A WORKING MAN (2025) *** ½

I’ve been seeing a lot of people online griping that “A Working Man is no Beekeeper”.  Fair enough, but that kind of blanket statement undersells just how good the film is.  The fact that it doesn’t quite hit the heights of The Beekeeper should in no way be taken as a slight to A Working Man, the latest collaboration between Jason Statham and director David Ayer.  Saying “A Working Man is no Beekeeper” is like saying “The Magnificent Ambersons is no Citizen Kane”.  That’s true enough, but dude, it’s still The Magnificent fucking Ambersons. 

Statham plays a former soldier working as a humble construction worker.  When his boss’s daughter is kidnapped by Russian slavers, he goes to work.  And by “goes to work”, I mean he blows away a bunch of Russian gangsters, grubby drug dealers, and skeevy bikers. 

Boasting a script co-written by Rambo himself, Sylvester Stallone, A Working Man is a better than average Statham vehicle that gives the audience exactly what they came to see.  Ayer plays to Statham strengths, and Stallone’s script gives him a stoic character that fits him like a glove.  Sure, he doesn’t have the great one-liners like he did in The Beekeeper, but the film is essentially wall to wall action and packed to the gills with scenes of Statham taking out the trash.  Because of that, all is right with the world. 

The supporting cast is strong across the board. Jason Flemyng (Statham’s co-star from his early Guy Ritchie movies) is good as the head of the Russian mob.  David Harbour has a lot of chemistry with Statham as his blind war buddy who acts as a mix of conscience and weapons supplier.  Arriana Rivas is also memorable as the kidnapped girl. 

Is the film perfect?  Well, it runs a little long and some of the action scenes suffer from over-editing and less than optimal camerawork.  (The bulk of the action is A-OK though.)  These are relatively minor quibbles than anything.  At the end of the day, A Working Man gets the job done. 

SNATCHED! CURSE OF THE PINK PANTIES 2 (2010) *

When I stumbled upon this sequel, I had never seen, let alone heard of the wonderfully titled Curse of the Pink Panties.  Since I couldn’t find the original streaming anywhere, I went ahead and watched this one.  Not seeing the first film in a series has never stopped me from checking out its sequel in the past.  Why should I stop now?

A woman tries on a pair of haunted panties and is unable to take them off.  As it turns out, the undies are possessed by the ghosts of some dead criminals.  She is then kidnapped by an evil villainess who wants to control the ghosts for her own devious purposes.  Meanwhile, two girls who survived the Curse of the Pink Panties in the first film launch an unsuccessful web show about their paranormal experiences.  The bad chick eventually kidnaps them too and wants to use their expertise to help harness the ghosts’ energy.  Our heroine’s boyfriend then turns to a busty psychic for help. 

The effects for the spirits of the men who haunt the panties are terrible.  They are nothing more than green-screened faces superimposed over a shot of women’s underwear.  Since these scenes are neither funny nor sexy, one would have to assume that the director had a fetish for seeing men’s faces crudely inserted onto a woman’s bikini area.  Why else would anyone make two movies on the subject, let alone one? 

There are also way too many subplots and characters that bog things down.  It might’ve helped if I saw the first movie, but this one is just saddled with too much rigmarole.  It should be said that while nearly all the ladies in the cast are smoking hot, none of them remove the titular panties (or their bras as a matter of fact).  This chaste aura does nothing to help the film as the running time clocks in at an extremely bloated one-hundred-and-eight-minutes.  I’m not saying nudity could’ve salvaged this mess, but it would’ve taken some of the sting out of it, that’s for sure.  Heck, even if it was a half-hour shorter, it still would’ve been a chore to sit through (especially the finale featuring the overweight guy running around in lingerie).

AKA:  Snatched! 

SKYSCRAPER (2018) ***

The Rock stars in what is essentially Die Hard Meets the Towering Inferno.  He plays a security advisor for a state-of-the-art skyscraper in Hong Kong.  Criminals storm the building looking to extort the billionaire owner and set it ablaze.  Adding to the peril is the fact that The Rock’s wife (Neve Campbell) and two kids are trapped in the building.  It’s then up to The Rock to save them and stop the bad guys. 

Written and directed by Rawson Marshall Thurber (who also helmed Central Intelligence, which starred The Rock), Skyscraper is a lean and mean meat and potatoes action flick that gets the job done.  It knows exactly what it is and doesn’t try to overstep its bounds.  Thurber delivers the goods in the action department and the scenes of The People’s Champion hanging hundreds of stories in the air from his fingertips really work.  The most amusing sequence comes when he uses duct tape on his hands to climb outside the building like Spider-Man.  The finale set in a high-tech hall of mirrors is cheesy too, but it’s still fun. 

