Out of Africa: Sydney Pollack

I don't think I would have liked Sydney Pollack's Out of Africa if I had watched it a few years ago. I would have probably mistaken it for one of the stuffy period dramas that my mother loved to watch whenever she was sick. But now, I see it as a sweeping, romantic epic of the highest pedigree. The film follows the life of Danish author Karen Blixen as she moved to British East Africa in the early 20th century in order to marry. From there, we witness her disastrous marriage to a wealthy but promiscuous cad who ends up giving her syphilis. Then there's her whirlwind romance with the wild Denys Finch Hatton, a big-game hunter who eschews civilized society for a more rugged lifestyle. We watch as her attempts to grow coffee are foiled by a horrific fire that wipes her out financially. And then, finally, we watch as she struggles to come to terms with the enigma that is Africa. The movie is dominated by a colonial European gaze that identifies the natives as a race of noble savages. But in the end, Out of Africa is a wonderful film. The film features some of the best footage of Africa that I have ever seen. The opening sequence of a train winding its way through the uninhabited wilds of Africa is heart-breakingly beautiful. And then, of course, there is the astounding acting by such luminous talents as Robert Redford and Meryl Streep. Yes, I probably would not have liked Out of Africa as a child. What a fool I was back then.

8/10

Danger!! Death Ray: Gianfranco Baldanello

I have seen some truly terrible secret agent films, but Gianfranco Baldanello's Danger!! Death Ray may be the very worst. Need proof? How about the fact that a major sequence in the film depicts a group of villains in a helicopter landing on a submarine in the middle of the ocean? Sounds about standard for a spy movie. But what if I told you that the submarine and helicopter were both toys, not models, but toys, and that the ocean may have literally been a bathtub? That is the quality of film-making that we are dealing with here. The eponymous death ray of the film's title is a weapon that was invented for "peaceful purposes." Of course, as soon as it is revealed it is stolen by a group of villains disguised as European NATO representatives. So it's up to Agent Bart Fargo to stop the bad guys and return the death ray! Unfortunately, Agent Bart Fargo is an incompetent moron who only solves the case because of his extreme luck. While most secret agents are either skilled marksmen or expert martial artists, Agent Bart Fargo's fighting style is strategically getting-out-of-the-way. The film is a miasma of cliches, terrible fights, and nauseating love scenes between Agent Bart Fargo and the oblivious models that enter his peripheral vision. I hope that it is never my misfortune to see this film again.

2/10

Run for Cover: Nicholas Ray

Like so many Westerns, Nicholas Ray's Run for Cover begins with a cowboy riding into town. Unlike most Westerns (particularly from this era), the cowboy, Matt Dow, is immediately almost lynched for a crime he didn't commit. Of course, the evidence is pretty damning. He and another cowboy that he just met named Davey Bishop are found to have the town's payroll. The train conductor reported that the two had fired on him, forcing him to throw them the payroll. Of course, what the conductor didn't realize was that the two cowboys hadn't been trying to rob them. In fact, they were only shooting because they were trying to see who could hit a hawk first. It turns out that the two had brought the payroll to the town in order to return it. It's a good thing that they didn't lynch Matt and Davey. The town was notorious for swift lynchings. Of course, when Matt agrees to stay in town to be their new sheriff, that is one of the first things that he tries to change. Whether or not he will succeed is another story. Run for Cover is primarily a film about the relationship between Matt and Davey. Davey, injured when they first arrived in town, becomes Matt's deputy. Matt sees himself as a kind of surrogate father and takes it upon himself to prevent Davey from turning bad. But both men harbor dark secrets...secrets that may tear them and the town asunder. Run for Cover was the follow-up to Ray's more well known Western, Johnny Guitar (1954). It lacks that film's nuanced depths, but still manages to be a compelling drama in its own right. It's not the best Nicholas Ray Western...but it's nothing to sneeze at.

7/10

Bug: William Friedkin

Quite simply, William Friedkin's Bug left me in complete awe. Not only was it an impeccably written and astoundingly acted piece of film-making, it is one of the only films that I can think of that came close to accurately portraying mental illness. Most film-makers forget one very crucial thing about the mentally ill: many of them can actually function in real-life society...for a time, anyway. When we first meet Peter Evans, we suspect that there is something off about him. But we never for a minute think that he is severely mentally unstable. What we see is a wondering, sad soul who seems to perfectly compliment Agnes White, a tired waitress working at a rural Oklahoma lesbian bar. When she gets battered by her recently paroled abusive ex-husband, she begins to cling to Peter. Unfortunately, this happens right as Peter begins to act...odd. First, he starts to find invisible bugs. Second, he begins to say that the bugs are in his bloodstream. And then, finally, he reveals that the bugs were planted in his bloodstream by the U.S. government. You can see where this is going. Bug was advertised as a horror film. And while there is certainly a healthy serving of that (particularly one scene where Peter "realizes" that there is a bug hive in one of his teeth), it never seems forced or melodramatic. Friedkin's pacing is superb, letting us understand how Agnes could get drawn into Peter's delusions. Many criticized Bug's ending for being over-the-top. But I disagree. I don't think it could have ended any other way. Watch it and decide for yourself. This is a film that demands to be seen.

9/10

Angels' Revenge: Greydon Clark

Greydon Clark's Angels' Revenge is a shameless knock-off of the hit television show Charlie's Angels, but with seven beautiful women on the central crime-fighting team instead of three. While the "Angels" aren't sitting around in bikinis, they fight against a sinister drug cartel lead by Jack Palance. Basically the plot boils down to this: one of the Angels is a high-school teacher who discovers that her students are getting hooked on drugs. So she recruits six other women to form a team to shut down the pushers...by any means necessary.  Angels' Revenge uses one of the oldest methods to deflect accusations of sexism by critics and audiences: it makes the scantily-clad women fight against an evil that puts their promiscuity to shame. Yes, the women might be nothing more than eye candy (I mean, why do there need to be seven of them). But what does it matter when they fight men who turn young children into drug addicts? But whatever the case, Angels' Revenge is a tired, gloomy film despite the cheerful (and occasionally sadistic) central characters. Most of the other actors look like they would rather be anywhere else than in this film. I can't blame them.

4/10

Lone Star: John Sayles

Forty years ago, Rio County Sheriff Charlie Wade vanished. A cruel, sadistic man, he took a perverse pleasure in extorting and terrifying the townsfolk. He was last seen in a dark bar having an argument with his new deputy Buddy Deeds. Wade had attempted to use him as a pawn in a drug pick-up. But he didn’t count on Buddy’s integrity. He stormed out of the bar and was never seen again. Nobody seemed to care much when he (and $10,000 from Rio County’s public coffer) disappeared. Buddy would follow Wade as sheriff for the next thirty years, becoming a beacon of justice and integrity until his death. If anyone might have had any suspicions about Wade’s fate and Buddy’s sudden rise to power...well, small towns may have long memories, but they also know when to leave well enough alone.

