Teleport City Cinema

film home | review index | a-b | c-d | e-f | g-h | i-l | m-n | o-q | r-s | t-v | w-z

Tuesday, June 03, 2008

Qurbani

Release Year: 1980
Country: India
Starring: Feroz Khan, Vinod Khanna, Zeenat Aman, Amjad Khan, Amrish Puri, Aruna Irani, Kader Khan, Tun Tun, Shakti Kapoor, Natasha Chopra, Jagdeep, Bob Christo, Mac Mohan, Narendra Nath, Raj Bharti
Director: Feroz Khan
Writers: K.K. Shukla
Music: Kalyanji-Anandji
Producer: Feroz Khan

Watching Feroz Khan and Vinod Khanna in Qurbani, you might conclude that their characters are simply too confident in their rugged masculinity to have any qualms about being overtly demonstrative in their affections for one another. However, if you consider that it's the knee-weakeningly gorgeous Zeenat Aman, the alleged love interest of both men, who's being wholly ignored while they engage in all their tender hugging, shoulder rubbing and cheek tugging, you might be lead to another conclusion altogether. Of course, men in Bollywood movies are famously free in their capacity for brotherly PDA. That the tendency seems to stand out in especially stark relief in this case is most likely due to the musky, grease-stained backdrop of balls-out, testosterone-bleeding action mayhem that Qurbani provides for it to play out against. In other words, Qurbani is one of those action movies that just goes that extra distance to confirm what a lot of us already thought these movies were all about in the first place.

The world of Qurbani is one in which mechanic Bob Christo has a free standing brick wall in his auto body shop just so he can demonstrate the power of his fists to any doubter who happens by -- and a hay stack sits at the end of a jetty for the sole purpose of having a speeding car suddenly burst out from underneath it. Its hero is a famous motorcycle daredevil who's coupled with a famous disco diva, setting the film in a sort of idealized 1970s universe reigned over by the perfect union of Evel Knievel and Donna Summer -- which is sure to produce as its offspring either Chachi or Leif Garrett. Though the film, in keeping with Bollywood tradition, slows down during its middle third to focus on relationship drama, its bulk is so over-saturated with methed-up male aggression that it can't go five minutes without busting out into a fist fight, death-defying physical stunt or car chase. What happens in between those is more often than not a thumping, gaudily staged musical number featuring the aforementioned Ms. Aman, which makes Qurbani the one to beat if you're looking for a standout example of seventies-style Bollywood excess.

Qurbani is one of a handful of films that its star Feroz Khan also directed. An actor whose screen career dates back to the early sixties, Khan was at the time experiencing a career renaissance as a he-man action star, of which Qurbani was probably the pinnacle. That the film was a fairly high profile production is evidenced not only by the number of really nice cars its producers were willing to wreck in the course of its production, but also by its all-star cast. Co-star Vinod Khanna was at the peak of his enormous popularity at the time, and Aman had recently been seen opposite superstar Amitabh Bachchan in two of his most successful vehicles of the seventies, Don and The Great Gambler. Her appearance alone, given her recent reinvention as a Bollywood action film femme fatale, serves to a good extent to establish the film's pedigree.

In Qurbani, Khan plays Rajesh, a former motorcycle daredevil who has moved on to greater thrills in the world of high stakes thievery. Apprehended in the course of one of his daring burglaries, Rajesh is sent up for a three year stretch, leaving his disco singer girlfriend Sheela (Aman) vulnerable to the attentions of Amar (Khanna), a former driver for the criminal kingpin, Rakka. Sheela stays true to Rajesh, however, and Amar, though clearly smitten, accepts the situation with manly stoicism, though he and Sheela continue to maintain a close friendship. In one of those coincidences that Bollywood movie plots are almost wholly dependent upon, Rajesh, upon his release from prison, happens upon Amar in a sticky situation and save his life. The two, who have not previously met, go on to establish a deep friendship, which deepens even further when Rajesh saves Amar's life a second time. Meanwhile, a creepy/crazy brother and sister duo seek to entice Rajesh to steal back a fortune in jewels that Rakka has stolen from them. When Rajesh double crosses the pair, it leads to a situation that puts both Rajesh and Aman in mortal danger, as well as the sacrifice ("qurbani") that gives the film its title.

Qurbani, for all its strengths, suffers from a bit of sloppy plotting. A couple of plot points dangle unresolved, such as connections that Rajesh and Aman each have with Rakka that are established early on without ever proving to have much purpose. In addition, the love triangle between Rajesh, Aman and Sheela, though somewhat laboriously established, never gets to bear much dramatic fruit, since the film ultimately ends up being more about the love between Rajesh and Aman. As such, the romantic obstacles that would typically be thrown between male and female leads are here thrown between our two men of action, and the dramatic tension of the last act hinges largely on whether the two will mend their friendship and fall back into each others' arms before the film's pyrotechnic finale. Because of this, Zeenat Aman's character is reduced to being both window dressing (few opportunities are missed to have her get soaked with water) and a serially-imperiled pawn in the power plays between the heavies and heroes. In other words, anyone hoping to see her take part in any of the kung fu bad-assery she did in Don will be somewhat disappointed -- until she's shown getting soaked with water, that is, at which point all previous expectations will be quickly and permanently forgotten.

What benefits Qurbani is a couple instances of very clever misdirectional casting. The film features two actors who were the top heavies in Bollywood cinema at the time, yet neither are ultimately revealed to be the central villain of the piece. Rakka, for instance, is played by The Brow himself, Amrish Puri, who would go on to reach his villainous apex with his portrayal of Mogambo in 1987's Mr. India. Puri is given his typical glowering introduction right at the top of the film (rocking a Mike Brady perm and Travolta disco suit, no less), menacing Aruna Irani in the role of Jwala. However, Rakka soon thereafter disappears from the picture, and proves to be only an incidental character, while it is Jwala and her brother who ultimately emerge as the real threats to the principals.

The other bad guy on hand is Amjad Khan, the actor who portrayed probably the most iconic villain in the history of Bollywood, Sholay's Gabbar Singh -- and who would, as a result, play almost identical villains in a string of subsequent Amitabh Bachchan action vehicles -- including Nastik, Mr. Narwali and Be-sharam -- throughout the seventies and eighties. Here he portrays the dogged police inspector (who, in a nice whimsical touch, is also named Amjad Khan) who first puts Rajesh away and then, upon his release, tracks his every move, waiting for his first misstep. Khan's mere presence gives the character a menacing edge, but we eventually see that the inspector, while having little faith in Rajesh's ability to reform, is more interested in justice than he is in harassment for its own sake. It's a performance that Khan clearly has fun with, playing off his own imposing demeanor with welcome injections of humor, and it's fun for us to watch as well, especially when we're treated to the actor sharing a goofy musical number with Aman (a rare spectacle, given the closest you'd typically come to seeing Khan taking part in a musical number would be him swigging whiskey from a flask while leering evilly from the sidelines).

Another of Qurbani's greatest strengths, as anyone who's seen it will tell you, is its music. Scored by the team of Kalyanji-Anandji, the film boasts a hard hitting Hindi-funk soundtrack that almost makes all of those wide collars and questionably-patterned, tight-fitting flares look good. The film's songs, furthermore, are quite catchy, especially Zeenat Aman's disco numbers, which are further enhanced by their garish picturization. Aman's Sheela seems to have a new back-up band for every performance, the best of which is an all female ensemble of dancers whose incompetent miming on their instruments prefigures Robert Palmer's videos by a good few years.

Once you've watched enough older Bollywood movies, it becomes apparent that their typical narrative structure and pacing don't lend themselves to the kind of wall-to-wall thrills you might expect from contemporaneous films made in, say, Hong Kong or Japan. There are definitely thrills to be had, of course, but they are often too few and far between to satisfy those viewers too impatient to wait for them. Qurbani, however, sets itself apart in that its high points are always well worth the wait, and stick with you enough to make the wait one marked more by anticipation than restlessness. Complementing this is the fact that, in the best Bollywood tradition, there is almost always an outlandish seventies outfit, garish bit of production design, over the top performance or skewed musical number on screen to keep you occupied when nothing's exploding. True, the film does suffer from a bit of the typical middle stretch doldrums, but it handily makes up for that with an out-of-control, action-packed finale, complete with a wild car chase in which Khan and Khanna yuck it up while sending countless innocent motorists to their flaming doom.

I'm taking pains to point this out because I know all too well that many of you more adventurous viewers out there have already suffered disappointment at the hands of Bollywood. You've perhaps picked up a dvd because its cover bore a picture of, say, Amitabh Bachchan in shades and a bowtie carrying a scope rifle with something blowing up in the background, only to find that the movie contained therein had a couple of underwhelming action set pieces, but was mostly three hours of some guy crying about his mom. Rest assured, however, that Qurbani is not that film. Delivering on the promise of it's pulsating theme and "Hulk smash" opening titles, the film goes on to entertain the hell out of you -- all the while teaching you that it's okay for two extremely manly men to tenderly cup one another's faces in their hands while looking at each other like they're maybe going to kiss.

