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Monday, September 29, 2008

Angelfist

Release Year: 1993
Country: Philippines and United States
Starring: Cat Sassoon, Melissa Moore, Michael Shaner, Sibel Birzag, Tony Carreon, John Crank, Roland Dantes, Sheila Lintan, Ken Metcalfe.
Writer: Anthony Greene
Director: Cirio Santiago
Cinematographer: Joe Batac
Music: Stephen Cohn
Producer: Cirio Santiago and Roger Corman
Alternate Titles: Fatal Angel


Angelfist, aside from being a nonsensical title, was a video box cover that haunted my friends and I for many years. It was perched right up at the front entrance of Pick of the Flicks in Gainesville, Florida, and featured a blonde chick in an ugly leotard doing what has to be one of the most awkward high kicks I've ever seen, while holding her arms in this weird little curled-up T-Rex position. It was perhaps the single most ludicrous martial arts movie box cover pose I'd ever seen, at least until those Matrix movies made that completely silly looking Spiderman-meets-chicken jump/pose/kick inexplicably popular. I know guys did it in old kungfu films too, and it looked just as silly then, unless they happen to be wearing one of those silver wigs that is supposed to make you look like an old master even if you have the face of a guy in his twenties. Also, if you do that kick, the only way to get any power from such an awkward position is if a foley artist loops in the screech of a hawk or an eagle right as you jump

Anyway, as much as we pointed and laughed at Angelfist, which also triumphantly proclaimed "Starring Eight Billion Time American Karate Champion Cat Sassoon" or something to that effect, we never actually got around to renting it. At the time, we had so many old Shaw Bros. and Ocean Shores releases to work through that piddling around with a Roger Corman karate movie seemed rather a poor use of our time. Alas, I was so young and naive back then, and in my then recently discovered fervor for Hong Kong action cinema, I turned my nose up at so many films that deserved to have noses turned up around them. But now I know better and willingly embrace such films. Thus, back when skinnyguy.com was still around and you buy 50 crappy VHS action and kungfu films for like five bucks, I ended up with my very own copy of Angelfist, along with about a hundred Godfrey Ho/Thomas Tang/Joseph Lai ninja movies starring Richard Harrison. So whenever I complain to you about financial woes, you can always respond by going, "Don't you own copies of Ninja Phantom Heroes and Diamond Ninja Force?" And I will have to hang my head in shame, even if deep inside I am secretly proud of owning such movies.


Just as I was pleased that "post apocalyptic rollerskating movie" is not a description of a single film but of an entire genre, so too am I happy that "movies featuring nude kickboxing" yields expansive enough results that I can sit back and say, "You know, I think I'm going to become an expert in films that feature nude kickboxing." Angelfist certainly doesn't fail to deliver in the nude kickboxing arena, though it does fail to deliver in just about every aspect that a movie might otherwise strive to achieve. It joins a storied list of films that includes Angel of Destruction, Redline, Girls on the Run, Rolls Royce Baby, and Kungfu Leung Strikes Emanuelle in my collection of nude kickboxing movies. Rolls Royce Baby in particular teaches us that there's nothing appealing about watching a sleazy Eurotrash lounge lizard do full frontal nude katas. In general, nude karate is not a sport that lends itself to the male anatomy, though I don't begrudge any man who chooses to make it his chosen form of exercise. If only they'd had the good sense to accompany his workout with a similar scene of Lina Romay, but she's spending too much time in that movie standing on her head while nude for no good reason other than it never hurts to feature Lina Romay nude and standing on her head. I know there are plenty of other films out there featuring nude martial arts, and I intend, one by one and while dressed like Coffin Joe, to possess them all.

So it turns out the awkward looking blonde on the video box isn't Cat Sassoon at all. We'll get to the blonde later. It turns out Cat Sassoon is the daughter (in real life, that is) of shampoo empire tyrant Vidal Sassoon, who I assume achieved his high rank in society through liberal use of karate fighting thugs, and even now he forces hobos and prostitutes to fight in underground martial arts tournaments where the combat takes place in huge pools of mousse. Catya's biography is one of a typical "live fast, die young" (she did both) Hollywood kid, and I'm not sure at what point she picked up the various karate championships the movie celebrates as being in her possession. She seems to have spent most of her short life doing drugs and being a supermodel thanks, in large part, to the fact that she was the daughter of Vidal Sassoon and Beverly Adams. At some point, she parlayed her modeling and "daughter of Vidal Sassoon and Beverly Adams" gig into a movie career and appeared in the film Tuff Turf, the movie that had the unenviable task of making James Spader seem like a bad-ass. From there, it was straight to the bottom of the barrel, and before too long she found herself in The Philippines working in films by our main man, Cirio Santiago.