But Rio County’s convenient case of selective amnesia is soon challenged when two off-duty soldiers accidentally discover a skeleton in the desert with Wade’s old sheriff’s badge rusting away in the nearby dirt. With the specter of a 40 year old murder hovering over the countryside, none other than Buddy’s son, Sheriff Sam Deeds, is called upon to investigate. So begins John Sayles’ Lone Star, a magnificent film that isn’t so much a murder mystery as an exploration into the very soul of a community plagued with centuries of racial tension, violence, and unpleasant memories that refuse to fade away. 

It seems that everyone in Rio County has a story. There’s Otis Payne, the owner of the bar that serves as a backdrop to Wade’s last appearance. Though he seems kindly enough, he harbors a lingering sadness over abandoning his son, Delmore, when he was just a child. That child, now grown up, is the new commander of the local Army base. He has to deal with local recruits who see the Army not as a patriotic calling, but a chance to escape Rio County’s economic miasma. Bitter over his father’s absence, Delmore has reigned such a terrible influence over his own son that he has become a stuttering, nervous wreck. Just like the rest of Rio County, one generation of pain fosters the next.

Then there’s Pilar Cruz, Sam’s high school crush. After being forcibly separated by their families, Pilar would go on to get married, have two children, and become a teacher. Now the husband is dead, the children rebellious teenagers, and the teaching position mired in local politics over what should and should not be included in their textbooks. The necessity of the case forces Sam to come knocking on her door, seeing as Wade had chillingly murdered her mother’s husband during a routine traffic stop over 40 years ago. Are they glad to see each other after all of this time? As Pilar points out, “Nobody stays in love for twenty-three years.”

And then there are the local Seminole Indians, the young Chicanos, and the disenfranchised outsiders wasting away at bars and in immaculate living rooms complete with big screen TVs. Sayles glides from one group to the next, dissecting the monsters lurking behind the different ghettos and neighborhoods. In one scene Delmore interrogates a young, black soldier who tested positive during an unannounced drug test. The ensuing exchange comes as close as anything in the film to uncovering the true nature of Rio’s racial scars.

“I’m just trying to understand how someone like you thinks.”
“You really wanna know?”
“Please.”
“It’s their country. This is one of the best deals they offer.”

Make no mistake, Rio County is not a melting pot. The different races tolerate each other because they have to live there. After all, where else do they have to go?  

John Sayles, one of the true titans of American independent cinema, is at his very best here in Lone Star. Ever since his early days with films like Return of the Secaucus 7 (1980) and The Brother from Another Planet (1984), Sayles has demonstrated masterful skill in creating authentic, believable characters that capture the essence of their environments. These are not characters that are trotted out to recite a few lines in order to move the plot along. Delmore’s relationship with his son, for example, adds almost nothing to the central narrative concerning Wade’s murder. And yet, I couldn’t imagine the film without it. And yes, the mystery is finally resolved. But Sayles doesn’t linger on it. Instead, he is much more interested with how this revelation effects Sam’s relationship with Pilar. This is a film about people. As Pilar wisely suggests, “All that other stuff, all that history? To hell with it, right? Forget the Alamo.”

10/10

The Lusty Men: Nicholas Ray

In one way or another, most of Nicholas Ray's films are about characters that desperately need or want...something. Recognition, love, escape, acceptance...Ray's protagonists are always people on the edge of society looking in with their faces pressed against the glass. Some get what they want, for a brief time anyways. Then they usually lose it. But for Wes Merritt, he discovers that what he wants is merely a mask for what he needs. Merritt works as a cowhand on an old ranch with his wife, Louise. For years they have been saving and scraping to afford a little house of their own. Merritt is fed up with his life and the seemingly Sisyphean struggle of saving enough money. But then one day Jeff McCloud, a famous rodeo competitor, comes to town and offers him another choice: he will help train him for the rodeo in exchange for half of his earnings. And so begins Merritt's transformation into a rodeo celebrity. Despite the dangers and Louise's objections, Merritt becomes obsessed with the fast, adrenaline-fueled life of the rodeo. Soon he forgets all about that little old house that he wanted to buy. It seems like the rodeo may destroy Merritt's life instead of save it. The Lusty Men is a great little film that Ray directed in-between two of his more famous offerings: On Dangerous Ground (1952) and Johnny Guitar (1954). And yet, it seems to be over-looked by all but the more devoted Ray fans and scholars. And that's a shame. The Lusty Men might not be Ray's most glamorous film, but it has one of his strongest emotional centers.

7/10

The Burrowers: J. T. Petty

J. T. Petty's The Burrowers is a noble attempt to combine the horror and Western genres into what is more commonly known as a "Weird Western." In 1879, a family in the Dakota Territory suddenly disappears one night. Fearing that they might have been captured by Indians, a posse is quickly formed to rescue the missing settlers. However, they soon discover that Indians may not have been the culprits. They start to find still-living bodies buried in the ground. Local Indians whisper rumors of the "burrowers." And every night, more and more members of the posse begin to disappear. I quite enjoyed the first two-thirds of The Burrowers. Before this film, director J. T. Petty gained fame for his work writing the video game Tom Clancy's Splinter Cell. His chops as a writer certainly shines through. Much of the dialogue is steady and believable, a difficult task for many trying to write using Old West slang. But unfortunately, the film collapses after during its last third. This being essentially a creature feature, eventually the mysterious "burrowers" would have to make a grand appearance. Too bad that they do so in dark, poorly shot scenes that become so confusing and chaotic that we loose track of the characters. Several times I forgot which characters were being attacked and/or killed. When the film's epilogue played and only one central character was left standing, I felt that I had missed an entire reel of film. This wasn't so much a smash cut as it was a violent hiccup. So the best way that I feel that I can sum up my thoughts on The Burrowers is by saying that it was disappointing. It had a great amount of potential and creativity. But directorial cold feet got the best of it in the end.

6/10

Deep End: Jerzy Skolimowski

I'll bet that if you removed the soundtrack from Jerzy Skolimowski's Deep End and presented it as a silent film, it could be passed off as a great horror film. Of course, that's just my inner cynic talking. Deep End is a film about young love and near-homicidal obsession. It begins when a 15-year-old named Mike gets a job working at a swimming baths in London. He is subjected to a rather brutal sexual awakening when he discovers Susan, an attendant at the baths who is ten years his elder. She flirts and leads him on and he falls for her hook, line, and sinker. Mike begins stalking Susan and her fiancé, even following them to clubs and porno theaters around London. The film builds to a crescendo when Mike helps Susan find the diamond for her wedding ring after it fell off. As they empty and melt bags of snow and dirt from the area where the diamond was lost into the bath's central swimming pool, Mike strips naked and assaults her. I won't give away what happens afterwards, but suffice it to say that the bath patrons will have one hell of a spectacle when they arrive in the morning. I hesitate to promote Deep End because the director's intentions seem ambiguous. Mike's destructive habits are not shown in a negative light. In fact, his agonies are portrayed with an almost poetic sense of consolation. Are we supposed to feel bad for him? Are we supposed to feel that he was cheated out of a relationship with Susan? I'm honestly not sure.

