Monday, July 07, 2008The People That Time Forgot Release Year: 1977Country: England, United States Starring: Patrick Wayne, Doug McClure, Sarah Douglas, Dana Gillespie, Thorley Walters, Shane Rimmer, Tony Britton, John Hallam, David Prowse, Milton Reid, Kiran Shah. Writer: Patrick Tilley Director: Kevin Connor Cinematographer: Alan Hume Music: John Scott Producer: John Dark Availability: Buy it from Amazon Promote It: Digg | del.icio.us When The Land That Time Forgot ended, it left hero Doug McClure and heroine Susan Penhaligon stranded in the tropic prehistoric lost world of Caprona in Antarctica, fated to wander the strange world of dinosaurs and cavemen while wearing big-ass furs and mukluks. Would rescue ever come? Would their hopeless message in a bottle, thrown into the tumultuous seas at the end of the earth, ever be found, and if so, would it be believed? Well, we know from the first film that the account of the strange adventure to Caprona was found (though how the account, written by one man, could include detailed descriptions of things that happened while he was not around, is a question best left not asked in a movie about a u-boat crew fighting dinosaurs), and two years later, the answer to whether or not anyone would believe it. Unfortunately, the answer came in the form of The People That Time Forgot, a phenomenally boring follow-up that reduces Doug McClure's role to little more than a cameo, kills off Susan Penhaligon in between the two movies, and seems to think that what people really wanted from a sequel to The Land That Time Forgot was fewer dinosaur fights and caveman rumbles, and more scenes of people walking across gravel-strewn landscapes. The inaction begins with Ben McBride (Patrick Wayne, son of John), airplane pilot and friend of Bowen Tyler (McClure, remember -- his character did have a name), preparing to mount a rescue mission after having received word of the message in a bottle account of the events from the last film. McBride encounters relatively little skepticism either from the scientific community, the Navy, or the press. It seems accounts of Caprona have popped up from time to time in the past, and this is their best chance, using the navigation information Bowen recorded from their journey on the German submarine, to pinpoint the exact location of the mysterious land and, if possible, rescue Lisa and Bowen. But unlike the ill-fated experiences of the Germans and Brits who wound up there by accident, McBride is determined to mount a properly provisioned rescue mission, employing the latest cold weather ships, radio equipment, and an airplane. Accompanying him, besides assorted stoic British sailors, are his trusty sidekick mechanic, a biologist, and Charly Cunningham (Sarah Douglas), a reporter for the London Times whose inclusion in the expedition was one of the provisions of the newspaper financing the mission.
Things start off well, both for the film and the expedition. The ship gets McBride close enough to use the plane, and after successfully navigating through the high mountains, the pilot and his crew soon find themselves on the unmistakable outskirts of Caprona. The weather turns warmer, there are a few more trees (though nothing like the lush primordial forests in the last movie), and they are attacked by a stiff, fake looking pterodactyl. Truly we are home. The battle forces the plane to make an emergency landing, and while the mechanic repairs the damaged rudder and makes "comical" comments, McBride and Charly set out on foot in a basically random direction in hopes of finding Bowen and Sarah. They encounter a dinosaur here and there, but for the most part, their trek is exceedingly dull. I can't really put my finger on why, even when there are dinosaurs on screen, it seems like there aren't dinosaurs on screen. I think it's because there's no real sense of interaction with the creatures. The last film had all sorts of crummy looking composite shots so we could see Doug McClure sneaking around dinosaurs. This time, it feels like we're watching stock footage. In fact, yeah. That's exactly it. With the exception of one scene where Sarah Douglas takes a photo of a stegosaurus, the whole film feels like one of those old impoverished jungle adventures, like White Pongo or White Gorilla -- films comprised almost entirely of shots of the cast walking through a set, intercut with stock footage of elephants and giraffes. This isn't stock footage (though I suspect one or two shots of being unused footage from The Land that Time Forgot), but it feels like it. Until the very end, the dinosaurs are little more than parts of the set that cause the cast to make terrified faces, except for Patrick Wayne, who makes the same face he has for the entire film. At the end, they finally fight a dinosaur, but it's really too little too late. This movie needed to be packed with scenes of our heroes fighting dinosaurs, and it's not. Eventually, they begin to reach the more temperate regions of Caprona, here realized by location shooting in an actual forest (the Canary Islands, to be exact). Where as the last movie relied largely on a mix of location work with sets to create a believable if somewhat fantastic jungle, this movie looks like it was filmed in a pretty average clump of trees. Funny how that happens sometimes. The actual tropical island isn't a very convincing tropical island, where as the last film -- which I think was filmed on a set and probably in a London park -- was more interesting looking. Sort of like how The Greatest Story Ever Told was shot in Arizona and Utah, because the filming they did on location in the actual Holy Land didn't look Holy Land enough. However, the location shooting also lends the film a more wide-open feel, though given how little impact that has, it would have been nice if they'd skimped on location shooting and used that money to buy more crummy dinosaur props or a tiny fur bikini for Sarah Douglas.
It's also notable that, from this point on (which means, for most of the movie), the dinosaurs are gone until the very end. Instead, our intrepid trio (one forgets that the biologist is even along for the ride, from time to time) encounters sexy, big-breasted cavegirl Ajor (former David Bowie backup singer Dana Gillespie, who played a similar role in Hammer Studio's 1968 lost world adventure film, The Lost Continent). Ajor is far more advanced and bosomy than the cavemen we saw in the last movie, and what's more, she speaks English! At least that's an improvement over the last film. When faced with choosing between a big-boobed cavegirl who speaks in pidgin English or a thick browed caveman who shrieks a lot, I think the choice is clear. Also, she understands feathering and advanced hair teasing techniques. All of these skills were taught to her, McBride discovers, by Bowen Tyler, who Ajor reveals has been captured by an even more advanced race, the Nagas. It turns out that the Nagas are so advanced that they, completely isolated from all cultural influence in the rest of the world, have evolved to dress and fight exactly like medieval Japanese samurai, right down to the katanas, flag bearers, and big kabuto helmets with gruesome face masks. Despite all those advances, however, they still live in caves and are ruled over by a fat, hooting, grunting dude in a fur loincloth (big Milton Reid, once again). It's as if the nation of Japan decided one day that they wanted to be ruled over ruthlessly by George the Animal Steele. But instead of ripping open a turnbuckle cover with his teeth, Sabbala pencils in Charly and Ajor for sacrifice to the...wait for it...yep, the angry volcano god. Then he throws McBride and the biologist, Norfolk (Thorley Walters), into his skull wall prison. In the prison, McBride is finally reunited with Tyler. And now, with a couple of two-fisted, good ol' American boys on the job, these merciless rulers of Caprona's crappy non-dinosaur infested southern region are primed for a beat-down.
By 1977, England's Amicus Productions was dead. The People That Time Forgot was really not so much a production as it was one of those nervous twitches a corpse sometimes makes. The only thing that even got the movie finished was money from American International Pictures, who had already been propping up Amicus for their last two Kevin Connor directed adaptations of Edgar Rice Burroughs' adventures. The People That Time Forgot feels much more like an AIP film than it does an Amicus film, and the budget must have dwindled to the point where even Kevin Connor couldn't scrape together enough crappy special effects to fill the movie as he had The Land That Time Forgot or 1976's At the Earth's Core. So almost all the action involves people. Sometimes they are cavemen, sometimes, for some inexplicable reason, they are samurai. There are only a couple of really crummy dinosaurs. It turns out that if your movie has dozens of crappy looking dinosaurs, it's probably going to be pretty cool. But if your movie only has one or two crappy looking dinosaurs, then all you can think about is how crappy it is that you are getting so few crappy dinosaurs. And even if you make your peace with the fact that you're not going to get any dinosaur action, you still have to deal with the fact that there's really not much caveman action either. McBride has a run-in with a tribe that has been chasing Ajor, but it's short-lived and fairly thrill-free. So even if you reconcile yourself to the fact that there is no dinosaur action and precious little caveman action, then you find yourself depending on John Wayne's son versus lost world samurai ruled over by a mostly naked fat guy painted green.
And even then, you're going to be disappointed, because most of the samurai action is restricted to scenes of guys walking back and forth. That they are wearing samurai armor for no good reason doesn't make it any more interesting. Also, I don' think samurai wore their armor 24/7. Like, if you are on guard duty in the cramped caverns of your poorly lit cave dungeon, you really don't need battle armor and a giant helmet with a faceplate. I guess they took the time to evolve the ability to think of Japanese armor, so they decided they were going to get their money's worth. While I imagine samurai armor would help you in a battle against cavemen, it's probably less effective against a T-Rex or any of the other monsters we know inhabit Caprona. Or at least, that inhabited it in the last movie. So maybe this is really the only time they get to break it out and show it off, since even though it's effective against cavemen, they are probably too primitive to admire your craftsmanship. The lack of dinosaurs without anything to fill the void is the film's major misstep. The next major misstep is reducing Doug McClure to a cameo. The structure of The People That Time Forgot is very similar to another colossal letdown, Beneath the Planet of the Apes. OK, so maybe Planet of the Apes was a more prestigious sci-fi film than The Land that Time Forgot, but the overall result for someone like me is the same. Beneath the Planet of the Apes is about a guy who wasn't in the last film, who travels to the mysterious lost world-esque planet of the apes, has some dull adventures, then ends up underground in a jail where he meets Charlton Heston reprising his role in a cameo. And then they break out, there's some fist fights, Charlton Heston dies, and everything explodes.
The People that Time Forgot plays out almost identically. Patrick shows up in Caprona, has some dull adventures, finds Doug McClure in a cave. There's some fist fights, Doug dies, and then stuff explodes. Aping Beneath the Planet of the Apes is not a good move, and reducing your single remaining interesting character to a ten minute cameo at the very end of the film is even worse. Actually, scratch all that. This film's major misstep is that it casts Sarah Douglas in a role, has her character set up to be sacrificed to a primitive volcano god, and never puts her in a skimpy slave girl outfit! Having almost no Doug McClure action is justifiable if you say, "Sorry, but we spent the little money we had on convincing Sarah Douglas to wear this tiny loin cloth. We couldn't afford any more Doug McClure after that." That'd be fine. But no. She stays fully clothed the entire time. A travesty! Sarah Douglas, in case you weren't around at the time, is probably best known either as the evil chick in Superman II or as the evil chick in Conan the Destroyer -- two films in which she was more skimpily clad than she was in this movie, where she was in a land of scantily clad cave people. Still, despite my dissatisfaction with her sacrificial attire, Douglas is the closes thing this movie has to a good performance. She has an easy charm about her -- surprising since I've been taught from all her other roles to be terrified of her.
