12 REVIEWS OF XMAS: The Final Chapter

We've arrived at the end of our 12 REVIEWS OF XMAS blog series which means that it's Christmas Eve and I've officially had my fill of holiday tunes. From Italian Christmas donkeys and mice that live in Santa's house to country stars asking Mary if she knew her baby was going to grow up and heal blind folks, Christmas tunes are a pretty mixed bag. (My current favorite is the one where Mariah Carey "reminisces" about eating two gallons of ice cream. Good times, good times.) But it never fails that at least once during the Christmas season the topic of holiday ditties will come up in conversation and no matter who I'm talking to – pagan or Catholic, heathen or vegan, Jew or Muslim – everybody can agree that Paul McCartney's "Wonderful Christmas Time" is the most cloying, annoying, worthless dose of holiday clap-trap ever recorded. But, as reviewer Matthew Saliba will tell us below, there's a good change that the person who recorded that song isn't Paul McCartney at all, but a double who was inserted into the Beatles' lineup after the real McCartney was killed in a 1966 car crash. Or maybe not.

Ah, to be a conspiracy theorist. What a life that must be. To live in a world where 9/11 was a deliberate and malicious act perpetrated by the same U.S. Government who botched the wars in Vietnam, Afghanistan and Iraq but somehow pulled a "Hail Mary" and made the Twin Tower demolition look like a terrorist attack. To live in a world where Elvis, Tupac and Michael Jackson are alive and well and hibernating deep within the confines of Hollow Earth planning the unveiling of the New World Order with our reptilian shapeshifting overlords. To live in a world where in November of 1966, Paul McCartney was killed in a car crash and replaced with a double at the request of British intelligence, MI5 as a preventive measure against an epidemic of mass suicides on the part of McCartney's female fanbase should they ever discover the fate of their beloved Beatle.

What, wait?

In case you're in the dark on the whole "Paul is Dead" hoax, then you're in luck as the good folks over at Highway 61 Entertainment have released a very entertaining "documentary" by Joel Gilbert that manages to cross THE DAVINCI CODE with the Beatles entitled PAUL McCARTNEY REALLY IS DEAD: THE LAST TESTAMENT OF GEORGE HARRISON. The subtitle refers to the concept by which the piece is based upon.

According to director Gilbert, Highway 61 Entertainment received a package in the summer of 2005 from London, England. The package had no return address. Inside were a couple of mini-cassette tapes dated December 30th, 1999 and labeled, "The Last Testament of George Harrison." After being attacked in his home, Harrison began to fear for his life and decided now was as good a time as any to finally get a major load off his chest and reveal to the world the truth about Paul McCartney. Hence the tapes. Harrison regales us with the "shocking" story about McCartney's death and the massive coverup that ensued to ensure the longevity of the Beatles' success.

As previously mentioned, McCartney was killed in a car crash in November of 1966. The remaining Beatles were approached by a man known only as "Maxwell" from British intelligence, MI5 who forced the Beatles to cover up McCartney's death as a preventive measure against the mass suicides of female Beatles fans. So a Paul McCartney lookalike contest was held and won by William Campbell from Ontario. He was shipped off to London where after a series of plastic surgeries and vocal training sessions, emerged as Paul McCartney II, or as his Beatles brethren referred to him as, Faul. The emergence of Faul is used to explain why the Beatles stopped touring around the release of their 1965 album RUBBER SOUL. They didn't want to risk the possible realization on the part of fans with a keen eye that Faul was indeed a false Beatle. That said, the overwhelming guilt of this deliberate lie led the Beatles to signal their fans with clues on album covers (the infamous SGT. PEPPER'S LONELY HEART CLUB BAND cover, the fact that the "real Beatles" are always looking in one direction and Faul is looking in the other, etc.) and in song lyrics ("the Walrus was Paul" referring to the fact that when McCarney's mangled body was discovered at the car crash, a police officer remarked how McCarney looked like a walrus, "Maxwell's Silver Hammer" referring to the violent threats made against their well-being by MI5 should they ever reveal to the public that McCartney had bit the dust, etc.). The Beatles eventually break up but the story doesn't end there. John Lennon becomes increasingly reckless with the secret to the point where in 1980 he is assassinated by a hired gunmen for MI5 sending a loud and clear message to the others that if they follow in his footsteps, they'll face a similar fate.

Now, your enjoyment of a film like this will entirely depend on your tolerance for conspiracy theories. I personally find them fascinating though ultimately based on heresy with a logic fueled by convenience. If you're determined to find something, your mind automatically filters anything else out in its effort to discover the truth that you're searching for, regardless of its validity. In other words, if you want to believe that Paul McCartney really died and that the Beatles signaled their fans to this fact through subliminal messages in their albums, you're more than likely to discover what you're looking for. However, when you take reality into consideration, the cold hard facts plainly dictate that this is a certifiable hoax and one done in poor taste, if I might add.

First and foremost, a lot of the "facts" presented in this piece just don't add up. For example, they mention how the only people present at McCartney's funeral were the remaining Beatles and McCartney's parents. However, his mother died long before this allegedly took place. They also mention how the album cover of RUBBER SOUL was designed to create the impression that the Beatles were looking down into a grave. McCartney's grave. However, the album was released in 1965, one year before the fatal accident. And for all the talk about how the Beatles were the only ones in on this, where was George Martin all the time? He was their manager. Surely he would know that "Faul" was an impostor. There's no mention made of him at all in this piece. And last and surely not least, there's the matter of "George Harrison" himself. For someone who's unburdening himself of a deep, dark, terrible secret, he sure sounds very calm and articulate. He never once stumbles or stutters; almost as if he's reading from a script.

Then there's the issue of sound quality. Now granted, I suppose there could've been some clean-up done to the audio, but if he was recording his voice onto a mini-cassette tape recorder, then surely the sound quality would be mediocre at best. I've done so many times myself and one of the reasons why I stopped was because of the poor sound quality.

At the end of the day, this is a despicable piece of work meant to play on the wishful thinking of conspiracy theorists who want to believe that the world is more complicated than it really is. I also find it to be very disrespectful to the memory of George Harrison himself as this was clearly made to cash in on the anniversary of his death. Quite frankly, I'm surprised this even got released at all. I'd be very curious to see how long it takes before the estate of George Harrison sends the offices of Highway 61 Entertainment a package of their own, only with a pair of lawsuits instead of tapes.