7/10

High School Big Shot: Joel Rapp

I'm told that Joel Rapp's High School Big Shot has several similarities with Stanley Kubrick's The Killing (1956). Both have a down-trodden protagonist who becomes embroiled in a massive theft. Both have the protagonist being betrayed by their unfaithful love interest who wants to keep all of the loot for herself. And both end with the unceremonious deaths of almost all of their major characters. There certainly are many uncanny similarities between the two. But in a strange way I hope that Rapp didn't get inspiration from The Killing. Because if he did, then it really speaks to his incompetence as a film-maker that he would make such a bad movie based on such a fantastic source. High School Big Shot is a bland film full of bad actors and terrible photography. Marv Grant is a nerdy high school student with an alcoholic father and a crush for the pretty and popular Betty Alexander. Betty is bad news, though. She manipulates him into writing a term paper for her. After they are caught cheating, he decides to take part in an upcoming robbery to impress her. But Betty tells her real boyfriend Vince about Marv's plan and the two scheme to take the spoils for themselves. Wait...didn't I already say that? Ugh...I'm repeating myself. But can you blame me? High School Big Shot is so forgettable that I can't even remember what I wrote about it two minutes ago! I need to stop writing before I start this review all over again...

4/10

Bitter Victory: Nicholas Ray

Nicholas Ray was never known for being a subtle director. His films were full of explosive, violent characters that struck out at their environments and the bystanders that inhabited them. But in Bitter Victory, Ray becomes so heavy-handed that he almost smashes the film in two. The film follows an Allied commando mission during the Western Desert Campaign of World War II. The objective: recover a stash of secret documents vital for the war effort from a German fortress. The leaders: Major Brand, a distinguished soldier with limited knowledge and experience of the desert, and Captain Leith, a volunteer who knows the desert like the back of his hand. Brand and Leith are immediately at odds with one another. Brand doesn't like Leith because of his unpolished nature. Leith loathes Brand for his arrogance. As can be expected, things don't go as planned during the mission. The papers are recovered, but many of their men are killed and wounded. During their flee into the desert, Brand is revealed to be a coward. And from that point on, Ray makes sure that every single member of his unit reminds him. Leith mocks him every single chance he gets. His soldiers look on with distaste as he tries to lead them. I can understand that Ray was trying to make a point about heroism, bravery, and masculinity. But he goes about with such intensity that it borders on hilarity.

6/10

A Passage to India: David Lean

For the longest time I was under the assumption that after Lawrence of Arabia (1962), director David Lean had spent the rest of his career unsuccessfully trying to re-capture the glory of his four hour historical epic. Watching Doctor Zhivago (1965) did nothing to convince me otherwise. And yet, I am ready to stuff myself silly with crow after watching his last, and possibly greatest, film, an adaption of E. M. Forster's A Passage to India. I don't call A Passage to India a better film than Lawrence of Arabia lightly. I honestly believe that Lean tried something much more daring and difficult in this film. Lawrence of Arabia tried to tell a great historical epic. A Passage to India tried to tell a great mystery. Astoundingly, Lean managed to maintain the book's ambiguity about its central event, the possible attempted rape of a British woman by her Indian guide in the Marabar Caves, without ruining the intrigue. A lesser director would show what happened and subsequently pick a side during the ensuing trial. But Lean was better than that. He is more interested in how the characters react to whatever happened in the caves. A Passage to India is a film of mind-boggling scope that doesn't lose sight of its characters as so many other films of a similar nature do. This is a human drama with a massive backdrop that a regular filmmaker would have fumbled. Lawrence of Arabia is undoubtably a great film. But A Passage to India is his masterwork.

9/10

Flying Leathernecks: Nicholas Ray

Nicholas Ray's Flying Leathernecks fits into an informal sub-genre of military films that attempt to glorify a particular branch or unit of the military via a paper-thin plot accompanied by copious stock and/or combat footage. Other films in this sub-genre include Will Zens' abysmal The Starfighters (1964) and Anthony Mann's dull-as-dry-dirt Strategic Air Command (1955) with James Stewart. These are a particular kind of film that I can only imagine was created to pander to the veteran demographic after the fires of World War Two and Korea died down. They tend to portray their respective units with honor and dignity. The men make great, noble sacrifices on the battlefield. The women make their own on the home-front. And, of course, there is lots of footage of military maneuvers. In Flying Leathernecks, the heroes are the aviators of the United States Marine Corps during the Guadalcanal campaign. Ray makes a valiant attempt to spice up the proceedings with personal drama in the form of Major Kirby (John Wayne), a hard-as-nails commander who isn't hesitant to make the big decisions. Of course, we eventually learn that he hates himself for the choices that he is forced to make every day. But that's par for the course when it comes to 50s military films, I guess. The thing is that Flying Leathernecks doesn't really offer anything that other films had already done with greater skill. It's just a placeholder in Ray's filmography.

5/10

Reds: Warren Beatty

Warren Beatty's Reds is a film of staggering scale, ambition, and emotion. It attempts to chart nothing less than the Russian Revolution of 1917 and the love of John Reed and Louise Bryant, two of the most important American journalists of the early Twentieth century. Most films would collapse under the weight of such topics. But Reds manages to depict both while leaving enough emotional breathing room for the audience to truly come to terms with the impossible images on the screen. A long-time dream project for Warren Beatty, his love for these characters and their struggles is evident in every frame. We watch as they fall in love in 1912, re-locate to Greenwich Village, become involved in radical politics, travel to Russia to cover the revolution, and return to America to possibly incite a workers' revolt. But when Reed decides to return to Russia against the wishes of Bryant, he becomes trapped by revolutionaries who refuse to let him leave. So begins Bryant's long, dangerous, and illegal journey to find Bryant in the snowy wasteland of Eastern Europe...One would think that Reed and Bryant's personal lives would seem insignificant compared to the rise of the Russian proletariat. But amazingly the opposite seems true: we care more for their relationship than the revolution. The addition of documentary-like "witnesses" who comment on Reed and Bryant's real-life counterparts help separate Reds from other epics by adding an uncanny level of authenticity. And really, that's the keyword for describing the film: 'authentic.' The emotion and scope are too real, too powerful to ignore or write-off as "just another epic."

9/10

The True Story of Jesse James: Nicholas Ray

Jesse James has long been one of the most captivating icons of the American Old West. He has been portrayed countless times in film, television, and literature. And yet, almost every interpretation of the character has romanticized him in one way or another. One of my personal favorites was Brad Pitt in Andrew Dominik's The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford (2007). Pitt played him as a man somewhat detached from reality by his own paranoid delusions. But nevertheless, for most filmmakers it is almost impossible to separate Jesse James from the mythos of the Old West. That's one of the reasons why Nicholas Ray's The True Story of Jesse James is such a breath of fresh air. Ray makes no pretense to examine Jesse James as an icon or a cypher. Ray's Jesse James is a simple farm-boy who became twisted and cruel when forced to become an outlaw. This man's legend was built by newspapermen who would claim ordinary robberies to be his work. The American public created the image of Jesse James. This is shown best during a scene where Jesse and his posse look over a dime store novel about his "exploits" and scoff over claims that he "stole from the rich and gave to the poor." In this sense, The True Story of Jesse James is a proto-Revisionist Western. Most of the classic cliches of early Hollywood Westerns are still on display: magic bullets which kill in one hit and don't leave holes, timid/subservient love interests, and the noticeable lack of non-Caucasian actors. But this is a Hollywood Western that seems to mock those who might canonize Jesse James as an anti-hero. No, there is nothing heroic about Nicholas Ray's Jesse James. He is just a angry, violent little man.