As far as authentic martial arts bad-assery, and despite the claims made on the cover of this movie, I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that Cat Sassoon was possibly one of the very worst of the many "next female martial arts superstars" that surfaced in the 80s and 90s with dubious claims about winning international tournaments and Vidal Sassoon Hair Mousse Kumutes. She's definitely not to be measured alongside actual bad-asses like Cynthia Rothrock and Karen Shepherd, both of whom made awesome movies in Hong Kong before coming back to America to make movies that were just awesomely bad. But they both knew their stuff, cut their teeth in Hong Kong, and had easy to verify martial arts careers. The waters get murky really quickly beyond them, though.

I'm ranking Sassoon -- who must have been slapped on the back while eating lemons, thus freezing her face in an expression of pouty disgust (Joe Bob Briggs described her as having "the fist of an angel and the face of a fist") -- below Mimi Lesseos (who at least worked as pro wrestler before trying her hand at being the next direct-to-video female martial arts superstar), although Angelfist is remarkably better than anything Mimi Lesseos ever starred in. Probably above Maria Ford, who did time in her own bargain basement Filipino nude kickboxing movie, Angel of Destruction). It's a hard call. And maybe above some of the women who tried to do martial arts in various Andy Sidaris T&A masterpieces. But whatever the case, when you're locked in a battle for last with Maria Ford and former Playboy Playmates, well, you're a long way from the surface. Plus, the trailer for Angel of Destruction has the narrator saying "She gets caught between a rock...and a hard place!" as they show Maria Ford kicking a rapist in the balls.


The claim is that she's a "WKA North American Forms and Weapons champion," but if this is true, the WKA doesn't seem aware of it. Of course, I suppose Cirio Santiago could have created a different WKA than the World Kickboxing Association. Maybe it stands for "Women Kick Ass" or "Wonderfully Krappy Awfulness." I think everyone who ever starred in a martial arts movie got to be the champion of some organization or tournament. In 1992, my friends and I shot about two minutes of an epic we were going to make about a Misfits-loving zombie who returns from the grave, is disillusioned by how punk went all hippie-crusty or metal, and so decides to destroy the world, with only the staff of a local Chinese restaurant to stop him. I think as a result of filming those two minutes, which consisted I think of footage of me jumping over a railing in a parking garage, I became de facto two time world champion in forms and combat for the Global Regional Karate Union of North Florida, twice removed.

So if we're going to drown at the bottom of the barrel with the late Cat Sassoon, we might as well do it in the company of another daft movie by Cirio Santiago. Of course, this movie, with its gratuitous martial arts tournament footage, is positively rational compared to some of his more feverish efforts, but that still leaves plenty of room for you to shake your head and say, "No! No. Wait, what?" The gist of the thing is this: while either vacationing or working as a photographer or participating in a karate tournament, a woman named Kristie (Sibel Birzag, who appeared in Angelfist and...oh, just Angelfist) catches an assassination on film. Although she phones the American embassy with news that one of their top generals has just been murdered by dudes with pantyhose on their head, and that she has photographic evidence, no one seems to consider it all that big a deal. Must be the same army as we saw in American Ninja, where the continuous slaughter of American soldiers at the hands of Filipino ninja hijackers didn't really raise much of an eyebrow. So rather than go into the embassy or the police or anything, she goes and competes in a round or two at a karate tournament where all the women wear sexy leotards, halter tops, and thongs instead of actual martial arts clothing. She then has the film delivered not to the embassy or the police, but to a friend who works as a nude dancer at a club that specializes in the world's least enthusiastic stripping. And then, of course, she gets murdered.


When the woman's Los Angeles cop sister (Cat Sassoon) gets wind of the murder, she travels to the Philippines to solve the case and deal out plodding kungfu justice to those responsible, even though the local authorities use the "I know you're a cop back in LA, but this is Manila. We do things different here," shtick, which has never deterred a single rogue cop ever. It's no more effective than "I just spent the entire morning getting my ass chewed out by the mayor," or "your methods are too extreme, Inspector Nico!"

Along the way, Cat will enter the martial arts tournament in place of her sister, since movies have taught us that all gangsters and would-be revolutionaries are also shady martial arts tournament promoters. Ostensibly, this has something to do with getting close to...I don't know. There were some Mexican drug dealers, or something, and some of the revolutionaries responsible for the murder are involved. Look, I srt of lost track, so I'm going to say that Cat enters the tournament so that she can keep land developers from knocking down the local community center in order to make room for a shopping mall. The primary purpose of the tournament really is to pad out the film's running time with lots of really bad martial arts bouts and only slightly more interesting shower scenes in which Cat Sassoon proves that no amount of shampoo empire money can buy you decent martial arts skills or a decent pair of fake boobs in the early 1990s. I'm sure hers, which she shows often in this film, cost a lot of money, but that doesn't stop them from looking like someone took a couple honeydews, wrapped them in those pointy little knit caps worn by Tibetans and hippies, then strapped them to Cat's chest. There's just nothing right about them, and this is one of those extremely rare moments where the nudity comes and I say, "You know, why don't we just put those away for now?" I mean, they're not Minka absurd -- not that I know who Minka is or know anything about her ludicrously gigantic novelty breasts -- but seriously. Knocker-related technology still had a long way to go when young Catya bought hers.