PAUL McCARTNEY REALLY IS DEAD: THE LAST TESTAMENT OF GEORGE HARRISON is available at Amazon. If you liked this review you can read hundreds more like it at the Exploitation Retrospect website.


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12 REVIEWS OF XMAS: It's Like a Fun Reverse FROM DUSK TILL DAWN

Welcome to Day 11 of the ER 12 REVIEWS OF XMAS blog series. Here at ER HQ we loves us some horror and some action but the two rarely come together in very satisfying fashion. Okay, so the success rate is probably better than the dread "horror comedy" but you know what I mean. So it was a rare treat when in the middle of this summer's, um, Summer of Action! series that I found myself not only watching but quite honestly digging a low-budget, silly-but-fun mess of an action-horror flick that made me wish it was a series of movies. Or books. Or comics. It was like coming down on Christmas morning and finding some cheapie Chinese knock-off toy filled with lead paint and toxic plastic that inexplicably turns out to be your favorite present of the day. You know it's not good for you but, damn it's fun till it breaks. Or you land in the emergency room with some kind of hideous flesh-eating syndrome they'll need House, MD to diagnose.

I spent a good part of this past spring and summer acquiring, reading and talking/reading/writing about men's adventure novels. Inspired by a trip to a used book sale and a jaunt to the awesome ActionFest in North Carolina, I found myself ditching my usual non-fiction books and graphic novels in favor of well-thumbed paperback installments from THEY CALL ME THE MERCENARY, THE CHAMELEON, SWAG, KILLMASTER, THE EXECUTIONER and, naturally, THE DESTROYER.

I'm sure one is lurking out there – and, if so, Action Guru John Grace will point me towards it – but I never stumbled upon any action-themed men's paperbacks that make forays into horror. (The awesome DEAD MAN series is excluded because it's of a more recent vintage – I'm talking 70s/80s action paperback heyday here.) Plenty of Soviets and cut-rate Bond villains get their comeuppance at the hands, pistols and rifles of our heroes, but no vampires or werewolves.

Luckily, a copy of MTI's junky fun DEATH HUNTER: WEREWOLVES VS. VAMPIRES landed on my "To Watch" pile and satisfied both my action jones and the trashy horror monkey on my back in one fell 90-minute swoop.

Is it wrong that I'd love to see/read a whole series of these?

After a pre-credit CGI-werewolf attack on some lovers, we meet a quibbling couple on an anniversary camping trip who decide to detour on a "shortcut" and find themselves low on gas with no help in sight. When they stumble upon an all-night bar in the middle of nowhere they think they'll find help. But, having seen roughly 334 variations on this tale, we know different.

Like a reverse FROM DUSK TILL DAWN the couple find themselves battling an attack from a bar-full of the undead with the wife eventually whisked away by the head bloodsucker while the husband - a sort of bland, blank everyman in the Greg Kinnear/David Hyde Pierce/William H Macy mold - escapes. Only to be attacked by a werewolf!

Saved by a mysterious stranger with an antidote, John Croix (pronounced "Cross", 'natch) battles the infection and eventually discovers that he possesses the powers of a werewolf and the ability to battle what we all know as the enemies of werewolves – vampires. An awesome training montage ensues before our hero sets off to reclaim his annoying wife from the clutches of the vampire cabal.

Don't get me wrong. DEATH HUNTER: WEREWOLVES VS. VAMPIRES appears to have a budget on par with a dinner theater production of HAIR, some most of the effects are ridiculous, the conclusion can kindly be described as "anti-climactic" and your mileage may will vary from mine. But I found this to be an entertaining check-your-brain-at-the-door action/horror "epic" and a flick that bucks the anti-MTI trend I see on most sites, including mine!

DEATH HUNTER: WEREWOLVES VS VAMPIRES is available at Amazon. If you like this review  you can read hundreds more like it at the Exploitation Retrospect website.

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12 REVIEWS OF XMAS: He's Not Jesus! He's Just a F#@king Gypsy!

Welcome to Day 10 of our 12 REVIEWS OF XMAS holiday blog series. I'm not sure what the other reviews – courtesy of some of our favorite contributors – had to do with the holidays, but today's entry is steeped in holiday traditions. How? Well, it's a turkey and there's a big, fat guy we're supposed to believe can do remarkable things. Sounds like Christmas to me! For me, Steven Seagal's career truly is the gift that keeps on giving. He's like the uncle who comes for the holidays and brings you a kinda crappy present, but you remember the great presents he brought you back in the 80s and 90s so you hold your breath in anticipation – only to be disappointed by the half-assed bag of junk he dumps under the tree. But you can't wait till he shows up again next year!

There's a nugget of a good action flick lurking at the core of BORN TO RAISE HELL, the latest in a seemingly never-ending line of generic Steven Seagal actioners filmed in Eastern Europe. Unfortunately, saddled with leaden, cliché-riddled plotting from the star's own screenplay we're once again left wondering what might have been were his ego not just as bloated as the rest of him.

Seagal stars as Robert "Bobby" Samuels, an American who heads up an international drug task force located in Eastern Europe. When Costel (Darren Shahlavi) and his crew pull off a home invasion - complete with rape and murder - in order to fund their gun and drug operation it draws the attention of Samuels and his crew.

Will Samuels' task force nab Costel and his cronies? Is Costel planning to double-cross Dmitiri (Dan Badarau), the local drug kingpin, loving family man and former Spetsnaz member? Will the cop who announced that he's going to be a dad in a month make it to the end of the film?

I suppose we're supposed to care about all of these questions but Seagal's muddled script, coupled with directionless, er, direction from stuntman/stunt coordinator Lauro Chartrand, results in a lazy, but never unwatchable, mess. What should be the flick's core – renegade drug agent/American soldier teams up with family man/drug czar/Spetsnaz dude to take down an even worse Gypsy necrophiliac killer – never gels until the 75 minute mark of the film and even then it's dismissed within what seems like a matter of minutes. My only guess is that Seagal knew his acting chops were no match for Badaru – who comes off like the Romanian Brando – and wanted to limit the pair's mutual screentime.