7/10

Terra em Transe: Glauber Rocha

Glauber Rocha was one of those special directors who understood that what the audience heard during a film was just as important as what they saw. For Rocha, sound wasn't simply a background element. Instead, he used it to highlight the pathos and underpinnings of his work. He almost gleefully switched between diegetic and non-diegetic sound, many times during the same shot. Watch how he uses it in his famous film Terra em Transe. By the last third of the film, I had completely lost the plot and had simply begun to let myself be absorbed by Rocha's expert blending of sight and sound. The story involves a Latin American journalist named Paulo Martins who finds himself in the middle of a brewing Civil War in the fictional country of Eldorado. On the one side is the conservative president and on the other a "populist" governor. Martins has to deal with two very distinct problems concerning both sides as they barrel towards armed conflict. First, he knows for a fact that both politicians are horribly corrupt. Second, he is largely responsible for both men gaining power in the first place. Rocha makes no attempt to orient the audience as he cuts between past and present with reckless abandon. Rocha is obviously trying to make a profound political statement with Terra em Transe. But he makes the mistake of obfuscating it behind cinematic pyrotechnics. The people who don't have a vast, in-depth knowledge of Brazilian politics will be left confused and bored. But still, Terra em Transe is an interesting watch purely for its radical, exuberant technique.

6/10

The Starfighters: Will Zens

The advertising team for Will Zens' The Starfighters must hate children. I can think of no other reason why they would name a film consisting of almost nothing but Air Force stock footage The Starfighters. The film has no stars (figuratively and literally), drawn out scenes of jet fighters tediously refueling, and an abrasive lack space travel and/or starfighting. What it does have is a paper-thin, nearly non-existent plot about F-104 Starfighter pilots. But really, the word "plot" doesn't do The Starfighters justice. There is only a succession of boring, pointless moments of personal drama stitched together between stock footage. Unfortunately, none of this stock footage includes things like dogfights or actual combat. Instead we get shot after shot of Starfighters blowing up stationary targets on the ground in the desert. The film tries to inject a subplot about one of the pilots having a Senator for a father...but it doesn't go anywhere. It also tries to feature a love story revolving around another pilot. Shockingly, it also goes nowhere. That's the best way to describe The Starfighters, come to think of it. It goes nowhere, it does nothing, it stars nobody, and it wastes your time. Ladies and gentlemen, The Starfighters is the anti-movie. If you want to see a movie about figher pilots, just go watch Top Gun (1986) again.

2/10

Taboo: Nagisa Ōshima

Nagisa Ōshima's Taboo is a film of mood and manners, of lust and longing, of betrayals and beheadings. In the twilight of the 19th century, the Tokugawa Shogunate's special police force, the Shinsengumi, admits two new members. One of them, the beautiful and demur Kanō Sōzaburō, quickly becomes the object of many of his comrades' affections. Though homosexual activity among samurai was not uncommon during this period, the Shinsengumi leader Kondō Isami sees Sōzaburō as a cause of dissension among his ranks. Many of the members begin to fight each other over him. This chaos is exacerbated when members of the Shinsengumi start getting murdered in the streets. Even more unsettling is the fact that the murdered samurai all seemed to have lusted over Sōzaburō...I find myself absolutely fascinated by Taboo. It seems so out of character for Ōshima, that old cinematic iconoclast/anarchist. Few of his films have had such a pronounced plot. And yet, I find it more provocative than most of his earlier work. Ōshima truly created a monster in Sōzaburō: a manipulative sociopath who relishes his sexual control over others. Isami, played in an astounding performance by Takeshi Kitano, is mesmerizing as a wise, elder samurai. The film left me craving for more. Still alive at the age of 80, Ōshima is one of the last surviving great masters of Japanese cinema. I'd like to think that Taboo won't be his last film. But if fate declares it as such, then he can die knowing that he went out with one last great film to his credit.

8/10

Gamera: Noriaki Yuasa

I feel I should make one thing very clear before I continue: the version of Gamera that I am reviewing is not the American edit popularized on Mystery Science Theater 3000. Instead, I am focusing on the original, Japanese cut. The American edit is famous for its horrible dubbing, brand new footage featuring Caucasian actors, and a general sense of narrative incoherence. But the original by Noriaki Yuasa is easily one of the best examples of the daikaiju eiga genre that I have ever seen. After a nuclear accident in the icy wastes of North America, a giant, fire-breathing turtle named Gamera is unleashed. It travels around the world seeking nourishment in the form of pure energy. I found that the most fascinating part of Gamera was the emphasis on international cooperation. Great pains are made to demonstrate that Gamera was truly a threat to all humanity. It is only after an enclave of the world's greatest scientists join together that a successful solution to the Gamera problem is discovered. The solution in question is sensationally ludicrous. But then again, this is a movie about a giant, flying turtle. The film takes a refreshingly realistic approach to how the world might react if a building-sized monster appeared overnight. One scene involving supply trains full of oil is particularly impressive. But even the Japanese cut of Gamera suffers under the addition of the "friend of all children" subplot. Little Toshio, or 'Kenny' in the American cut, is still present and is annoying as ever. I still have no idea what Yuasa was trying to do with him. Making the genocidal nuclear monster a "friend of all children" doesn't make sense. It hurts the film. But thankfully the rest of Gamera is strong enough to survive his meddling antics.

7/10

High Society: Charles Walters

After watching Charles Walters' High Society, I have come to the conclusion that EVERY movie should guest-star Louis Armstrong as a wise-cracking, trumpet playing wiseguy. Is it technically unnecessary? Yes. And it's also a little bit racist. But seeing him act and hearing him play instantly puts a smile on my face. So does, for that matter, High Society. The film is based on the Philip Barry play The Philadelphia Story. The play had already inspired a George Cukor film of the same name in 1940 that starred Cary Grant, Katharine Hepburn, and James Stewart. But High Society had the added benefit of having music and lyrics by none other than Cole Porter. To be fair, replacing Grant, Hepburn, and Stewart with Bing Crosby, Grace Kelly, and Frank Sinatra also helped make High Society a classic. Kelly plays a wealthy New England socialite named Tracy Samantha Lord. She is about to be married to a dull, yet respectable gentleman. However, the day of the marriage, Lord is forced to deal with the return of her ex-husband, jazz musician C.K. Dexter Haven (Crosby), and the affections of undercover tabloid reporter Mike Connor (Sinatra). There is predictably much tomfoolery and comedic misunderstands. But I found the inner politics of Lord's love life to be a bit dull. The music is what really makes High Society great. Cole Porter and Louis Armstrong? That's a match made in heaven if I've ever heard one!