Labels: Bollywood, Stars: Amrish Puri, Stars: Feroz Khan, Stars: Zeenat Aman, Year: 1980

posted by Todd at 1:27 AM | 2 Comments

Monday, February 05, 2007

Shaan

DIGG THIS ARTICLE. 1980, India. Starring Sunil Dutt, Shashi Kapoor, Amitabh Bachchan, Shatrughan Sinha, Rakhee Gulzar, Parveen Babi, Bindiya Goswami, Johnny Walker, Kulbhushan Kharbanda, Mazhar Khan, Helen, Sudhir, Dalip Tahil, Mac Mohan. Directed by Ramesh Sippy. Written by Javed Akhtar, Salim Khan.

Shaan is an over-the-top Bollywood masala film that plays in very much the same vein as Don or The Great Gambler -- which makes sense, since all three of them star Amitabh Bachchan. For me, they work as sort of a trilogy, even though none of the films is technically connected to the other in any official capacity. But they share so much, both in terms of pacing and overall atmosphere (and the fact that Amitabh's character is named Vijay in all three films), that I like to think of them as some great, flared slack-clad, bow-tie sporting, kungfu-packed epic saga. Shaan is actually the least of the three films, but that by no means implies that it is anything less than absolutely sublime. Heck, as soon as the credits start rolling, projected as they are on the swaying rump of a sexy lass, you know you're in for a real treat.

Sunil Dutt stars as DSP Shiv Kumar, the top cop of Bombay and an all-around man of action despite his advancing age and tendency to wear pristine white short-sleeve suits with ultra-tight flared slacks. Sometimes, his mere entrance onto a scene is enough to wash out the color. Maintaining proper exposure and white balance must have been a real chore. Kumar is the typical man of honor, happily married and with a lovely young daughter. His brothers, however, are what you might call a couple of rascals. Ravi (Shashi Kapoor) and Vijay (the Big B) spend most of their time hatching elaborate cons and other get-rich-quick schemes. When first we meet them, Vijay is posing as a diamond merchant who has just robbed his employer, an act that requires Vijay to bite down endlessly on the collar of his black trenchcoat, for some reason I can't fully fathom. Suffice it to say that the schemes these two dream up are far more complex and convoluted than the crimes call for -- which will sort of become a reoccurring theme in Shaan. Despite being criminals, both Vijay and Ravi are fundamentally good-hearted guys, and it seems their life of crime is less about being criminals and more about just having some fun.

After successfully snookering a crooked hotel manager out of a huge stack of cash, Vijay and Ravi are themselves snookered out of the very same cash by two more con artists, Renu (Bindiya Goswami) and Chacha (comedian and scotch brand Johnny Walker). The two sets of con artists spend some time trying to out-con one another before deciding to team up and steam a valuable necklace off the neck of a princess -- a scheme that goes awry when yet another thief show sup out of nowhere to sing, dance, and show off a lot of cleavage. That would be Sunita (Parveen Babi). She and Vijay hit things off immediately, and before too long, this chance meeting of con artists and ne'r-do-wells results in the formation of a happy little gang that performs only the most delightful and jauntiest of robberies. It's a good set-up until they attempt their most ridiculously lavish con, which apparently involves renting out the community center pool and posing as holy men to bilk suckers out of cash. I can't imagine that they made any more money than they must have spent on costumes, building an ornate stage, and renting out the swimming pool, but whatever. All in good fun, I suppose.

Well, fun until Ravi and Vijay get busted for the ploy, and by their own brother no less! But Shiv has bigger problems to contend with than just his screwy brothers. It seems his effectiveness as a cop has but the serious hurt on a crime boss named Shakal (Kulbhushan Kharbanda). But this is no ordinary crime boss. This is a crime boss who, despite being involved in what sounds like fairly mundane rackets such as gun running, has a secret space-age underground lair on his own private island. He also wakes up every morning and models himself as much as possible after Telly Savalas as Blofeld from the James Bond film On Her Majesty's Secret Service. When Shakal isn't orchestrating criminal enterprises, he sits in his throne room equipped with a rotating platform of death chairs that can dump victims into a tank containing a giant crocodile! He also has a window looking out onto his vast undersea view, which is realized via rear projection of completely improperly scaled underwater life footage, which results in things like hand-sized fish appearing to be larger than a man.

So basically, what you have for the first hour of the film is a pretty straight-forward crime flick. And then all of a sudden, here we are in a space-age secret lair, looking at a bald guy in his Blofeld jacket, employing a uniformed private army, and trusting the successful execution of his schemes to a quartet of managers that includes that wolfman guy (Mac Mohan) that seems to be the evil henchman in every 70s Bollywood action film and Dalip Tahil, last seen here as the villainous sweater-wearing manager from Commando. Shakal, being a man of impeccable mad villain fashion sense, also insists that his four lieutenants dress equally as swanky, so they all get to wear slick white suits. So at least Dalip gets something better than the holiday sweaters and mock turtlenecks he wore in Commando.

Annoyed that Shiv is cutting into the profits of evil, Shakal forces circus performer crack shot Rakesh (Shatrughan Sinha) to assassinate the inspector. I'd like to think that Rakesh works at the same circus as JJ from Don. Considering that Shakal has a space-age underground lair, a crocodile pit, four lieutenants in flared white suits, and an army of henchmen, you would think that he could recruit an ace assassin from the criminal underworld instead of kidnapping a circus guy's wife in order to make him turn to a life of crime. But much like Vijay and Ravi, Shakal is absolutely committed to doing things in the most lavishly complex and overblown fashion imaginable. So why hire a seasoned underworld hit man with no moral qualms about killing a cop when you could devise an elaborate scheme involving a circus sharpshooter instead?

Ravi and Vijay get out of jail and swear to go straight, but it's not too long before the crosshairs in which Shiv finds himself pull the younger brothers and their crew of con artists into the struggle against Shakal.

There is very little about Shaan that isn't totally absurd. Shakal is a cartoon James Bond/spy caper villain who somehow wandered into a gritty 70s-style action film. One minute, it's all guys in dungarees and open-neck shirts kicking each other on the streets of Bombay, and then all of a sudden Ravi and Rakesh are fighting gas-mask clad super villains in a pristine white secret lair throne room while Amitabh wrestles a rubber crocodile. Anyone who watches masala from the 70s and 80s has to be prepared for dramatic shifts in tone, but while the tone of Shaan remains fairly consistent, the setting seems to switch for the final hour to an entirely different movie. Not that I'm complaining. I think pretty much every type of movie could be improved by the inclusion of a bald criminal genius with a space-age secret lair and crocodile pit and female assistants clad in mini-skirts and silver go-go boots.

But the fact that Shaan is very, very silly doesn't mean that it's not also very, very fun. It's tremendously enjoyable, even if we do spend a little much time with the legless dude on his rolling platform zipping about Bombay at speeds exceeding those of the cars around him. Shaan is basically a Don style Amitabh action film with a James Bond film grafted onto the end, which is really the best of both worlds. You get to watch Amitabh kungfu the crap out of people, then you get to watch him run around in futuristic passageways and battle dudes with machine guns. Plus, yeah, he wrestles a crocodile and kicks down a door. If they'd let him jump a car through the open door of a moving box car, it would have been perfect. By 1980, Amitabh's "angry young man" trend,which he'd started with films like Zanjeer and Deewar, had just about run its course. What had once been something daring and fresh was becoming routine. Everyone knew what to expect, and Amitabh could play these types of roles with his eyes closed. But that doesn't stop him from putting a lot of charm and effort into the film. Vijay is a well realized character, equal parts lovable rascal, suave playboy, and steely-eyed instrument of destruction. He looks great in the action scenes, and though there are fewer kungfu fights than in Don, the choreography in Shaan is much better orchestrated.

Playing second banana to Amitabh is Shashi Kapoor in a harmless role that simply gets lost in the over-the-top glory of Amitabh and Shakal. Ravi gives off a definite "yeah, me too!" vibe as he follows Vijay around. But he fares better than the women in the film. After Zeenat Aman in Don and Great Gambler, Parveen Babi and Bindiya Goswami are a major step down. The movie doesn't really offer them very much to do other than be present and occasionally show some cleavage. They get to throw some chops and kicks and flip some dudes over during the finale, but that's really not enough to make them in any way memorable. I'm not sure what Zeenat was doing. Maybe if she'd been on hand, we would have a better showing on behalf of the ladies.