To his credit, The Rock’s earnestness goes a long way.  He tones down his macho persona a bit for this one as he plays a humble family man.  Making the role unique is the fact that he plays an amputee.  The scenes where he puts on his prosthetic leg try their best to pull at your heartstrings.  That might’ve felt genuine had The Rock not conveniently forgotten about his handicap as he runs full sprints throughout his action sequences.  (He only seems to limp during his dialogue scenes.)  At least Thurber resisted the temptation to have The Rock say he’s a “One-legged man in an ass-kicking contest”. 

Campbell is good too.  Unlike most of these things, she isn’t just your standard issue wife in jeopardy.  She’s a combat surgeon, so she can handle herself better than most of the wives you see in a Die Hard rip-off. 

As far as rainy-day action movies go, Skyscraper towers above the rest. 

Thurber and The Rock once again teamed up for Red Notice. 

PORNDEMIC (2018) ***

In 1998, porn’s popularity was reaching a zenith that rivaled its Golden Era.  The money was good, the sex was plentiful, and the industry itself was taken (more or less) seriously in the mainstream.  Then, an HIV outbreak rocked the porn industry.  (One interviewee calls the panic, “The Cuban Missile Crisis of the porn industry”!)  This resulted in stricter testing guidelines implemented by former porn star turned industry blood test czar, Sharon Mitchell.  Mitchell then had to backtrack all the infected performers’ previous partners to find the “Patient Zero”. 

Among those infected were Tricia Deveraux, who was one of my favorite porn stars of the ‘90s (and yes, I recognized a clip of her from Gangbang Girl 17 instantly), Brooke Ashley, Kimberly Jade, and Caroline.  Only Tricia is interviewed, which is a tad disappointing as it would’ve been interesting to hear from the other women.  However, her story has plenty of heartbreak to go around.  Even grimmer is the fact that we are shown clips from the films in which the actresses were actually infected.  These moments almost have a ghoulish snuff film quality to them.  Other porn stars such as Tom Byron, Ginger Lynn, Mr. Marcus, Herschel Savage, and Ron Jeremy are also interviewed and give their insights on the situation. 

If you watched a lot of porn in the ‘90s, the file footage of award shows, TV appearances, and home movies of the porn starlets at work and at play will be like a trip down memory lane.  It was fun seeing stars like Anna Malle, Jasmin St. Claire, Chloe, and Alisha Klass in their heyday.  I just wish it was under better circumstances. 

If you’re familiar at all with the story, you know Marc Wallice was the “Patient Zero”.  The more you hear about him and the more he speaks on camera, the more odious he becomes.  It’s one thing to duck being tested.  It’s a completely different thing when we learn he actually falsified his HIV tests, which knowingly put other performers at risk.  The filmmakers do offer evidence that suggests he may not have actually known his status, but his total lack of remorse seems pretty damning. 

Pordemic is a rather cut and dry account of the events.  It probably could’ve dug a little bit deeper, but it still keeps you invested throughout.  The use of non-sex porn clips that mirror the narrative is amusing too and help lighten the mood a bit.  (The music is terrible though.)

JAMES DEAN (1976) **

James Dean is a lukewarm TV Movie of the Week biopic directed by Robert (Now You See Him, Now You Don’t) Butler.  The tip-off that this is going to be disappointing is when you see the opening credits.  It’s here you’ll notice Stephen McHattie, the guy who plays James Dean, the man who is the title of the movie, has the “and” billing.  It was written and produced by William Bast, who was Dean’s friend (and lover).  Michael Brandon, who plays Bast, receives top billing, which kind of lets you know what you’re in for.

Bast strikes up a friendship with Dean at school and despite not having much in common, become close.  He tags along with him from LA to New York and back to LA again.  Along the way, Dean tries to get him to open up and embrace life, but Bast just never can seem to do it. 

Because it’s from Bast’s point of view, the film resists the temptation to paint Dean as a saint.  (We see him smack his girlfriend at one point.)  However, it does break form every now and then to show us Dean biographical highlights that Bast was never there to witness (like Dean auditioning for the Actors Studio or revving his motorcycle at Pier Angeli’s wedding).  Bast’s narration is often intrusive to the narrative and is redundant more often than not.  The black and white silent movie style sequences are pretty annoying too. 

The frank talk between the two about their sexuality must’ve been shocking for a network movie in the mid ‘70s.  While it wouldn’t even raise an eyebrow nowadays, it’s enough to suggest there was more between Dean and Bast than what the censors would allow to be shown. Moments like this prevent the film from being completely forgettable, but it’s still far too clunky overall to really work. 

McHattie kinda looks like Dean if you squint hard, but he does affect his mannerisms well enough to get by.  For a movie from Bast’s point of view, it’s odd that Bast himself never feels like a real character but more of an observer watching Dean’s star rise and fall.  The actresses in the supporting cast who play Dean’s girlfriends (Brooke Adams, Candy Clark, and Meg Foster) are good, although none of them really stick around long enough to be real characters.  It was also nice seeing Amy Irving popping up in a bit as an obsessive fan. 