In her place, the scantily clad chore goes to Dana Gillespie. Gillespie was a former future pop icon. The one-time girlfriend of Bob Dylan, she was supposed to be some sort of folk rock star. That didn't pan out. Some years later, she became David Bowie's pet project after she sang back-up vocals for him during the Ziggy Stardust days. She completed an album, but I don't think it flew off the shelves. She had slightly better luck on stage, appearing as Mary Magdalene in the original run of Jesus Christ Superstar. In 1968, she appeared in one of Hammer's several "lost world" mini-epics, The Lost Continent. It was nearly ten years later when she appeared in The People that Time Forgot, allowing her breasts to do most of the acting for her. Still, it should be noted that her feathered hair is almost as big as her boobs, so it's not like I'm reducing her to a single, degrading aspect of her physical appearance instead of judging her performance more rationally. But then, it's also hard to judge a performance when your only lines are, "Tyler!" and "You are...friend of Tyler?" Given my druthers, I would have had Gillespie and Douglas switch costumes. Oh yeah, somewhere in that mix is Patrick Wayne. Coincidentally, much of his filmography seems comprised of small parts in the films of John Wayne. what are the chances, huh? Well, Patrick Wayne is about as good an actor as his old man, only he doesn't have any of the charisma or macho allure than compensated for the elder Wayne's limited range. In 1977, Patrick had arguably his biggest role, that of Arabian sailor Sinbad (he's even less Arabian than Lou Ferrigno!) in Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger. In greater scheme of Sinbad movies with special effects by Ray Harryhausen, Eye of the Tiger is a lesser affair, though still plenty of fun. Plus, it features a pretty solid supporting cast that includes Jane Seymour at the height of her hotness (not that her hotness has ever diminished) and scruffy Patrick Troughton (Scars of Dracula, the second Doctor Who, and who, as far as I know, has always been awesome but never had any height of hotness).
That along with a bunch of stop motion monster effects was more than enough to make most people fail to notice how stiff an actor Patrick Wayne was. Thing is, a movie like that needs a stiff in the lead. It needs a piece of petrified wood off which it can bounce all its fantastic stuff. After all, those are Ray Harryhausen movies. Few people remember who directed them, or starred in them. Heck, I was out of college before I even realized different guys had played Sinbad in the various movies. Because everyone remembers the special effects, and everyone went to the films for the special effects. To have some talented lead actor getting in the way would have distracted from the films' appeal. The People that Time Forgot should operate under the same premise. Unfortunately, there's very little fantastic stuff to distract from Wayne's stiffness. With no dinosaurs and minimal caveman action, all we're left to focus on is Wayne's performance. Well, Wayne's performance and Dana Gillespie's boobs. I failed to be sufficiently interested by either (as a scantily clad cavewoman, Gillespie is passable, but she's no Caroline Munro or Raquel Welch). And there's no talented supporting cast to pick up the slack. Sarah Douglas gives it her all, but there's only so much you can do with a script that gives you nothing but "your character walks across a field, then across a gravel pit." Patrick Wayne is a wooden hero with no charisma and no awesome monsters to make you forget he's there. People who knock Doug McClure's one-note performances should take a look at Patrick Wayne to see what stiff really is. McClure exudes an easy sort of charisma and believability. Patrick Wayne exudes nothing. Plus, he looks a lot like Charlton Heston, way more than he looks like his own dad. I have some conspiracy theories about that one, and I consider them at least as likely to be true as theories about super-powered WWII Nazis operating UFO bases at the North Pole.
Some people consider this movie better than its predecessor. I cannot count myself among those people. While I love The Land that Time Forgot, I hate this movie. Well, maybe I don't hate it, but I sure don't like it. I was bored silly through most of the film, and it falls into that rare category of film I say you could give a miss. In fact, it reminds me in many ways of War Gods of the Deep, another surprisingly disappointing film I want to like more than I do and that sounds much cooler in summary than it actually is to watch. I mean, John Wayne's son and the evil chick from Superman II versus samurai cavemen is a good pitch, but Amicus was too broke to deliver even the cheap-ass fun they delivered with The Land that Time Forgot, and AIP seemed to be interested in little more than getting something on the screen and ending their relationship with the doomed British studio. It would have been nice to see Amicus, who had given the world so many entertaining (and entertainingly bad) films go out on a higher note, but then, the same could be said of Hammer, who bit the dust around the same time and with a similarly wretched film to serve as their swan song. If Amicus was the scrappy Hammer wannabe, then The People that Time Forgot is their ode to Hammer going out on To the Devil...A Daughter. In retrospect The Land that Time Forgot would have been a poetic place for Amicus to end -- with volcano erupting, boat sinking, and its stars facing a seemingly hopeless situation. Instead, they decided to show us the aftermath of the collapse, and give us Milton Reid in a skimpier outfit than Sarah Douglas (or Dana Gillespie, for that matter). ![]() Labels: Director: Kevin Conner, Fantasy, Science Fiction, Series: Lost Worlds and Sunken Continents, Stars: Doug McClure, Studio: Amicus, Year: 1977 posted by Keith at 6:14 PM | 11 Comments Monday, April 07, 2008Hausu Release Year: 1977Country: Japan Starring: Kimiko Ikegami, Yoko Minamida, Kumiko Ohba, Saho Sasazawa, Haruko Wanibuchi, Eriko Tanaka, Miki Jinbo, Masayo Miyako, Mitsutoshi Ishigami Director: Nobuhiko Obayashi Writers: Chiho Katsura, Nobuhiko Obayashi Cinematographer: Yoshitaka Sakamoto Music: Asei Kobayashi, Micky Yoshino Producer: Nobuhiko Obayashi Promote It: Digg | del.icio.us I once read a review on some site that contained the statement "Slaughtered Vomit Dolls is not for everyone", which is my favorite line ever from an online review of a cult movie. Not only is it admirable for being refreshingly direct, but also for how it so clearly provides the guidance that we depend on from such reviews. It makes you truly grateful that the internet exists, especially if you're one of those people who might otherwise have considered purchasing Slaughtered Vomit Dolls as a Mothers Day gift. In the spirit of those words, then, I would like to begin this review by stating that Hausu, the 1977 debut feature from Japanese director Nobuhiko Obayashi, is not for everyone. However, if you are one of those people whom Hausu is for (or for whom Hausu is?), I think that you will find it not only fascinating, but addictive. I myself have seen it five times now, and it's a testament to its uniqueness that each time I watch it I find myself surprised anew at just how strange it is. It's as if it contains too much that's beyond the normal frame of reference for the brain to adequately retain it all. In fact, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that it is one of the most unique horror films that I have ever seen. Obayashi came to Hausu from a background in television advertising, and, in making it, he not only employs all of the tricks of that trade, but also turns many of them on their head. This is a film in which no fraction of any one frame escapes being stylized to within an inch of its life. In addition to working with a woozy pallet of saturated and uniformly unnatural colors (not to mention a chaotic sound design), Obayashi uses every special effect technique available at the time, in concert with a large repertoire of "naive" optical effects not typically seen since the early talkies, to create layers of visual and aural signals that constantly bombard the viewer at every level. While this can at times come off like a first-time director simply showing off, the film is far from an empty exercise in style. Hausu is simply energized by too much passion (and perhaps rage) for there not to be a vision--and heart--behind its madness. Obayashi, at least in his early directing years, seemed to be drawn to fantastic stories that centered on school-aged protagonists, especially those that played on themes of teenage angst (his other films include Exchange Students, The Little Girl Who Conquered Time and the manga adaptation Drifting Classroom), and Hausu is no exception, following the fate of a close knit group of seven teenaged schoolgirls. Of these seven, only the ethereally beautiful Oshare (Kimiko Ikegami) is provided with any kind of back-story--or character, for that matter. The remaining six are simply an assortment of types, each paired down to a descriptive nickname and one corresponding signature behavior: Mack (for "stomach") overeats; Fanta (Kumiko Ohba) is prone to romantic daydreams; Melody (Eriko Tanaka) plays piano; Kung Fu (Miki Jinbo) practices Kung Fu and has her own action theme music, etc. Collectively these girls inhabit a world straight out of a seventies Saturday morning cereal commercial, one in which people rise to greet the day with arms outstretched to the sun as cartoon rainbows play across the horizon to the strains of treacly soft rock. As Obayashi presents it, you wouldn't be at all surprised if one of those freaky psychedelic football mascots from Syd and Marty Kroft's PuffnStuff or Lidsville were to bound into frame at any moment. Oshare's life outside of the group, however, is presented a little differently, though in no less cavity-promoting terms. Hers is a world of movie-fuelled romanticism with the kitsch level pushed to belligerent extremes (think Douglas Sirk on eleven): Beyond the balcony of her father's high-rise flat, a permanent artificial sunset stretches across the sky like a glorious, lurid bruise, and, as we watch Oshare, all of the camera's means of idealizing dewy young womanhood--gauzy soft focus, halo lighting, fan-blown hair captured in dreamy slow motion--are amped to the level of the grotesque. Taken together, the world that's presented in the first section of Hausu is one in which a malignant, over-ripe greeting card sentimentality has poisoned the very atmosphere. And, given that, it should come as no surprise that rottenness lurks just around the corner--or, at least, just a short train ride away. Things start to turn when Oshare, heartbroken over the prospect of her widowed father marrying a creepily serene younger woman named Ryoko (Haruko Wanibuchi), reaches out to her beloved dead mother's sister, an aunt (Yoko Minamida) whom she hasn't seen for many years. That aunt has remained in the family home, alone, honoring a decades old promise to wait for the man to whom she was engaged, even though, as we have seen, he was long ago killed in the war that took him away in the first place. (In keeping with the psychotically chipper tone of Hausu's first act, the flashback of the aunt's tragic story is played out as a silent era film while, on the soundtrack, the girls coo inanely over how cute and quaint it all looks.) The aunt in return invites Oshare and her friends to come stay at the remote family house for the holiday. Quickly after the group of girls arrives at the house it becomes apparent that, not just something, but everything isn't right. The aunt, they eventually learn, has long ago died and become a ghost whose vengeful spirit has infected the very house itself. Furthermore, in order to maintain itself, the house must literally devour any virgin girl who steps within it. It is at this point