HAVE A GOOD FUNERAL, MY FRIEND… SARTANA WILL PAY (1970) ** ½

Sartana (Gianni Garko) strides into a western town in possession of a valuable deed.  As he tries to return it to its rightful owner, the greedy townsfolk, crooked sheriffs, and other assorted cutthroats crawl out of the woodwork to make sure that won’t happen.  Naturally, he becomes romantically involved with the sexy heiress.  

Have a Good Funeral, My Friend… Sartana Will Pay was the fourth Sartana adventure (or fifth, if you count $1000 on the Black in which Sartana was a villain) and it lacks some of the playful zest that made the other entries in the series crackle.  It also feels more like an assemblage of western clichés in search for a home than an honest to goodness Spaghetti Western.  

Still, it has its moments.  (There’s a great bit where Sartana walks into a Chinese gambling hall and busts up a crooked blackjack game armed only with a pocket watch.)  However, many of these moments are short lived (like when Sartana gets into a Kung Fu battle) or overused (like when he throws playing cards like Gambit from the X-Men).  There are enough of these odd touches to distinguish Have a Good Funeral, My Friend… Sartana Will Pay from your typical western, but not quite enough to make it rise to the heights of the previous Sartana films.

AKA:  Have a Good Funeral on Me, Amigo—Sartana.  AKA:  A Coffin from Sartana.  AKA:  A Present for You, Amigo… A Coffin from Sartana.  AKA:  Gunslinger.  AKA:  Stranger’s Gold.  

STAR WARS: EPISODE IX: THE RISE OF SKYWALKER (2019) ****

As a lifelong fan of the Star Wars series, I entered into the final chapter in the Skywalker Saga with a bit of cautious optimism.  Although I’ve come around to embrace J.J. Abrams’ The Force Awakens, it is indeed a very “safe”, audience friendly picture that lacks the heart of the original trilogy.  I found Rian Johnson’s The Last Jedi to be more my speed as it found ways to push the series in new, unexpected directions while still being very much tethered to the past.  Now that J.J. was in the director’s chair once again for The Rise of Skywalker, the question remained:  Would he embrace Johnson’s vision or go back to business as usual?  

I’m happy to say that it’s a bit of both.  While Rise is full of J.J.’s sensibilities (there are MacGuffins galore), he keeps much of what Johnson introduced and even at times expands upon it.  I’ve seen reviews indicating the film as a total rebuke of The Last Jedi, but I think many of the characters’ arcs and developments are consistent with what came before.  

Abrams has the unenviable task of not only wrapping up one trilogy, but three.  Somehow, he was able to pull it off.  He weaves in moments that connect all nine films (and even some of the TV shows and cartoons) together.  What could’ve been seen as merely fan service works because of the strength of the performances and the goodwill the characters have generated over the past four years (or for some, forty).

I’ve been deliberately vague about the plot.  Just know that The Rise of Skywalker is Star Wars to the core.  I got the same buzz from it I had as a five-year-old kid walking out of Return of the Jedi.  The themes of good vs. evil, emotion vs. serenity, and freedom vs. oppression are just as strong as they’ve always been.  I’m also glad to say that J.J. didn’t shy away from the darkness inherent in these movies.  There are strong moments here that rival Revenge of the Sith for the darkest bits of Star Wars lore.  I applaud J.J. for not holding back, Disney shareholders be damned.

Abrams keeps things moving at a breakneck pace.  Sometimes, things move a bit too fast.  While I do wish we had time to stop and smell the roses a bit, I can’t fault J.J. for trying to cram in as much as possible for this final (maybe… we’ll see) installment.  It’s evident Abrams wants to stick the landing as best he can.  However, he still has some important things he wants to say before parting ways with the franchise.  It speaks volumes that he’s able to introduce new characters in a final installment and they wind up stealing scenes from the other more-established cast members.  