Anyway, you better get used to them, because as I said, she pulls them out pretty often, God bless 'er, including during a scene where she is attacked in her hotel room by a bunch of ninjas and has to fight them off while wearing nothing but a pair of panties. The two most striking things about this scene are how awful Cat's martial arts are, and how no matter how much she tumbles and stumble around, her breasts remain completely motionless, like a couple of gyroscopes with a fake tan.


And she's not alone. Joining her in her quest to showcase gratuitous boob shots and astoundingly awful karate fights is lovely Melissa Moore and her much more natural breasts, a Versailles (that's vur-sails to y'all -- if the French didn't want you to pronounce the "L's" then they shouldn't have put them in the word), Kentucky native who found herself slumming it in all sorts of movies like Hard to Die, Vampire Cop, and Sorority House Massacre 2, among many others. She's the one who gets to do the silly pose that so intrigues me on the box cover, and the martial arts she showcases in the film don't look any less awkward. You know, though, maybe it's me. I mean, I'm no kungfu master, so maybe I just don't know what I'm talking about. Maybe the proper fighting stance for the martial art they're using is indeed to curl your arms up like an Incan ice mummy and mash them against your boobs. Whatever the case, I like Melissa regardless, even though her part consists mostly of sitting in the audience and watching Cat fight while nodding to herself. Well, when she's not busy taking showers. And apparently someone else likes her too, because there's a comic book about her, Melissa Moore, Bodyguard from Draculina Publishing. I'm not a big reader of comic books, so I don't know too much about it. Somehow, I think that even if I was a big reader of comic books, I still wouldn't know too much about it. Never the less, I'm still glad it exists.

So now that I've had some fun ribbing the ladies, let me say that I love that both of them are willing to give their all, however much that may be, for a movie like this. I mean, good or bad, Moore and Sassoon are in there, taking their lumps, showing the goods, and starring in crummy kungfu films. I love 'em both for it. Working the Corman-Santiago Manila circuit can't be steak and onions, as stories from the likes of Walter Hill and Pam Grier attest to. And I don't know about Melissa Moore, but Cat Sassoon certainly didn't have to do anything more than sit back and live off the sudsy wealth of her family. Instead, she went to the Philippines and made low budget action films. Good for her! And as for Moore -- what can I say? I have a soft spot for Kentucky girls. I'd love to do a long interview with her or pay to have her write a book. As I've said many times before and will doubtless say as long as I keep reviewing crappy low budget Roger Corman productions shot in the Philippines, the stories behind these films is probably way more interesting than both the film itself and the making of stories behind the standard Hollywood project. So if I poke fun at the ladies, it's done out of love and with nothing but good nature.


Not so much, though, for the comedy relief male sidekick and the usual host of "You kicked their ass? But...but...you're a woman!" and "That was amazing! Could you teach me some of that kungfu jazz?" shtick that invariably follows him and his Chess King wardrobe around. And since I've cracked jokes at the expense of poor Cat Sassoon, who wanted nothing more than to make shitty kungfu films and show us her fake boobs as often as possible (and don't think I don't appreciate her for that), I might as well mention that actor Michael Shaner looks like someone mashed Matthew Modine and John Malkovich together. There's something not quite human about him, like he's a clay-faced shape shifter doing its best to approximate what a human douchebag looks like. The big difference between Shaner and Sassoon is that by the end of the movie, Sassoon's crappy acting, terrible martial arts, willingness to show off her weird fake boobs, and her overall strange appearance won me over. Heck, I'm ready to buy more Cat Sassoon action films on 50 cent VHS. Conversely, I want to punch Shaner in the face, even though I know it's sculpted out of clay and butterscotch pudding, or whatever shape shifters are made of. You know what, Shaner? Your wardrobe isn't even good enough to be Chess King.

Both Moore and Sassoon turn in nude kickboxing scenes, though I think Moore's only counts half a point since it's just a ripped shirt. But Sassoon goes full on, in just her lacy red panties, showing off her otherworldly fake boobs and accompanying fake tan that, coupled with the oily misting job they did on her to give her that fresh out of the shower appearance, makes her look like a particularly aggressive Nathan's brand hot dog. This is without a doubt the second finest nude kickboxing scene I've witnessed (it's going to be hard to beat the scene from Girls on the Run, though, because that's a nude kickboxing scene directed by Cory Yuen Kwai). But Cat Sassoon holds nothing back. She throws all her energy into the scene, jumping around awkwardly, growling, yelling, and a few times doing spinning kicks while her face is obscured by a huge dollop of Vaseline or something on the lens.