that Hausu resoundingly turns against its first half, and the opening scenes' creepy yet chaste fetishizing of the young girls gives way to an explosive sexuality so uncontainable that it literally permeates and animates the physical environment that they inhabit. It is also at this point that Hausu takes on the structure of a conventional modern horror film, with the girls being picked off one by one by a variety of gory means. But the nature of those means, given that it's the house itself that is implementing them--combined with the delirious, candy colored nightmare of their presentation--makes those sequences anything but conventional. The scene in which we watch Melody getting eaten, and then digested, by a grand piano is probably the most memorable, but there are a number of others that equal it in terms of their combined horror and absurdity. Obayashi here performs a neat (and, to my mind, never repeated) trick by drawing on the queasy, hallucinatory imagery of Italian horror directors like Argento, while replacing their languid, dreamy pacing with the sugar rush velocity of a particularly demented Saturday morning cartoon. The result is as intoxicating as it is overwhelming. Hausu, perhaps surprisingly, dates very well. Despite its surface appearance, it manages to escape itself being 1970s kitsch by presciently recognizing that kitsch for what it was in its own time. From that vantage point, it can treat those treacly feel good excesses, not with nostalgic affection or condescending dismissal, but as a telling symptom of something malignant underneath. It may just be wishful thinking, but I like to believe that it's no coincidence that Hausu came out in the year commonly associated with the birth of punk--that, though not apparent on the surface, hidden within it is a mischievous punk sensibility. After all, what better symbol of everything that punk rose up against than the smiley face? If Obayashi did not officially count himself among punk's practitioners, he at least attacked that symbol and everything it stood for with a bile and passion equal to theirs. Hausu also benefits greatly by comparison to contemporary Japanese horror movies, which typically suffer from their makers' grim determination to make every moment pregnant with ominousness and foreboding--with the end result being films that are pretty much uniformly tedious and annoying. In contrast, Hausu, a film that is rich with humor and a subversive sense of play, not only delivers a number of effective scares, but also manages to be profoundly disturbing as a whole. At a time when it is becoming distressingly apparent that the Japanese have forgotten how to make horror movies that are actually scary, it might just be that their film industry could take a lesson from Hausu. Perhaps they could learn from it that their taking the horror genre too seriously could be the very thing that is leeching it of all of its horror, and that it's time to bring a sense of fun and mischief back into the process. The American film industry, on the other hand, should continue in their benevolent ignorance of Hausu, because no one wants to see a remake of it starring cast members of Gossip Girl. So, if you think that Hausu is for you, that's the good news. The bad news is that, though long a soft and grainy staple of the grey market, Hausu is, as of this writing, only legitimately available as a German PAL region DVD without English subtitles. That shouldn't be too much of a deterrent, however, because its simple story and emphasis on visuals make it a perfect example of the type of film that's easy to enjoy without understanding the spoken language. Still, given the ready availability of so many old Japanese genre titles on the market, it's somewhat astonishing that no one has seen fit to give a film as ripe for cult appreciation as Hausu a proper American release. Mind you, it's no Slaughtered Vomit Dolls, but it still deserves to be seen. Labels: Country: Japan, Horror: Just Plain Weird, Studio: Toho, Year: 1977 posted by Todd at 1:03 PM | 4 Comments Wednesday, March 05, 2008Dharam-Veer Release Year: 1977Country: India Starring: Dharmendra, Zeenat Aman, Jeetendra, Neetu Singh, Pran, Sheroo the Wonder Bird, Jeevan, Indrani Mukherjee, Dev Kumar, Azad, Ranjeet Writers: J.M. Desai, Kader Khan, K.B. Pathak, Prayag Raj, Pushpa Sharma Director: Manmohan Desai Cinematographer: N.V. Srinivas Music: Laxmikant Shantaram Kudalkar, Pyarelal Ramprasad Sharma (Laxmikant-Pyarelal) Producer: Chandan Desai, Subhash Desai, Chandrika G. Shah Once you're done with the knowledge-based cherry picking, there are a wide variety of factors that come into play in deciding which are the potential gems among the selection of five dollar Bollywood dvds at your local Indian grocer or favorite online vendor. Familiar names or faces in the cast or crew of a film are always helpful, but there are also certain thematic or conceptual lures that might serve to tip the scales. In the case of Dharam-Veer, for instance, it certainly didn't hurt that the cast included the stunning Zeenat Aman--and while its male lead, Dharmendra, isn't one of my favorite actors, I do harbor a lot of good will toward him thanks to his co-starring role--with Amitabh Bachchan--in the classic Sholay, as well as his appearance in other highly enjoyable films such as Ankhen and Alibaba aur 40 Chor. But what really closed the deal for me with Dharam-Veer was the fact that its action was described as taking place in a vaguely mediaeval "mythical kingdom". This aroused in me fevered hopes that Dharam-Veer would be some kind of mind-boggling ahistorical period piece--something, in other words, along the lines of Mard, the 1985 classic whose depiction of hero Amitabh Bachchan's battle against the British Raj managed to include MTV-inspired eighties fashions, gladiator battles, and women in frilly Victorian garb strapped to the front of Sherman tanks. These hopes of mine would have been even more fevered had I realized at the time that Dharam-Veer's director, Manmohan Desai, was also Mard's director. And, though my expectations would have no doubt bloated accordingly, I probably still would have come away from Dharam-Veer satisfied. The mythical land of the film's setting is indeed a gumbo of anachronisms--a greedy mash-up of mediaeval Europe, ancient Rome, and the 1001 Arabian nights that also manages to contain, along with its jousting matches and Roman chariots, gypsies, pirates and a climactic battle at sea involving canons--which I'm fairly sure had yet to be invented in the respective eras of King Arthur, Caesar and Scheherazade. This freedom from the constraints of history not only emboldens Dharam-Veer's art direction, but also allows its costumers to follow their muse wherever it may take them, a creative liberation that results in such singular sights as Zeenat Aman's Mediaeval gauchos and black nylons, black leather assemblages that put the "glad" in gladiator, and Jeetendra in some almost indescribably flamboyant flamenco dancer outfits (and, in those instances where the reach of the clothiers' imaginations exceeds that of their budget, baggy white long johns to fill the gaps). I want to describe Dharam-Veer as a visual feast, but it's actually something less nutritionally balanced than a feast--more like a visual raid on the candy jar, given the candy jar is mostly full of Neco Wafers, Jolly Ranchers and Zots. The costumers render their otherworldly creations in a splashy comic book palette that, combined with the preponderance of brightly painted cardboard in the sets and backdrops, makes Dharam-Veer look like Prince Valiant by way of Flash Gordon by way of the Classics Illustrated version of Ben Hur. And, fittingly, all of this riotous display is in service of the type of over-heated, coincidence-dependent, improbably convoluted and cheerfully chaotic plot that seems to have been the exclusive territory of 1970s masala films. Whatever food metaphor you choose for the experience, you're bound to come away from it engorged - and, if you bring the right attitude to it, you'll be giddily satisfied as well. Dharam-Veer was one of four successful films directed by Manmohan Desai that were released during 1977, all of which dealt with the enduring Bollywood "lost and found"--or "separated at birth"--theme. The most successful of these was the blockbuster Amar Akbar Anthony, which starred Amitabh Bachchan, Vinod Khanna and Rishi Kapoor as brothers who grow up separately, unaware of one another's' existence--one raised as Hindu, another Muslim, and another Christian--ultimately to be united in vengeance against the man responsible for shattering their family. Following this model, Dharam-Veer opens with a complex shuffling of the familial deck. Interestingly, however, thanks to a chain of coincidences, all of these elements manage to fall back into their proper place over the course of the film, and the final dramatic revelation simply reveals that everything is pretty much as it should be, despite it not seeming that way. As the film opens, a line of young noblemen are presenting the King with marriage offers--as in of jewels and other forms of valuable exchange--for his daughter, the Princess Meenakshi (Indrani Mukherjee) . The Princess, however, is unable to witness this touching spectacle, because she--headstrong, independent girl that she is--is off in the wilds hunting tigers. Unfortunately for Meenakshi, a gang of thugs hired by her brother, Satval Singh (Jeevan), is also on the hunt... for Meenakshi. Satval Singh has been told by a seer that he will die at the hands of his firstborn nephew, and so has decided to cut off the whole nephew-birthing business at its source by having the Princess killed. Fortunately, Jwala Singh (the mighty Pran), a proud hunter who, we later learn, is "well versed in the ways of the Samurai" and who has at his side a super intelligent falcon, Sheroo (played, according to the credits, by Sheroo The Wonder Bird), happens upon the scene and rescues Meenakshi from her attackers. The grateful Meenakshi promises Jwala Singh anything he wants as a reward for saving her life, and Jwala Singh asks that she become his wife. Immediately. Proving that she is truly a woman of her word, she agrees, and the two are married in a ceremony that Jwala Singh performs himself. Sadly, Jwala Singh and Meenakshi's first night of marital bliss is interrupted when one of the tigers Meenakshi had been hunting shows up at their door looking for some payback. Jwala Singh takes off in pursuit of the animal and on his way comes across a local whom the tiger has fatally mauled. Covering the corpse with his own cloak, he continues on and is soon locked in a death struggle with the enraged beastie. Meenakshi, meanwhile, wanders out after Jwala Singh and, seeing the dead body wrapped in his cloak, doesn't bother to go in for a closer look before jumping to conclusions and plunging into a deep state of shock. Meenakshi is eventually discovered and returned to the castle, where she remains in a wordless trance. Even so, the King still needs to get her married off. So when a nobleman with suitably diminished expectations comes courting, the deed is hastily done. This leads to the film's best line of dialogue, when Meenakshi finally awakens from her stupor in the presence of her new husband and he, in explaining the situation she finds herself in, says "You were not conscious when we got married". Fortunately, Meenakshi's new husband, despite being willing to marry an unconscious woman, is a true gentleman. So when she informs him that not only is she married to the hunter Jwala Singh (whom she now believes to be dead), but also now with child as a result, he stops short of making the demands of marriage upon her. Rather, he agrees that the two of them should live separately under his roof, raising the child as man and wife, while not taking part in any of the carnal activities that such a union might imply. Though in return he asks