Speaking of which, everyone brings their A-game here.  Daisy Ridley, John Boyega, and Oscar Isaac all shine once again as Rey, Finn, and Poe respectively.  Adam Driver fills Kylo Ren with all the villainous swagger we’re accustomed to, but this time he shades his character with a driven relentlessness that makes him even more formidable.  We also get some wonderful bits from our old friends (C-3PO in particular steals the show) who conclude their cinematic journey with a bang.

I think what I liked the most about The Rise of Skywalker was how it honored not only the work of George Lucas, but also the inspirations that helped shaped the Star Wars universe.  Of all the cinematic Star Wars adventures, this one feels the most influenced by the old serials of any of the films since the original.  There’s even a big “death” scene that is neatly reversed thanks to some cliffhanger-style misdirection and editing.  

Rise is simply a blast from start to finish.  It’s the most fun I’ve had all year at the movies and is easily the best film in the saga since the original trilogy.  Sure, fanboys are ripping it a new one on the internet, but I say to them, “Let go of your hatred.”  Besides if I’ve learned anything since The Phantom Menace came out it’s that if the internet hates a Star Wars movie, it means the filmmakers did something right.

TRA-LA-LA-LA-LA LA-VOLTA: THE FANATIC (2019) ** ½

I can’t say The Fanatic is a good movie, but it’s certainly better than you’d expect a film directed by Fred Durst, the lead singer of Limp Bizkit, to be.  You know you’re in for something special from the very first scene.  John Travolta’s character, Moose bursts into his favorite comic book shop and announces, “I can’t talk too long. I got to poo.”  Walking with a stoop, condemned with a terrible bowl cut, burdened with an overstuffed backpack, and wearing oversized glasses. Moose is a sight to behold.  He obviously has a lot of issues (and I’m not talking about comic books either).  He’s most certainly on the spectrum… somewhere.  He’s definitely one of the most memorable characters I’ve seen in a long time.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that this is a tour de force performance.  Travolta goes to 11 on this one.  Possibly 11 ½.  Remember when he was in Face/Off with Nicolas Cage?  Well, there are times in The Fanatic where you’ll swear it’s Nic Cage playing the role, only he’s wearing John Travolta’s face.  Yes, folks, he’s that over the top.

Anyway, Moose becomes obsessed with his favorite actor, Hunter Dunbar, played by Devon Sawa.  When he brushes Moose off at an autograph signing, he immediately takes to stalking Dunbar.  Eventually, Moose holds Hunter hostage in his own home in an effort to become best buds with his object of obsession. 

There are moments here that echo both Taxi Driver and Maniac.  (There’s even a scene where Travolta namedrops both Maniac and its remake into causal conversation.)  Of course, the movie never achieves the heights of those films.  I can’t say The Fanatic is good exactly, but it’s hard to completely dismiss.  I mean, Travolta’s performance alone is enough to make it worth seeing. 

The problem is that neither Moose nor Hunter are characters we ultimately care about.  Durst never bothers to make Hunter a real flesh and blood person and Moose is nothing more than a force of nature.  Neither men are sympathetic, and we never wind up rooting for either of them.  The ending is also quite unpleasant, although not entirely without merit.

Still, how can you overlook a movie that features a scene where John Travolta dresses up as Jason Vorhees?  Or has him re-enact the “Stuck in the Middle with You” sequence from Reservoir Dogs?  Or contains a bit where Sawa plays Limp Bizkit?  I mean, I’m not even a fan of Durst’s music, but I have to congratulate that kind of gall.  

For good or ill, The Fanatic is a movie we’ll be talking about for years to come. 

That concludes Tra-La-La-La-La La-Volta for the month.  Happy Holidays everybody!

TRA-LA-LA-LA-LA LA-VOLTA: TRADING PAINT (2019) * ½

John Travolta stars as an ex-race car driver who now owns a failing racing team.  When his son (Toby Sebastian) leaves the team to join his rival (Michael Madsen), it causes an irreparable rift between them.  With his son gone, Travolta comes out of retirement and even manages to beat his kid in a few races.  During a heated race, Sebastian gets into a big wreck, barely making it out of the car alive.  After the accident, father and son are drawn closer together and they team up to take Madsen down on the track.