AKA:  James Dean:  The Movie.  AKA:  James Dean:  The Legend.  AKA:  The Legend.  AKA:  James Dean:  A Legend in His Own Time.  AKA:  A Legend in His Own Time.

THE JAMES DEAN STORY (1957) **

Robert Altman got his first feature directing gig co-directing this documentary about James Dean.  We begin with his upbringing in Indiana as the narrator interviews Dean’s friends and family.  Then we move on to college in California where he discovers his love of acting.  Dean then takes off to New York where he briefly studies at the Actors Studio before heading back to Hollywood.  He soon skyrockets to stardom with roles in East of Eden and Rebel Without a Cause, but his career comes to a tragic end when he dies in an automobile accident. 

The documentary purports to use a new technique called “Photo Motion” that supposedly incorporates still photographs in with the narrative.  From the first scene, it’s obvious that this so-called “technique” is nothing more than slow zoom-ins and outs on old pictures.  That’s just the first of many disappointments you’ll find throughout the movie. 

The James Dean Story stops short of being a Mondo style documentary.  The scenes recreating Dean’s romance with Pier Angeli (who isn’t named, but it’s pretty obvious who it’s supposed to be) look as though they are heading in that direction, but it just winds up being more like filler than anything.  (The recreation of his crash is brief and there are only two photos of the wreck.)  Had the film given us something in even mildly bad taste, it would’ve been, at the very least, memorable.  (It’s no Wild Wild World of Jayne Mansfield; I’ll tell you that.)

Honestly, there’s nothing here that’s all that enlightening or revealing.  The interview segments with the people that supposedly knew Dean don’t really offer very much insight into his character.  (One guy goes through Dean’s mail.  Big whoop.)  If anything, this just crystalizes what an elusive figure he was.  If you saw this at the time of its original release, you may have been satisfied with a glossed over trip down memory lane.  Sadly, the movie only skims the surface of his life and never fully explores what made Dean tick. 

Co-director George W. George was the son of Rube Goldberg. 

CHAMPAGNE AND BULLETS (1993) ****

I wanted to watch something to honor one of my favorite actors, the late Wings Hauser.  Wings was an actor as idiosyncratic as they come.  His performance as Ramrod in Vice Squad is one of the all-time greats, and I wanted to acknowledge his passing by reviewing a film of his I had never seen before.  

I thought I knew what I was getting myself into with Champagne and Bullets as I had seen the immortal “Shimmy Slide” music number before.  (Yes, there is a music number.)  Boy, I wasn’t expecting THIS. 

Words don’t really do this movie justice.  You have to see it to believe it.  The best description I can think of is it’s The Room if it was a low budget ‘90s action movie.  Like The Room, it was the brainchild of a non-actor who somehow got enough money together to make his own movie.  In this case it was lawyer John de Hart.  He was also somehow able to get Wings to play his best friend and William Smith to play the bad guy. 

As a Wings tribute, I got my money’s worth as he gives a fun performance.  Wings probably sensed de Hart and co-director John Paradise’s lack of experience, which afforded him the opportunity to go gleefully over the top in ways only Wings could.  If this was a “normal” movie, his performance would’ve been the highlight.  Since there is nothing normal about Champagne and Bullets, Hauser’s antics are more like window dressing. 

Like Tommy Wiseau, de Hart was somehow able to convince a really hot chick (in this case, Playboy Playmate Pamela Bryant) to have gratuitously long and extremely uncomfortable sex scenes with him.  The pinnacle of the looney love scenes comes when de Hart is about to have sex with her and hands his champagne glass to a visible crew member who takes it out of frame.  You won’t believe it. 

I guess I should talk about the plot.  De Hart and Hauser are former cops who get thrown off the force when their colleague Smith plants dope on them.  De Hart’s girlfriend (Bryant) has freshly escaped from a Satanist cult that just so happens to be headed by Smith.  When Smith kills his true love, de Hart goes out for revenge. 

The high point is the musical number performed by de Hart.  “Shimmy Slide” is a verified bop and a definite ear worm.  De Hart’s musical abilities (or lack thereof) are hysterical, and his choreography (or lack thereof) will have you in stitches.  He sings several other songs on the soundtrack, most of which are ballads that play during the hilariously over top love scenes that are beyond cringe worthy.  (This might be the first movie that contains a lover’s montage that is just one static shot.)

Yes, it’s terrible, but I fucking loved every minute of it. 

The WTFness of this movie transcends mere words like “good” or “bad”.  It exists in a Zen world that could’ve only sprung from the imagination of John de Hart.  The Zen attitude can be summed up by one dialogue exchange when Wings is in the hospital and holds up a glass of water. 

Wings:  “Is this glass half empty or half full?” 

De Hart:  “It looks dirty to me.” 

AKA:  Road to Revenge.  AKA:  Geteven.