that she promise to never reveal the true nature of the child's parentage (and we've seen how Meenakshi is about keeping promises). After the required interval, Princess Meenakshi gives birth to twin boys, a circumstance which is of no small concern to the craven Satval Singh, who is still determined to avoid the destiny the seer has laid out for him. Luckily for Satval Singh, his wife has also given birth--at exactly the same time as Meenakshi. Seeing an opportunity to serve two ends at once, Satval Singh switches the second born of the Princess's twins, Veer, with his own child, then takes the first born twin, Dharam, and drops him off a parapet. As the gods would have it, Sheroo The Wonder Bird is flying by at precisely that moment and, unwilling to tolerate infanticide on his watch, scoops Dharam up in his beak and flies off into the sunset. (It must be said here that most of Sheroo's wonders are performed by either a puppet or by Sheroo with a clearly visible tether tied around his midsection.) Meanwhile, Satval Singh's wife has had a crisis of conscience and has, unknown to him, switched her child back with Veer. Sheroo The Wonder Bird deposits baby Dharam with the kindly blacksmith Lohar and his wife Dhano. As fate according to Dharam-Veer would have it, Lohar and Dhano just happen to be nursing back to health the wounded Hunter Jwala Singh, who has been in a coma for the entire nine months since getting on the wrong end of that tiger, and who awakens from that coma at the precise moment that Sheroo makes his baby delivery. Of course, Jwala Singh has no way of knowing that the baby is his--or even that he has fathered a baby--so all he can say is, basically, "Nice baby you've got there". Twenty or so years go by, during which both the King and Meenakshi's husband somehow manage to die, leaving her Queen of the realm. Because Satval Singh has believed all along that his son, Ranjeet (Ranjeet), is actually the child of Meenakshi, he has beaten and verbally abused him constantly, and so the boy has grown up to become a resentful lout much like his father. Veer (Jeetendra), on the other hand, has grown up to become a somewhat exuberant young man with a taste for big puffy sleeves with frills--and Dharam has grown up to become forty-two year old Dharmendra. Lohar has raised Dharam to be strong like the bull, and in an earlier scene we see him showing a younger version of Dharam how to split wood with one swing--that younger version of Dharam played by Dharmendra's actual son, billed here as "Bobby Junior Dharmendra", but better know today as the Bollywood star Bobby Deol. (For those who don't know, Dharmendra is also the father of the actor Sunny Deol.) The class boundaries in Queen Meenakshi's kingdom are obviously considerably more porous than those of mediaeval England or ancient Rome (or even modern India, for that matter), because Prince Veer and Dharam, the poor blacksmith's son, have somehow, over these twenty-some years, become inseparable friends. As such, they spend their (by all appearances considerable) leisure time dancing across the kingdom's lush hillsides, proclaiming and demonstrating their love for one another with a homoerotic intensity that almost threatens to eclipse that of even Feroz Khan and Vinod Khanna in Qurbani. Somewhere in the course of their frolicking, they encounter Pallavi, a mean princess played by Zeenat Aman--an occasion which the two men commemorate by singing a charming song about how one must keep one's woman on a short leash in order to prevent her from developing a haughty attitude like Pallavi's. Dharam declares that Pallavi, despite all appearances to the contrary, will ultimately be his, and so begins a strange courtship in which Pallavi shows her affection for Dharam by forcing him to perform in life and death struggles in her personal coliseum, locking him in cages where he is poked with spears by midgets, and having him bound and whipped. Finally Dharam convinces Pallavi to come away with him, and what follows is a jaw dropping musical number in which a singing Dharmendra leads a bound Zeenat Aman around on a rope while forcing her to do menial tasks. It appears that Pallavi is beginning to enjoy this treatment, but then she takes the first opportunity to stab Dharam in the gut, leaving him to bleed to death as she hightails it back to her castle. AS LUCK WOULD HAVE IT, who should come upon Dharam's wasting body but the hunter Jwala Singh himself. Jwala Singh nurses Dharam back to health, and Dharam, impressed by the remarkably out-of-shape looking Jwala Singh's mastery of the Ways of the Samurai, asks to become his pupil. Pallavi, meanwhile, has had an attack of conscience over her gutting Dharam like a stuck pig and returns contritely to his side. Ultimately, she realizes her love for Dharam and, in so doing, becomes virtuous and kind. This is an unhappy development for Sujan, the man to whom Pallavi has been promised in marriage, as well as for Pallavi's brother, Dev Singh (Dev Kumar), and the two quickly become part of the growing list of Dharam and Veer's mortal enemies, which also includes Satval Singh, Ranjeet and, for reasons I won't even go into, Azad, the leader of a band of gypsies. Ultimately this axis of evil will conspire to turn the two BFF's against one another, a plot which will lead to Lohar, Dharam's adoptive father, being framed and punished in the Queen's court for a crime that he didn't commit, and ultimately to the murder of Dharam's adoptive mother in circumstances that place suspicion upon the royal family. Despite the Queen's assurance that the family is innocent of these crimes, Dharam asks that in recompense she leave her castle and come to his hovel to take the place of his mom. As demonstrated before, Meenakshi is honorable to a fault, and so acquiesces to this demand, spending her days from that point on cleaning up around Dharam's hut, feeding him food with her hands and giving him foot rubs. And so, as mentioned earlier, those familial bonds that fate conspired to break at Dharam-Veer's outset manage to, despite all obstacles, reassert themselves by its final act. It is the purpose of the "lost and found" films to serve as a testament to the strength of these bonds, and dramatize how, as an expression of God's will, they exert a magnetic pull that no barrier of class, character or simple geography can resist. In the case of Dharam-Veer, this means that everyone ends up having the relationship with one another that they're more or less supposed to be having (though admittedly with some markedly creepy overtones), even though they don't know it--until, of course, events lead to a round of startling revelations... and battles at sea involving pirates and lots of swinging back and forth from the masts of long ships. Now, I have spent a lot more time than I normally would summarizing the story of Dharam-Veer (even though, believe it or not, I haven't come close to giving everything away). The reason for this is that the insane convolutions of Dharam-Veer's plot are such a large part of its appeal. As with many of the best masala films, in between marveling at its many visual delights, one can't help sticking with it just to see what preposterous turn of events it will throw at you next. And just when you think you've got a handle on what type of cards the film has up its sleeve, it comes at you from a whole different angle, blindsiding you anew by way of some extremely bizarre primitive special effects or absurd action choreography. Those above mentioned special effects largely consist of shots--shots that are none too seamlessly integrated into the sequences in which they feature, I must add--in which horses are made to perform leaps that said horses either wouldn't or couldn't do by means of what appears to be animation using cut out photographs against a still background. The result is actually quite arresting visually, in a surreal sort of way, if you disregard that you were actually intended to accept it as reality. As for the fight staging, the defining philosophy appears to have been "You can never have too many back flips". People perform this move in response to even the slightest bit of physical force--and in defiance of all known laws of physics--and also incorporate it into their attacks, forcing their opponents to wait until they have spiked their landing before running them through. Given its vintage, the one thing that really would have put Dharam-Veer over the top for me is a seriously funky score. However, the score by the team of Lamikant-Pyarelal is actually quite conservative, depending a lot on relatively traditional Indian rhythms and instrumentation. This is still not a bad thing, and the songs are pleasant overall, if not exceptionally memorable, and always manage, at their most lively, to get the head doing that little sideways bob that any good Bollywood soundtrack should. Of course, it's often hard with these movies to separate the songs from the production numbers--or "picturizations"--that contain them, and many of those here are top notch. The sequence for "Hum Banjaron Ki Baat Mat", in which a literal army of floridly garbed singing and dancing gypsies overwhelms Princess Pallavi's amphitheater of pain, is without question the moment when the picture is at its most excruciatingly colorful. But it is another gypsy themed number, the climactic campfire rave-up "Band Ho Mutthi To Laakh Ki Khul Gayi To Phir Khaak Ki", that was the clear standout for me--though it was less characteristic of Dharam-Veer in that it is merely dazzling, rather than overwhelming, in its use of color. On the acting front, Dharam-Veer's cast does a good job within the constraints of the comic book world that the film creates. Dharmendra is a performer who's very good at standing on top of things, puffing out his chest and booming out defiant proclamations - often while pointing - to the corrupt powers that be, and he gets to do a lot of that here. Zeenat Aman, who has shown elsewhere that she is an actress of considerable range, spends the first half of the film pouting and scowling, and the second half winsome and starry eyed. Jeetendra, by far the most abused of the celebrity clothes-horses on display, does perhaps the most admirable job by managing not to be completely eclipsed by his wardrobe. Lastly, Jeevan, thanks to a spirited commitment to shaking his fists and hissing the heroes' names through clenched teeth, makes for a fine two dimensional villain, though he's no Amrish Puri. Dharam-Veer is a movie designed to thrill, and it succeeds on all of the intended levels, as well as on many levels that probably weren't so intentional. In addition to the thrill of watching its spectacular musical numbers and beautiful stars, there is the singular thrill that comes from seeing combinations of color and fabric that will likely never be repeated in human history. Adding to Dharam-Veer's singularity is the fact that it's pretty much guaranteed to be the only place where you can see a special effects shot of a horse jumping over a castle wall that is at once so patently phony and so hauntingly compelling. Even if you could find any of these elements in another film, the chances of that film also starring Sheroo The Wonder Bird are slim to none. Perhaps, then, Dharam-Veer can be said to be a film that exists against the odds--and perhaps even in defiance of reality itself. And given that it comes to you, in spite of all probability, with all these many gifts in store, how can you refuse it? Especially when it's only five bucks. Labels: Bollywood, Fantasy: Sword and Sorcery, Stars: Dharmendra, Stars: Zeenat Aman, Year: 1977 posted by Todd at 9:38 AM | 3 Comments Thursday, November 18, 2004Clans of Intrigue
1977, Hong Kong. Starring Ti Lung, Yuen Hua, Chan Si Gaai, Nora Miao, Ling Yun, Li Ching, Nancy Yen, Tin Ching, Lau Wai Ling, Chong Lee, Guk Fung, Yeung Chi Hing, Goo Man Chung, Norman Chu, Ha Ping. Directed by Chu Yuan. Available on DVD (HKFlix).