Surprisingly, comedian Johnny Walker is not the least bit irritating as Renu's con artist uncle. I always have major reservations about "famous comedians" in any role, be they slapstick comedy relief or otherwise. This is usually because famous comedians are almost never funny to me. Franco and Cicci, Jerry Lewis -- I'm looking in your direction. But Walker plays it pretty straight for the most part, and only really has a couple scenes. In fact, most of the cast that isn't Amitabh, Shashi, or Shatrughan Sinha tends to disappear for long stretches of film. It wouldn't be hard to forget that Renu, Chacha, and Sunita are even in the film.

As forgettable but harmless as those three may be, with Shashi being only marginally more memorable, Shatrughan Sinha makes up for it as the circus hitman blackmailed into trying to kill Shiv Kumar.He's the only character with any back story (as simple as that back story may be) that explains his motivations. And for being in what is ultimately a silly overblown action movie, Shatrughan brings a surprising level of depth and dignity to his role, even when wearing a billowing black silk circus shirt which I think might have also been worn by JJ in Don. In fact, I'm just going to pretend that not only were Rakesh and JJ in the same circus, but Rakesh was JJ's son (though Rakesh himself does not know this). And it was on his deathbed that JJ bequeathed the flowing black silk Renaissance shirt to Rakesh, his final words being, "Wear it...with pride."

But none of this matters. Because no matter how good Amitabh Bachchan and Shatrughan Sinha may be, this movie belongs to Kulbhushan Kharbanda. As the devious and dastardly Shakal, Kharbanda hams his way through a ridiculously over-the-top performance complete with weird twitching, copious amounts of booming evil laughter, and a scene where he inexplicably has his evil villain jacket unbuttoned to reveal his hairy, shirtless chest even though he's in his throne/control room and never takes his jacket off at any other point in the movie. I guess he figured that if everyone else got to wear those big-collared polyester disco shirts unbuttoned to the navel, he should get to show off a little chest as well, despite being clad for the entire movie in a jacket with a high Mandarin style collar. Shakal is not the greatest onscreen Bollywood villain of all time -- it's only right that that honor would go to a character played by Amrish Puri (and that the character be named Mogambo -- but that is another story) -- but he's pretty damn good. I think if he hadn't been quite so serious with it, he would have reached those rarefied airs where only the best and most scenery-hungry villains exist. But while he may fail to attain a state of cartoonish villain manna, that doesn't mean Shakal isn't a bundle of fiendish giggling and ominous flashing button pressing.

Aside from a solid cast, Shaan boasts much that is worth celebrating. The set design, when it kicks into high gear, is really something. Most of the movie takes place on fairly standard locations -- the streets, a garage, a bar, Shiv's living room, so on and so forth. But in two instances, Shaan gives in to its flashier, more decadent art design tendencies. When Amitabh and his crew mount the theft of a diamond necklace, it occurs at a dance club that must be seen to b believed. Beth Loves Bollywood described it as a universe within an inside-out disco ball, and I can think of no better description. And sure, the plunging neckline and swinging hips of Suria's dress are supposed to be the star attractions of the number, but that's not to say one can't become easily distracted by Amitabh's pimp outfit, complete with giant roger Moore sized bowtie and a crystal-tipped walking stick. And I haven't even mentioned the cheerleader go-go girls with the silver pom-poms.

Even that pales into comparison the instant we're transported from the familiar sights and sounds of the Bombay streets to Shakal's pop-art lair. There's no excuse for a villain of his caliber to have such a lavish lair. You should only get lairs like this when you are blackmailing the entire world or stealing nuclear power plants or teleporting the entirety of Washington DC onto the moon. Shakal seems to be running guns and hassling a dude from the circus. But whatever. Since Shaan was made in 1980, I assume that the market for opulent 60s-style villain lairs had really bottomed out, so he probably got the whole package off Craigslist for super-cheap. Shakal's lair is a dream -- very Ken Adams on a Bollywood budget, or even more accurate -- it looks like they somehow got access to the same sets Toho Studio used for the Planet X space base in Godzilla vs. Monster Zero. One -- should one be like me -- half expects Amitabh to run into Akira Takarada and Nick Adams while they're all prowling the same halls. Now that would have been one hell of a team.

As far as musical numbers go, you have two spectacular ones, and other acceptable ones. The dance club/necklace heist scene has a great number, and the finale is a spectacular blow-out that reminds me of the finale of Jewel Thief. Vijay, Ravi, Rakesh, and the gals somehow employ a entire gypsy dance and acrobat troupe and use it to infiltrate Shakal's fortress -- because as much as bald megalomaniac super villains love the privacy of a private island space-age lair, they love a sumptuous floor show even more. The whole number turns into a wild, action-packed free-for-all that includes kungfu, shoot-outs, Rakesh and Ravi fighting supermen in gas masks in a chamber filling with poison gas -- in which Shakal himself is sitting without a gas mask! -- and, of course, Amitabh wrestling a crocodile. The other musical numbers are all right. The number with the legless Abdul (Mazhar Khan) zipping about town is pointless and overlong, but the awful blue screen projection should help you get through. The other numbers are the usual "wooing the chick" and "conning the masses" type of numbers, and while they're perfectly acceptable, they just can't compare to that dance club number or the big show at Shakal's place.

This was director Ramesh Sippy's first film after the spectacular career-making Sholay, and despite the all-star cast, Shaan didn't do that well. It was sort of on the tail-end of the trend that allowed for this sort of 60s-inspired mod-meets-psychedelic pop art fantasy. A couple years later, Sonny Deol would be running around in ugly, padded jackets and parachute pants, blowing up warehouses that lacked any of the panache of Shakal's lair. So perhaps Shaan is just a 70s movie at the dawn of the 80s. Whatever the case, Sippy's direction isn't as crisp and expertly paced as it was in Sholay. If there is a flaw anywhere in Shaan, it's the usual problem of certain scenes that wouldn't be that good in short form being drawn out much longer than they need to be.

I already mentioned Abdul's overly lengthy roll about town, but there's also the midway assassination attempt on Shiv that consists of nauseating scenes of Ferris wheels and rides spinning around. Later, after Shiv is kidnapped by Shakal and escapes from the secret lair, he is mercilessly pursued down the beach by Shakal's dogs and armed gunmen in a helicopter. Now that in and of itself is a fine scene. It just goes on way too long. Plus, umm, the dogs are beagle puppies. Not Dobermans. Not German Shepards. Beagles. And little beagles at that. It just proves my point that Shakal was a cut-rate chump villain who just lucked out at some supervillain's estate sale.

Some of the comedy drags on, too, but I find that to be the case in almost all films, especially comedies.

But those are nitpicks, at best. For the most part, Shaan is nothing but one big rollicking ball of ridiculous action, energetic songs, kungfu, guns, car chases, crocodile wrestling, disco shirts, laughing villains, secret lairs, and stuff getting' blowed up.

Labels: Action, Bollywood, Director: Ramesh Sippy, Espionage, Musicals, Stars: Amitabh Bachchan, Stars: Sashi Kapoor, Year: 1980

posted by Keith at 6:54 PM | 7 Comments

Friday, December 20, 2002

The Octagon

1980, United States. Starring Chuck Norris, Karen Carlson, Lee Van Cleef, Art Hindle, Carol Bagdasarian, Tadashi Yamashita, Kim Lankford, Larry D. Mann, Kurt Grayson, Richard Norton, Yuki Shimoda, Redmond Gleeson, Alan Chappuis, Brian Libby, Ken Gibbel. Directed by Eric Karson.

Chuck Norris - say the name. Don't fear it. Embrace Chuck Norris. Hold him in your arms like a dear, dear friend. Rub your palms gently over the wookie-thick pelt on his shoulders and chest. Then grimace as he delivers a devastating spin-kick to your head because you were in there feeling him up. Bruce Lee may have been able to yank out a handful of Chuck Norris chest hair and blow it in his face, but you, my friend, are no Bruce Lee.

For better or for worse Chuck Norris and his big bushy 1970s mustache will forever be the face of the American martial arts film. It's not because his films were any good so much as it is the simple fact that he was there and he never went away. Guys like Jim Kelly and Don Knotts simply faded into the background, while Van Damme and Steven Seagal were relegated to the rows of direct-to-video fare when audiences finally caught on that there was no real reason to be watching On Deadly Ground when you could watch Jackie Chan instead.

By all means, Norris should have joined one of these two groups by now, but like an agile cat, he manages to bend and twist and avoid the arrows, keeping himself just above the ranks of the fallen. Why? Part of it could simply be that he played his cards right. When the time came, he went to television and starting kicking ass in the name of the Republic of Texas. Part of it could be that he's basically a nice, mellow guy in real life while Van Damme and Seagal have raging egos and attitudes. I mean, Chuck is just this laid back cowboy who happens to be able to beat you within an inch of your life. It's sort of like getting your ass kicked by John Denver. You really can't help but like the man even if you don't like the movies. Part of it may be that Chuck never really aimed to be a superstar, and so his decline was less noticeable.

