven mad by her quest to be a star. There's about ten minutes of plot stretched out to an interminable 81 minutes, though in all fairness, the songs are pretty good. VICIOUS LIPS is pretty much an amateur-night endurance test across the board, and it's hard to believe that it's by the same Pyun who showed so much promise just five years earlier with SWORD AND THE SORCERER. Like the similarly-derided Uwe Boll, Pyun can be a competent director-for-hire when he wants to be, but he seems to have self-deprecatingly embraced this whole "straight-to-video-era Ed Wood" niche he's carved for himself over the years. With its '80s time capsule look, effects work by Empire mainstay John Buechler, with contributions from the Chiodo Brothers (who went on to direct the immortal KILLER KLOWNS FROM OUTER SPACE the next year), I suppose VICIOUS LIPS is campy enough to have attained a small cult, and the climactic production number features a club MC who looks like ALF's hard-drinking uncle, but other than some of the music, there's nothing here. Still, Pyun's recent announcement that he's retiring from filmmaking due to health issues related to multiple sclerosis was sad to hear. The guy's been such a regular fixture in bad movies for so long that it seems unthinkable that he won't be cranking out any more. But he made one very good one and a small handful of decent ones, so we'll always have those, and fans of bad cinema will have...well, just peruse his IMDb page and pick something. VICIOUS LIPS may be terrible, but a part of me is glad that it exists. 1.78 anamorphic. (R, 81 mins)
This remake of Jorge Michel Grau's grisly and terrific 2010 Mexican horror film WE ARE WHAT WE ARE has been described by director/co-writer Jim Mickle (STAKE LAND) as more of a companion piece to its source as opposed to a straight-up remake. It retains the core of the plot--a family of cannibals--but changes just about everything else. Instead of the patriarch dying and the mother carrying on with her two sons and a daughter, we now have the sudden death of the mom (Kassie DePaiva), with dad Frank (Bill Sage) left to care for his two daughters--18-year-old Iris (Ambyr Childers) and 14-year-old Rose (Julia Garner), plus six-year-old son Rory (Jack Gore). Set in rural Delaware County, New York as opposed to a seedy Mexican slum, Mickle's WE ARE WHAT WE ARE immediately establishes a conflict in the aftermath of the mom's death in the way the daughters recognize that there's something seriously fucked-up with their family. Rose is fiercely protective of Rory and wants nothing more than to get him away from their father. Iris more or less agrees, but can't escape her sense of responsibility and the idea that family is family. Meanwhile, since this is one of those films where there's numerous disappearances in the town and its vicinity over the years and the local law can't seem to do the math, we have a missing teenage girl who's probably been killed and possibly eaten by Frank, and of course, folksy Doc Barrow (Michael Parks) just happens to have a daughter who went missing years earlier and takes charge of the latest investigation in the stead of one of recent horror cinema's more useless sheriffs (co-writer and STAKE LAND star Nick Damici, who continues to morph into the second coming of William Smith). There's also a sensitive deputy (Wyatt Russell) who tries to woo Iris with expectedly tragic results.