It's no secret that since the tail-end of the 1990s the Hong Kong film industry has had a rough time. After being gutted by gangsters for decades and plagued by the most rampant video piracy in the world resulting in films being available on bootleg VCD before they even opened in theaters, Hong Kong's once illustrious cinematic juggernaut found itself on thin financial ice. Big stars were either getting to old to perform as they once had or were simply packing up and heading for the greener pastures of America. The new generation of stars, culled primarily from the ranks of teen models and pop idols, did little to spark interest in the new generation of films. Rough times for the industry means rough times for fans as well. Here in the United States, folks were hit with the double whammy of there being very few films worth seeing, and the few that were worth seeing were often snapped up by domestic distributors like Disney and Miramax, who would then do one of two things. They'd either stick the film in their vaults and forget about it, effectively eliminating it from circulation in the United States, or they'd do a horrendous dub chop, cut the film to ribbons, and mix in a cheap hip-hop soundtrack, being certain to include the song "Kungfu Fighting" by Carl Douglas in any and every Asian film possible. I really wonder at this point if the people who decide to put that song in these movies think they're the first to do it. Did they miss the last ten releases from their same company using the same song? Will the hilarity never be exhausted? Of course, die-hard fans could always shop overseas and find most (but not all) titles available online in their original language and uncut, widescreen format. It was still a lot of hassle just to see a subpar film like Legend of Zu. Luckily, nature abhors a vacuum, and in the absence of decent new films, the void was filled by the past. When Celestial Entertainment announced they'd inked a deal to release everything in the vaults of the Shaw Brothers studio onto DVD, complete with digital remastering, subtitles, and extras, many people had a "believe it when I see it" attitude. After all, such a deal seemed far too good to be true. The Shaw Brothers, of course, were one of the premiere studios in the history not just of Hong Kong cinema, but of global cinema as a whole. Along with Cathay Studios, the Shaw Brothers defined Hong Kong cinema and helped create what many consider the Golden Age during the 50s and 60s. Unfortunately, after their initial release into theaters, the vast majority of Shaw Brothers films disappeared, locked away in secret vaults and jealously guarded like some crazy long-haired drunken monk guards the manual for his secret style of Wild Toad Kungfu. A few titles snuck out in badly cropped formats with those subtitles where only about four words are visible and the rest run off the sides and bottom of the screen. More made it into the bootleg realm, also in inferior formats and often dubbed and edited. And even those that did make it out were almost exclusively the kungfu films of Chang Cheh and Liu chia-liang - fine films, but a tiny smattering of what lie hidden somewhere out there near Clearwater Bay. In December of 2002, however, dreams became a reality, and the first batch of remastered Shaw Brothers films hit the DVD market. Suddenly, the dearth of quality new productions seemed less important. As long as Celestial kept a steady stream of old classics coming our way, it didn't really matter that new films offered nothing worth taking note of. There were more than enough unearthed classics to keep fans busy for years, and with such an aggressive release schedule (they do have over 700 films to get through, after all), there'd be little down time between waves of rediscovered treasure. Initially, I'd been excited primarily about the idea of getting my hands on beautiful copies of all my old favorites. The first day, however, my focus shifted dramatically, and I fond myself far more excited about the prospect of delving into the unknown, the films and directors and stars I'd never seen before. And there are plenty of them. From weepy melodrama to pop-art go-go musical extravaganzas, I was in for one treat after another. And one of the yummiest treats was discovering, at long last, the films of Chu Yuan, aka Chor Yuen. Chor Yuen is probably most recognizable as the evil Mr. Koo from Jackie Chan's Police Story. Before he was whacking Jacking with an umbrella and causing him to fall off speeding double-decker busses, Chor Yuen made a name for himself as one of the most accomplished and artistic martial arts directors in movie history. Where most kungfu films were happy to point the camera at a couple guys and let them wave their arms in each other's faces, Yuen was determined to maintain and build upon the more stylish, lyrical, and poetic artistic approach of early masters like King Hu while throwing in plenty of visual flare that seems to have been derived from ground-breaking Italian productions like those of Mario Bava: lots of mist, splashes of brilliant color and surreal lighting, and unique use of the camera as something more than just a thing to point at people. Equally detailed are the sets employed in each film. While cheaper, less ambitious films just plopped the hero and villain down on top of that grassy hill or the rock quarry looking thing where 90% of all kungfu fights in the 1970s took place, Yuen placed his films amid lavish sets that became as essential to the film as the characters themselves and help lend to them a dreamlike elegance missing from so many of the more straight-forward films of the era. Each scene looks like a painting, filled with swirling mists, swaying cherry blossoms, and flowing silks. Yuen's "villain lairs" were often more outlandish and inventive than anything seen even in the wildest dreams of the old Batman series. They were caves full of spooky lighting and boiling pits of fire, or temples filled with sparkling gems and booby traps. The final piece of Yuen's puzzle comes in the form of fabulously labyrinthine plots where every single person has something to hide, nothing is what it seems, and everyone will be crossed and double crossed as often as possible. Part fever dream, part detective novel, the stories behind Yuen's films were often the handiwork of famed martial arts novelist Lung Ku. Martial arts adventure novels in China have always been astoundingly complex, filled with hundreds of characters and sometimes dozens of main characters. Most famous among the classic tales is The Water Margin, also known as Heroes of the Marsh and 108 Heroes. These novels have served as the basis for scores of movies including new wave classics like Swordsman (written by Louis Cha) and Golden Age gems like Brave Archer (also from the pen of Lung Ku). Despite the era and despite the author, all the film's share the traditional love of complex, sometimes confounding plots. Previously, deciphering the events in one of these movies was a Herculean chore. The only versions available were often cropped on the edges so that fully half the action fell off the screen, and subtitles went with the picture. For any given line of dialogue, you were lucky to get three or four words that didn't drop off the bottom or the side edges of the screen. Thus, if any character said something more complex than "Yes," or "Kill him!" you were in trouble. Since films of this nature offered so many twists and turns and so many characters with secret identities and agendas, keeping track of the plot was well nigh impossible. Luckily, the DVD releases of these films rectify the situation, providing viewers with the full scope of action and subtitles that are actually placed in a position where you can see them. From time to time, even this doesn't make some of the more outrageous plot twists any more comprehensible, but at least we're in a better position to enjoy what's going on. And what better place than one of Chor Yuen's coolest films to begin? Ti Lung stars in Clans of Intrigue as the accomplished swordsman Chu Liu-hsiang. His heroics and reputation have earned him a life of luxury which he spends in his decked-out palatial boat where he is attended to by three drop-dead sexy female assistants, not unlike Derek Flint or L. Ron Hubbard. His idyllic life is upset when a maiden from the Palace of Magic Water (played by Bruce Lee film veteran Nora Miao) arrives to accuse him of murder. Seems that someone has assassinated the leaders of three of the great martial arts clans, and the word around that ever-tumultuous Martial World is that Chu is the man responsible for these heinous deeds. Determined to clear his name and unmask the true killer, Chu sets off on a investigative quest that bring shim into contact with a variety of clans and killers, all of whom seem to have some strange secret that connects them to the murders. Along the way, he first fights and then befriends a swordsman for hire (played by the impressive Ling Yun) and the daughter of one of the slain clan leaders. He's also badgered at every turn by a mysterious masked killer in red and a variety of icily beautiful hit women from the Palace of Magic Water, who are lead by Betty Pei Ti. And did I mention the mysterious monk or the subplot about orphaned ninjas? Clans of Intrigue, like most Chor Yuen - Lung Ku collaborations, keeps the viewer guessing primarily by providing a twist at every single opportunity. While it's not always the most logical turn of events, it certainly keeps you watching and paying attention. Unlike the more brutal kungfu dramas of Chang Cheh, Chor Yuen emphasizes story and characters over kungfu action. Ti Lung is more than up for the challenge of carrying a character-driven story, even though his character is in many ways the least complex. Ti Lung was always one of the best all-around performers at the Shaw Bros studios. He was handsome, majestic, and equally adept at drama, comedy, and deadly kungfu action - all of which he gets to display here. The character of Chu Liu-hsiang is rarely serious or at a loss for words, and his reaction to everything seems to be to smirk, make a joke, then kick some ass. It's nice to see him in a role unlike hi usual Chang Cheh roles, where he would invariably have to take off his shirt and get stabbed in the belly. His polar opposite is the mysterious swordsman in black played by the enigmatic Ling Yun. With motives less pure than those of his compatriot, Yuen's grim killer-for-hire is the straight-man of the duo. The rest of the cast round out the film nicely. Nora Miao is as beautiful as she is talented, and Chor Yuen always gives his female characters something interesting to do - another of the many things that set him apart from his contemporary Chang Cheh and links him more to past masters such as King Hu (who, incidentally, directed Yuen Hua alongside Cheng Pei-pei in the ground-breaking Come Drink With Me) or another of Shaw's up and coming directors, Liu Chia-liang -- who made a hero out of Kara Hui Ying-hung when very few heroic female characters existed in the Chang Cheh dominated kungfu films. After the trendiness of wu xia (fantastic swordsman) films wore off and was replaced in the 1970s by grittier, more brutal, and less lyrical kungfu films, female heroines tended to disappear from Shaw Bros martial arts epics, thanks primarily to Chang Cheh's domination of the market. He was much more interested in male bonding than in women, and his films reflect his own macho tastes. Contrary to reports that Shaw Bros. producer Mona Fong was the driving force behind eliminating women from heroic leading roles (out of jealousy, as the story goes), it seems the blame lies far more on Chang Cheh. It wasn't until Chor Yuen and Liu Chia-liang became the dominant forces behind the studio's martial arts films that we saw a return of the valiant female fighter. As the heroic Black Pearl, Shaw Bros stalwart Ching Li is simply wonderful. With her "best