Trading Paint seems readymade to play on CMT as it’s a southern-fried racing drama with a country singer as a co-star.  (In this case, Shania Twain as Travolta’s girlfriend.)  It’s a low stakes movie (with a low budget to match) that would work best as background noise while clipping coupons or something.  The big problem is there isn’t any fire in the racing scenes as it seems like they’re all driving pretty slowly.  Without the risk of danger, the racing sequences lack sizzle. 

The fun of seeing both Vega Brothers, John Travolta and Michael Madsen finally sharing the screen together quickly wears off.  Madsen is ideally cast as the oily bad guy, but there just aren’t any sparks between he and Travolta.  Although Travolta doesn’t phone it in or anything, this is definitely one of his weakest performances in some time.  

While Trading Paint is slightly more competent than late-era Travolta films like Gotti and Speed Kills, it’s missing the X-factor Z-grade anti-craftsmanship that might give them a shelf life as bad movie cult classics in the years to come.  This one is just dramatically inert, forgettable, and frankly, boring.  Watching Trading Paint is more like watching paint dry.  There’s no excitement during the racing scenes, and no fireworks during the dramatic sequences.  As far as racing movies go, Days of Thunder is still number one.  This is more like an Afternoon of Light Drizzle.

AKA:  Burning Rubber.

BLACK CHRISTMAS (2019) * ½

When is Black Christmas not Black Christmas?  When it’s Black Christmas!  

The genius of Bob Clark’s 1974 horror classic, Black Christmas was in its simplicity.  A crazy dude makes crank calls to some sorority sisters who are stuck at school over Christmas break before picking them off.  The 2006 remake overcomplicated things by giving the killer a gratuitous back story, but hey, at least it gave us a wicked scene where he used cookie cutters on someone’s back to make flesh cookies.  

This is the second remake and it pretty much jettisons anything having to do with the killer.  The premise is still the same.  A group of sorority sisters stuck at school are menaced by a killer.  Only this time the filmmakers infuse the film with a lot of feminist touches, commentary on the Me Too movement, and white male privilege.  Which is fine.  I don’t mind a movie that wears its passion on its sleeve.  

However, once the big reveal of the killer occurs, it undermines the message the filmmakers were trying to send.  I know the film was neutered by the studio to gain a PG-13 rating, and there are several moments where the would-be gore is awkwardly edited out or the ADR is obviously replacing harsher dialogue.  (It feels like you’re watching the TV version in the theater.)  I don’t know if these edits also altered the finale and somehow accidentally stripped the first hour of its potential power, or if the ending just wasn’t thought through to begin with.  Whatever the case may be, when Black Christmas shits the bed, it goes clear through the mattress and down into the box springs.

Lest I sound like I’m carving the flick up, let me state upfront I was with it from the get-go.  The opening sequence where a victim’s death rattle results in a snow angel gone horribly wrong sets the tone nicely.  There were also several instances where the cinematography was pitch perfect.  (I think my favorite use of lighting was the scene in which the sorority sister looked for her cat.)  I also liked that the filmmakers hired actresses that physically resembled Olivia Hussy from the original and Mary Elizabeth Winstead from the remake.  

To really get to the problem of the movie, I have to head to spoiler city, so anyone who doesn’t want the film spoiled for them, make a U-Turn now.  

Okay, so in the middle of the movie, the killers are revealed to be frat boys in black cloaks who wear Dr. Doom rip-off masks.  That would’ve been fine, I guess.  The problem is that they are all mind-controlled by this black goop that emanates from the founder of the school’s bust.  During a black mass/hazing ritual, pledges are smeared with his stuff and it “brings out their alpha” and causes them to be overly misogynistic and even homicidal toward women.  