I think they might have been trying to obscure the fact that a male stuntman with fake orange boobs attached to him was standing in for Sassoon. If that's the case, oh man! What must that guy's day have been like? One stuntman shows up and hears, "Well, you're in the fight, and Cat Sassoon is going to be all greased up and naked, and she's going to kick you then straddle your face." And yeah, Cat may look a little weird, but she has an odd sort of cuteness about her, and if she's nude and straddling my face then I still call that a good day at work. So the other stuntman is like, "This is gonna be an awesome day!" until he finds out that his job is to grease up, put on fake boobs and a pair of red lace panties, and be a stand-in for a nude kickboxing woman. And then his children will ask, "What did you do at work today, daddy?"

The rest of the cast seems comprised largely of Filipino kickboxing women who show up for matches and disappear again during the shower scenes (I've never seen a Filipino martial arts tournament locker room with so many white women in it). I guess most of these women have some actual martial arts background, but that doesn't matter all that much since real life tournament martial arts are pretty boring to watch if you're not an avid practitioner. They're not any better here and are probably somewhat worse. There are also a couple rebels, and the usual assortment of white guys playing generals, diplomats, and other figures of authority. None of them are really worth mentioning. There is a guy named Mr. Carrion, which I suppose is a slightly better name than Mr. Rottin' Guts McGee, but just barely.


This is one of the films, one of the many films, that force me to grapple with an assortment of moral questions related to passing judgment. Because this is a terrible, terrible movie, and I like it. It's completely idiotic, and I like it. I have no justification for this adoration, and certainly I hesitate to tell others they should check it out. The acting is bad, the martial arts are worse, and the direction is nondescript. But like Cat Sassoon herself, somehow all the negatives add up to a decently dumb and entertaining 80 minutes. The action may indeed be bad, but there's a lot of it. Like Melissa Moore and Cat Sassoon, all this movie wants to do is entertain you. And like its stars, the results are pretty feeble even if the effort is enthusiastic. Liking bad movies is pretty common. Liking bad martial arts movies is a much more, let's say exclusive, calling. They're still way easier to like than bad comedies and bad Steven Seagal films, but in a genre where bad stories and acting are glossed over in light of good action scenes, you better have good action scenes. When you don't, there's not much going on.

Except, you know, nude kickboxing.

Odd that movies like this are why, in the 1990s, I would write long screeds about how dreadful American martial arts movies are and how it's a shame the US isn't paying more attention to Jackie Chan and Jet Li. Now that the US is paying more attention to those guys -- a bit too late for them to really deliver much that is worth paying attention to, sadly -- I find that the crummy little low-budget productions from America and the Philippines have grown more attractive to me. And isn't it funny that a number of the Hong Kong action stars of the 80s and 90s, once the action boom faded, sought to ply their trade in The Philippines. Somewhere in Hong Kong, the Chinese Roger Corman has Yuen Biao and Yukari Oshima in his office and is, no doubt, reaching for the bright red rotary dial phone that connects all producers in the world directly to Cirio Santiago.



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Tuesday, September 09, 2008

Future Hunters

Release Year: 1986
Country: United States
Starring: Robert Patrick, Linda Carol, Ed Crick, Bob Schott, David Light, Paul Holmes, Peter Shilton, Ursula Marquez, Elizabeth Oropesa, Bruce Le, Hwang Jang Lee, Richard Norton.
Writer: J. Lee Thompson
Director: Cirio Santiago
Cinematographer: Ricardo Remias
Music: Ron Jones
Producer: Anthony Maharaj
Alternate Titles: Spear of Destiny; Deadly Quest
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It can't be! It just can't be! I'm only a couple films into my Project VHS reviews, in which I take a written tour of some of my strangest old VHS tapes, and I'm finding that the common thread running through all the films I've selected for this treatment is that they lead me almost instantly to refer to them as Lovecraftian horrors that cannot be processed by the feeble mind of man, and thus merely witnessing them will destroy you and turn you mad. And it turns out, that comparison can easily be sustained in our next foray into video cassette nostalgia. Although not nearly as batshit bizarre as Roller Blade, Cirio Santiago's Future Hunters still resembles some ancient horror buried for millions of years at the bottom of a pit beneath some black and unnamed ruin of a city comprised primarily of forms and colors that have no corresponding point of reference in our own universe.