friend's cute little sister" good looks and quality acting chops honed in dramatic roles like the schizophrenic young woman in When Clouds Roll By, Ching Li was a real force to be reckoned with. Chor Yuen was certainly fond of her, and he used the talented young actress in both Clans of Intrigue and Legend of the Bat as well as Killer Clans, Magic Blade, and the director's comedic blockbuster House of 72 Tenants among others. She also has the distinction of being one of the only female stars to every carve a decent character out of a Chang Cheh film, that of the doomed woman in Blood Brothers. She also got to do some ass-kicking in Chang's early Ti Lung - David Chiang "spaghetti western" kungfu film Anonymous Heroes. Her mixture of true acting ability and athletic prowess made her one of the most versatile and enjoyable to watch female stars in Shaw Bros film history -- quite a feat when youn consider that puts her int he company of women like dramatic actress Linda Lin Dai, Ivy Ling Po, Lily Li, and kungfu superstar Hui Ying-hung. The venerable Yueh Hua stars as Ti Lung's friend and ally, Monk Wu Hua. As with nearly everyone else in the film, he is far more than he appears to be, and his role in the story keeps you guessing as to his true motives and history. Yueh Hua plays the character with a wonderful subtlety that imminently displays why he was considered one of the Shaw Bros. most treasured performers. Few and far between are the films with such an impressive ensemble cast of men and women who are actually allowed by the story to live up to their potential as both characters and actors. Another of Chor Yuen's trademarks was his eye for beauty and his tendency to add a little flesh and spice to his films. A naked female rear here, the glimpse of a breast there did a lot to titillate viewers even though it was shot with the same striking artistry as the rest of his film. Clans of Intrigue is no exception to the rule, and Yuen serves up some decidedly adult fare with the lesbian overtones between Nora Miao and Betty Pei Ti. In fact, there are versions of the film that contain a steamy kiss between the two women, though that particular instance is missing from the official cut of the film as was presumably only added for international distribution. Its absence, and the absence of a flash of frontal nudity during a bathing scene involving Betty Pei Ti, have lead some to claim erroneously that Celestial - the company who has remastered and released the film onto DVD - censored the print. This is not the case. The moments were never officially part of the film as it played in theaters, though those of you in desperate need of seeing Bruce Lee's favorite female co-star kissing another woman can still get an eyeful thanks to the DVD's stills gallery. Neither scene is vital to the movie of course, nor has any real bearing on the action that isn't communicated through other scenes. It's just, well, you know us and our fondness for nudity. That's not the only place the film plays with gender, however. In a series of twists that foreshadow the gender-bending antics of Hong Kong new wave films like Ching Siu-tung's Swordsman II and Swordsman III: The East is Red, as well as Ronnie Yu's Bride With White Hair, we get not only the cult of sword-swinging lesbians but also a character who is able to change genders at will and wreak all sorts of havoc as a result. And while it's not exactly part of the gender bending subtext, the shots of a paralyzed Ti Lung sitting in a flowery white swing above a misty perfumed pond look like something right out of your better gay nightclub floor shows. Not that toying with gender was anything new. Kungfu films have always enjoyed doing things like taking beauties such as Cheng Pei-pei and Shang Kuan Lung Feng and dressing them up as men. Unconvincing men, but men never the less. And Hong Kong entertainment in general has a fondness for men in drag that remained unsurpassed until the advent of the Spanish-language cable network Galavision. All of Yuen's work in these adaptations of Kung Lu novels, and indeed much of the director's work in general, is infused with a more feminine quality than the films of other directors in the genre, even other directors like Liu Chia-liang who appreciated female heroines. Part of this comes from intricate delicacy of Yuen's set-pieces. They are, as stated previously, absolutely gorgeous. Part of it comes from the fact that his female characters are allowed to be strong and feminine where most female kungfu stars were simply women acting the same as the men. There's nothign wrong with that, of course, but the fact that Yuen protrays his women as women, with their own unique character traits, makes for deeper, more interesting figures. It's perhaps ironic, then, that Chor Yuen is also known for upping the anty when it came to exposing female flesh. Not that nudity was anything new to the kungfu film, and in fact in comparison to many films fromt he same era, Chor Yuen's films are relatively tame in the amount of nudity they show. They only seem saucier because the director handles it in a very adept way. It's not the amount of flesh that is revealed, but the way Chor Yuen reveals it. There is nothing vulgar or obvious about his handling of the saucier bits. They're quite poetic, and because of that, quite erotic. It's that classy handling of the material that makes it seem much naughtier than it really is. It's because he makes what little nudity there is really count, instead of just giving us a parade of gratuitous boob shots during rape scenes. It's, well, hot. As such, even his coy use of female nudity seems artistic and feminine in its touch. And that's the touch that probably explains why, despite his fondness of nubile young nudes, Chor Yuen has garnered so many female film admirers who are turned off by all the chest-beating maleness of Chang Cheh. Chor Yuen's heroines can be naked without ever seeming debased, and his heroes can read poetry and give each other flowers without seeming wimpy. Like everything else surrounding the director's work, it's really quite refreshing and very unique. As an action film, Clans of Intrigue doesn't disappoint, though it is heavier on discussion than some people might want. Chor Yuen's work is the missing link between the classic wu xia films of the 1960s like Come Drink With Me and Temple of the Red Lotus, and the wildly over-the-top new wave swordsman films of the 1980s such as the Swordsman trilogy and Zu. Although the relative obscurity of Chor Yuen's body of work has caused it to be overlooked when drawing the map of Hong Kong film trends, its availability on DVD will hopefully allow the director to take his rightful place as one of the most innovative and influential directors in action film history. Without his work, it's likely the much-talked-about flying swordsman films of the 1980s and 1990s wouldn't have come to pass, or at the very least, would have looked remarkably different. Directors like Ching Siu-tung and Tsui Hark owe a tremendous debt to Chor Yuen. That said, Clans of Intrigue is not the kungfu blow-out as delivered by guys like Chang Cheh. While it certainly doesn't skimp on the sword fighting and jumping over high castle walls, it's not the center of attention. That position belongs to the esoteric plot. But when the action does heat up, it's frequently fast-paced and impressive. The final duel between our trip of heroes and the characters eventually unmasked as the villains of the piece is phenomenal. For starters, you've never seen so many double-crosses in such a short amount of time. Moreover, one of the characters, upon having their hand chopped off, angrily picks up said hand and flings it with such force that impales another character. You just can't get much tougher than that, unless you're the guy in Story of Rikki who uses his own intestines to strangle his opponent. The Chor Yuen films have been the definite highlight of the recent Shaw Bros. DVD releases, and Clans of Intrigue is a sumptuous example of why. It is extravagantly filmed and directed, sporting eye-popping artistry and visual flare, lavish sets, mind-numbingly complex plotting, beautiful women, heroic men, and sword fights galore. While the team of Lung Ku, Chor Yuen and Ti Lung would top themselves the same year with the exquisite Magic Blade, Clans of Intrigue proved vastly popular - and rightly so. It's a tremendously impressive film, and it spawned a sequel called Legend of the Bat, reuniting Ti Lung and Ling Yun in another tale of intrigue and deception. If you are looking for a good introduction to one of the most astounding and unjustly unrecognized talents in Hong Kong film history, then Clans of Intrigue is indeed a grand place to begin. Labels: Director: Chu Yuan, Martial Arts: Wu Xia, Stars: Nora Miao, Stars: Norman Chu, Stars: Ti Lung, Stars: Yuen Hua, Studio: Shaw Bros, Year: 1977 posted by Keith at 4:46 PM | 0 Comments Wednesday, August 25, 2004Revenge of the Cheerleaders
1977, United States. Starring Jerii Woods, Cheryl Smith, Helen Lang, Patrice Rohmer, Susie Elene, Eddra Gale, William Bramley, Norman Thomas Marshall, Regina Gleason, Carl Ballantine, Fred Gray, Carrie Dietrich, Sheri Meyers. Directed by Richard Lerner. Available on DVD from Amazon.
Hey, wait a second. Didn't I just say I didn't like cheerleader movies all that much? You'd think that would be a good reason for me not to go indulging in one after the other. But maybe I don't like cheerleader films that much because I'd never seen this one. Where as Jack Hill's earlier effort makes some attempt at, if not being a good movie, at least being a movie. Revenge of the Cheerleaders completely lacks any pretense at being meaningful, political, social, or redeeming in any way and instead revels in being a cheap, sleazy piece of exploitive crap. As such, I liked it a whole lot more. Revenge of the Cheerleaders answers the call for a movie in which a young and exhausted basketball-playing David Hasselhoff is revived by sniffing a cheerleader's worn panties. That's pretty much the cultural high point in this lurid tale of high school cheerleaders who frequently flash the full frontal while trying to save their scummy high school from greedy land developers. Yeah, high school. Remember when you could make taudry teen sex comedies jam-packed with nakedness coming from people pretending to be high schoolers? I'm pretty sure that would get you arrested today, but that's why we love the 1970s. You could call a twenty-something actress sixteen and cram your sex farce full of nudity. I think now maybe if you're lucky they'll flash a boob, but that's about it. It's part of what irritates me about the "tame by today's standards" phrase that so many people throw around. Considering how repressed and timid modern films have become, the continued issuance of this utterance baffles me. Our films today are far more prudish and the violence far more cartoonish and bloodless than anything that came in the '70s or even '80s. Just because things have gotten louder, dumber, and more overblown doesn't mean they've pushed the envelope, and while there's no end to the number of booty short shots we'll cram into a film, nudity has become a rare event, and even when it does turn up, it's pretty meek. Not that I'd, umm, say that Revenge of the Cheerleaders isn't dumb, but it is a perfect example of what you could get away with in the ultra-permissive 1970s that would get you drawn and quartered today. Wrong as it is, this is the sort of sleaze I grew up sneaking peeks at as a wee lad. Watching a movie like this is like getting a visit from an old, hot friend and staying up all night waxing nostalgic about the time you dumped the pot in the cafeteria chili. It's much better and more daring than the sex comedies that would roll around in the 1980s, and needless to say, infinitely better than what passes for teen sex comedy today, if for no other reason than it doesn't skimp on anything but the outfits.