On top of a forgettable screenplay and distracting direction (complete with lots of icy blue and sepia tints, freeze frames and slow-mo), HELL has all the usual problems that sink most of Seagal's recent work: the film opens with a voiceover that's supposed to be Seagal but is clearly somebody doing a Seagal impression; Costel is shown to be a kick-ass fighter during a confrontation with Dmitri's men but resorts to playground-style bitch slapping when Seagal lumbers in for their final confrontation; Seagal's fight scenes are cut too fast and then sped up leading to inevitable Keystone Cops and Benny Hill jokes; Seagal's "love interest" appears to be young enough to be his granddaughter, making their "sex scene" both oogie and laughable as the clothed and corpulent star wheezes sex talk at the trim and topless Romanian beauty; the flick's "action" relies too heavily on boring gun play; and, so on.

If you're a Seagal completist like me you won't be able to resist checking this one out on Netflix or rescuing it from the dollar bin at your local Walgreen's. For more casual fans I'd recommend URBAN JUSTICE or DRIVEN TO KILL as better examples of his recent work or just sticking with his Golden Era (1988-1997) and pretending these flicks never happened.

BORN TO RAISE HELL is available at Amazon. If you liked this review you can read hundreds more like it at the Exploitation Retrospect website. 

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12 REVIEWS OF XMAS: Are You Crazy? This is More than a Steak.

Believe it or not it's Day 9 of the 12 REVIEWS OF XMAS here at the ER blog. Curses! Foiled by Christmas cards, TOP CHEF and FLYERS/RANGERS 24/7! I had this review all ready to go last night and by the time I extracted my tongue from the envelopes and my eyes from the tube it was past midnight. Ah well, eight straight days is actually a pretty good run for me and it won't deter me from trying to get on another streak. Today's guest contributor – David Zuzelo of TOMB IT MAY CONCERN – is not only a good friend in the trash trenches but he's like my own personal Santa. The big guy in the red suit has nothing on David Z when it comes to boundless generosity. My bookshelves, closets and DVD tubs are swelling thanks to the frequent shipments of trashy movies, Batman comics and men's adventure novels that mysteriously turn up on my doorstep. And nobody wields a pen or pounds a keyboard with the cinematic enthusiasm of "Damn You, Davey Z"!   

Have you ever wanted to see Marisa Mell angrily bang against a pinball machine?  Have you ever wished that Marisa Mell would walk down YOUR stairs dressed in a short robe that somehow crosses sexy breasts and Hong Kong Phooey?  Then DEATH WILL HAVE YOUR EYES will keep your eyes open and your toes tappin’ to the groovy score by Stelvio Cipriani if you are a master of Eurotrash minutia.  But if you think this is a Giallo film that may feature fast paced mystery and suspenseful murders, or even suspense, you will be quite disappointed.

I’m part of the first category and found lots of interest...

Marisa Mell looks like she is in some form of trouble as the film starts, and then-using a time distorted storytelling mode that will either make you very confused or keep you watching very closely-we find out that she started small in this big city that has become her tomb.  Young Luisa shows up full of big dreams, but ends up selling her backside to make ends meet after she comes across Yvonne (Helga Line).  Sure, she is waiting for Mr. Rich Dick to show up-and when he does she is right on it. Hard.

But the man of her wallet's dreams is a real jerk off (thank you Farley Granger, you are always so good at this) and recites bad poetry.  The US title is one of his goofy lines, no eyes are harmed in the film. 

Dammit.

So, time is still jumping and something happens and someone gets found out and everyone is going to be dead or dying soon enough!  You can imagine what happens when a certain poet/doctor/dingleberry has his car off the road, but a certain down on her lucker doesn’t get away clean as ANOTHER down on HIS lucker sees a chance to hustle her out of her money. And her pants!  

Hey, it is Marisa Mell after all... and she plays along in even more narrative non-sequitor fashion.

It doesn’t end well.  But would we want it to end well?  Nah!

The cover art is way off here, but the trailer (which is in English on the disc, while the film is not) does the same thing.  This is definitely a sleazy drama that is equal parts getting the ladies undressed and some conniving behavior amongst the rich.  There is no mystery, unless confusion and taking time to follow along is what counts as one.  As a film it is a bit of a failure, but I enjoyed it by and large.  This is one of those productions that is much more a vibe than a voyage.

There are party scenes with weird music, groovy hair, bad poetry and tits.  There are a few instances of surprisingly violent turns by Marisa Mell.  Two girls argue that a big steak isn’t enough to loan out their bodies.  If I knew then that I could get a night with Marisa Mell for a steak I’d of been working harder than the dude in Bell From Hell to make steak.  Of course, I was 6 years old when this came out and I doubt I’d have had more use from a Eurostarlet than I would a Mego doll.   

If you can’t resist the obscure, love the sounds of TRASH CINEMA and the sights of NUDE SEX SIRENS in SLEAZY SITUATIONS, this may be for you.  But if you are hoping to fill that missing piece in your Giallo collection you can move along easily. Claudio Fragasso is listed on IMDB as an assistant director on this, and I can see how he would have made this material MUCH more entertaining years later!

The DVD from MYA COMMUNICATIONS is about what I expected. The print is fairly bad with tons of scratches and damage. The sound distorts at the bass level a lot (which is killer on that awesome score).  It looks like a bootleg, and not one from the modern fandub/sub era.  There is a copyright for METHEUS FILM  on the back of the packaging, so that counts for something.  I can’t imagine they are selling tons of these, but when you can count on crummy quality many times it does run off a certain percentage of your market.  I would be interested to see if Mya really has a relationship with Metheus because there are some EXCELLENT films in their catalog, including the awesome Mario Siciliano films ROLF, SKIN ‘EM ALIVE and SEVEN RED BERETS.  All of those would be fine releases...

Overall, the market for this DVD knows exactly who it is – just keep expectations in check and you won’t be let down.  It ain’t a giallo, it ain’t really good – but it is groovy and that counts for something.

Set your price tag at what you value European Trash Funk Cinema before purchasing.

DEATH WILL HAVE YOUR EYES is available at Amazon.