In fact, when first I purchased this tape, I ended up returning it as defective. I bought it used from a video store that was liquidating its stock back in 1995 or so, and a few days later, I popped it in the VCR and set about watching it while I did some simple household chores. The film started out as a Road Warrior rip-off, with occasional Hong Kong action film villain Richard Norton tearing around the post-apocalyptic wasteland in a muscle car. Familiar enough territory. Then I got distracted, possibly by the discovery that our refrigerator had been leaking, and the leakage had turned into a putrid yellowish goo underneath the crisper drawers (man, talk about unspeakable Lovecraftian horrors). When I finished toweling up the gelatinous gloop and throwing the towel onto the roof of the credit union across the parking lot, I returned to the living room and found that someone had recorded a different movie over the one I'd purchased. Because there on my massive ten-inch screen was a Bruce Le kungfu film, with the famous Bruce Lee imitator locked in mortal kicking combat with Hwang Jang Lee wearing a silver wig.


I took the movie back, told them of the error, and had my $3.00 returned to me. Oddly, a couple weeks later, I found the film for sale again at a different video store, and for some reason or other, I purchased it. It was like unwittingly being saved from purchasing some accursed item only to equally unwittingly acquire the item again. It was destiny. So once again, I went home and popped it in the VCR to watch while taking care of some chores. It was around this time that I discovered some hamsters had escaped their twisting tube universe and had gone feral, living in the walls of our duplex. This revelation came shortly after noticing that the area we used to clean out our various aquariums -- a flower garden owned by the aforementioned credit union -- had been turned by uneaten hamster trail mix into a garden of sunflowers and corn stalks, which we eventually harvested and ate while the poor guy in charge of that small plot of flora was wondering how the hell his flower garden turned into a corn field.

Anyway, after I gave up trying to corner one of the wily rodents and resigned myself at last to being the guy who destroyed the north Florida ecosystem by introducing wild hamsters into its delicate balance, I returned to the movie only to find out, son of a bitch! It was that damn Bruce Le movie again! Although I flirted with the idea that somehow the film had been purchased by someone who promptly resold it to a different video store that then put it on sale for me to end up purchasing a second time, the more logical theory emerged that this movie was just really schizophrenic, and what had started out as a Mad Max movie morphed at some point into a film about Bruce Le wearing a modern track suit and fighting a guy who looks to have stepped out of the Chinese middle ages. So I decided that I was going to have to sit down and actually pay attention to this movie if I hoped to ever unravel its tantalizing mysteries. What I discovered was even more bizarre than initially I suspected.


So as I saw the first time around, the movie opens in the near future. Society has crumbled and the earth has been ravaged by nuclear war which, in the 1980s, was as versatile an explanation for pretty much anything as "hacking" is today. Depending on the movie, nuclear war could turn the world into a desert wasteland populated by S&M punks or a lush jungle populated by Amazons, or it could somehow cause dinosaurs to come back. Similarly, if your movie requires someone to get some piece of information or control over some device they couldn't possibly achieve, all you need to do is write the following line of dialogue: "If I can just hack in through the back door...we're in!" then you can do pretty much any damn thing you want.

So it's the future. A guy named Matthew (Richard Norton), is speeding around in the desert looking for the fabled Spear of Longinus, the weapon that pierced the side of Christ during his crucifixion. According to this film, the loosely defined good guys of the future need the spear so they can travel back in time and prevent nuclear obliteration from ever having happened. Unfortunately, Matthew is pursued by the bad guys, lead by someone named Zaar (unfortunately not played by Robert Z'Dar), and where as Matthew has a cool car, awesome hair, and the same gun I think Richard Norton had last time he was a post-apocalyptic hero (that being in the film Equalizer 2000), Zaar has tanks and wears a gratuitous cape. They capture Matthew, bring him to within a stone's throw of where he was going anyway, then let him escape. Then they chase Matthew to some crumbling temple where he finds the mythical spear with relative ease, only to have the full brunt of Zaar's armored divisions brought down on his head.

Then we cut to 1986, where college student Michelle (Linda Carol) is randomly poking around the ruins of the very same temple of the future with her boyfriend, Terminator 2 (Robert Patrick) because her "big exam is coming up." Once again I have to question the colleges attended by people in B-movies. In what class can you prepare for your test by driving out to an old church frequented, as we will soon learn, by rapist biker gangs, and looking at it with no real defined purpose? And if it's archaeology or art history or something, wouldn't other members of the class be out there as well, or at the very least, shouldn't you be doing something a little more scientific than wandering aimlessly while a Terminator 2 sits on the steps and complains about being bored and needing to get back to town so he can kill John Conner? Or shouldn't the professor at least have warned his female students that the deserted site is routinely patrolled by vicious gangs of rapists? This is as unacademic as the classrooms in movies like Gor where the entire curriculum seems to be based around listening to a professor make random proclamations about some ridiculous pet theory of his, or the grad student in Cannibal Ferox whose thesis was "Cannibals don't exist any more" when everyone else had to write thesis papers like "Aspects on Process Engineering in the Finnish Pulp and Paper Industry."