Most likely, it's all these things and more. There's just something cool about Chuck Norris. He's that country uncle who shows up at family reunions and seems kind of shy and nerdy until you catch him out back splitting logs with his bare hands as he mulls over an offer to endorse a brand of karate stretch jeans that will be advertised in Inside Kungfu for the next twenty years alongside the "Bruce Lee-style yellow track suit." He's aided greatly by the fact that he's not an asshole, not to mention the fact that he is also one of the true legitimate bad-asses in the world of martial arts movies. While Van Damme was learning to do dance moves and stretches, Chuck Norris was beating people senseless in the name of inner peace in a variety of national and international fighting tournaments. Both Bruce Lee and Sammo Hung have remarked that Norris has one of the most powerful spin-kicks in the world, and that his punches are no day at the beach either.

Norris got his start in movies thanks to Bruce Lee's many contacts in Hollywood, namely Dean Martin. Martin used Norris as a stunt extra for one of the Matt Helm movies before Norris really made an impact as the boss bad guy in Bruce Lee's classic Way of the Dragon. Their confrontation during the film's finale in the Roman Coliseum is one of the top screen fights in kungfu film history. Bruce wanted to work with Chuck Norris because, unlike most martial arts stars, he was adamant about casting real-life martial artists to fight n his film. Most filmmakers were happy with dancers, gymnasts, or people who could just wave their arms wildly at the camera and tumble around. When Lee got a chance to direct a film, one of the first things he did was set about hiring the best martial artists he could afford. For the film's biggest fight, he turned to Chuck Norris.

After making such an impact in that film, where audiences around the globe were wowed by his intense fighting style and abundance of body hair, it was no surprise that people started thinking about casting him in larger roles. His first was as the head heavy in Yellow Faced Tiger, released in the United States as Slaughter in San Francisco. What that role had in common with his role in Way of the Dragon was that it was a Hong Kong film that didn't really require more from Chuck than kicking some ass. His lines can be summed up pretty much as the following: "Hmmm," "Arrrr," and of course, "Ha ha ha ha ha!"

When Chuck finally got to start speaking his own language (or any language at all beyond primal grunts and evil laughter), people found that he wasn't really that great an actor. What did they expect? It's not like he was actor. How good at karate are your average actors? Luckily, scripts rarely demanded more from Chuck than his poor man's Clint Eastwood, and when they did, he was wooden but certainly not the worst performer in the world. Not that it mattered. People weren't lining up to see Force of One in hopes of catching some really heart-wrenching scenes of Chuck Norris emoting all over the place. They were, however, hoping for heart-wrenching scenes in the most literal sense. In that category, Norris always delivered. Throughout the 1970s, Norris' fame and onscreen body count grew rapidly. His specialty was the "man of peace driven to extreme measures by evil people," his days as a cackling villain long behind him. Norris' characters were always noble, humble, and generally found of cowboy garb.

Folks liked Chuck Norris movies because they identified with him. He was just this normal looking guy: not all that handsome, not all that muscular, but possessed of intense inner strength matched by fists that could shatter brick and bone. He was always the moralist, always the straight guy, always the hero at a time when antiheroes were all the rage. Sure, he butted heads with the higher-ups and rattled a few cages, but that's because there was so much corruption around him. He was just as likely to put cowboy boot to ass on a corrupt politician or police chief as he was coke dealer or robber-baron. While there was no shortage of tough-as-nails heroes for the urban crowd, Norris was one of the few guys out there dealing double-fisted beat-downs in the name of all the rural, small-town guys who talked softly and wore bootcut jeans. He was Billy Jack without the endless scenes of improvisational theater and explanations of the alternative hippie school.

The one problem aside from his limited acting range was the limited writing range of whoever was dreaming up those movies. Pretty much every one of them entails Chuck beating up a bunch of small-town thugs or international drug lords employing small-town thugs. Rarely did he face off against other martial artists, which I guess is realistic (how many fights have you seen that bust out into fully choreographed kungfu fights?) but not all that interesting to watch. Uneven pacing and cliché scripts only helped to muddy the waters, keeping most of Chuck's films in the "not good but still enjoyable" range until the 1990s, when he dropped the "but still enjoyable" aspect of his work.

In 1980, Chuck Norris made a little film that used what was then a little-known but increasingly popular martial arts legend. The legend was the Ninja, and the movie was The Octagon.

The ninja trend would really start rolling a year later with the release of Cannon Films' Enter the Ninja, but Norris beat everyone to the spinning punch when he incorporated the mask-wearing shadow warriors into this not altogether bad little martial arts adventure. Norris plays Scott James - an action hero who has a normal name instead of being named something like "Derek Ice" or "Maximilian Scorpio, Esquire." Scott's just your average Southwestern dude who happens to have a secret Ninja past and a Ninja brother who wants to kill him some day. Scott also has a tendency to allow his thoughts to be broadcast as echoing whispers throughout the entire movie, which gets pretty annoying after about, oh let's say the first time it happens. Call it personal preference, but I really hate the whole "echoing voice-over" thought-bubble thing. It just seems goofy to me, and I can't stand that they always have to make it a whisper. Scott never thinks in a normal voice, just like all those people in Dune thought to themselves in whispers. I tend to think to myself in Patrick Stewart's voice, all booming and commanding. But then I talk, and I sound more like Jerry Lewis.

Scott gets tangled up with a militia that trains potential terrorists using Ninja techniques. Watching these would-be thugs get their ninja training reminded me of the year Phillip Holder moved to Gainesville and amused us all with his self-aggrandizing flyers stapled up all over town. Anyone who has ever picked up a copy of Inside Kungfu is no doubt familiar not only with Chuck Norris brand karate jeans (with increased stretchability for when you need to kick a trucker in the head while still lookin' good and not ripping the seat of your pants), but also with (self-proclaimed) Grand Master Phillip Holder, who peppered the magazine with ads hocking his instructional videos. When he moved his global training center to Gainesville, Florida, he put signs up everywhere looking for students who wanted to be trained by "the world's third deadliest man." No one ever explained that title to me. I guess there is some international governing body that hands out "deadliest man" rankings, but that still doesn't explain the exact nature of Holder's claim. Is he the third man to hold the title "world's deadliest man," or is that in the race to be the world's deadliest man, there are two men in the world deadlier than Phillip Holder?

Anyway, he crossed over into Octagon territory when he opened a summer camp for "Bodyguard and Ninjitsu Training." I have no doubt that Phillip Holder could hand me my ass on a silver platter, just as I have no doubt that the few beer-swilling, Joe Don Baker looking good ol' boys who attended the Grand Master's ninja summer camp could kick my ass in less time than it would take them to down a can of Red Dog, but let's face it: being able to kick my ass doesn't exactly qualify you for Grand Master status or serve as a major stepping stone on your way to becoming a ninja.

I'm guessing that alumnus of the Phillip Holder Ninja Camp (or "Kamp" if you are funny) were about the same as the people graduating from this Octagon thing, meaning they're the type of gang who would get their ass kicked by a single well-trained individual.

But Norris is a man of peace, and he doesn't just haul off and kick someone's ass without dragging the decision out for the first two-thirds of the film. Luckily, people keep trying to kill him for no real reason, so he does get to fight a lot in between echoing voice-over thought whispers of him going, "Sakura, could it be you?" as he contemplates the possibility that his old ninja brother is the man behind the terrorist ninja camp. Speaking of terrorist camps, here's a question I've had on my mind since I first saw all that footage of Al Quaeda training facilities with the guys scrambling over ramps and stuff: why do terrorists need to know how to perform well on gymborees? Honestly, I think whenever Osama bin Laden couldn't think of anything more destructive for his thugs to do, he'd just send them out to jump over the bars and swing on the ropes. Are they planning on taking down America by challenging us to a footrace through an obstacle course? Or are they training to win that Gymkata game?

One of the women at the terrorist training camp decides this is all a little much, and makes a hasty retreat, eventually coming into contact with Scott (Norris), who has been busy playing games with some rich chick while his best friend grumbles and Lee Van Cleef drifts in and out of the film in an attempt to spur Chuck's character to action or possibly just collect a paycheck. You'd say that Van Cleef was slumming it in b-movie action realm if his filmography wasn't so full of shame. Given that he would later go on to star in the abysmal Master Ninja television series, it's safe to say that this movie is the pinnacle of all things Lee Van Cleef has done involving ninjas.

