Romans despise laser cannons.
Demonic Toys director Peter Manoogian's cheesy 1986 science fiction flick Eliminators has, in cinematic theory, everything you could possibly want from an action movie: martial arts experts, cyborgs, adorable robot companions, evil scientists, lasers, boat chases, a butch lesbian armed with a shotgun and a goofy french assistant, time travel, Roman soldiers, and, of course, Denise Crosby in a wet T-shirt. What more could you possibly want? If you're concerned with such things as plot, characterization, and story arcs, you're fishing in the wrong waters, as Eliminators has little to offer in those particular departments. The film follows the adventures of Mandroid, a gentleman who, for reasons that are still unclear to me, has been meticulously transformed into a shoddy, low-budget version of Robocop courtesy of a crazed inventor who would love nothing more than to travel back in time and rule ancient Rome. Since said lunatic's robotic creation isn't too keen on becoming just another killing machine, he breaks free, teams up with sexy scientist, a scruffy river rat, and a ninja in the woods, and proceeds to exact revenge upon his demented maker. The picture is, essentially, a comic book come to life, though it lacks the spit and polish of its modern-day brethren. However, if you're a fan of producer Charles Band and you have a high tolerance for sci-fi goofiness and lots of poorly-staged action sequences, Eliminators should help pass the time without too much physical discomfort. Should your brain attempt to reject the material, beat your face repeatedly against a urinal and proceed with caution. I adore it.
Recipe For Success: Lots Of Brainless Action + Kung Fu In The Woods + One Laughably Awful Ending
You Know It's True: Lesbians make excellent guides in Mexico.
Especially if they're overweight.
I wish I was fat so I could jump high.
Never mind that gifted martial artist/filmmaker Sammo Hung Kam-Bo's over-the-top 1989 kung fu comedy Pedicab Driver has more shifts in temperament than your schizophrenic uncle's last bachelor party, or that it's sense of humor could readily be described as "lowbrow," or "sophomoric." None of that really matters at all. The reason: Sandwiched in-between these unnecessarily thick slabs of hokey melodrama and those poorly-executed romantic subplots are several seat-soiling fight sequences that rank, in this goofball's humble opinion, among Hung's absolute best. Structurally speaking, however, the picture is a mess, veering wildly between comedy, drama, action, and all stops along the way, making for a somewhat jumbled cinematic experience. But, like I said, none of that really matters. From the opening scene's pointless yet strangely humorous "florescent light saber" duel to a skillfully staged showdown inside a evil pimp's hideout, Pedicab Driver delivers the sort of frantic, no-holds-barred action Hung is renowned for. The legendary confrontation inside the gambling house is probably my favorite, as it showcases just how spry, surefooted, and insanely talented Kam-Bo truly is. Insert an outstanding cast of genre legends -- Lau Kar Leung, Corey Yuen, and Lam Ching Ying are just a few -- and you've got one of the best needlessly obscure martial arts movies ever produced. The fact that it isn't widely available on Region 1 DVD continues to baffle me.
Recipe For Success: An Amazing Cast Of Talented Players + Several Great Fights + Florescent Light Sabers
Rules To Live By: While enjoying a nice dinner, never tell your best friend that his new fiancee is a whore.
Especially if you paid for her the night before.
Funny bone replacement surgery.
Yes, I'm an enormous, throbbing. hypocrite. After all, I do thoroughly adore director Manny Coto's undeniably strange 1992 horror/comedy Dr. Giggles for all of the reasons that I abhor, say, the recent Friday the 13th remake or whatever smelly cinematic discharge Rob Zombie is releasing into theaters this year. It's not that I think this movie is particularly well made, mind you, or that I genuinely enjoy all of the cheesy physician-related one-liners Coto and co-writer Graeme Whifler have crammed into this breezy, early digestible 95 minute decent into absurdist horror. Because I don't. Larry Drake is, perhaps, the only reason to watch this film; his incessant giggling, which accompanies almost every line of dialogue or on-screen kill, does grow tiresome after the first twenty minutes, but as irritated as you may become, you have to admit he does a fine job with the role. Holly Marie Combs (Charmed) and the late Glenn Quinn (Roseanne), meanwhile, seem almost embarrassed to be part of the show. Can you really blame them? Films centered around an escaped mental patient's penchant for medical murders aren't exactly high art, and I seriously doubt they'll open the doors necessary for big screen career advancement. No, Dr. Giggles isn't for the serious, discerning motion picture fanatic. This film was designed for individuals like myself who, for whatever reason, enjoy wasting their time watching movies that offer little in the way of intentional entertainment. At any rate, it's much more fun than pilonidal cyst surgery. Not by much, though.