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12 REVIEWS OF XMAS: Giving Thanks I Don't Have to Watch Much Franco

At school a few weeks ago my daughter and some schoolmates were asked to name the things for which they were thankful. In true 4-year-old fashion she responded "holidays" and "kisses and hugs before bedtime". Whew. At least she knew better than to say "STAR WARS action figures" like some of the other kids in her afterschool program. Me? I'm thankful to have tireless reviewers like Crites – another longtime ER/Hungover Gourmet contributor who watches and eats things so I don't have to. And even at his crankiest (see below) the man delivers on the content. It may be late (sorry, I got distracted by Flyers/Rangers 24/7) but I bring you another piping hot installment of 12 REVIEWS OF XMAS. 

Whistling horribly, a female publishing agent, Carla, drives out to the villa of the Balasz family in an attempt to acquire the rights to a piece of their family history.

After a vision of the titular Snakewoman, seen dancing lethargically dressed in her double-headed serpentine tattoo (which, it must be said, looks more goofy than seductive), Carla lets herself into the mansion and confronts a pair of Euro-hippies. Telling them she's looking for Andros Balasz, father of Oriana Balasz, when Andros is not immediately available Carla helps herself to a bath. During which Andros magically appears, catching her in the nude, and invites her down to breakfast.

As Carla dresses, the Snakewoman jumps through her open window to pose and hiss ridiculously before vanishing. And it's here, over a quarter of an hour into the film, that you know for certain that your time is being wasted. That this 'erotic fable' is in fact a poorly conceived sex joke with no real point to it but to show off some shabby softcore lesbian love story. That, and to cash in on the name of a "cult" director whose 'genius' dried up long ago and whose status is debatable at best.

Anyway, at breakfast Carla is joined by a shady priest/doctor who tells her that Andros is the rightful heir to the estate of Oriana Balasz, who died in 1945. He also mentions that many others have tried to purchase the estate, but all have failed. What he neglects to mention is that he's keeping an hysterical woman who claims to suffer sexual visions and visitations from her 'mistress' locked up on drugs.

Returning to her room Carla finds the naked Snakewoman lying in her bed. When asked the tattooed girl says that she is the 87-year-old Oriana, and that Andros is her father-in-law. She then asks, "Do you like my ass?", the furry cleft of which Carla could not help but admire. Passing up this invitation Carla tells the Snakewoman that she would "Like to acquire all the rights to Oriana Balasz's catalog. The songs, the films, everything." Snakewoman doesn't seem interested in business however, offering instead the notion that, "The ass is the universal sex organ." There's some more back and forth, but instead of getting it on Carla goes off to get some sleep alone.

Dr. Priest and his young ward, Alpha, have another fruitless interaction in which the girl again raves about her magical lady. Drugged and confined, Alpha is visited by Snakewoman for a lengthy lesbian encounter.

Meanwhile Carla has a dream flashback to her initial assignment to secure Oriana's archives. This includes watching an old black & white Third Reich-era cabaret performance of hers, with no shortage of risqué beaver shots. As Carla dreams naked in her bed, Snakewoman again comes pouncing into her room and crawls into the sack with her where more simulated vampire lesbian action is had.

Breakfast the next morning is a queer affair, one which includes mother's milk in the coffee. Carla is informed by Andros and Oriana/Snakewoman that the Balasz legacy is not for sale at any price. However there was a final film made by Oriana, a masterpiece of perversion that has never been seen...

Carla winds up back in the city, confused and disorganized. She is told by her female psychiatrist that she has been missing for days, with the police looking for her, and has lost all of her belongings. The doctor ships Carla out to her lakeside estate for some much needed rest and relaxation, but while again dreaming naked Carla is visited once more by the Snakewoman for another bout of 'bloody' lovemaking.

Carla's writhing is interrupted the next morning by the doctor, who has Carla's publisher Tony on the phone. For some reason the Balasz estate has decided to release everything to them, including a love letter to Carla from Oriana. As the Snakewoman attacks Alpha's doctor, Carla and her doc head back to the publisher's office to watch Oriana's final film.

In the overly dark clip the starlet gets it on with another woman, then tears into a rubber phallus between a man's legs, reveling in the flow of 'blood' that her pointed teeth produce. As Carla stares at the video screen, hypnotized, she thinks she hears Oriana call her name. Suddenly the two are together again back at the villa, and the film is finally over.

Two words: utter shit. The most enormous waste of time I've been subjected to in recent memory. In every way. And my life is much the poorer for it; Franco has obviously been sucking from the same retarded turtle dick as Jean Rollin. I'd have said "Spoiler ahead" earlier, but with something this pretentious and lazy that's kind of a given.

The story is overly drawn-out and needlessly complex; the jumpy timeline that is utilized so often by directors attempting to fancify their substandard productions by making them seem deeper through timeframe manipulation is in full evidence here, and as usual it just doesn't help. Instead it just makes an interminable story seem that much longer.

Snakewoman doesn't appear to be so much an ageless sexual force as she does some stoned gypsy nympho. There are some mildly sexy scenes, true, but the softcore nature of the production makes them all look overly staged and fake. On top of that there's the poor lighting to contend with, glare alternating with shadow to provide an uneven visual experience which the jerky progression of the story does little to enhance. In Spanish with English subtitles.

SNAKEWOMAN comes with standard extras such as a stills gallery and preview trailers. But it also contains the bonus 1998 feature film DR. WONG'S VIRTUAL HELL. This flick is self-described by director Franco as "An all out farce," but as many of his films could be considered farcical this means one of two things: 1) It will be fucking hi-LAR-ious, or 2) To quote Killface, it will be "The absolute monarch of all bum-snackers." We're going to find out, but I think you can guess where I've got my money down.

A take-off on the Fu-Manchu films, VIRTUAL HELL begins on a difficult note with the narration being provided by some character with a lisp and a thick oriental accent. As there aren't any subtitles available the lead-in and much of the following plot description are literally foreign.

On top of this, portions of the film are approached in comic book style, with oddly colored still frames featuring shadowy figures and word balloons used to flesh out the story. Emphasized at times with what sound like Sesame Street voices.

You know, coming after the time-killing SNAKEWOMAN I really don't have a spare portion of my life to devote to another 97 minutes of poorly assembled experimental film, so I'm going to watch most of this rickshaw wreck on fast forward. And if I miss something at speed, well, chances are I would have missed it anyway. I'll tell you right now, clear and engaging this film is not.