8/10

Last of the Wild Horses: Robert L. Lippert

There isn't a lot of great cinematic craftsmanship to be found in Robert L. Lippert's Last of the Wild Horses. It's poorly blocked, features incompetent cinematography, and is laden with wooden performances. And yet it manages to hit all of its story beats with precision. I found myself oddly emotionally invested in the storyline. By the end, I discovered that I was genuinely angry at the villains! I wanted them to pay for their crimes! I guess this film is testament to the power of decent storytelling. The film centers, like so many other Westerns, on a ranching dispute. The crippled Charlie Cooper has made himself a small fortune capturing, taming, and selling wild horses from a giant nearby herd. However, his greed has resulted in over-harvesting. Some want to talk Cooper into taking a year off so the herd can replenish its numbers. When he finally agrees, a group of criminals use the opportunity to frame Cooper for breaking his word and illegally stealing horses. What follows is a surprisingly complicated plot rich with betrayals, treachery, and murder. Much of it is driven forward by Duke Barnum, the film's bland, wonder-bread "protagonist." But the most interesting scenes are the ones where he is nowhere to be found. I can't call Last of the Wild Horses a good film. But there's a decent one buried deep inside of it.

5/10

On Dangerous Ground: Nicholas Ray

Some of my friends have expressed disappointment over Nicholas Ray's On Dangerous Ground. Apparently, they take issue with the film's upbeat ending. While it's true that most of Ray's best films have tragic conclusions, I don't necessarily think that they have to be a-given. Ray was interested in character studies of violent, angry, and wounded individuals. Many such people meet tragic ends...but not all of them. On Dangerous Ground is one such story. Everything else about it is classic Nicholas Ray. The film centers on Police Detective Jim Wilson, a man who has let his job and hatred for criminals twist his mind into a raging ball of pain and fury. After assaulting a witness undergoing interrogation, Wilson is re-assigned to an unspecified area up North where he is ordered to assist in capturing a local killer. The victim was a young girl who got separated from her sister. During the investigation, Wilson pairs off with the girl's father. The father, having sworn to kill the murderer, is delirious in sorrow and righteous anger. During their investigation, I suspect that Wilson sees more than a little of himself in the father. But regardless, things change drastically when they discover a remote cabin inhabited by a beautiful blind woman. Though it's obvious that she's not the killer, they can't shake the suspicion that she's hiding something...or someone. On Dangerous Ground is a tight, taut thriller that proves that Ray could write and shoot a happy ending. I keep finding pleasant surprises as I dive deeper into Ray's filmography. On Dangerous Ground is one of my favorites so far.

7/10

Two English Girls: François Truffaut

This film sickens me. I hate saying that, but it's the only was I can properly express my emotions over François Truffaut's Two English Girls. Truffaut is a director that I greatly admire. He has made some of the greatest films of all time. But this film hurt to watch. Two English Girls was such an unpleasant experience that I had to break it up into multiple viewing sessions so I could withstand it. The only reason I'm not giving it a lower score is because even at his worst, Truffaut is a consummate cinematic craftsman. The photography is lovely and the directing sound. But the characters are aloof, selfish, and borderline sociopathic. Claude Roc is a Frenchman who travels to Great Britain where he befriends two sisters: Ann and Muriel Brown. And by "befriends" I of course mean "sleeps with." The only problem is that both sisters fall for him. So how does Claude deal with it? By sleeping with them some more, abandoning them, and having several affairs abroad in Europe. Then he comes back, discovers one is about to die of tuberculous, sleeps with them again, and feels sorry for himself. The one comfort that this movie gives me is that it specifically emphasizes that Claude dies alone and unloved. He played those women like a violin and then had the audacity to feel bad for himself even though it is strongly implied that one of them died pining for him. Maybe I'm just petty. Maybe it's a French thing and I'm simply an uncultured, sexually repressed American. I can't say. But what I do know is that I hope I never have to watch this film again.

3/10

The Naked Island: Kaneto Shindō

On a tiny island in the Seto Inland Sea, a long path winds from the shore to a large field of sweet potatoes. Every day, two tired figures can be seen lugging massive buckets of water up and down the path over and over and over again. Once at the top, they carefully water each individual sweet potato sprout. But their buckets only provide enough water for a few plants. So, once again, they must climb down the path, board a boat, travel to another island, refill their buckets with fresh water, and return. It is harsh, back-breaking work. But for this husband and wife, nothing less than the livelihood of their family depends on it. They have two young sons, both of which are not strong enough yet to help with the crops. So every day they are ferried to school while their parents continue their monotonous, thankless work. Such is life for the family in Kaneto Shindō’s The Naked Island, one of the great treasures of 60s Japanese cinema.

After the explosion of Japanese cinema into the international marketplace in the 50s, Shindō was largely overshadowed by such luminaries as Akira Kurosawa and Kenji Mizoguchi. But he still managed to score a number of critical hits overseas with such films as Children of Hiroshima (1952) and Lucky Dragon No. 5 (1959). The former was the first Japanese film to confront the horrors of the atom bomb attacks during World War Two while the latter was based on the true story of a fishing boat that accidentally got hit by further atomic testing near Bikini Atoll in 1954. But the end of the 50s saw Shindō with almost no money left. So he scraped together what little money he could into one last project: The Naked Island. The film was a daring gamble. It didn’t focus on politics or hot-button issues. It focused on only a handful of characters. And, most importantly, it contained no spoken dialogue.

Don’t misunderstand what I mean when I say that The Naked Island doesn’t have any dialogue. The film has a soundtrack. But Shindō fills the film with “in-between” moments. We assume that the family talks to each other. But Shindō focuses on scenes of extreme toil and tedium. After decades of living on the same island and raising the same family, what is there to say while monotonously watering the same field of sweet potatoes? Take one scene where the husband and wife lug massive buckets of water up to their fields. The wife stumbles and spills her water. The husband is furious. They will have to make an extra trip to the mainland to make up for the loss. He knows it. She knows it. In anger, he smacks her in the face. But then, without a word, he helps her up and the two continue up the hill. Their silent communication is more powerful than anything they could have said.

But the absence of dialogue does more than force Shindō to present the film in purely visual terms. The silence and monotony forces the audience to re-evaluate the family’s relationship with their surroundings. Allow me to explain: early in the film Shindō cuts between the mother and father watering their crops and the waves washing things ashore their island. As we move back and forth between the two, we start to see them as equal and essential parts of the environment. Just as the waves must crash, the family must toil and suffer.

But that isn’t to suggest that The Naked Island is completely bleak. There are small moments of merciful joy. One of the sons catches a fish and eagerly presents it to his weary parents. Despite the day’s hardships, the father smiles and playfully throws him into the sea. The mother beams and breaks into laughter. The family takes the fish to the mainland where they sell it to a merchant. With the money, they treat themselves to a big meal at nice restaurant. Life may be hard, but it is not without its pleasures.