Once again, the story is threadbare and simple. Aloha High School in Aloha, California, is a dump. The students have sex and smoke pot on the front lawn, the principal is insane, and the head nurse is fat and surly. Reining over the madness are the Aloha High cheerleading squad and the star basketball player and plaything, Boner. Yes, that's David Hasselhoff in his first film, starring as a character named Boner whom we first meet as he emerges dazed, tired, but triumphant from a bout of sweet, sweet hanky panky in a stall in the girls' bathroom. He can do it all: shoot hoops, make love 'til the wee hours of the morn, dance up a storm, and show off his ability to play second fiddle either to a sassy talking car or a beautiful pair of bouncing boobs - all talents that would come in handy later in his career when he was still playing second fiddle to boobs and dancing atop the crumbling remnants of the Berlin Wall. If Aloha High gets closed, they'll all have to go to tough inner city school Lincoln High, where the thugs and sociopaths rule the roost but can be robbed of their drugs by spunky teen cheerleaders armed with a fire extinguisher. They may be tough, but they also know that flame retardant foam can really wreak havoc on a leather jacket. The plot doesn't even kick in until the last twenty minutes, sot he movie before that is filled with nothing but glorious 1970s nudity and hijinks. There's the ol' blowjob behind the food counter routine as the guy tries to serve some lady a banana split. There's skinny-dipping. There's lots of dancing. There's even an orgy in the guys' locker room shower, which fills with suds for some reason, probably so Black Belt Jones can go in there later and do some fighting. Most of the humor is funny only for how unfunny it is, which I find is true of many if not most comedies. A stoned dude snorting Parmesan cheese, the classic "hot girl fellaciating a banana," and Boner being revived by the enticing aroma of worn panties is about as sophisticated as things get. No one, I hope, will be rolling on the floor with laughter. And yet, it's the fact that the film is so simplistic, so completely devoid of grace or wit that makes it funny. Sometimes, when someone who isn't funny tries to be, the results are disastrous. In the case of Revenge of the Cheerleaders, it's so unfunny and lunkheaded that it almost achieves a state of hilarity. A lot of movies are unintentionally funny. This one was intentionally trying to be funny, and the fact that it isn't is what's funny about it. Does that make any sense at all? No? Well, in that case, it has a lot of nudity. And I mean a lot. Is it going to surprise anyone if I say that the acting is as good as the script? There are, if one was to be kind a couple acceptable performances, but a lot of what's being said and done just feel like improvisation by people who have no idea how to improvise, all delivered with the razor sharp skill of an actual stoned high schooler. So I guess maybe there's some degree of cinema verite realism in Revenge of the Cheerleaders, years before that "shocking" movie Kids terrified us all with the revelation that young teens are smoking pot, having sex, and engaging in excruciatingly long-winded and moronic conversations. I'd certainly rather watch Revenge of the Cheerleaders than that. At least Revenge of the Cheerleaders has David Hasselhoff and the brothers breaking it down on the dance floor with some hot Rerun-esque moves.
Speaking of Hoff, he's about as good here as any bad actor is in his first screen role. What's amazing is how little he's improved since Revenge of the Cheerleaders. I mean, it's quite damning to say a movie is so shoddy that even David Hasselhoff probably leaves it off his resume, but it's not like he's given us much that's better since then. His best films remain Revenge of the Cheerleaders and Star Crash, and only Revenge of the Cheerleaders flirts with the full frontal Hasselhoff nudity so many middle-aged German women demand. The only other "name" star in this film is Cheryl "Rainbeaux" Smith, who made something of a career out of appearing naked in cheerleader movies. Here' she appears pregnant and naked, smoking pot and drinking while her baby is a mere three months away from birth. Look, it's not like you can expect prenatal responsibility from a movie where cheerleaders dump pot in the chili to cause a schoolwide orgy and food fight. Smith really has very little to do in this film despite already being a veteran of The Swinging Cheerleaders and Pom Pom Girls. But hey, any movie that features a naked pregnant teen cheerleader cavorting in the boys' locker room with David Hasselhoff has to be good for America, right? The strangest thing about this film is the bizarre finale in which the heroic cheerleaders take on the greedy developers in a labyrinthine underground compound that looks right out of a James Bond film. Or rather, right out of a very cheap James Bond rip-off. The big fat nurse blows up the school, only without the help of the Ramones, sinks in quicksand, but is somehow redeemed in the end as the cheerleaders run through an endless series of cardboard space-age doorways and chambers. Eventually, everyone gives up on the plot and has a big luau with nude dancing and more "Hasselhoff gets funky with the brothers" stuff. Yep, it's pretty bad. This is the sort of exploitive skin flick you should be ashamed of watching. There's really no justifying it with "it's a bold look at women seizing sexual power," or essays on how our heroic cheerleaders are both sexually and racially progressive as their ranks contain all races getting along in perfect, naked harmony. No, it's just hot women taking off cheerleader outfits while David Hasselhoff dances. I mean, his name is Boner! If you're not making out with your honey in the back seat of a muscle car at the drive-in while this is playing, then there's really no good excuse for watching it. The plot is awful. The characters are awful. The acting is awful. But the nudity is ever so fine, and David Hasselhoff is called Boner. Any movie that features nudity during the credits also gets bonus points from us. It's hilariously unfunny, utterly absurd, sleazy, cheap, and unredeemable. So yeah, I thought it was pretty good. I'd much rather watch this than Bring it On. Labels: Cheerleaders, Netflix Diary, Sexploitation, Year: 1977 posted by Keith at 6:32 PM | 0 Comments Tuesday, April 16, 2002Moonshine County Express
1977, United States. Starring John Saxon, Susan Howard, William Conrad, Morgan Woodward, Claudia Jennings, Jeff Corey, Dub Taylor, Maureen McCormick, Albert Salmi, Len Lesser, Bruce Kimball, Candice Rialson, E.J. André, Fred Foresman, Dick Esterly. Directed by Gus Trikonis.
Ask me how I like my movies, and I'll probably jump at the chance to throw out the line, "I like my movies like I like my women: fast, cheap, and violent." It's a good saying. I'm not sure if I made it up or if I heard it somewhere else before and just thought I made it up, but whatever the case, it sums up a lot of thing while totally ignoring the fact that I don't actually like my women violent or cheap. Fast I can deal with so long as they're not furious as well, but all this needlessly complicates matters and ruins the impact of the line. The opening scene of Moonshine County Express depicts a hill full of hairy, corn-cob-pipe smoking moonshiners kicking back at the still and having a good ol' time. A quick flash to a dirt race track gives John Saxon time to speed around in a muscle car, then we're back to the moonshiners' jamboree, which was going well up to the point where it gets violently dispatched by a gang of shotgun-toting thugs who come hauling ass through the woods to deliver some double-barreled death. Off in the distance, from a ramshackle shack emerges a shotgun-toting country gal in short shorts who is soon joined by her sisters in running off the murderers. The woman, of course, is Claudia Jennings. Already you have moonshine, murder, and mayhem. You have sexy gals in Daisy Dukes armed with shotguns and howling hound dogs. This, my friends, this is how every movie should start, even movies set in space or in India, and even movies in which two neurotic yuppies struggle to find love and loyalty in New York's upper class circles of society. Now you may think that movies about yuppies and their relationships aren't exactly twigs for the Teleport City fire, and you'd be right. However, we might warm up to the genre a little more if every one of the movies featured hillbillies shootin' shit up before cutting to a scene of Meg Ryan sipping tea in a cafe. Besides all the dyin' going on, you have Claudia Jennings. Any movie that wastes no time getting her up on screen is okay in our book, although our book seems to be taking a very long time in getting finished. Claudia Jennings is to women in hicksploitation action films what Burt Reynolds was to the men: in other words, she's an institution. Despite the fact that she's a Midwesterner (born in Milwakee, raised outside of Chicago), she would come both in life and on screen to represent the triumph and tragedy of the American South. Claudia's rise to drive-in fame started when she took a job as a receptionist at the Playboy magazine offices in Chicago. One of the photographers noticed her sitting behind the desk answering phones and lookin' purty, so he asked her if she'd be willing to do a test shoot. The end result could be a $5,000 check, which would be more than enough to get her out to Hollywood where she'd dreamed of working as an actor long before she joined Chicago's Hull House Theater Company in 1968. The shots apparently turned out pretty well, since she not only appeared in the magazine multiple times, but became Playmate of the Year in 1970. Okay, so it's not like she cured cancer or brought peace to the Middle East, but it was enough to get her noticed and open the doors to Hollywood. Her first role was a small part in the dull melodrama The Love Machine, apparently so named because lead actor John Phillip Law exhibits all the emotion and acting range of a machine. Not an auspicious debut, but it wasn't long before the sleepy-looking beauty snagged a starring role in the gritty roller derby actioner Unholy Rollers After that, her drive-in action film career shifted into high gear, and she starred in one cheap, somewhat sleazy charmer after another, including Truck Stop Women, Death Sport, and The Great Texas Dynamite Chase. Unfortunately, the film for which she's best known is not an especially good film. Gator Bait is perhaps one of the most universally available and battered VHS tapes in America, and scarcely a chain or mom and pop video store opens that doesn't have a copy on hand. Her personal life was a constant up and down thanks to a series of rocky relationships, but by 1979 she had things pretty much ironed out and was starring in a movie called Fast Company, an utterly anomalous drag racing movie snuggled in between The Brood and Scanners in up-and-coming director David Cronenberg's bizarre filmograpy. It seems out of place on Cronenberg's resume, which is populated with some of the weirdest and most grotesque psychological horror films ever made, but given's the director's fetishistic relationship with the automobile and the human body (nowhere more evident than in Crash), this particular movie makes more sense. Unfortunately, what could have been the springboard for an interesting career was instead Claudia Jenning's last role. After the film was complete, she was on her way to move her stuff out of the apartment of her now ex-boyfriend when she fell asleep behind the wheel of her car, resulting in a fatal accident. She was only 29 years old when the accident took her life. Given her life and films, it's a lot healthier to celebrate Claudia than it is to get morose about her death, and Moonshine County Express is nothing if it isn't a celebration. It's a celebration of whiskey, fast cars, sexy women, big fat crooked Southern businessmen, big shotguns, more fast cars, and John Saxon faking a Southern accent. It's drive-in theater fare through and through, and nothing makes me happier than drive-in theater fare. These are the sort of low-budget, hell-raising action films that don't get made anymore, not even for the direct-to-video market, where people are too busy making really plodding, cheap copies of really plodding, expensive action films. They may have been around so long now that they're like old friends, but we all know you can't count on raucous, fun-loving action from Don Wilson or Andy Sidaris. Don Wilson can only promise you slow kicks, and Andy Sidaris can only promise you gravity-defying orbs of flesh and silicone - mostly silicone. Luckily, movies like Moonshine County Express still linger around to provide all the knee-slapping, hoot-and-holler action us old fogies demand from our cheap exploitation films. While Claudia Jennings may not be the star here, she's still active enough to