Eventually, the reformed terrorist chick shows her boobs to Chuck Norris and he finally gets off his peace-lovin' ass track down Sakura's ninja camp. The terrorist chick shoots stuff, Lee Van Cleef gets to blow things up, and Chuck Norris has to fight his way through a maze filled with ninja henchmen before facing off against the final ninja henchman (who insists on wearing an elaborate get-up and metal mask even though the training facility is in the middle of the desert in Mexico) and, ultimately, his estranged blood brother.

The Octagon takes a lot of flack for "looking dated," which has never hit me as an especially meaningful criticism. It's what people say who can't remember back more than three years. It's not Chuck's fault that fashion in the late 1970s was so abysmal. Luckily for him, cowboy fashion has been the same pretty much since the 1800's, so at least he isn't strutting around in all those plaid flares Sonny Chiba had a tendency to don. That a film looks dated really doesn't bother me or register, most likely because I've been watching film so closely for so long now that I've simply learned to disregard certain trivial things that other people seem to get hung up on. Besides, there's plenty of stuff to complain about in The Octagon without having to dwell on the khaki pantsuits and things like that.

First, of course, there's that damn whispering. I go to bed at night, and I hear Chuck Norris whispering in the wind. I'm thinking of recording all his weird echoing whispers and playing them at random intervals during subway rides around town. That would at least afford me some small amount of satisfaction for having to hear ol'Chuck's whisper-thought so much. It seems weird to have to yell "Shut up!" at a guy who isn't actually saying anything. Watching The Octagon is a simulation of what it must feel like to have ESP.

Coming out when it did, The Octagon is basically a 1970s action film with a 1980 release date. As such, it suffers from many of that era's shortcomings, which are actually many of the same things that endeared the movies to me. It's needlessly arty in some places, amateurishly crude in others. Flashbacks have a freaky tint to them, and many of the nighttime scenes are poorly lit (or at least poorly transferred from the original negatives). The pacing is also pretty uneven. When there's action a-brewin', it's generally pretty good, but when it comes down to scenes of Chuck Norris engaging in witty banter with Lee Van Cleef or the rich lady, things just grind to a halt. Luckily, the final third of the film dispenses with the dialogue altogether save for the occasional shout of "Sakura!!!" and just makes with the martial arts mayhem.

I also don't begrudge Chuck Norris the chance to have a cute girl get naked for him during the film's one short love scene. Given the chance, I'm sure most of us would write ourselves a script that involved some attractive young gal rubbing her boobs against us, or some strapping young cabana boy giving us a cocoa butter rub-down if we happen to be female and not into other women rubbing their boobs against us. But understandable or not, I'm not so into seeing Chuck Norris' carpetlike chest stroked lovingly like someone might pet a furry dog or a sasquatch. I mean, you slide your fingers into that jungle, and there's a chance some of them won't come back out.

Action, of course, is what we're here for, and when the movie shuts up long enough, it delivers some solid martial arts fun. Sure, we're not talking Sammo Hung and Yuen Biao, but as far as American martial arts films go, The Octagon has better than average fight scenes. Norris is in good form and this movie has the wisdom to pit him against other martial artists rather than fist-swinging country lugs. While the choreography isn't mind-blowing, it's definitely solid and even believable for the most part. Sakura is played by Japanese karate movie mainstay Tadashi Yamashita, and Richard Norton shows up as a thug, so this movie isn't devoid of martial arts talent. For the most part, fights are well done. I'm sure fans of the wild wire-fu and undercranked nonsense will find the fights sluggish, but since I enjoy the old school even if it's slower and doesn't fly through the treetops, I thought The Octagon's martial arts were pretty enjoyable.

As for the ninjas, I'm not quite sure what their deal was. I know that ninja popularity was on the rise as this film was being completed, but none of the ninjas in the movie do anything particularly ninjalike. Sure, they sneak into houses and try to strangle Chuck Norris, but there's no real reason to do masks and cloaks for that. Well, masks maybe, but you don't exactly blend in with the surroundings running around your average Southwestern city in a ninja uniform and cloak. They don't seem to be teaching their students very much, either. Sakura and his sai-weilding ninja right hand man kick dirt at people and do that thing where you teach them a lesson by beating them up, but none of their pupils seems especially accomplished at any point. I wonder if Sakura and his masked pal didn't go back home after a day of watching the recruits screw up and bemoan the sorry state of ninjitsu students these days.

Additionally, if the entire idea behind the art of ninjitsu is that you blend in to your surroundings, why would a bunch of Japanese ninjas build their camp in Mexico then strut around the local barrio in their ninja outfits? Mexico is a pretty laid back place, but even the most stereotypical Mexican peasant would be stirred from his siesta by a troupe of ninjas marching down the street. Maybe Sakura just passes his men off as some Cirque du Soliel type of thing.

On the acting front - well, you get what you pay for. That Chuck Norris has never been nominated for a "Best Actor" Oscar is no travesty of justice, and he proves that here. He's not bad, per se, but he is stiff. He gives it the ol' college try, and he's better than a lot of the other actors in the genre. Lee Van Cleef is there to pay some bills, but he turns in a decent performance, though half the time exactly what he's even doing is a bit unclear. Yamashida is all action, few words, as is Norton. The rest of the cast - well, let's leave it at the fact that there's a good reason you've probably never heard of most of them before or after this film.

Problems aside, The Octagon really isn't such a bad film. It was the first out of the ninja gate, even if Enter the Ninja was more popular, so it gets points for being historically important in that regard (or however historically important low-budget B-movie action films can be). It's certainly better than vast many ninja films that would be released throughout the 1980s, sitting at the top of the heap alongside the likes of Enter the Ninja, Revenge of the Ninja, and Pray for Death. Granted, that's not an especially tall heap, but it's better than nothing.

If you're looking for wild ninja action and people disappearing into puffs of purple smoke, your better off with a film like Ninja Hunters. If, however, you appreciate decent low-budget 1970s action films, The Octagon has a lot of fun to offer despite the stop and go pacing and low production values. I'm much happier with a low key film like this than I am overblown, special effects laden crap like we see today. Call me a cranky old redneck with no taste, but I'd much rather see Chuck Norris beating up ninjas in some sandy courtyard than I would ever watch Jet Li do cgi-fu and "bullet time" effects.

Labels: Martial Arts: Ninjas, Stars: Chuck Norris, Year: 1979, Year: 1980

posted by Keith at 12:40 AM | 3 Comments

Wednesday, September 18, 2002

Chinese Gods

1980, Hong Kong. Directed by Chik Hoi Chang.

You don't see very much animation coming out of Hong Kong, and I've never really understood why. You know, when you think about it, Hong Kong seems like a pretty boring place. Where are the cartoons? Where are the punk bands? The pro wrestling? The cool toys? It's like Japan hogged the entire cool allotment for the continent of Asia, and although Hong Kong got kungfu and gangster movies, that's about it. And as far as I know, Mexican food has practically no presence in any of the Asian countries, which is a crime. Maybe someday I will move to Osaka and open a taco stand.

Anyway, we're not here to talk about tacos. We were talking about how you can count the number of Hong Kong cartoons on one hand, even if that hand was mauled in an industrial accident. In fact, I've only found two cartoon movies from Hong Kong, though I think they have some television series about a flying pig or something. My excuse for Hong Kong having pretty much nothing fun going for it has always been that the island is too small and concentrated. There's really no room for punk clubs and independent films and zines and whatever. So everyone is stuck with nothing but crappy, mass produced pop entertainment. But with animation, I just don't know. Can't they just send it all to Korea like we in the United States do?

Chinese Gods was the first Hong Kong cartoon I ever saw, and quite frankly, I've yet to fully recover. Someone took a lot of that brown acid they had at Woodstock, then dove too deep and got a nitrogen high, then sat down and made this utterly dumbfounding, totally amazing gem of a movie. I don't even know where to begin with this one, as the size of this film's weirdness makes it nearly impossible to get a hold of. Should I start with ancient Chinese gods and their motorcycle clouds? Or the frequent dismemberment, charring, and other acts of insane violence? How about the fact that, when all else fails, the ancient gods of China have to call on the ultimate supernatural guardian of China, Bruce Lee (sporting a cool third eye in the center of his forehead)?

Well, let's start with the technical aspects of this. The artwork is pretty good, a nice mix of traditional Chinese styles with 1970s style Japanese cartoon aesthetic. The animation, however, looks about on par with what kids doing an animation project in their middle school class would come up with. It's really bad and reminds me of those crappy Christian religious cartoons they sometimes play on cable. If you have ever seen one, you know what I'm talking about. The Lord may have filled his flock with righteous condescension but he left out little things like artistic ability. That includes artistic musical talent. What the hell is the deal with Christian rock? Is there a worse sounding abomination anywhere in the universe?