It’s tempting to describe The Naked Island as a quasi-documentary. But to do so would be to miss Shindō’s purpose. After all, there are inaccuracies in how the family lives. For instance, sweet potatoes do not need to be constantly watered every day. What’s important to Shindō isn’t the crop itself, but the demands that it places on the family. Without the crop, they die. They work so they can live. But can you call what they do living? I believe that the answer can be found in the tragic last quarter of the film where one of the sons gets sick. They rush to get a doctor. But the trip to the mainland is long, much too long. When they finally return the son is dead. After the funeral, we see the husband and wife continue their thankless task of watering their sweet potatoes. But suddenly, the wife freezes. She reaches down and begins to rip the precious plants out of the ground in a frenzy. Finally, she collapses and lets forth a piercing, haunting shriek of anguish. Watch the husband’s reaction. It may surprise you. It may infuriate you. It may make you laugh. But it is the key to understanding Shindō’s intentions. Living is a burden. But we survive because...well...we must.

9/10

Code Name: Diamond Head: Jeannot Szwarc

You'd hope that if there was a real-life counter-intelligence agency it would have enough sense to not give its only Asian operative the code name "Dragon Lady." But Jeannot Szwarc's Code Name: Diamond Head doesn't take such things into consideration. But then again, Code Name: Diamond Head is a paper-thin "espionage thriller" that was supposed to be an NBC show pilot. But things didn't work out and the film was banished to NBC Monday Movie oblivion. Despite its whopping 74 minute run-time, it barely has enough plot to fill the gap between two commercial breaks. Basically, a double agent is trying to steal an experimental nerve gas that can instantly kill people. So it's up to the preposterously named Johnny Paul (because apparently thinking of last names is really hard work) to enter a world of intrigue, discover the double agent, and stop him. Apparently this mission entails lots of ridiculous disguises and gambling, because the film can barely go five minutes without at least one of these things. There really isn't anything else to talk about. This film didn't inspire a single emotion in me. In fact, watching it felt like the visual equivalent of eating tasteless, watery mash.

4/10

How Tasty Was My Little Frenchman: Nelson Pereira dos Santos

I have an uncanny feeling that most of the people who read this article will do so because of its bizarre title. Well, I hate to disappoint, but Nelson Pereira dos Santos' How Tasty Was My Little Frenchman isn't a very strange or unusual film. In fact, it seems uncomfortably similar to such films as Dances with Wolves (1990) and Avatar (2009): a man from an advanced culture gets separated from civilization, discovers a more primitive society, goes native, and has to fight to protect his new home from his old one. In this case, the unfortunate castaway is an unnamed Frenchman living in Brazil in 1594. The Frenchman was captured by a group of rival Portuguese settlers. Of course, right afterwards he is captured once more by the Tupinambá, a native society allied with the French. However, believing that he is Portuguese, they plan on eating him in an act of cannibalistic revenge. But they cannot eat him until a certain date when the moon is right. In the meantime, he runs free, adopts their customs, and even marries one of their women. At one point the Frenchman is blackmailed by one of his ex-compatriots into helping him discover a lost treasure. But let's just say that things get...violent. The entire film builds up to the Frenchman getting captured a third time by a rival native people named the Tupiniquim. Now the Frenchman faces a dilemma: if he allows the Tupiniquim to eat him, he knows that the French will respond by massacring them all. But the Frenchman has so adopted native ways that he seems to believe that it is his responsibility as a prisoner to be executed and cannibalized. The film is a fascinating exploration of racial and social tensions in Brazilian society. Anyone who wants to explore Brazilian cinema and/or culture owes it to themselves to watch it. And hey, afterwards you can brag that you have seen a film entitled How Tasty Was My Little Frenchman.

7/10

The Violent Years: William Morgan

The Violent Years is one of those ridiculous American exploitation films that tried to get away with sensational and graphic content by framing it within a "moral" context. In other words, they would be films that emphasized what teenagers shouldn't do. Much like Sam Newfield's I Accuse My Parents (1944), William Morgan's The Violent Years (1956) was a film about juvenile delinquency told largely in flashback by characters undergoing trial. In this case, the characters before the judge are the protagonist's parents asking for custody of her child. Their daughter, Paula, had died in childbirth while in police custody. This, of course, took place after she had been arrested for wrecking a schoolroom and killing a police officer. And before that, she had been a member of an all-girl gang that terrorized the community. During one of their early escapades, they attacked a couple, tied the girl up, and raped the man (hence Paula's pregnancy). Of course, the film tries to blame the parents for neglecting Paula. The final scene contains an excruciatingly boring and dull monologue by the judge where he chastises them for "being irresponsible." Anyone with half a brain will recognize that this is merely Morgan's attempt to appease the censors. The Violent Years is an unpleasant film about unpleasant characters doing very unpleasant things. But what would you expect from a movie with a screenplay written by Ed Wood?

4/10

Dames: Ray Enright, Busby Berkeley

After watching Ray Enright and Busby Berkeley's Dames in one of my film studies classes, one of my friends leaned over to me and said, "You could do an entire women's studies course on that The Girl at the Ironing Board number." The sequence in question was a self-contained musical number in the grand tradition of Busby Berkeley's theatrical-shows-within-a-movie. In this number, a bright-eyed woman sings of the pleasures of doing "her man's" laundry and housework. This includes her ironing his pants, scrubbing his shirts, and hanging his clothes out to dry. From a technical standpoint the number is incredibly done. But in hindsight, the scene's horrific views on women make it almost unwatchable from today's standards. But that's showbiz, I guess. You may have gotten a negative vibe from the first few sentences of this review, but in reality I enjoyed Dames. It features a standard "let's put on a play" plot where a bunch of scrappy, confident youngsters get together, defy the odds, and create a hit show. The first two-thirds consist of the film's narrative interspersed with occasional static musical numbers. But the last third is the play itself. In these scenes the Berkeley musical numbers shine with their characteristic innovation, technical prowess, and complete disregard for the rules of physics or modern good taste. However, I didn't enjoy the film as much as the other Berkeley musicals that I've seen like 42nd Street (1933) or Gold Diggers of 1933 (1933). In many of the lavish Berkeley numbers the girls look visibly exhausted and drained. One of the main characters played by Joan Blondell can't sing a note. But the comedic relief is excellent, the music catchy, and the dancing superb. If only they didn't have a number about how great it is for women to do their husband's laundry...

7/10

Bloodlust!: Ralph Brooke

There's no other way to say this: Ralph Brooke's Bloodlust! is a shameless, shameless, shameless rip-off of Irving Pichel and Ernest B. Schoedsack's The Most Dangerous Game (1932). Both are about people who come across a mysterious island in the middle of the ocean and become human prey for a psychotic big-game hunter. Bloodlust! even ripped off The Most Dangerous Game's character design for the evil hunter: an older gentleman with a tight mustache and goatee combo. The Most Dangerous Game featured the actors and production staff that would go on to create King Kong (1933). Bloodlust! was created by and featured nobody of any particular importance. Not to mention that Bloodlust! isn't nearly as good. The only creative thing that the film does is feature a macabre museum of the big-game hunter's previous victims. It is genuinely unsettling to see his previous kills preserved forever. And the film does attempt to use the gallery in a creative way in the climax. But ultimately Bloodlust! falls short. The four leads are unappealing, idiotic, and infuriating to the point that you want the big-game hunter to kill them. Bloodlust! is such a mindless rip-off that it makes me physically angry. I need to stop writing now before I break my keyboard.