Michelle's investigative archaeology is accompanied by that 80s direct-to-video action film music that is so hard to explain yet so familiar as soon as you hear it. It's a playful little number, and the sound isn't straight synth nor is it a mimic of the piano, exactly. But in pretty much every 80s direct-to-video action film, they used this style of theme for the "makin' love" scene or the "just horsin' around" scene. I'm a bit surprised that there is no Future Hunters soundtrack on Varese Sarabande, as "Soundtrack on Varese Sarabande" is the single most repeated phrase in the entire Psychotronic Video Guide. The world is a darker place for not having a CD quality recording of "Love Theme from Future Hunters."

After this goes on a spell, Michelle and Terminator 2 are randomly attacked by a biker gang who, for some reason or another, like to troll the ruins of out in the middle of nowhere churches looking for loving young college couples to terrorize. I guess they didn't realize they were messing with Terminator 2, who I assumed would instantly turn his pinky finger into a long silver spike and stick it in someone's shoulders (a painful sensation not unlike the one you'll feel watching most of this movie), then follow it up with that very determined "running after the vehicle" shtick all Terminator 2's are wont to do. But then this was 1986, and we were barely done with Terminator 1, so I guess Robert Patrick didn't have his Terminator 2 powers yet (though later in the film he does do a determined run after a jeep in a scene I'm sure he included on his highlight reel to get the T2 job). As a result, he gets his ass kicked and is forced to soothe his bruised ego with the knowledge that it won't be too long before he's strong enough to beat up the gaunt, corpse-like Edward Furlong, who would achieve the dubious honor in his twenties of looking less vital and more deathly than Peter Cushing (whose picture is in the dictionary next to the word "gaunt") did a month after he died.


Michelle is about to be on the bad end of an 80s action film style raping when Richard Norton wanders up out of nowhere and beats the tar out of the bikers before getting shot and handing the Spear of Longinus over to Michelle, stammering that she must use it to prevent the apocalypse. So I guess the time travel thing works, even though they later explain that the spear can't possibly work unless you have both halves of it (the shaft is elsewhere). He also stammers a few names, all of whom, conveniently, are related in some way to the community college (or Touro) Michelle attends. And then Matthew dies and goes off to get more use out of his costume in Equalizer 2000.

As is often the case with these types of films, I realize that I'm straying a bit too far into the realm of plot synopsis, but once again I feel it's justified, as there's not much hope otherwise of explaining just how cracked in the head a film like Future Hunters can manage to be. Because before too long, Michelle and T2 are on the run from a secret society of Nazis who want to get the Spear and use it to cause the apocalypse we saw before the credits. Which is kind of odd, as they couldn't possibly have possessed the spear the first time they caused the future apocalypse -- which is the first and only time I'll mention the underlying stupidity of the entire time travel plotline, since for starters is gets dropped almost immediately, but mostly because no one should bend themselves out of shape worrying about shoddy time travel threads in Future Hunters, a movie that, soon enough, will present us with everything from an impromptu kungfu film to an army of stone age midgets to a secret society of sexy Filipina Amazons in the jungles of South Asia.


Also, if Matthew retrieved the Spear from it's ancient resting place half an hour outside of Los Angeles (how the hell did it get there?), then traveled back in time to that same location, isn't the 1986 Spear of Longinus still in the temple? Maybe the Nazi bad guys should just use that one instead of the future Spear of Longinus.

Michelle and T2, whose name in this movie is actually Slade (and I mention this only because Robert Patrick and Richard Norton appear together in Equalizer 2000, where Norton's character is named Slade -- Santiago apparently has a fetish for the name) must find the elusive Professor Hightower, and doing so leads them to Hong Kong. I guess her big test wasn't that important after all. Also, I guess she's incredibly rich to be able to close up her crappy desert diner and fly to Hong Kong that same day. But then I expect no less from a naive young college girl who, for some inexplicable reason is able to outdrive, outfox, and outshoot the various trained killers sent after her. Robert Patrick spends most of the movie being believably beaten up, on the other hand. I hope you like the sight of him lying on his back with a dumb look on his face, because you're going to get it a lot.