Sure, this Tommyknockers bullshit is dumb, but it causes the film to shoot itself in the foot.  By attributing the boys’ criminal behavior to the onyx ooze, you’re essentially letting them off the hook.  Like the goo made them do it.  Wouldn’t the satire cut deeper if the fraternity brothers only had themselves to blame for their own toxic masculinity rather than this Stepford Skulls malarkey?  

Maybe I’m just overthinking the implications of the big reveal.  Maybe you’re not supposed to think when it comes to this movie.  If you ask me, it was better when the sorority sisters had to fend off one crazy psycho and not a bunch of Lovecraftian frat boys.  Maybe if they had called it anything but Black Christmas, I could’ve overlooked the shitty third act, because there truly is some decent stuff in the early going.

But let’s face it, “I’ve been getting some weird DM’s” is nothing compared to “THE CALLS ARE COMING FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE!”

TRA-LA-LA-LA-LA LA-VOLTA: SPEED KILLS (2018) *

Ben Aronoff leaves his lucrative New Jersey construction business under mysterious circumstances to go and sell speedboats in Miami.  He quickly falls in love with the sport and becomes a champion speedboat racer almost overnight.  Before long, his former employer, gangster Meyer Lansky (James Remar) comes calling.  He wants Ben to use his boats to run drugs, and because they are friends, he doesn’t mind so much when Ben pushes back.  Things change rapidly once Lansky dies and his hotheaded nephew (Kellan Lutz), who hates Ben with a passion, takes over.

Like Travolta’s Gotti, this is another crummy gangster picture with insipid aspirations of being a Martin Scorsese movie.  Like Scorsese’s Mob films, there are freeze frames of important Mob figures (Travolta lets you know who they are via voiceover), montages set to songs by Italian crooners, and of course, gangland violence.  It’s unfair to keep comparing Speed Kills to Scorsese’s body of work because it can’t compete.  Heck, even compared to Gotti, it’s pretty much a mess.

Like Gotti, both films span decades.  Whereas that flick at least had an array of wigs, period costumes, and old age make-up to show the march of time, here, Travolta always looks like his usual self, albeit at times with a slightly different haircut.  Even though Speed Kills takes place from 1962 to 1987, it always looks like it’s set in present day!  (The only period detail seems to be a pay phone that’s featured in the early going.)

Although the plot may be a bit more coherent than Gotti, the film as a whole is even worse, if you can believe it.  Like Gotti, it’s incompetent on many levels (don’t get me started on the horrible CGI during the hurricane sequence), but it lacks the jaw-dropping badness that may give that flick a shelf life as a camp classic for future generations.  This one is just plain bad.  

Travolta does what he can, but this one is pretty much DOA from the start.  The supporting cast are equally at odds with the weak material.  Katheryn Winnick and Jennifer Esposito are wasted as the women in Travolta’s life and Tom Sizemore is underutilized as a hitman.  It was nice seeing Michael Weston, Travolta’s co-star from Lucky Numbers popping up in a sizable role.  The most bizarre bit though came from Matthew Modine in an extended cameo as George H.W. Bush!  

Director John Lussenhop of Texas Chainsaw 3-D fame had his name removed from the final product.  I can’t say I blame him.  He still retains a screenwriting credit though. 

I hope he was responsible for the only good line of dialogue, which comes when Travolta begins his meteoric ascension in the racing business and tells Esposito, “You’re swinging with Tarzan now.  Hang on.”

SANTO VS. CAPULINA (1969) * ½

Capulina (Gaspar Henaine) was a famous Mexican comedian who starred in over eighty comedies.  He was so popular it’s not surprising he would eventually meet El Santo.  I’ve never seen a Capulina movie before, and this one didn’t exactly make me want to see another one any time soon. 

El Santo is on the trail on some diamond thieves.  Naturally, his investigation causes him to cross paths with the irritating Capulina.  Santo brushes him off, but Capulina takes it upon himself to help nab the bad guys.  (He even buys himself an El Santo mask.)  Things get more complicated when the villain creates a robot double of Capulina, with predictable results.