Okay, where were we? Let's move on to the plot of this cartoon. There is an evil warlord who is oppressing the people of his province. His wife is a fox spirit, and although they are sexy, fox spirits are always deceitful and naughty. Disgusted by the ruler's evil deeds, the gods, one of whom can make his eyes extend way far out of his head, send a wise demigod type fellow down to Earth to talk sense to the despot. In accordance with the behavior you would expect from a ruler who murders his most loyal advisors and burns lots of people alive for the hell of it, he doesn't really see the error of his ways. Angered and frustrated, the demigod whips up a tornado that carries many of the peasants to a neighboring province, where the ruler is benevolent and honest. Obviously, this is a fantasy film.

The evil ruler decides to declare war on the good leader, but when his assassins fail to carry out their job, the fox spirit suggests that the evil ruler enlist the aid of the dark forces, who are pretty good at such things. In turn, the wise demigod enlists the aid of his pals up in the heavens and all out supernatural war ensues. Evil Taoist priests, monsters and demons of every possible shape and size, and god riding around on clouds that make motorcycle noises are all part of the fun.

When the forces of evil send in the Three Kings of Hell as their coup de gras, the good gods summon up Bruce Lee. Yep. When God himself can't solve a problem, he calls on Bruce Lee. Wouldn't you? Bruce Lee, complete with his official silly fighting noises, materializes to kick some King of Hell ass. Bruce can do kungfu and shape shift, among other powers he never used in his other movies but we always suspected he had.

I've really only scratched the surface of how insane this cartoon gets. I mean, if you thought The Wall was weird, you ain't seen nothing yet. This movie has more craziness packed into each of it's poorly animated cels than most any other film around. Was this for kids? Surely not. It shows people being chopped in half and burned at the stake, flailing and shrieking as the melt. It has demons ripping people apart and eating their limbs. I mean, sure it's the kind of movie I watched as a kid, but these kids these days are goofier.

Oh well, who cares whether or not your kids can watch it, if you have kids. What I'm more interested in is my own personal enjoyment of the film, and I have to say it's really one of the most unbelievably fun and inexplicable things I've ever seen. It makes me feel a bit light-headed. It was another favorite of my stoner friend Ken Volkman, along with Young Taoism Fighter. And hey, if a stoner thinks it's weird, you know you can trust them. The animation is not great, as I said, and a lot of people will snub the film simply on that. But you have to overlook the cheap animation and enjoy the delirium of the story. And you can also admire the artwork, if not the outcome of trying to make it move. It's so cheesy to say that a film looks like someone's bad acid trip, but man alive does that ever fit the bill here.

I'm not sure exactly how accurate the mythology on display is. As best I can tell, the reason Bruce Lee is no longer with us is because he had to travel back in time to like the Han Dynasty or something in order to assume his role as the ultimate god of China. He brought with him his knowledge of motorcycles and applied to it some clouds for his buddies. Well, he's a better folk hero than Buffalo Bill, anyway.

Chinese Gods got a domestic video release and tends to turn up on video shelves from time to time, so keep your eyes open. When I am rich, which should happen any day now, I plan on re-releasing this film, unleashing unto this Earth some animated madness the likes of which God himself has never before witnessed. You think you know weird, but if you haven't seen this movie, your education is incomplete. Luckily, I'm here to teach you in your times of need.

Labels: Anime and Animation, Country: Hong Kong, Fantasy, Martial Arts: Kungfu, Stars: Bruce Lee, Year: 1980

posted by Keith at 4:43 PM | 0 Comments

Sunday, December 16, 2001

Last Hunter

1980, Italy. Starring David Warbeck, Tisa Farrow, Tony King, Bobby Rhodes, John Steiner, Massimo Vanni, Margit Evelyn Newton, Luciano Pigozzi. Directed by Antonio Margheriti

Imagine, for a moment, that you were going to make Apocalypse Now, only you were going to do it with a budget of about $25 and some change. If you are lucky, the results could very well come out looking something like The Last Hunter, an Italian shoestring-budget rip-off of Apocalypse Now and assorted other "man on a mission" type war films. Because of a lack of talent, or at least a lack of hashish, you would be unable to come up with the twisted psychedelic imagery and symbolism of Apocalypse Now, so you'd go instead for more gratuitous violence and things blowing up. Of course, you don't have much money, so most of the things you blow up would be trees and coconuts, but that's neither here nor there.

Last Hunter is exactly what you expect it to be: a cheap, derivative, totally satisfying wartime action film. Hey, not everything can be deranged art from the feverish minds of a bunch of stoners in the jungle, so sometimes you just gotta settle for a war movie in which the basic plot is "guys run around and shoot each other while cursing and sweating." That's exactly what Last Hunter wants to be, and that's exactly what it is.

The movie starts off on the right foot by starring David Warbeck. Most people who know David Warbeck know him as the somewhat dim but good-hearted doctor from Lucio Fulci's supernatural zombie bloodbath, The Beyond. Fans of genre films know him as one of the coolest, friendliest guys ever to set foot in front of the camera or on the stage at a convention. Warbeck was famous for being a great guy, someone who had a sense of humor about his work but, at the same time, avoided being condescending toward it, always exhibiting respect for the genres and their fans. He never got full of himself or became "too important" for the fun horror and action films of his past. He knew his role, knew it well, and relished it. B-movie fans lost a tremendous fellow when Warbeck died of cancer.

Warbeck plays a very Martin Sheen-esque army captain named Morris who is given a mission: go up a river and destroy a radio tower that is being used to broadcast around the clock anti-American propaganda. I've always thought it would be much simpler to not send the mission to destroy the radio tower, and instead just tell everyone not listen to whatever channel was broadcasting the anti-American hate messages. But I suppose if you have to chose between "Go home yankee GI" or Robin Williams screaming at you and doing his "gay guy" voice and his "southern preacher" voice for ten hours a day, you'd welcome the Vietcong propaganda network.

The movie begins with a cool slow-burn segment set in a brothel. One of Morris' buddies is starting to freak out as a result of the combined effects of too much war and too many drugs. Just when things seem to simmer down a bit, he goes totally nuts and opens fire on everyone, including himself. It lets you know right away that while this may not be the artiest war film you'll ever see, it sure isn't going to go down without a very bloody fight.

Morris leaves for his mission in a departure that doesn't seem all that thought out. The mission hits its first snag when he jumps out of a helicopter into the river and is immediately foiled in his attempts to climb ashore by a very small but determined snake. Damn godless Commie VC snakes! After losing most of his equipment and valuable time, David bests the diminutive reptile by doggy paddling a little ways down and getting out of the river there. Along the way he manages to lose just about all his equipment. Score one for America, baby!

Morris soon meets up with the small squadron of poorly dubbed soldiers, including one ARVN soldier named, wittily enough, Hu Phlung Dung, and a female war correspondent played by none other than Tisa Farrow, another Fulci alumnist (she was in Zombie) and the larger breasted of the Farrow sisters. Tisa enjoyed fame and we all enjoyed her nudity in countless Italian exploitation films while her more respectable sister had sex with Woody Allen. Now seriously, which one would you rather hang out with?

As the merry band traipses through the jungle, they discover a bunch of rotting American pilots. This being an Italian film, the camera does not miss the opportunity to zoom lovingly in on the oozing wounds and decaying flesh. See, that's the grim, gritty reality of war. If this had been a Fulci film, the corpses would have attacked, and we would have had ourselves one of those Weird War Tales type movies. I always wondered why there weren't more of these. As a kid, I was always entranced and terrified by the covers to these comic books, which always seemed to involve some American soldier hiding in a trench while a bunch of skeletons in tattered Nazi uniforms marched by. Seems to me to be obvious fodder for a fairly ass-kicking horror/action film, but no one really ever seized on them.

Okay, you had that weird slew of "zombie Nazis rising from the lake" movies, but that's not really the same thing.

Anyway, this is all a rather moot point, as these bodies don't do anything but hang there looking gross. So it's off to a village where they can have a big ol' shoot-out with the forces of Communism. Lots of stuff explodes and there's at least one spot where a guy gets shot so his buddy can avenge him by yelling, "Mutha fuckahs!" as he goes apeshit with his M-16. This seems to happen about every ten minutes and is the sure sign of an idea well that has run dry. Just have your guy shout "mutha fuckahs!" and cut loose with his machine, possibly in slow motion. It's a surefire way to give your movie that extra emotional impact that is lost if your guy shouts something else, like "Poo-poo heads!" while leveling a village.