Recipe For Success: Larry Drake + Manny Coto's Unmedicated Direction + Whatever Happened To Doug E. Doug, Anyway?
Twisted Imagery Alert: Have you ever wanted to watch a small child carve his way out of a corpse with a scalpel?
Your wish is hereby granted.
You know you want it.
After reading a great review for Tommy Wiseau's undeniably fun 2003 surrealist drama The Room over at Love Train for the Tenebrous Empire, I had an epiphany. Well, it was probably more along the lines of abdominal cramping with a side order to odorous methane, but you get the idea. Instead of merely singing this film's praises from the rooftop of my quaint suburban home somewhere within the sprawling landscape of Lexington, Kentucky, why not give two copies of this inspirational motion picture to a couple of giddy individuals who would love nothing more than to experience it for themselves? What a great idea! Here's what you need to do: Send me your name, address, and a fairly good reason why, exactly, you deserve a free copy of The Room to me, your kind and most generous Film Fiend, before July 31st, 2009. Please, limit one entry per person. By submitting your entry to me, you're also proclaiming to the world at-large that you're over the age of 18 and can handle the intensity of winning such a fabulous contest. Isn't that spiffy? So what, exactly, are you waiting for? Click right here to virtually erect the e-mail system, type "The Room Contest" into the subject line, and slap the required information into the body of your message. On August 1st I'll announce the winners right here, and proceed to ship them out immediately. Please allow at least two weeks for delivery. Sound good? Take a cold shower, put on some underwear, tell your friends, and get cracking!
Johnny is waiting to visit you.
Coogan to the rescue!
I've only been a fan of British comedian Steve Coogan for a short while now, but from what I've seen of his cinematic output, the man has made what can only be described as unpopular choices. His latest feature, Jonathan Glatzer's quirky comedy What Goes Up (aka Safety Glass), has been unceremoniously dumped onto DVD courtesy of Sony Pictures, a company that probably had no idea how to market this unpredictable tale of reluctant heroes and the people who worship them. The film is an admittedly tough nut to crack, especially since Glatzer and co-writer Robert Lawson try to stuff as many issues as they can into the picture without giving us enough characterization to balance it out. Coogan stars as Campbell Babbitt, a New York reporter with dozens of journalistic skeletons in his metaphorical closet who travels to Christa McAuliffe's hometown in New Hampshire to chronicle her journey into space. Once there, he discovers a group of unteachable misfits grieving over the death of the only teacher who truly understood them. Sensing a story, Campbell attempts to infiltrate the pack, only to discover that love, lies, and loyalty aren't always what they seem. The film is touching, truthful, and, more importantly, an absolute blast to watch, thanks in part to smart performances from Coogan, Molly Shannon, and Hilary Duff in a role that might rub some of her loyal fans the wrong way. What Goes Up is about the lies we tell and the truths we keep hidden deep inside, a theme I'm sure most of us can relate to on one level or another. Thoroughly impressive stuff.
Recipe For Success: Steve Coogan + Hilary Duff + An Incredibly Strong Script With More Truth Than A Maury Lie Detector Test
Romeo In Black Jeans: Jonathan Glatzer, as you may recall, directed Michael Penn's "No Myth" video.
Please tell me I'm not the only person who knew this?
Child killers have industrial complexes.