The obvious problem with Santo vs. Capulina is that it’s more of a Capulina comedy than an El Santo movie.  His shtick just isn’t funny and mostly revolves around him accidentally knocking shit over.  The annoying comedic musical score that accompanies his routines is repeated ad nauseum and is liable to give you a migraine before the flick is over. 

This was especially disappointing considering the great Rene (Night of the Bloody Apes) Cardona directed it.  Even if you could dismiss Capulina’s unfunny shenanigans, Cardona drops the ball when it comes to the action.  Take for instance the fight in the warehouse.  It’s very cheap looking (El Santo is obviously knocking the bad guys into empty boxes) and the camera placement is awkward, which makes for a lackluster brawl.

The El Santo scenes work up to a point.  My favorite moment came when the villain sends a sexy robot babe after him and he pushes her into a swimming pool, and she explodes!  He also fights a robot wrestler, but it doesn’t count as a true wrestling match as it occurs during practice in an empty arena.  I mean what can you say about an El Santo movie that doesn’t even feature him wrestling?  There are also no musical sequences in the film, which would’ve preferable to Capulina’s unfunny comedy bits. 

Overall, I can’t say this is the worst El Santo movie I’ve ever seen.  It’s just the one that strays furthest from my sensibilities.  There’s always been an element of humor in these films, although it’s mostly unintentional due to the shoddy special effects and low budget.  This one is proof that when they try to be funny on purpose, the results are often painful.  

THE CHAMPAGNE GANG (2006) *

Four surfer girls make a killing stealing booze and cigarettes from liquor stores and selling them on the black market for a big mark up.  In the process, they wind up accidentally ripping off the local kingpin.  Instead of being angry, he is impressed by their tenacity and proposes a partnership.  He’ll bankroll their gang and help train them properly so they can knock off a bunch of drug stores (in exchange for a percentage of course).  Predictably, it doesn’t take long before the girls get in over their heads and get the attention of the local law.

The Champagne Gang is allegedly based on a true story.  Even if it was a complete fabrication, the idea of scantily clad girls becoming hardened criminals is certainly appealing.  The ladies in the cast look great and all, but unfortunately, there isn’t a real actress among them.  They recite their dialogue rather saying it with emotion, which prevents their characters from really clicking with the audience.

Look, I’m a sucker for a heist flick, especially one that feature hot girls in the cast.  Too bad this always feels like bare bones treatment in search of a movie.  It’s one thing to have a low budget with inexperienced actresses, but even master thespians would have trouble overcoming the threadbare script and the thin characters.

Plus, the heists themselves aren’t expertly executed either.  I mean, if it’s one activity that cinema can make into a thrilling experience, it’s a well-executed heist.  In this flick, there’s a robbery that merely involves one of the girls endlessly banging on a safe with a pickaxe. 

Since we never care about the characters and there’s no fun or suspense during the heists, what are we left with?  Sure, the girls are easy on the eyes, but that can only carry the movie so far.  We do get an inexplicable cameo by 3000 Miles to Graceland’s Bokeem Woodbine as a rock star though. 

Director Daniel Zirilli went on to direct movies starring Steven Seagal and Dolph Lundgren. 

BARON BRAKOLA (1967) ** ½

The vampire Baron Brakola (Fernando Oses) rises from the grave searching for the reincarnation of his lost love Rebeca (Susana Robles).  Naturally, El Santo handily defeats the Baron.  Afterwards, El Santo’s professor friend tells him about the Baron’s past where centuries ago, he vied for the affections of the beautiful Rebeca with El Santo’s ancestor, The Silver-Masked Caballero.  

Seeing El Santo (though it might’ve been another actor entirely) wearing a Zorro-inspired outfit in the flashback scenes is enough to make this one memorable.  The sword fight scenes are kind of cool, although I much prefer the Mexican wrestling to the swordplay if I’m being perfectly honest.  I’m more about turnbuckles than swashbuckles, you know what I mean?  Generally, this wouldn’t have been so bad if the flashback didn’t take up half the dang running time.