So you've got some solarized scenery. More bad accents. Hey look, there's some tits. And a bunch of guys in 'Chinaman' glasses watching a burlesque act. Lesbian frottage and simulated rimming. Some spanking and whipping. Now a hefty middle-aged woman is showing her bush. There's a fake blowjob. The thought balloon for one of the stage show voyeurs says it best: "...zz zz zzz..."

Finally there's some sort of meeting or confrontation between Dr. Wong and private eye Nelly Smith, both with associates in tow. The result: the film is over. Thank fuck.

To summarize: bad coloration, bad accents, bad lighting, bad sex, bad plot, no point. Enough said.

Goddammit, I feel ten years older.

SNAKEWOMAN is available at Amazon.

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12 REVIEWS OF XMAS: Merry Christmas, I Don't Wanna Fight Tonight

I spent most of today sitting in a computer classroom learning the ins and outs of Excel. Yes, I know, the life of a self-employed small business owner is glamorous and sexy! But at least I didn't let you down and miss the latest installment of our 12 REVIEWS OF XMAS blog series. Tonight it's new media kingpin and longtime ER/Hungover Gourmet contributor Louis Fowler to the rescue with a look at the Dee Dee Ramone documentary HEY IS DEE DEE HOME. So pause that episode of Damaged Viewing, throw on "Merry Christmas (I Don't Wanna Fight Tonight)" – UK single version, please – and read on...

At first glance, it's easy to say that the Dee Dee Ramone documentary HEY IS DEE DEE HOME is largely disappointing. It's basically Dee Dee sitting in a chair for an hour talking mainly about his relationship with Johnny Thunders. This guy has been through the ringer more than enough times, so you'd think that a doc about him would cover so much more territory. You'd think that, in light of the other recent Ramones docs like END OF THE CENTURY and RAMONES RAW, that this one would also try to go out of it's way to be on par with those.

But it really doesn't need to. Sure, it's not as churched up as those takes on the Ramones mythos, but this film does it's subject well, with an idea that's as stark and as tore down as Dee Dee himself. Cobbled from footage director Lech Kowalski was using for a Johnny Thunders documentary, Dee Dee sits on a stool and tells anecdote after anecdote, mostly all relating to heroin, Johnny Thunders, or heroin and Johnny Thunders. Johnny Thunders was widely known as the pretty boy of the late '70s New York punk scene and had his biggest "hit" with "Chinese Rock", which was written by Dee Dee about his own smack habit. He considers the song an "albatross" of sorts, but even that is laid to rest as he rattles off tales of letting people overdose in his bathtub because they pissed him off to comparing his love of tattoos to shooting dope. Yep, no horse rock is left uncooked here.

The ultimately heartbreaking thing here though is when Dee Dee looks at the camera and says "Sobriety is the best revenge!" He died of an overdose in 2002, another Ramones casualty.

Ramones fans (and Johnny Thunders completeists) will be intrigued enough to give this a look, and it's a satisfying enough fix, but, when it's over, you're still gonna want more. Isn't that how it always is with addicts?

HEY IS DEE DEE HOME is available at Amazon.

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12 REVIEWS OF XMAS: Natty Poe

Welcome to the sixth installment of our 12 REVIEWS OF XMAS blog feature. Today, Big Lug Land head honcho Jay Kulpa takes center stage with a look at a recent DVD release featuring adaptations of two Edgar Allan Poe tales. As a Baltimore-area resident and Poe fan I'd originally fancied reviewing this set myself (especially since the adaptation of THE TELL-TALE HEART was co-written by Brian Clemens of The Avengers and CAPTAIN KRONOS: VAMPIRE HUNTER fame). Alas, time slipped away and Jay got the "choice assignment" of reviewing the release. Doesn't sound like I missed anything – or did him any favors!

This double-feature from Independent Entertainment of THE TELL-TALE HEART (1960) and THE OVAL PORTRAIT (1972, aka ONE MINUTE BEFORE DEATH) is a no-frills DVD with two truly awful prints, constantly damaged with holes and scratches, and some liner notes by Tim Lucas that actually elevate this package to "worth considering." One of these movies is worth a watch, the other you shouldn't press play on without being in an altered state. It should be easy to guess which is which...

First off, a racy-for-1960 British adaptation of the far-too-often-filmed chestnut, THE TELL-TALE HEART, which turns the story about guilt into a turgid little love triangle with the coke-snorting Edgar in love with Betty, who prefers his buddy Carl. These are some of the most blandly-named characters in history. (No offense to you, dear reader, if your name is one of those... or you're in a love triangle with two of those. If you are, I definitely hope for your sake that it's spicier than the one in this movie.)

What is spicy here is Edgar's collection of naughty prints that he comes home and looks at after striking out at the local pub. He's also a peeper, hanging out and watching Betty (Adrienne Corri) in the window across the way, brushing her hair in her underthings. Boy's got some issues. He's a bit of a perv, though, in his defense, she's got some ridiculously complicated foundation garments for a flower shop gal. They take a crack at dating but he's just too awkward. He also makes the mistake of introducing her to his cock-blocking buddy, Carl. He's much suaver than Edgar, so you really can't blame her... though Edgar's so obviously off-kilter you figure she'd be a little more wary of setting him off. Also, the fact that he all but shoves her into Carl's arms doesn't help, either, and Edgar's very presence becomes torturous. However, Carl does steal his buddy's girl, so for that he has to die.

Of course, this racy first half is followed by a bit of a turgid slog through the second as guilt overtakes Edgar and he hears "the beating of his hideous heart," which we even get to see at one point. All in all, it's all tame and tortured, but this isn't bad for a night in if you want to watch something explicitly old-fashioned. Just do it more for the simple pleasure than the hipster irony of that act.

Meanwhile...

THE OVAL PORTRAIT is a seriously overripe, pot-boiling pile of piffle and nonsense. It feels like an Andy MillIgan movie filled with bad period costumes and degraded, damaged film stock. Two ornately-dressed, dubbed actresses are dropped off at a country manse in the middle of a storm and then it's 20 minutes before anything happen that even remotely resembles making sense. This is followed by a portrait, oddly enough oval, that we get to see fade into a decayed body, and then be the subject of some of the worst rack zooms in the history of making films, so we know this painting must be important... and this movie must be crap.