T2 has a friend who is a taxi driver in Hong Kong, but more importantly, he has a friend who is a taxi driver and is also Bruce Le, though as was his lot in life, he's often miscredited as Bruce Li. Because a random taxi driver in Hong Kong will obviously be in tune with rumors surrounding missing anthropology professors from small American colleges, he informs our duo that Hightower's last reported location was at the Forbidden Pagoda, a tourist attraction which no one is allowed to enter lest they incur the wrath of high kicking kungfu warrior Hwang Jang Lee, dressed like he just came from the set of the latest Seasonal Films production, or possibly from a kungfu film themed amusement park. When T2 tries to enter the pagoda, he gets whupped, which leads to a lengthy fight scene between Le and Hwang, complete with the sudden introduction of kungfu film sound effects. When the monk is finally dispatched -- not via the fight, but because a sniper attempts to kill T2 and kills the monk instead -- Le and T2 enter the pagoda, look around for for a few seconds, then testily proclaim, "Nothing!" Then they walk away. Shouldn't they report the murder to the police or something? Worst tourist attraction in Hong Kong!


Oddly, this isn't the first time Bruce Le has found himself randomly inserted into a film for a gratuitous if not unwelcome fight scene. A while back, I was wondering if Bollywood, always quick to exploit a trend, had ever produced any Bruce Lee exploitation films (films that cast someone with a similar name or haircut in an attempt to sucker people into thinking they're going to see the real Bruce Lee). Eventually, I came across Katilon Ke Kaatil starring Dharmendra and featuring a scene were he randomly walks by Bruce Le -- who hasn't been in the film before and won't appear again -- and a fight breaks out. I mean, I assume that if Dharmendra and Bruce Le swagger by each other, a fight is going to break out, but it had nothing at all to do with the rest of the movie. I guess there was a period in the 1980s when directors in need of some extra action and running time could put in an order for Bruce Le, and they'd just ship him from Hong Kong in a wooden crate to wherever they needed him. Today, he remains in a huge warehouse full of crates like the one in Indiana Jones, stored alongside the likes of Sho Kosugi, patiently meditating until the day their services are once more required to save the world from the awakening of Cthulhu.

So having now seen exactly how the film suddenly becomes a kungfu film for ten minutes, it still doesn't make any more sense than when I thought someone had mistakenly recorded Eagle vs. Silver Fox over part of Future Hunters. I mean, all that for absolutely no reason? I was about to swear that this whole film was assembled piecemeal out of other equally bad but less nonsensical films, but that isn't the case. I mean, I saw Hwang Jang Lee and Robert Patrick in the same shot together, and this was before the world possessed the technology to digitally insert Robert Patrick into every movie ever made, which I assume we're going to do.

And even though I knew it wasn't the case, the rest of the movie caused the same feeling. Things get no less logical when Michelle and T2 follow the trail to South Asia with a band of Nazis hot on their trail. There, in the jungles, they encounter a tribe of stone-age midgets who aid them in their quest to recover the shaft of the spear, which is in a cave guarded by a city of scantily clad Amazons. And when one of these movies ends up in an Amazon city, you know you're going to get at least one really awkwardly staged catfight. In the end, an earthquake happens for no reason, foam rocks bounce harmlessly off people who show up bloody and dead in the next shot, and Michelle randomly holds up the spear, causing all the midgets to cheer and the film to end.


Before we go much further, like talking about how the Spear doesn't even do anything in the end, let's discuss the career of one Cirio Santiago, the Roger Corman of The Philippines -- though I suspect them of actually being the same man. Understanding a film like Future Hunters may be as impossible as understanding the full implications of quantum mechanics, but understanding a little about Santiago might help us at least grasp a film like this on some elementary, superficial level. Future Hunters and the many films like it bearing Santiago's name are lasting monuments to nepotism. Santiago is the son of a studio founder, which might help explain how Santiago got his first jobs. And those jobs were as producer on a film called Cavalry Command in 1963 and as director of 1964's Darna and the Tree Monster, an entry in a popular pulp superheroine adventure series.

It was in the 1970s, however, that Santiago really came into his own. Roger Corman, always on the prowl for ways to save money, hit upon The Philippines as the ideal location for many of his productions. The sprawling island-nation has long been and continues to be the stand-in for a variety of places populated by chubby guys with thick mustaches and Hawaiian shirts. It was the go-to place for any film set in Vietnam or Cambodia, at least until Thailand became a more viable option. Future Hunters is one of the few movies to actually attempt -- and fail -- to pass the streets of Manila off as downtown Los Angeles, but hey, you gotta respect the moxie. Corman most famously produced a series of sweaty, lesbian-filled women in prison films in The Philippines, and it's probably around this time that he struck up his relationship with Cirio Santiago. Although he still produced and directed local fare during that time, Santiago became the go-to guy for American co-productions slumming it in Manila. He produced and/or directed a number of blaxploitation films throughout the 70s, and in the 80s he split his time between cheapjack action films -- mostly set in Vietnam -- and cheapjack post apocalypse scifi, almost all of which got distributed by one Roger Corman company or another in the United States, much to the delight and puzzlement of people like me who prowled video store shelves in search of anything with a title like Machete Maidens of Mora Tao.