Meanwhile, back in the present, Brakola returns and disguises himself as El Santo’s next opponent.  He almost bites El Santo in the ring, but luckily, the professor is there to scare him off with a cross.  El Santo then follows Brakola back to his mansion for the final showdown.

The cool opening scene set in a decrepit mansion where the undead Baron rises from his crypt sets the mood nicely.  It almost looks like they reused the set from Santo vs. the Vampire Women.  There’s even the same painting of Rebeca hanging on the wall! 

In addition to his big match with the Baron, El Santo’s other wrestling scene is a real slobberknocker.  It’s a tag team match where the fists fly furiously, and the body slams occur at a steady clip.  El Santo also has a great brawl with the Baron in an empty auditorium as the vampiric villain frantically trades lefts and rights with our masked hero.  There’s even a brawl during the flashback that goes on for quite some time.  (We get an obligatory dance number during the flashback too.)

There’s a good amount of action here, even if the fights that occur outside of the ring get a bit repetitive.  That’s mostly because El Santo is always battling Brakola.  Maybe if he had an army of henchmen for El Santo to go up against, it would’ve added some variety.  Still, for all its faults (the draggy middle section being chief among them), Baron Brakola contains all the rubber bats, lap-dissolve transformation scenes, cobwebbed crypts, and neck biting you’d expect from a Mexican vampire movie, and for that, I can’t completely write it off.  

AKA:  Santo vs. Baron Brakola.  

THE CURIOUS FEMALE (1970) **

The great earthquake of 1969 turns Los Angeles into an island.  In the year 2427, the world is ran by a “Master Computer” that outlaws sexual morality.  The swinging rebels of the future gather to watch underground sex films from the 20th century and have orgies.  First, they watch a faux-silent movie called The Vacuum Salesman. 

The rest of The Curious Female is devoted to the second smut film the futuristic people watch called The Three Virgins.  It’s about a man who uses a college computer dating service to find a virgin.  Pearl (Charlene Jones) is an African American with an abusive home life.  Joan (Bunny Allister) is engaged to a med student who’s sexually frustrated because she wants to wait for marriage.  Susan (Angelique Pettyjohn) is a stacked tease.  Occasionally, we cut back to the future where the perplexed moviegoers ask questions about the characters’ antiquated sexual views.

It almost feels like the futuristic wraparound footage was added to pad out the running time. Either that or it was unfinished, and the filmmakers just cobbled something together at the last minute to create a releasable product.  It’s probably the later because one of the futuristic women comments that there’s a reel missing from the film because “the producers ran out of money”!

It’s ironic that the slapdash, silly sci-fi framing device is more entertaining than the swinging ‘60s scenes of computer dating and sexual misadventures.  These sequences just aren’t funny or sexy.  At least the futuristic stuff has a certain cheese factor to help make it watchable.  It also doesn’t help that the film gets progressively worse as it goes along.  It especially turns sour once the girls begin losing their virginity, which is the exact opposite of what you think should’ve happened.  The opening credits sequence in which the groovy title track plays over pastel colored images of pussycats and nude women is a lot of fun though. 

Joan’s mother gets the best line of the movie when she tells her daughter, “I want you to be a virgin, but I don’t want you to be a hermit!” 

AKA:  Curious Females.

TRA-LA-LA-LA-LA LA-VOLTA: GOTTI (2018) * ½

Gotti was directed and co-written by actors, which tracks because it’s filled with scenes in which the performers are given showy, blustery set pieces that allow them to wear an assortment of period clothes, a variety of old age make-ups, and silly wigs.  Some individual scenes work, but there’s no dramatic through line connecting them.  It’s all scenery-chewing, would-be Oscar clips in search of a movie.