4/10

Act of Valor: Mike McCoy, Scott Waugh

When I was in college, I had a personal trainer who was a Navy Seal. He was in between deployments and was working at my gym to make some extra cash. He was blunt, to-the-point, and incredibly proficient. He was also an incredible man that I felt honored to have met. Now I have seen a movie entitled Act of Valor that follows a detachment of Navy Seals as they track down a terrorist cell seeking to sneak suicide bombers into America through Mexico. The movie's key selling point is that the actors were actual, active-duty Navy Seals. I have to say that I feel that Act of Valor does a wonderful job respecting those brave men and women in uniform. Many critics felt like the plot was too simplistic and/or jingoistic in nature. I didn't get that impression at all. The film is about Men on a Mission. There was no room for politics. I found that the action scenes were incredibly well done. They focused on more than just running and gunning and took the time to demonstrate how combat missions actually play out. My favorite was an early sequence in Costa Rica where they had to infiltrate a compound, get a hostage, and get back out. The filmmakers demonstrated incredible restraint by not forcing the action and let it evolve organically. Every big action sequence takes place in a different location and the filmmakers did an impressive job making every single one distinct. The jungle mission was about stealth, the at-sea mission was about surprise, and the climactic Mexico mission was about urban warfare. Act of Valor is a well-crafted, emotional film. The ending involves a funeral. As cliched as it may be, it feels earned instead of exploitative. In fact, the same can be said for the whole film.

7/10

Colossus and the Headhunters: Guido Malatesta

Watching Guido Malatesta's Colossus and the Headhunters, I couldn't shake the odd impression that I was only watching one part of a much longer story. It seemed like I was watching the third segment of a six-part Republic serial that just happened to take place in Italy. The film abruptly begins with a volcano erupting and destroying a small, inhabited island. The survivors are aided by Maciste, a Hercules-like hero with perfect muscles and an irrational hatred towards shirts. As soon as they arrive at another island they are captured by Amazon-like warriors. But then, they are captured while being prisoners of the Amazons by a tribe of headhunters. And so the island survivors and the Amazons team up to defeat the headhunters...for some reason. There's a subplot about a missing Amazonian father and a city of gold...but none of it really matters. In fact, I'm not really sure why Maciste really matters to the story. Almost every important story beat in Colossus and the Headhunters takes place without the input of Maciste. He just happened to be on the island when it exploded, for example. Maciste is like a narrative parasite: he just pops up every now and then to remind everyone that the film is about him and then he just leaves. The fight scenes are childish and unorganized, the special effects laughable, and the acting atrocious. Colossus and the Headhunters is a confusing and frustrating film by all accounts.

3/10

Le Jour Se Lève: Marcel Carné

Before film noir there was poetic realism: a French film movement that focused on disillusioned, down-and-out loners and losers on the outside edges of society. Masterpieces like Jean Vigo's L'Atalante (1934), Julien Duvivier's Pépé le Moko (1937), and Jean Renoir's La Grande Illusion (1937) stand as some of the greatest triumphs of poetic realism and French cinema. Six years before directing his most famous film, Children of Paradise (1945), Marcel Carné directed Le Jour Se Lève, one of the last great examples of poetic realism. Told largely in flashback, the film follows foundry worker François (Jean Gabin) as he whittles away his last hours barricaded in his room after killing a man. His victim, Valentin, had come to his room to mock him over his domination of the two women that François loved: the ingenue floral shop worker Françoise and the stage performer Clara. As François awaits his final showdown with the police, he reflects upon the events that led to that fateful day. Le Jour Se Lève is a tragic cinematic poem, lyrically swaying from one memory to the next with the cynical detachment of a man who has nothing left to lose. It is a grim, bleak, and hauntingly beautiful piece of film-making.

8/10

Zombie Nightmare: Jack Bravman

If I ever decide to make a low-budget zombie thriller, I need to remember to shoot it in Canada. Apparently, production costs in Canada are so low that a meager budget of only $180,000 is enough for an amateur film-maker to make a full 89 minute feature, purchase a soundtrack full of expensive, licensed music, and hire Adam West. That's a lot of bang for your buck. Of course, none of this guarantees that the resulting film will be any good. Such is the case with Jack Bravman's Zombie Nightmare. Don't let the Motörhead music fool you...Zombie Nightmare is an absolutely terrible film. It all revolves around a young teenager named Tony getting run over and killed by a group of drunk, underage hooligans. In her grief, Tony's mother does what any sensible person would do in this situation: hire a Caribbean voodoo priestess to resurrect Tony as a zombie so he can kill everyone responsible for his death. I guess it makes more sense than going to the police. After all, they're run by the corrupt, evil specter of Adam West. What does evil Adam West have to do with this story? Nothing, really. Oh, he has a big scene at the end, I guess. But his sub-plot is so foreign and forced that it seems like it was filmed and added only when Bravman realized that his film was about 70 minutes long. Zombie Nightmare has all the warning signs of a terrible, amateur production: a wandering narrative, pointless characters, bad special effects, and an inability to shoot scenes at night competently. I'll give Bravman credit for not relying on the old "day for night" trick for his nighttime scenes. But this praise is instantly invalidated by the fact that he seems to think that a single flashlight is enough lighting when shooting in a graveyard at midnight.

4/10

Macunaíma: Joaquim Pedro de Andrade

There are really two ways to interpret Joaquim Pedro de Andrade's Macunaíma. The first is to admire it as a surreal, bizarre extravaganza of color, sound, and Brazilian folk culture. But the second way to watch Macunaíma is to look beyond its hijinks and apparent insanity to recognize the film as a masterpiece of political and social satire of late 60s Brazil. Based on the 1928 book by Mário de Andrade, Macunaíma plays like a modern day fable. The film begins with a "Brazilian hero" being born by a white woman in drag in the middle of the jungle. Quite unusually, though, the "hero" is fully grown physically but retains the intellect and maturity of a child. After being turned white by a magical water fountain, the "hero" leads his family to the city. He quickly falls in love with a radical activist and...well...from there it gets confusing. Death, political corruption, and cannibalism are only a few of the trials that the "hero" will have to endure. The film moves with an unbridled energy that can easily leave the casual viewer confused and disoriented. But those who diligently pay attention are rewarded with one of the triumphs of Brazilian Cinema Novo.

8/10

Knock on Any Door: Nicholas Ray

Of the vast number of roles that Humphrey Bogart has made famous (gangster, private eye, steamboat captain), you wouldn't expect to see 'lawyer' listed among them. After all, Bogart was a man of action! You wouldn't restrict the likes of Philip Marlowe to a courtroom! But one of Bogart's most fascinating performances was indeed that of a lawyer in Nicholas Ray's Knock on Any Door. After a young hoodlum named Nick Romano is arrested and accused of the vicious murder of a policeman, Andrew Morton (Bogart) takes on the case. Told largely in flashbacks during the court hearing, Morton argues that Romano's actions are the fault of society failing him. Morton reconstructs Romano's unfortunate upbringing and life: his family was forced to move to one of the city's worst slums, he was forced into crime at a young age, and his young, pregnant wife killed herself after Romano became negligent due to his inability to keep a steady, legitimate job. Of course, while the film is ostensibly a court-room pot-boiler, it is more of a throw-back to the socially-conscious dramas of the Thirties like Mervyn LeRoy's I Am a Fugitive from a Chain Gang (1932). Yet it also bares many of the trappings of film noir: an obsession with the past, an amoral world, and a kind of doomed predestination of failure for its characters. Director Nicholas Ray demonstrates his trademark distrust of authority figures and his love for characters who don't mesh well with their communities in the character of young Nick Romano. Knock on Any Door was only Ray's second film, yet it speaks to his creative genius that would lead to his designation as one of the Hollywood Studio System's greatest talents and iconoclasts.