Lisa, the middle-aged daughter and her elderly mother rattle around a Civil War-era mansion belonging to Lisa's brother. He's evidently died, but relationships and reasons make little sense in this flick. Lisa immediately runs into an odd man trying to work out relationship issues with a wig in a chair that's standing in for the ghost we saw earlier. He was obsessed with Rebecca, the former lady of the house. (Evidently, this must be Manderlay.) Lisa winds up posessed by the good lady ghost while characters who make no sense come and go.

Silly effects, a sillier story, performances that are not so much overcooked as parboiled and poached, and some truly annoying editing make THE OVAL PORTRAIT a downright pain in the ass to watch.

THE TELL-TALE HEART/THE OVAL PORTRAIT is available at Amazon.

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12 REVIEWS OF XMAS: A Double Dose of Lovecraft and Porno Vampires

I'm not sure what's harder to believe: that Christmas is just over a week away or that we've actually stuck with this 12 REVIEWS OF XMAS blog series for five straight days! When the demands of the ER website started to get too much, one of the first contributors I turned to was fellow Horror Dad Doug Waltz. A pal from the Eurotrash Paradise group over at Yahoo (10 years strong this month!), Doug is a zine publisher (Divine Exploitation), blogger, horror host, cook, dad and all-around good guy. I've lost count of how many low- and micro-budget flicks Doug has reviewed for the site... but here's a couple more.

Alternative Cinema has given us the two newest flicks by independent film maker Richard Griffin in one set. Both feature horror and gore with a sprinkling of comedy, but the remain very individual flicks. Let's run 'em down one at a time.

BEYOND THE DUNWICH HORROR
Staying as true as possible to the original HP Lovecreaft story while updating it into the new millennium, Beyond The Dunwich Horror does a great job despite the budgetary restrictions. Not an easy trick. It also revels in the fact that it's a micro-budget exploitation film with all that comes with that particular type of film.

Kenny comes to Dunwich to look for his brother who has been accused of murderous doings and it doesn't take long before the quaint veneer of this New England town is stripped bare and what they find is not something anyone would want.

It's always nice to see Lynn Lowry in a film and this is no exception.

Say what you will about film maker, Richard Griffin, but I think the man delivers.

PRETTY DEAD THINGS
Jennifer Bond is two things; an ex-porn star and a vampire. Turned in 1979, Jennifer is getting nostalgic and wants to go back to where she was turned to find an old flame. Along for the trip are three other vampires that love kicking ass and drinking blood. One of the quartet gets the hots for a pizza delivery boy, but forgets to kill him. Now he's pissed and – with the blessing of the local mayor – out for revenge on these bloodsuckers.

Every frame of the flick oozes the word "sexploitation". Hot bodies, sexy girls, blood dripping everywhere. It also embraces the comedy/horror genre and actually makes it work. With each film director Griffin continues to carve out his own little niche in the world of micro-cinema.

This two-disc set is loaded with plenty of extras like all Alternative Cinema titles. Probably two of the more interesting and innovative horror films I've seen in a very long time. Hell, BEYOND even made me jump a couple of times.

This is a great DVD set.

BEYOND THE DUNWICH HORROR/PRETTY DEAD THINGS is available at Amazon.

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12 REVIEWS OF XMAS: Get the Burn on with MEMPHIS HEAT

Welcome to Day 4 of our 12 Reviews of Xmas blog feature. I'm proud to know and call many Renaissance men my friends. And when it comes to old school rock, kung fu, workout arcana or, in this case, the history of Southern wrasslin', there's only one man I've got on speed dial – you know him from his appearances alongside ER contributor Louis Fowler on DAMAGED VIEWING – please welcome the one and only John Grace to the program.

The most memorable aspect of MEMPHIS HEAT: THE TRUE STORY OF MEMPHIS WRASSLIN', the first documentary to give us a look at the wildest territory of the long-gone regional pro wrestling circuit, is not the well-known Andy Kaufman angle, the Jerry Lawler-Terry Funk empty arena match, legendary heel Sputnik Monroe at age 75 still wearing his glitter jacket for his interview or the snippets of the first concession stand brawl.  It is the site of an elderly Jackie Fargo telling his side of the history of the Volunteer State's mat wars.

Lacking the Adonis looks of today's grapplers, Fargo resembled a barroom brawler  that never hit a gym, choosing instead to exercise by throwing trash-talking hayseeds through saloon windows.  With his Buddy Rogers-styled bleached long hair, infamous "Fargo Strut" and originating the "hardcore" brawling style of using tables and chairs in the ring, Fargo was the top star for decades. Seeing him now as an old man wearing oversized glasses, still slicking back his long hair and boasting about himself as the toughest SOB around is a sight that memorable documentaries are made for.

In the old territory system, the promotions reflected their founding promoters or original headliners. As the AWA was patterned after Verne Gagne, with Olympic-level amateur wrestlers turned pro, Mid-South patterned after Bill Watts, with ex-football players headlining the roster, WWE after Vince McMahon, where a bodybuilder physique got you far, Memphis continued the tradition of Jackie Fargo: average-sized guys with average physiques having crazy, violent gimmick matches. Scaffold matches, chain matches, cage matches, hair vs. hair, wives' hair on the line, barbed wire and fire throwing were standard promotional gimmicks for a Memphis card. Nick Gulas and Roy Welch started the grappling circus in Nashville, but it took Jerry Jarrett, the shrewdest and smartest US promoter in the sport's history, to create the Memphis promotion after too many small payouts from the notorious Gulas.

Director Chad Schaffler gives us a tight 90 minutes summarizing the territory's rise and fall, with interviews with Jerry Lawler, Jerry Jarrett, Bill Dundee, Jimmy Valiant,  Billy Wicks, Jimmy Hart, the great announcer Lance Russell and others.  Peppered with old footage – quality which varies from decent air check recordings to almost unwatchable fan kinescopes – the doc is a fine tribute to Memphis' squared circle heritage.  Among the highlights: fearsome heel Sputnik Monroe  tells us how he fought against segregating the audiences in the civil rights era; Jerry Jarrett details his split with Nick Gulas which led to him becoming the top promoter in the region; the rise of Jerry "the King" Lawler, an artistic prodigy and fan-turned-wrestler who became the biggest star of the territory; Jimmy Hart's transition from musician to the greatest wrestling manager in history (which you wouldn't know from his time in the WWF since he had to water down his act for national audiences);  the popularity of Jimmy Valiant as both heel and babyface; Rocky Johnson brought in as a "boxer" to recreate the Inoki-Ali/grappler vs. brawler match with Lawler; and, the Andy Kaufman story, which gave Lawler national attention and likely inspired Vince McMahon to mix showbiz with wrasslin.'