show folks why she became the ass-kickingest white chick of the 1970s. Too bad no one ever made a movie starring her, Pam Grier, and Angela Mao. The big stars here, or as big as you'll get in a movie like this, are Susan Howard and John Saxon. Howard is best-known for her role on Dallas. Saxon is best-known for.well, you know John Saxon. Howard stars as Dot Hammer, the eldest of three sisters who's daddy was one of the best moonshiners in the area before the corrupt boss Starkey (William Conrad!) murdered the whole crew in order to take over the shine business completely. When the sympathetic but powerless (aren't they all?) sheriff Larkin tells her there's no evidence to convict Boss Starkey of the crimes, the Hammer sisters vow to take matters into their own hands. The middle sister is Betty, played by our gal Claudia Jennings, and the youngest of the bunch is Sissy, played by none other than Maureen McCormick - best known as Marcia Brady from some television show a lot of folks seem to remember. Curiously enough, Claudia Jennings once appeared on an episode of The Brady Bunch as a hippie. Caught in the middle is smooth-talking stock car racer and part-time moonshine runner JB Johnson (Saxon). He's got a thing for Dot, but he also has a past running shine for Starkey, whom he isn't prepared to accept immediately as a murderer - especially since Starkey is a prime source of income for the young hot shot. On top of all that, when JB isn't busy outrunning the Feds by making clever use of horsepower, banjo music, and a huge stump in the middle of the road that only he ever seems to notice, he's got competition from Starkey's main thug, Sweetwater (Morgan Woodward). Things really start to heat up when the gals find the only inheritance their father could afford to leave them: a huge stash of the best damn whiskey the state has ever tasted. Armed with shotguns and a cellar full of prime hooch, the girls aim to get their revenge against Starkey and his men by driving him out of business. Being a fat, cigar-chomping Southern boss, however, Starkey isn't just going to roll over for the girls. A series of wild car chases and shotgun shoot-outs ensue as all hell breaks loose in the backwoods. A simple plot is all this drive-in classic needs to propel it like a nitro-powered stock car through a wild, violent, and at the same time light-hearted hicksploitation romp. Yep, only back in the 1970s could a film be grittily violent and light-hearted. The action is plentiful and fairly exciting. Lots of stuff gets blown up or shot up. The car chases actually look like car chases, which may not seem like much until you've seen a ton of moonshiner movies that feature car chases that seem to be going about ten miles an hour. There's a strict formula that these movies stick to, and Moonshine County Express isn't one to deviate from the formula. You have the evil boss and his vicious thug. You have the rascally hero with a cool car. You have a crazy old cackling drunk. You have lots of moonshine and banjo music. You have folks on the front porch with shotguns. You have the mechanic. You have dynamite, an ineffectual sheriff, and lots of Southern accents. It all goes into the still and comes as a predictable but entertaining and even amusing concoction. The cast all turn in fine performances, which is to be expected since you have some of the best b-movie character actors and workhorses of the era. John Saxon is, of course, a b-movie legend. His appearance in a film means it probably isn't going to be a great movie, but it'll sure be enjoyable. Saxon always was a good actor in bad films, not to mention the occasion where he's a good actor in a good film. His Southern accent here isn't what you might call believable, but I've certainly heard worse. At least he has enough sense not to lay it on thick. Susan Howard is great as the determined, sassy Dot. In this day of wishy-washy PC heroes, it's nice to get back to a day when a woman wasn't afraid to just haul off and empty a barrel full of buckshot in some thug's ass. But she's here to do more than kick ass. She also pulls off a nice degree of intelligence, showing that she's just as likely to outfox Sweetwater and Starkey as she is to outgun them. As Dot's sisters, both Claudia Jennings and Maureen McCormick turn in decent performances. Jennings is great as the whiskey drinking, gun-toting Betty, and the character gives Claudia a chance to cut loose and have a good time while shooting at guys with big thick mutton-chop sideburns. McCormick really has nothing to do other than tag along with her sisters and alternate between looking apprehensive, sweet, and angry. The bad guys are suitably evil with nary a redeeming quality to make you feel like they deserve anything other than an assful of lead or canine teeth. William Conrad chews scenery left and right as he sweats and screams his way through the role of Starkey. He's not quite so over-the-top that he ruins the role, but he certainly pushes the caricature as far as he can. He yells, orders murders, sweats, chomps on cigars, and of course is a sex fiend. As his steely right-hand-man, Morgan Woodward's Sweetwater is a grimacing, hissing old bad-ass who seems to taking a page out of the Jack Palance book, which isn't a bad book to be stealing from unless your role is that of "sensitive computer programmer" or "nun." And then of course there's Dub Taylor as the town drunk, Uncle Bill. Dub Taylor may have played the cackling town drunk in more movies than anyone else in history. even when he's not playing the twon drunk, he seems like he's playing the town drunk. From Used Cars to Soggy Bottom, USA, Cannonball Run II to his lengthy stint as "the cackling dude with crazy hair" on Hee Haw, Dub defines the role of town goofball. There are a lot of moonshine action films in the world, and although Moonshine County Express isn't one of the best known, it is one of the best examples. Of course, when your competition comes in the form of Honey Britches, you don't have to really push yourself to come out on top. Moonshine County Express falls a bit short of Burt Reynolds' backwoods classic White Lightning, but Moonshine County Express doesn't even have half the budget even though it manages to pack in just as many thrills (no one jumps a boat into the air though). What we have in Moonshine County Express is a solid, dependable, and competently made drive-in action film that delivers everything you expect a movie with such a title to deliver. Fast, cheap, and violent. We wouldn't want it any other way. Labels: Rednecks, Year: 1977 posted by Keith at 6:05 PM | 0 Comments Thursday, January 03, 2002Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla
1977, Japan. Starring Masaaki Daimon, Kazuya Aoyama, Akihiko Hirata, Hiroshi Koizumi, Reiko Taijimi, Hiromi Matsushita, Masao Imafuku, Beru-bera Lin, Shin Kishida, Goro Mutsumi, Kenji Sahara, Kazunari Mori, Satoru Kazumi. Directed by Jun Fukuda. Buy it from Amazon
In previous Godzilla reviews, I've recounted my experiences as a wee sprout eagerly indulging in a Saturday or Sunday afternoon Japanese monster-fest compliments of WDRB TV-41 in Louisville, Kentucky. I recounted gathering around our television set with friends in order to get a glimpse of Godzilla, Gargantua, Rodan, or, on weekday afternoons, Ultraman and the Space Giants. I can genuinely say that, without exception, I love each and every Godzilla film Toho has ever made. Even the stupid stuff. Hell, the number of Japanese sci-fi and monster movies I don't like can easily be counted on one hand with fingers left over for flipping people off who run them down for being "fake" or cheesy. It was the goddamned 1960s, you dumb-ass! American special effects were ten times worse than their Japanese counterparts, and I still like a big ol' rubber-suited monster kicking scale models around than I do watching some computer generated shit. But of all the Godzilla films of my youth, one stood out among all the others as my absolute favorite. And though these days my favorite tends to be Godzilla Versus Mothra, I still have a warm and open spot in my heart for the most bad-ass of all Godzilla films, Godzilla Versus MechaGodzilla. And I mean bad-ass. From the opening scene of Godzilla's buddy, Angilas, getting his mouth ripped open, you know this is some serious ass-kicking shit. When, later in the film, Godzilla is wounded (son of a bitch!) and blood goes spurting like a geyser or a Lone Wolf and Cub film, you know this isn't a straight-up kiddie film. You're not going to get kindergarten students in micro-shorts dancing a jig with a pot-bellied baby monster. Everything about this movie is bad-ass. The music is bad-ass. The women are bad-ass. Godzilla is even more bad-ass than usual. And MechaGodzilla -- don't get me started! Ghidrah may be Godzilla's most frequent foe, but MechaGodzilla is the only baddie bad enough to go the full twelve rounds with our favorite thunder lizard. Our action begins with the aforementioned mauling of poor Angilas. What's even more shocking than the buckets of blood gushing from his flapping jaws is the fact that his buddy Godzilla is doing the damage. Or so it would seem. A small wound to Godzilla reveals a shiny interior, and we, like Angilas, figure something weird is up. But that doesn't stop Godzilla from immediately setting out to wreak havoc across Japan. No sir, this film wastes no time in delivering the giant monster mayhem. When Godzilla sets to smashing up a petrol plant, he gets a surprise visit from ... Godzilla! This freaks everyone out as the two Godzillas face off amid the fiery wreckage. This is easily one of the coolest looking Godzilla fights ever, with smoke and flame surrounding the battling lizards. Before too long, the impostor Godzilla is stripped of his skin, revealing a sharp looking robotic body. MechaGodzilla! Turns out a race of green space monkeys intend to conquer the planet, and they are using MechaGodzilla to do it. I never understood why, if these space guys are so smart they don't just hit us with a big neutron bomb or something. Instead they always build robots and send monsters. Oh well. It's more fun for us that way, so I suppose it's more fun for them as well. Anyway, these haggard space monkeys aren't nearly as sexy as the space ladies who try to conquer us in Destroy All Monsters, so this time around I have no issue with Earth trying to prevent the take-over. But rest assured, marauding sexy space ladies in metallic clothes, when you come for the Earth, I will be first in line to sell my race out and do your bidding. MechaGodzilla is a tough son-of-G-Hitch, and the humans feel Godzilla could use a little help. Thus, they summon King Caesar, the ancient mythical guardian of Okinawa. King Caesar won't wake from his slumber until a cute island girl runs down to the beach and sings a jazzy go-go tune to him. Can't say I blame him. When he does awake, he is supposed to be one of those Foo Lions you see dancing in Chinese parades and stuff. King Caesar isn't really much help. He mostly snarls and shoots rainbow beams out of his eyes before just settling down for his inevitable ass whuppin' at the hands of a superior foe. This means, of course, that Godzilla has to get the job done on its own. To do this, he whips out a super power no one knew he ever had before. The effects in this film are top-notch, especially after everyone seemed to be just sort of slumming around in the last couple of films. MechaGodzilla is nearly as cool and tough as his own theme song, which is one of the best monster songs ever. King Caesar's song is okay because a cute island girl sings it. And as for Godzilla? Well, what do you think? As always, he's accompanied by his traditional Akira Ifukube originated tune, a song that will dominate monster music forever, in much the same way Godzilla dominates the monster movies. One of my most vivid memories is of watching this film with my friends from down the street, Roman and Mandy. When Godzilla gets jabbed by MechaGodzilla's finger missiles and spurts blood and falls down, we were all devastated. "Godzilla's down!!!" I remember us yelling in horror. And when the Big G gets back up to kick some cyborg ass, we were cheering wildly. This movie still makes me feel like that. It was followed up with the inferior Terror of MechaGodzilla, which we will get to soon enough. That movie wasn't much, as far as I am concerned. But it does have Godzilla running in slow-motion, so it's not a total loss. In the 1990s, MechaGodzilla was dusted off one more time, with a new, curvier look that isn't as menacing as the old, spiky model. He was also controlled by mankind instead of marauding aliens. The movie was pretty good, the best of all the new Godzilla films, but the old Godzilla and MechaGodzilla still rule the day in my mind. Labels: Country: Japan, Science Fiction: Kaiju, Series: Godzilla, Year: 1977 posted by Keith at 3:39 PM | 1 Comments |
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