9/10

The Dead Talk Back: Merle S. Gould

I did not find Merle S. Gould's The Dead Talk Back to be a very pleasant experience. And yet, I know for a FACT that if I had seen this film as a small child it would have haunted my nightmares for years. See, what really scared me as a child was the fear of the unknown. The idea of ghosts, demons, and what happened after death cost me many a night's sleep. The Dead Talk Back bills itself to be a film that explores a radio that can supposedly communicate with the dead. There's a scene near the end where a group of people huddle around the aforementioned radio in a dark room and a raspy voice can be heard from the beyond!! If I had seen that as a kid, I would have needed therapy. But I'm not a child anymore. The only thing that scares me now is my bank account and the slew of college loan payments on my horizon. But I digress: The Dead Talk Back isn't very good. The afterlife radio is used as part of a police investigation to identify a murderer. Unfortunately, the film doesn't have the courtesy to choose one narrator or point of view. The film jumps around from one situation to the next so erratically that it makes you wonder if the projectionist switched to the wrong reel. One scene near the beginning where the inventor of the afterlife radio explains its functions seems ripped out of a 50s instructional video, albeit one with terrible lighting. Apparently The Dead Talk Back was filmed in 1957 but not actually released until 1993! In my opinion, it should have stayed in the vault.

3/10

Time of the Apes: Kiyo Sumi Fukazawa, Atsuo Okunaka

If it seems like Kiyo Sumi Fukazawa and Atsuo Okunaka's Time of the Apes is a rushed, confusing, fragmented, cockamamie excuse for a film, that's because it is. Let me explain: Time of the Apes was originally a 26-episode Japanese television series entitled Army of Apes. Like many other Japanese properties of this time period, the series was purchased by American producer Sandy Frank. Frank then cobbled together different parts of the 26 episodes into a single, barely coherent film. Considering the fact that Frank's other imports that originated as actual films, like Gamera (1965), suffered terrible edits and dubs, Time of the Apes seemed destined for bad movie infamy. Here's what you need to know: a boy, a girl, and a young woman get trapped in cryogenic pods (à la Fry from Futurama) and awaken in the far future where apes are in charge and humans are hunted! So, I guess what I'm trying to say is that Time of the Apes is a poorly constructed, migraine-inducing Japanese rip-off of Planet of the Apes (1968). Although that's not entirely true, I guess. There's an alien spaceship that pops up every now and then to do...stuff...I'm actually curious to see the original Japanese television series. I'm baffled by the idea that there was 26 episodes of this stuff. The plot in Time of the Apes is thin and flimsy enough...how could it be expanded upon? Whatever the case, I'm putting too much thought into this...

4/10

The Pod People: Juan Piquer Simon

Is it a slasher movie? Is it an alien invasion flick? Is it a lovable children's film? If you answered, "is it all three," then you are correct! Juan Piquer Simon's The Pod People is one of the most bizarre...things...that I have witnessed in years as a film critic. Originally, the film was supposed to be a run-of-the-mill slasher film about aliens. But then Steven Spielberg's E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982) was released and made almost $800,000,000 million at the box office. So, before The Pod People was completed, the producers forced script alterations so that it would include an "adorable" relationship between a child and an alien. Only the relationship was anything but "adorable." The alien looked like a furry tapir. The child ended up being scarier than the alien. I'm not sure if The Pod People's producers realized that cute aliens and grisly murder do NOT mix. But the film has other problems as well. There are too many subplots: the child and the alien's relationship, a group of musicians who get lost in the woods, a group of poachers who discover mysterious eggs in a cave, and another alien that starts killing people. It's a cluttered, ugly, unintelligible film. I'm actually a little curious about what The Pod People would have been like if it had been allowed to remain a traditional horror film. But the few "horror" sequences like the discovery of the eggs and the murders are poorly blocked, badly shot, and are generally unpleasant to watch. Maybe the producers' intervention was a blessing in disguise: nobody's going to forget The Pod People now.

3/10

Invasion U.S.A.: Alfred E. Green

You certainly can't accuse Alfred E. Green's Invasion U.S.A. of false advertising. It is, quite literally, about an invasion of the United States. However, it has the misfortune of being about 70% stock footage and 30% made up of scenes of people drinking in a bar commenting on the aforementioned stock footage. In a move that somehow takes the nation with the world's strongest military completely by surprise, an unnamed Communist nation invades, nukes, and conquers America. However, the battle footage is comprised almost entirely of World War Two stock footage with grim narrators speaking over them. In a New York City bar, a group of mildly soused adults witness the horror and leave, one by one, to either join loved ones or fight back. Invasion U.S.A. is a temporal nightmare. Apparently the entire invasion happens in the span of an hour. I say this because the film begins with them hearing a television broadcast about the invasion and ends with the bar getting bombed. Also, these characters seem to be able to teleport from New York City to Nevada, California, or elsewhere within a matter of seconds. Because, again, their deaths take place chronologically after the invasion starts and before the bar is bombed. Yes, I know that I should be offended by the film's blatantly hysterical attitude towards Communism. But I can't. I'm too frustrated by its inept craftsmanship. Maybe if Invasion U.S.A. was a competent film I would take it seriously enough to be angry. But it isn't, so I'm not.

3/10

Girls Town: Charles F. Haas

Charles F. Haas' Girls Town is so delightfully campy that it completely mesmerizes me. Here is a film about juvenile young women that makes a big deal out of their reformation and salvation yet takes every single chance that it can to sexualize and exploit them. It begins with a young woman accidentally killing her date after he tries to rape her. A young delinquent named Silver is wrongfully accused and sent to Girls Town, a Catholic "rehabilitation" house. The other inmates in Girls Town are either violent psychopaths or clinically insane, the latter demonstrated in the character of Serafina, who suffers from delusions that a local singer named Jimmy is madly in love with her. Here's where the movie astounds me: the nuns are portrayed as genuinely sympathetic. They go to great lengths to help Silver, Serafina, and the other girls. One could easily be tricked into thinking that this was a serious drama with honorable intentions. But then we hear that Silver's sister, Mary Lee, was the actual culprit in the date-rape killing and is being sold into the sex slave trade in Tijuana by other teens to keep her quiet. And then the film devolves into fights, beatings, and most ridiculously, illegal drag racing. I can't for the life of me decide if Girls Town is an exploitation film that tries too hard to seem legitimate or an incredibly misguided, pro-Catholic film. It absolutely boggles my mind. I may need to watch it again...for totally academic reasons, of course...

5/10