Spanish director F. Javier Gutiérrez's outstanding genre-bending post-apocalyptic serial killer chiller Before the Fall (aka Tres Días) accomplishes what all great thrillers should strive for, which is, of course, to take a concept that works, restructure the entire formula, and deliver an original, nail-biting experience that operates efficiently within the confines of the genre. Victor Clavijo stars as Ale, a troubled man who has lived in the shadow of his heroic old brother Tomas since they were children. During their youth, Tomas helped authorities apprehend a notorious child murderer who, thanks to the breakdown of the penal system following the announcement of the world's inevitable demise, is now on a blood-thirsty quest for vengeance. With no one left to protect his brother's children, Ale must take matters into his own hands. The doomsday scenario works better here than it does in both Armageddon and Deep Impact, two grossly over-produced clunkers that, for various reasons, never made us feel that the world was ever in any real danger. And although we never really see what's happening beyond the family's secluded homestead, there's always something there to remind us -- be it news reports, pillars of smoke, or debris in the sky -- that these characters are doomed regardless of the killer's success. Stark, washed-out, yet strangely beautiful, Before the Fall is an effective, well-paced film that somehow manages to succeed on all fronts. Highly recommended.
Recipe For Success: F. Javier Gutiérrez's Spot-On Direction + Victor Clavijo + An Immersive Visual Style
Creepy Guy Alert: If you know a serial killer is on his way to murder you, shoot first and ask questions later.
Especially when said weirdo is are camped in your front yard.
The death of American horror.
Judging from video director Marcus Nispel's exceptionally appalling 2009 remake Friday the 13th, Stateside horror audiences are extremely easy to please. Not only does this hollow, empty-headed redux have the distinction of being just as awful and unnecessary as Rob Zombie's fetid 2008 miscarriage Halloween, it's poised to permanently sour my opinion of mainstream American terror. In regards to the plot, it's dead on arrival: Annoying cliches -- including Shark's Danielle Panabaker and professional nobody Willa Ford -- vacation at a spiffy lake house near the remains of Crystal Lake, drink and squabble profusely, and fall prey to the iconic Jason Voorhees (Derek Mears) in a variety of different ways. This time around, Jason is a deformed marijuana cropper, not to mention a pretty good digger of elaborate underground tunnels complete with electric lighting and alarm systems. Outside of two interesting kills, there's nothing to see here, nothing to chew on. Once the thrill of seeing Jason strap on that old familiar hockey mask has vacated the building, you're basically left with a carbon copy of every Friday the 13th knock-off Lionsgate has released over the past ten years. Was I stupid for expecting more from a franchise that should been laid to rest decades ago? Perhaps. Maybe I'm no longer considered part of the demographic, especially since I'm not a fifteen year-old sociopath with mommy issues. A slap in the face to anyone who loves the genre as much as I do. At least Jason X was entertaining.
Recipe For Disaster: One Uninspired Script + Nispel's Dismal Direction + I'm Ashamed To Be A Horror Fan
Would You Believe: It took two people to write this movie? Are you kidding me?
I bet they're conjoined twins.
Montana rednecks are mean drunks.
Decline of the Western Civilization director Penelope Spheeris, while talented, has certainly made some very strange choices during the early part of her career. And while the filmmaker's pseudo-cool 1987 revenge saga Dudes isn't nearly as hokey as, say, Hollywood Vice Squad, it does, at times, reek of fetid cheese. Jon Cryer and Daniel Roebuck star as a pair of New York City punks who helplessly watch their friend die at the hands of a murderous gang of racist hillbillies during their cross-country trip to sunny California. The story, which is essentially a punk rock retelling of Easy Rider, isn't overly complicated or complex, nor does it strive to be. Once you strip away the snake juice-fueled dream sequence, the cornball cowboy references, and the decidedly pointless inclusion of minor 80's eye candy Catherine Mary Stewart, all you've got is a paint-by-numbers road movie with goofy gunplay and a soundtrack that's still relevant today. That said, the film shouldn't be taken seriously, even during those brief moments when Spheeris veers off course into unwanted melodrama. Cryer and Roebuck, meanwhile, aren't particularly convincing as a pair of gun-slinging rebels, though this is arguably one of the picture's most charming elements. Dudes is uneven, a tad sloppy, and completely illogical. In other words, it's a great 80's movie that probably deserves your attention. As soon as someone puts this thing on DVD, anyway.