Memphis was arguably the top wrestling city in the US for decades, with a tv show that garnered more than 80% of the ratings. And it's still exciting by today's standards, with more humor and action in one episode than a season's worth of WWE Smackdown or RAW.  It's nice for once to see a pro wrestling documentary that is based on success instead of tragedy, family dysfunction or deceit, like the Von Erich documentaries, WRESTLING WITH SHADOWS and BEYOND THE MAT.

As a devoted fan of the territory I have my bones to pick as my favorite angles were overlooked and I have a different perspective on the history.  While a national headline grabber, the Andy Kaufman feud was not a main event, nor a big draw at the Coliseum box office, very little of Jimmy Hart's hysterical, very non-PC interviews were used, no footage or stories of the only promotion invasion angle that worked: Angelo Poffo's ICW vs. Jarrett's promotion, sparked by Randy Savage and Lanny Poffo storming into the Channel  5 set on live tv (look for it on Youtube, the crowd goes nuts), nothing on Eddie Gilbert driving over Lawler in the parking lot (legend has it viewers called 911 to report an attempted homicide on the King), and aside from bonus clips in the dvd's special features, no Austin Idol.  Most Memphis tv tapes were wiped, so footage was culled from fan sources, but I've found better quality footage purchased on auction sites for $2 a disc.  Downgraded quality may have been a protective move, since ownership of the footage is in legal dispute.

But don't let my fannish nitpicking dissuade you from watching this superb documentary.  The bonus features of vintage clips and interview outtakes are alone worth the purchase.  It'll have the old school wrestling fan inside of you screaming at your television in a joyful frenzy and attempting a flying elbow while jumping off the couch.

MEMPHIS HEAT: THE TRUE STORY OF MEMPHIS WRASSLIN' is available at Amazon.

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12 REVIEWS OF XMAS: BMX BANDITS (1983)

Welcome to Day 3 of our 12 Reviews of Xmas blog feature. Today's review of the 80s Aussie actioner BMX BANDITS serves multiple purposes. In addition to finally getting my lazy butt around to posting the review, it also lets me promote the upcoming print edition of ER. If you dig this review, be sure to stay tuned to this blog, our website, Twitter feed and/or Facebook page for the latest news about the zine's release date as review author Jonathan Plombon anchors the issue with a massive piece on the porn and wrestling connection while longtime zine pal Kami Mcinnes files a report from Down Under on 10 Overlooked Ozploitation Classics. See how I tied that all together?!

Watching BMX BANDITS today will totally shatter your perspective on life.  Not that it's awful.  It really isn't.  It's that your first instinct is to laugh whenever you hear the futuristic flying sounds that occur whenever the kids launch their bikes into the air.  At twelve years old, those sounds are cool.  But as adults, those sounds elicit a groan for their campiness, especially in a culture that urinates on everything and only enjoys spaceship bike sounds for their "ironic" qualities.

Why do we do this?  Is it that difficult just to enjoy a movie?  

BMX BANDITS is fun.  It's a two-wheel romp of bike stunts and clever one-liners.  And, yes, anyone who reads ER will know that Nicole Kidman is in this movie.  And unlike most movies with a prominent star plastered on its box that were part of the discount release VHS pile at your local Media Play, BMX BANDITS actually contains a lot of Kidman.

But even outside of its novelty for being a 1983 film for a future Academy-Award nominee, BMX BANDITS still manages to thrill on its own merit.

The plot is fairly simple.  Three teenagers (played by Kidman, Angelo D'Angelo, and James Lugton, all of whom do a great job) find a box of walkie talkies, which they intend to sell to friends in order to purchase new BMX gear and bikes.  However, the box of walkie talkies belongs to a group of on-the-run bank robbers who have designated their two most bumbling members (David Argue and John Ley) to investigate the lost property.  The children foil the incompetent duo, along with the cops who've been eavesdropping on the kids' jaw jacking.  The rest is a caffeine-fueled game of cat and mouse, as the kids outwit the adults in every way.

And that's what BMX BANDITS is.  Although it's the stunt work that promotes the film, it's the children outsmarting the adults by themselves which makes it relatable (hell, their parents aren't even mentioned).   As a child, you're a passive, second-class citizen.  You can't vote.  You can't argue.  You can't choose where to live.  You can't drive.  All that you know is your bike and that your bike represents freedom from your painfully constricting universe of school and parents.

The child viewers know this.  Because of which, BMX BANDITS succeeds by empowering those children watching the film.  It gives them hope.  It informs them that all they need to do is to make their own chance and that they too could make their life better.

That's all pretty much lost on kids today who crap on anything that isn't computer generated or explosion-filled.  Today, it's the special effects that keep people captivated.  It's a world that has become much smaller thanks to social media sites and cell phones.  In contrast, just being in touch with other kids by using walkie talkies in BMX BANDITS must have been a thrill for its once-adolescent audiences.

However, while there's nothing wrong with the slim plot, the script will sometimes drift into pointless territory.  A love story between Judy (Kidman) and Goose (Lugton) goes nowhere after they kiss in an open grave while hiding from the bank robbers.  It's a decent dynamic, but only builds up to no pay off whatsoever.

SEVERIN went to great lengths to add some extra features to the disc (which hopefully will prevent you from purchasing one of the shabbier, cheaper releases).  Along with the typical DVD bells and whistles like the theatrical trailer and audio commentary by the director, Brian Trenchard-Smith, there's also a 40-miute featurette called BMX BUDDIES with a plethora of interviews with the crew and the cast (not surprisingly, Kidman did not participate).  There's also a clip from Kidman on an Australian show called YOUNG TALENT TIME.  What a different time!  They don't even make shows like that anymore.

Fans of THE GOONIES, RAD and THE DIRT BIKE KID have probably already seen BMX BANDITS, but uneducated fans of slightly inappropriate children's films (those robbers make no bones about it – they want to KILL the 16-year-old Kidman character) from the 1980s should also take heed.