Future Hunters may be his crowning achievement, a film of such stunning incompetence, with such total disregard for making even the least bit of sense, that one can hardly process it. Seriously, by the time ancient Mongol horsemen attack the 1986 Nazi camp in The Philippines, you're not even going to care any more. This film contains more individual movies and genres than most Bollywood films. All it lacks is a song and dance number, but what it lacks in terms of item numbers by Helen it more than makes up for with shots of young Robert Patrick lying spread eagle on a bed in his tighty whities. By the time we got to the end and realized that the Spear of Longinus serves no purpose whatsoever, all I was capable of doing was lying in the corner, giggling uncontrollably and scrawling esoteric runes from floor to ceiling on every wall in my padded cell.

Seriously, what the hell were we thinking in the 1980s? I mean, don't get me wrong. I'm happy that amazingly freakish crap like this got made, but that doesn't mean I don't wonder how the hell it happened. Cirio Santiago has, in his career, flirted with competence; Future Warriors doesn't even flirt with coherence. This film simply shouldn't be, and like I said, even though the footage is original, it feels like the entire movie was pasted together out of other shot-in-The-Philippines movies. Both the Amazons and the midget tribe ideas would return in Warriors of the Apocalypse, directed by Bobby Suarez, who on some days I would swear is just the third part of the unholy trinity formed along with Corman and Santiago. Richard Norton driving around in the post-apocalyptic wasteland would show up again in Santiago's own Equalizer 2000.


But perhaps weirdest of all is that a few years after this, Robert Patrick would appear in another "time travelin' to save the future" movie, albeit one with a considerably larger profile. I can only assume that young James Cameron was sitting around one day and, much like me, popped a copy of Future Hunters into the VCR and, mere minutes later, thought to himself, "I have to get this guy to be the terminator in my next movie!" But as the guy who plays the king of the caveman midgets wasn't available, Cameron did the next best thing and cast the annoying redneck prone to lying around in his man panties as an unstoppable killing machine from the future.

Patrick's performance, like that of his co-star Linda Carol, consists entirely of plaintive whining. "We have to protect the spear!" "Aww, dang, Ah don' wanna protect tha spear!" "Oh come on! Help me protect the spear!" After spending a few minutes with them, nuclear apocalypse is suddenly looking like the preferable choice. When watching the endless banter, when watching him get beat up by Hwang Jang Lee, when watching the T2000 buffalo shots, remember that this guy somehow, despite being in Future Hunters, went on to star in not one, but two of the hugest franchises of all time, although one of those came after the characters people actually gave a damn about had already left the show.

Still, the rest of the cast wasn't nearly as lucky. Well, except for Hwang and Le, but I'm pretty sure they're only in this movie because Cirio accidentally stumbled onto the set of a film they were already filming and decided to work it into his own movie. I mean, you never really need an excuse to pad your film with a fight scene between Hwang Jang Lee and Bruce Le.


Linda Carol had a smattering of film and television appearances of little consequence, the highest profile of which was the women in prison spoof Reform School Girls. Everyone in that movie had the misfortune of having to compete with half naked Wendy O. Williams of The Plasmatics as she howled like a banshee and rode a school bus to hell. Everyone else had solid careers in TV shows you only pretend to like but never actually watched (I don't care what they say on VH1 specials or what the camp appeal of William Shatner may be; you did not watch T.J. Hooker) and films like Bloodfist VI, but they must all be watching Robert Patrick in Terminator 2 and thinking, "Holy shit, I once hit that guy with a floor lamp while he was in his underwear."

And Aussie ass-kicker Richard Norton, it goes without saying, is awesome, even though almost everything he's ever made stinks to high heaven.

Of course, the end of the day means admitting that the individual pieces of this film are far more entertaining than the whole. For every minute we spend with bikini clad Amazons and warrior midgets, we spend twice as much time with Slade and Michelle as they bicker with each other. Still, this movie is just weird enough to make it fascinating so long as you are a viewer possessed of some high degree of constitution. It's no Roller Blade, but where else are you going to get a movie where a guy time travels back to 1986 to give the spear of destiny to Terminator 2 so he can show it to Bruce Le while running from Nazis who get attacked by Genghis Khan's hordes while they are surrounded by caveman midgets and Filipina Amazons? I'm a sucker for movies like this, and Future Hunters won me over. If Fantasy Mission Force has a kindred spirit, this film is it.

Oh, and what ever became of ol' Cirio Santiago you may ask? Well, in 1995 he was appointed by none other than Filipino President Fidel Ramos as head of the Philippines Film Development Fund. The Fund's purpose?

"To improve the quality of Filipino films."

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