Recipe For Success: Jon Cryer & Daniel Roebuck + A Great Soundtrack + Snake Juice Sounds Like Fun
Rules Of The Road: If you're trying to secretly shoot someone in the side of the head, don't alarm them to your presence beforehand.
That kind of defeats the purpose, you know?
Me in a peanut shell.
There are very few films in this world that I would say define me as a person. Terry Gilliam's masterpiece Brazil definitely reflects certain aspects of my personality, from my viewpoint on the proverbial bureaucratic machine and my penchant for fantastical daydreaming. However, if you really want to know me as a person, right down to the existential breadcrumbs which constitute the very essence of my being, check out director Bill Melendez's outstanding 1969 animated feature A Boy Named Charlie Brown, based, of course, on the legendary comic strip by Charles Schulz. It's easily the finest of the Peanuts adaptations, skillfully transforming these charming three-panel short stories into a full-blown, cleverly-written meditation on life in the modern world. For a children's film, this is pretty heady stuff, as most of the characters intellectualize their lives through a series of deep, thought-provoking conversations which take place in a series of seemingly unrelated set pieces. The core of the story -- Charlie Brown advances through the ranks of a local spelling bee, leading him to a televised championship in the big city -- is as sweet and engaging as they come, proving you don't need lofty budgets, expensive 3D artwork, or overpriced voice actors to produce an animated feature with an enormous heart. If you haven't yet experienced A Boy Named Charlie Brown for yourself, you're missing out on one of the greatest motion pictures ever made. Make no mistake -- it's one of my all-time favorites.
Recipe For Success: Charles Schulz's Outstanding Script + Great Voice Acting + More Profound Truths Than You'd Ever Expect
What The World Needs: Is a deluxe edition of this great movie on DVD.
Who do I need to speak to about that?
Mustaches make everything cooler.
I'm not the first person to declare Nicolas Winding Refn's critically acclaimed 2009 pitch black comedy Bronson to be a ballsy, one-of-a-kind cinematic experience, nor will I be the last. The film ensnares you almost immediately, effectively sucking you into a violently stylish meditation on the life and times of Britain's most notorious -- and expensive -- habitual prisoner. How rebellious teenager Michael Peterson (a fearless Tom Hardy) becomes the bald, mustachioed Charlie Bronson is, essentially, what the picture is all about, as it eschews a traditional narrative in favor of something more intimate and character-driven. Refn -- who directed the excellent Pusher trilogy and the criminally ignored Fear X -- is a visual wizard behind the camera, transforming what could have been yet another dry, lifeless biopic into something that's both completely accessible and entirely original. However, as essential as Refn's direction may be, Bronson's success lies in the capable hands of Tom Hardy. His performance is the very definition of daring, and ranks as one of the best I've experienced in several years, surpassing both Heath Ledger's turn in The Dark Knight and Christian Bale's unsettling portrayal of insomniac Trevor Reznick in Brad Anderson's The Machinist. Yes, it really is that good. Bronson is not for everyone, though I'm of the belief that it's destined for cult status. And the sooner I figure out how I can grow one of those groovy mustaches, the better.
Recipe For Success: Tom Hardy's Fearless Performance + Numerous Bloody Fights + Charlie Bronson Would Be Proud
A Word Of Advice: If a violent inmate wants you to grease his ass, by all means, you'd better do it.
Be sure to get in-between the cheeks, too.
Reconsider. Please?