Don't be so jaded.  BMX BANDITS is repeat-viewing gold.

BMX BANDITS is available from Amazon.

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12 REVIEWS OF XMAS: David Shrigley's WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?

It's Day 2 of the 12 Reviews of Xmas here at Exploitation Retrospect and while we usually focus our critical eye on the cinematic world, occasionally some courageous publisher drops a book on our doorstep. These days, I'm all about written manly action (even though summer's long over) and behind-the-scenes scoops, so I sent today's artistically-oriented tome off to filmmaker/actor/review Matthew Saliba. Here's his take...

In my quest to receive free swag, I can sometimes be a little overzealous when I agree to take on a given project to review. However, even the oddest piece of cultural memorabilia prompts an inspired and evocative review that has me scratching my head in endless wonder over how the hell I managed to write so many words on something that left me speechless when I first saw it.

Such is the case with this book, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING? THE ESSENTIAL DAVID SHRIGLEY. Only in this case, I really have no idea what to say about it. Glasgow surrealist David Shrigley is a man of many trades having created endless drawings, sculptures, photographs and animated films all of which can be viewed on his website.  This book collects his very best (or worst, depending on your tolerance for modern art) drawings all of which are deeply rooted in the timeless art of deadpan absurdity. Some of these are actually quite funny, particularly God cutting the world in half because "it's too big," a woman shooting a row of eggs with a machine gun but refusing to say why because it's "classified information" to a woman milking a cow and telling it to shut up when it asks her what she's doing. Then there are others that seem to refine "deadpan" as being entirely without humor. Truth be told, what this collection of sketches really reminded me of was David Lynch's DUMBLAND. The drawing style is very similar and if these drawings were brought to life via animation, I have a feeling we'd essentially be watching an episode of Lynch's webseries.

Art is a very subjective thing and as difficult as it can be to review a film or a book and recommend it one way or another, it's almost impossible to dictate what is and isn't good Art, when we're talking about paintings or drawings. I'm of the opinion that the purpose of Art is to evoke a wide array of emotions in the spectator; perhaps even enlighten them. With that in mind, it's no surprise why I gravitate towards Film and Literature as these are the two prime practitioners of "Art as emotional roller-coaster." When it comes to something like David Shrigley's work, I'm admittedly at a loss on how to properly critique it. But if I'm going to use my emotional barometer as a means to judge this collection than I'm afraid that what comes up is mostly indifference. Granted some of his work is amusing but I found it mostly self-indulgent – aimed at those who get a kick out of the "illustrated laughing squares" in THE NEW YORKER.

Between the zero emotional connection I had with the material and the text's hefty price tag, I really can't recommend shelling out over $30 for something that will ultimately serve as a paperweight to protect your Scrabble scores from running off in the mouth of your incredibly curious cat Munchkin... like it currently does for yours truly.

What the Hell Are You Doing? is available from Amazon.

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12 REVIEWS OF XMAS: Maniac Cop (1988)

Welcome to Day 1 of the 12 Reviews of Xmas here at Exploitation Retrospect. From now through December 24th we'll be bringing you a fresh review each morning from one of our contributors. Let's kick things off with a guest appearance from Brian Harris of Wildside Cinema and filmBRAWL fame with a look at the William Lustig/Larry Cohen classic MANIAC COP from 1988, now available on Blu-Ray thanks to Synapse.


When a handful of horrific murders hit NYC sending citizens into a panic, the culprit looks to be none other than one of the city's finest moonlighting as a brutal serial killer. Det. Frank McCrae (Tom Atkins) suspects that there's more to the story than meets the eye but his investigation is stalled when one of his fellow officers, Patrolman Jack Forrest (Bruce Campbell), is taken into custody and charged with the multiple homicides. Not content with the evidence against Forrest, McCrae teams up with Officer Theresa Mallory to weed out the identity of the true killer before more people die.

Written by legendary exploitation filmmaker Larry Cohen (BLACK CAESAR) and directed by wunderkind exploitation filmmaker William Lustig (MANIAC), the 1988 slasher film MANIAC COP has quite a bit going for it including the presence of genre icon Bruce Campbell (EVIL DEAD 1-3), veteran thespian Tom Atkins (HALLOWEEN III: SEASON OF THE WITCH), Blaxploitation favorite Richard Roundtree (SHAFT), the beautiful Laurene Landon (HUNDRA), George 'Buck' Flower (ILSA: SHE WOLF OF THE SS) and RAGING BUL himself, Jake LaMotta!

Outside the stellar casting, the kills are delightfully brutal, bloody and effective (necessary for a good slasher film) and the grit of Lustig's direction and Cohen's writing really "shines" thru, giving the production an atmosphere of ugly reminiscent of the NYC exploitation of the grind house era.

Naturally it all boils down to the antagonist; a slasher film is only as good as its slasher and that's where MANIAC COP really stands head and shoulders above the competition, literally! The formidable size and acting ability of the maniac cop, Robert Z'Dar (CHERRY 2000) is truly impressive and equally as intimidating. Is it any wonder Z'Dar returned two more times to the role of the hulking man-monster Matt Cordell?

Concerning Synapse's Blu-ray Disc release itself, this is about as good as it gets despite the lack of audio commentary by any of the actors, director or writer. The special features include three interviews, a promo art gallery, deleted scenes, trailers and radio spots. Something international fans should take note of is this BR is all region which means it can be played globally as can the three interviews, as they're all presented here in HD.

The HD 1080p 1.85:1 presentation looks gorgeous, certainly light years better than any VHS/Laserdisc release, with just the right amount of grain and contrast to pop on my Samsung LCD flatscreen. It's not like MANIAC COP was an incredibly sharp and colorful film to begin with but the remastering definitely brings out depth and detail without looking overly tampered with. While Blu-ray consumers are going to expect an outstanding clean up and a step up in quality, long time fans won't want their film appearing "too clean." Synapse has certainly balanced that delicate chore nicely.

Images are crisp, the sound is more than adequate for a basic sound system and the extras are fun and informative. Landon's terrible acting and the lack of any feature-length audio commentary aside, MANIAC COP is an entertaining film on a must-have Blu-ray release. Grab it!

Buy MANIAC COP on Blu-Ray at Amazon.


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