Whatever the case may be, it doesn't quite achieve the same sense of creeping insanity that was achieved in Apocalypse Now with scenes like "Chef freaks out over the tiger," but it's still more entertaining than Saving Private Ryan's nine million "Ed Burns gives a sassy speech" scenes. Allow me to take a moment to comment on how much I didn't care for that movie: I didn't care for that movie. Not one bit. No sir. It garners its entire reputation from the admittedly exhillerating opening sequence, but after that it becomes an incredibly predictable rehash of every World War II movie ever, right down to the "sassy guy from Brooklyn" and the German soldier they free out of compassion who comes back to kill them later, and even the "timid peaceful young guy who learns that sometimes you must kill." Write it off as satire if you want; I say there's more originality in the cheap ol' Last Hunter than there was in the over-blown, over-praised Saving Private Ryan. Plus, Last Hunter starred David Warbeck.

Okay, so the opening battle was pretty cool, but that's about it.

Anyway, back to the movie at hand. After blowing a lot of stuff up, our merry little band heads to an army outpost that, once again, is supposed to remind us of the insane outpost at the Do Lung Bridge in Apocalypse Now. Once again, it doesn't quite work. The outpost commander is John Waters, or at least a guy who looks quite a bit like him, which is probably why all the soldiers are crazy. I don't care how much you like his movies, if you are trapped in the jungle taking orders from John Waters, you're probably not going to come out of it with your mind intact, especially when he introduces you to your new leader, Captain Divine.

Most of the insanity manifests itself in social functions like taunting the VC by running after coconuts, threatening to rape Tisa Farrow, and doing a whole lot of drinking. The base is mostly a series of tunnels, caves, and underground bunkers, and when the Vietcong tunnel their way in, all hell breaks loose once again. There's a huge battle in the tunnels, with just about everyone getting shot all to hell except, of course, for David Warbeck and the black guy who shouts "mutha fuckah!" all the time, which he does on at least a dozen occasions during this fight. Tisa survives, too, but is captured by the VC. Warbeck and his last remaining soldier make their way down to the river and hop in a boat which floats very slowly, with no weapons or armor, down the water, which seems not to be the best mode of transportation when both banks are lined with well-armed North Vietnamese soldiers. I guess moves like this are why we lost the war.

Warbeck finally ditches the boat and heads out to the radio tower on foot, while the black guy props himself up with his machine gun and eventually gets killed because, well, he was floating slowly down the river in a very flammable boat in an area totally controlled by the enemy. About all he needed to do was hoist the Stars and Stripes and belt out "America the Beautiful." Instead, he goes out with guns a-blazin', his last words being "mutha fuckahs!" If I gotta go, and I am one of those people who answers the question "Do you want to live forever?" with a very simple, "Well, yeah," I at least want to go while shooting off a machine gun and yelling "mutha fuckahs!" even if I am in a room all by myself.

David Warbeck reaches the base where the radio tower is located and promptly gets captured since it's not a Vietnam exploitation movie without one scene of a guy in one of those bamboo cages hanging halfway in the river full of rats and leeches. Tisa is at this camp as well, but she's bought herself some time to come up with a plan by promising to "tell their story to the world." She then manages to free David, who goes out to complete his mission, only to discover, in a shocking twist of events, that the voice of propaganda is his old girlfriend! No, seriously! She's not even Vietnamese; she's just some Commie, spoiled-rich white girl. We then have to hear the whole long story about how back in "the world," they all planned to make a stand against the government and their unjust war, but David sold out and didn't burn his draft card, so on and so forth. The movie hasn't exactly been realistic up to this point, but this is really stretching things a bit. Oh well, at least it wasn't his evil twin with a goatee.

The Last Hunter will not go down in the annals of cinematic history as the greatest war movie of all time. No one will watch it, nod grimly, and mutter, "That's the way it was." What they will do, instead, is howl wildly and laugh a hearty laugh. It ain't art, but it is action-packed and entertaining. David Warbeck doesn't do much other than look tired and confused, but he manages to get by on charisma alone. He does a good job with a meatless role. Everyone else, especially the crazy captain who looks like John Waters and the black guy who yells a lot, are about ten miles over the top, but it fits perfectly in a movie this completely silly. We're not really looking at an exploration of man's journey into the darkness of his own soul. We're mostly looking at guys shooting things and yelling. This is a simple-minded, bloody action film. That's all it wants to be, and it delivers in a completely satisfying way.

Antonio Margheriti directs with gusto, and what he lacks in originality and budget, he more than compensates for with relentless action and gore. Margheriti was a fairly accomplished Italian action director, with a number of cool crime and spaghetti western films to his name, including another "Vietnam" film, Cannibal Apocalypse, in which John Saxon and a friend return from Vietnam to discover they've contracted a virus that causes them to have an insatiable appetite for human flesh! Margheriti's direction shines during the film's many action sequences, and he holds nothing back. The remainder of the film is filled with over-the-top shenanigans, so while things are never very believable, they're always fun. Actually, given how the whoel world has become totally neurotic and whiney, I guess over-the-top scene-chewing actually is pretty realistic.

You obviously can't take this movie very seriously. I mean, the shock ending is that the soldier's old girlfriend from America is the voice of Communism in Vietnam. How did she even get that job? And why was anyone listening to her in the first place? Oh yeah, their other choice was Robin Williams. But still! This movie throws every cliche possible at you, including guys dying in slow-motion while their buddies try in vain to save them. To the film's credit, it takes every cliche and turns it up to about eleven, making the whole thing so wildly over the top that you are quick to forget the lack of originality and feasibility and simply sit back and enjoy the mayhem.

I had no intention of taking this movie very seriously. All I wanted was a violent, action-packed shoot-em-up, and that's exactly what I got. On that level, The Last Hunter is totally satisfying and enjoyable. It shows us that war is hell, men are grim, and sucking chest wounds, unlike this movie, are not very much fun.

Labels: Action: War, Director: Antonio Margheriti, Stars: David Warbeck, Year: 1980

posted by Keith at 4:29 PM | 0 Comments

Friday, May 11, 2001

Cannibal Ferox

1980, Italy. Starring Giovanni Lombardo Radice, Lorraine De Selle, Danilo Mattei, Zora Kerova, Walter Lloyd, Meg Fleming, Robert Kerman, John Bartha, Venantino Venantini. Directed by Umberto Lenzi. Available on DVD (Amazon).

Hey kids, it's another Italian cannibal film! Collect 'em all! Just like a Pokemon, they're all basically the same, with very minor alterations to keep the boys and girls coming back time and time again. I don't know if I've seen more Italian cannibal films or Italian zombie films. I certainly enjoy the zombie films more, but there's room for everyone in my black little heart. I don't think any country embraced the cannibal film like Italy did. I mean, I've seen a couple Hong Kong cannibal films, a few American cannibal films, but Italy made a whole genre out of it, sort of like how Jess Franco and Joe D'amato worked together to create and populate the Satanic Lesbian Nun genre -- one of my personal favorites, of course.

Followers of this site probably know the name Umberto Lenzi. Among other things, he directed one of my all-time favorite films, Violent Napoli, as well as the only movie I have seen that actually features zombies standing around with their hands in their pockets (City of the Walking Dead). Lenzi's work, while uneven, is always full of gusto and energy. So when he set his sites on the blossoming cannibal market, it seemed like a sure thing. Usually, when I or any other writer uses the phrase "it seemed like a sure thing," that means that something didn't work out, and it was all a huge failure.

That is not the case here.

Cannibal Ferox became one of the most popular and controversial of all the cannibal films, taking its place on the pedestal right next to Deodato's Cannibal Holocaust. Like that film, it has the same basic message and the same basic faults. However, it has one thing no other cannibal film I have seen possesses -- a Mafia sub-plot! I know, I know, how can you possibly tie together a tribe of cannibals deep within the Amazon and New York city Mafia thugs? Well, if you are Umberto Lenzi, it's a snap! Lenzi loves crime films. The greatness of Violent Napoli is all the testament we need to the man's skill at directing a slick, action-packed crime film. The problem is that Lenzi can't stop. City of the Walking Dead features zombies that haul ass, fly helicopters, and use machine guns. Cannibal Ferox has it's Mafia subplot, which is tangential at best.

The action begins in New York, where Italian law requires all cannibal movies to begin. A junkie, a girlfriend, and a couple of fairly worthless thugs are all looking for some drug dealer, only he's nowhere to be found. Why? Because he's in another movie, called Cannibal Ferox, which takes place in the Amazon Jungle.

So let's go there, shall we, and meet our future main courses. There's "the guy," his sister Gloria (the good girl), and their slutty friend. Gloria is going to the Amazon to prove that cannibals don't exist. THIS NEVER WORKS!!! When will people learn? If you go to the jungle to prove there are no cannibals, there will be! Come on, people! Get with the program! But this is all for Gloria's college thesis. Heh, you know, I have a lot of friends who wrote a thesis, got their master's degree, and none of them had to go to the Amazon and battle cannibals in the process. They spent most of their time in the library actually (this was before the internet, way back when). I sure am glad I never took an anthropology class with whatever professor told Gloria to go down the Amazon and snoop around for cannibals.