According to an article of undetermined accuracy featured on Internet Movie Database, Steven Seagal has turned down the opportunity to star in the upcoming Stallone-directed action extravaganza The Expendables due to "bad blood" between he and veteran producer Avi Lerner. Naturally, I'm more than a little disappointed to hear this; the very idea of seeing Jason Statham, Jet Li, Dolph Lundgren, Gary Daniels, Eric Roberts, and the aforementioned aikido wizard together on the big screen is enough to send me into violent fits of action nerd-related giddiness. Is the animosity between them so spectacular that they can't let bygones be bygones? Put the past behind them? Seagal needs a break, a magical portal that will transport him back into theaters, and it saddens me to see that he's passing this up. The Expendables is shaping up to be every action fan's proverbial wet dream, and I'd love to see Seagal's name somewhere in the credits. And while I'm on the subject, Ain't It Cool News scribe Vern's critically acclaimed book Seagalogy is a spectacular find. I honestly can't recommend it enough. Even if you're not a fan of film-related literature or even the work of Steven Seagal, Vern's unique prose and his balls-out approach to motion picture criticism should appeal to anyone who truly appreciates a good read. Well worth the price, especially if someone gives it to you as a present. Thanks, guys!
Now I'm even nerdier!
Box alarm!
Here's my theory regarding wonky television director Tim Iacofano's unwanted sequel The Cell 2: Someone at New Line Cinema -- I'm sorry, Time Warner -- realized what an unwatchable turd this film turned out to be, accidentally noticed similarities between this brainless thriller and Tarsem Singh's visually delicious cult item, and quickly decided to transform this entirely unrelated premise into a miscalculated follow-up. Tessie Santiago stars as Maya, one of the only people to escape the clutches of an elusive serial killer known as The Cusp with life and limb intact. Her experiences with this gimmicky slasher have left the poor lass with an abundance of psychic power, which she uses to track the madman as he continues to add corpses to his ever-increasing body count. Iacofano may excel at translating material to the small screen, but as a feature film director, he still has much to learn. The picture has all the grace and sophistication of the latest weekly TNT drama without the well-rounded cast of has-beens to back it up. Santiago, a woman with all the sex appeal of a gutted fish on Good Friday, is certainly no Jennifer Lopez, and watching her spout horrendous dialogue while striking generic Eva Longoria poses grows brutally tiresome after the first fifteen minutes. The Cell 2 is a cheap cash-in, an easy way for an opportunistic studio to make a few dollars off the success of an engrossing albeit flawed motion picture. An insult to the original film. I really wish Frank Whaley had turned this one down. No hard feelings, my friend.
Recipe For Disaster: Tessie Santiago + One Laughably Overblown Score + I Can't Believe Iacofano Was Nominated For An Emmy
A Note To Producers: Why can't any of you make a follow-up to a film that actually needs a sequel?
I'm still waiting for The Garbage Pail Kids Movie 2.
Your G-spot will never be the same.
For a movie which features action guru Carl Weathers standing in front of an enormous explosion while wielding two handguns and a curvy lady on its cover, you'd think Colin Budds' generic 1992 action epic Hurricane Smith would pack a bigger punch in the testosterone department. And while there is definitely some interesting set pieces to ponder, it's certainly no Action Jackson. Weathers stars as Billy "Hurricane Smith, an oil field worker who treks to Australian in order to locate his missing sister. Problem is, she's gotten herself mixed up with a sinister collection of dog-killing Gold Beach gangsters, and none of them seem interested in sharing her whereabouts with our septic American hero. Thankfully, Hurricane isn't one to take this sort of inhospitable treatment lying down. Before all is said and done, Australian's touristy hot spot will be littered with scores of dead bodies, busted Sea World buses, and 1500 square feet of chewed scenery courtesy of Das Boot star Jurgen Prochnow. Budds, a director who specializes in cheesy Australian television programs, approaches the material with the spark and energy of a deflated balloon, effectively draining the film's infrequent fight scenes of any impact they may have dreamed of achieving. You are provided with, however, the obligatory car chase, sex scene, and synth score, a lingering element of 80's action cinema. Hurricane Smith is wholly terrible, yet I found myself compelled to watch it all the way through. That has to account for something, right?
Recipe For Mediocrity: One Sleepwalking Carl Weathers + Hooker With A Heart Of Gold + Australian Sharks Are Starving
Public Service Announcement: Most Australian hookers will not help you find your missing sister.
They will sleep with you, though.
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