The Amazon is dangerous enough as it is without cannibals running around. But I guess this professor isn't too bad. After all, Gloria's entire paper hinges on proving that recent accounts of cannibalism in one particular spot are false will somehow disprove all claims of cannibalism every anywhere. I only got a degree in English and film, but even I can see some problems with this thesis. But along the same lines, I'd like to offer up the fact that no square dancing has ever taken place in my household. Therefore, using Gloria's logic, no square dancing has ever existed anywhere. It's just another myth perpetrated by The Man.

But Gloria's brother is the adventurous type, and hey! It never hurts to bring a slut along!

They get about ten feet into the jungle before their jeep gets stuck in the mud. Well, what would you do? Walk back along the road, or plunge headfirst into the jungle on foot? That's right, you'd walk back to town. That's because you're not a character in an Italian cannibal movie. Hell, you probably wouldn't even be down in the Amazon looking for cannibals in the first place. But then, you'd be a pretty boring movie, wouldn't you?

So our intrepid trio trudged into the unexplored vastness of the Amazon Jungle, where they meet an old guy sitting by himself eating grubs. Okay, whatever. I guess this guy just likes to hide behind big leaves while he eats grubs. Maybe he's ashamed. I don't know. Maybe he's friends with those zombies from Zombie 3 who hide in the jungle just waiting for someone to randomly happen by.

While the grub eatin' guy is only of minor concern to our hearty travelers, they are taken aback by the appearance of two white guys -- Mike and, umm, the other guy. No need to learn his name; he dies pretty soon anyway. Mike and his pal are running like hell through the jungle and claim to have been attacked by cannibals. Mike's li'l buddy is dying of jungle fever, which does not mean he has a thing for Pam Grier, though I would be surprised and disappointed if he didn't.

Our trio of city slickers seems to find nothing remotely suspicious about stumbling upon two white guys in the jungle who claim to be running from cannibals. They simply accept the story at face value and start killing animals. This is the part most people have a problem with, same as Cannibal Holocaust. The animal mutilation is real stuff. This became a staple of cannibal movies for some reason, and every one of them it seems had to feature scenes of turtles getting disemboweled and animals shredding each other. You know, the harsh reality of nature and all. Only it always comes across as exploitative, cheap, and sadistic on the part of the film makers, not of the characters they are supposed to be holding up for criticism. I'm no hippie, but killing animals for the purpose of making a movie doesn't sit well with me -- and it's made even worse by the fact that none of this, absolutely none of this, would hurt the film if it was removed. It's sadistic filler and nothing more.

Once we're over that, we get back to the business of gore effects and killing humans, which is fine with me. Our group wanders into the village Mike alleges they just escaped from. Once again, you have a chance to test your cannibal movie chops. You are hiking with two coke-snorting strangers you met in the jungle. Together, you find the cannibal headquarters. Do you haul ass out of there, or set up camp in the middle of town? That's right, you haul ass out of there.

Which is why our cast decides the middle of the cannibal village is a fine ol' place to sit and rest a spell.

Gloria begins to notice strange things however. Like the entire village is comprised of old folks, women, and children. These inhabitants are terrified of Mike. When Mike and the slutty girl get coked up and rape and murder a couple of the locals, Gloria gets even more suspicious that maybe Mike is not that nice a guy. Gee, you'd think a coke-snorting rapist-murderer would set off some alarms, but remember, this is the same woman who is writing that asinine thesis about cannibals. I'm sure she thinks that despite the fact that Mike gloats about his murderous, drug smuggling ways, society has forced him to be this way, and thus, if she can just reach him, he will turn out to be a dandy dude.

At some point we cut back to New York, where the thugs are still pursuing the woman who is dating the drug dealer we can, at this point, assume is Mike. She is giving a tour of Chinatown, filling some out-of-towners up with a story about seeing the most famous opium den in Chinatown. New York residents will recognize the "opium den" as the Chinatown Ice Cream Factory, home of some of the best ice cream in the world. I guess Italians don't much care either way, but you'd think they would pick a storefront that isn't underneath a giant yellow flag depicting a squat, happy dragon gobbling down some ice cream.

Or maybe it's opium in his bowl.

Back in the Amazon, Mike's sick buddy finally spills the beans via a deathbed flashback. To no one's surprise but Gloria's and her brother's, Mike is actually a murderous thug who came to the village in search of emeralds after running afoul of a drug cartel in New York (hey, remember those guys?). When no emeralds turned up, Mike flipped out and began torturing the natives in the cruelest of ways. Pulling out eyeballs, gutting, castrating -- Mike is most definitely insane. As soon as the men of the tribe come back from their hunt, they will probably extract gory cannibalistic revenge on Mike and anyone in his party. I guess we're supposed to feel bad for Gloria and her brother -- the nice ones -- but shit, they made the decision to wander off into the jungle with coke dealers. I say they deserve whatever horrors the cannibals visit upon them.

As usual, the locals didn't start out as cannibals. Mike's barbarism drove them to it. I've heard a lot of things -- I'm so mad I could spit. I'm so mad I could punch you. I'm so mad I could kill you. I've never heard of anyone being so mad they simply had to eat their fellow man. Yet the barbarisms of modern society driving the primitives into a state of cannibalism is the crux of almost all cannibal films, so we'll go with it.

Well, when you camp out in a village full of cannibals you just murdered, eventually those cannibals get all riled up and kick your ass. It doesn't take an NYU doctoral candidate to figure that one out. Sure enough, the cannibal men come home and are simply delighted at all the new guests. They make a quick dinner out of Mike's buddy, then throw everyone else into one of those half-submerged bamboo cages like people always put Rambo in. They trot Mike out, and sure enough, take revenge on him by executing one of the movie's two prize scenes. It's not just that the castration is shown in all it's blood-spurting detail; it's that Mike's penis stretches and snaps! Ow! And to top it off, the blade-wielder pops it in his mouth like a gumball. Err, bad pun. Sorry.

But things have only just begun. The melt his stump shut and throw him in the cage. Gloria spends time doing that heart-felt "Help us!" to the nearest cannibal, as if he can understand English or really gives a shit. Her brother get's killed during a botched escape attempt. The slutty girl gets to star in the film's second signature scene, where she his hung on metal hooks piercing her breasts. I didn't know breasts were strong enough to hang by, but I guess so. Mike gets his cranium split open so the locals can dine on his brain. And even though they were not cannibals until Mike made them be that way, they just happen to have a "top of the head slicing" table around. I guess they just never throw anything out. They probably still have Apple IIe's as well.

I assume at this point Gloria is seriously rethinking her thesis, but then again, this is the woman who marched off into the jungle with coke dealers, so all bets are off on her common sense.

With the help of a sympathetic cannibal, Gloria escapes and is picked up by a helicopter carrying Mike's now ex-girlfriend and the police chief from New York. The hell? Since when do local police chiefs go on Amazon expeditions to bring back small-time drug dealers? And since when do they let the guy's ex come along? But whatever. They pick Gloria up, she goes home, writes her thesis, and becomes a college graduate. Ha! All I had to do was a week's worth of research in the library. For her blood-soaked ordeal, Gloria is now qualified for a low-paying job as a museum tour .

I guess everyone bought her thesis, which is doubly silly since obviously cannibalism does exist. Didn't the professor wonder what happened to her brother and the slutty woman? But it was good enough for the board of directors, I suppose. And thus ends Umberto Lenzi's feel-good hit of the summer, which may or may not be the inspiration for Mosquito Coast starring Harrison Ford. It makes all the typical cannibal movie statements about man's inhumanity to man, how we in the civilized world are the true savages, so on and so on. True, but at least I don't have to eat live grubs behind a big leaf. Whatever laudable political message this movie has is undermined by it's frequent use of animal murder footage, which was totally gratuitous.

Still, as far as cannibal movies go, Cannibal Ferox is entertaining. It's fast-paced, and the whole Mafia subplot is so silly you can't help but admire Lenzi's bizarre train of thought. It's like he started out making one movie and ended up with another. And he actually manages to tie it all together, which is impressive in itself. If you can get past the animal scenes, this is a nasty little flick with great gore, a brisk pace, and plenty of gut eating. Ever wonder why all cannibals eat people in the same way, by just sort of mashing the innards on their face? You never see an organized cannibal meal. Just because you eat the same thing as a zombie doesn't mean you can have the same table manners.

Labels: Director: Umberto Lenzi, Horror: Cannibals, Year: 1980

posted by Keith at 12:17 AM | 0 Comments

review index | rss feed