Gotti wants to show us the rise and fall of notorious crime boss John Gotti.  Gotti is played by John Travolta, who is clearly invested, just underserved by the slapdash screenplay.  Major incidents in his life are shown (like the death of his son), but are quickly forgotten almost as soon as they are introduced.  The narrative hops back and time through the years, seemingly at random.  It feels more like a collection of deleted scenes than an honest to goodness plot.  The framing device, with his son visiting the cancer ridden Gotti in prison is also forgotten at random in favor of more Mob movie clichés and made for TV level theatrics.  

Travolta’s performance alone makes it watchable.  He singlehandedly prevents the film from being as bad as its reputation, but even he can’t keep it afloat.  His real-life wife, Kelly Preston plays Gotti’s wife, and it’s an extremely underwritten role.  She probably only took the role because she wanted to work with her husband once again, or more likely, because no one else would.  Stacy Keach has some good moments as an elder Mob statesman and Gotti’s mentor, and old pros Pruitt Taylor Vince, Chris Mulkey, and Leo Rossi (who also co-wrote the script) appear as assorted Mafioso.  

Some amusement can be had from the horrible usage of pop songs that play over certain sequences.  Many of the needle drops are bizarre and they seldom fit the action onscreen.  (Like the inexplicable use of the theme from Shaft.)  I did like the Christmastime Mob hit set to Elvis’ rendition of “Silent Night”, which means only one thing… Guys, Gotti is a Christmas movie!

TRA-LA-LA-LA-LA LA-VOLTA: THE FORGER (2015) ***

John Travolta stars as an art forger who is serving time when a gangster arranges for him to be released from prison so he can take part in an art heist.  Since his son (Tye Sheridan) is terminally ill, he needs a big score to help pay the doctor bills.  Besides, he’s not doing his son any favors rotting in jail.  Travolta’s crotchety father (Christopher Plummer) isn’t too happy with the situation, but when the chips are down, he pitches in to help his desperate son.  While Travolta is preparing to replicate a priceless Monet, he tries to appease his restless son by granting him a series of wishes.  Eventually, the three men wind up bonding over the thrill of the heist.

You might be put off just by Travolta’s appearance in this one.  He looks almost as corny as he did in Killing Season.  He’s got silver streaks in his hair, a little goatee, and he speaks in a halfhearted Boston accent.  Despite that, he gives a fine performance in this surprisingly effective little caper picture.  Travolta has a lot of chemistry with Plummer, who pretty much steals the film.  Sheridan also does a solid job and refuses to rely on cheap theatrics to gain sympathy from the audience for his condition.

That’s probably the movie’s biggest strength.  It could’ve easily taken that character and his family situation and turned into a cloying and maudlin melodrama.  It’s refreshing that Travolta, in an effort to reconnect with his son, makes like a criminal version of the Make-A-Wish foundation as he tries to make three of his biggest dreams come true.  Again, it ends predictably with Sheridan’s final wish being to take part in the family heist.  Even then, the performances are strong enough that it feels more of an organic conclusion and less a contrived machination of the screenplay.  The film is probably less successful when it focuses on the planning and execution of the heist itself, but in its character driven moments, The Forger is the real deal.

TRA-LA-LA-LA-LA LA-VOLTA: KILLING SEASON (2013) ***

John Travolta stars as a foreigner wandering in the woods near Robert De Niro’s cabin.  De Niro is an ex-soldier who was stationed in Serbia during the war.  When his car breaks down, Travolta fixes it, and De Niro dutifully lets him spend the night.  He soon discovers it was all a ruse, and the man isn’t who he claims to be.  

This sets up an extended First Blood meets Most Dangerous Game face-off between the two.  Travolta hunts De Niro in the woods, with each man only armed with a bow and arrow.  Throughout the next few days, the tables will be turned again and again, with each man managing to briefly get the upper hand on his tormentor.

The cat and mouse games between the two men are well done for the most part.  It’s just that the tables get turned so often that it becomes a little implausible after a while.  Even when the action is kind of chasing its tail, the fireworks between the two performers are genuine.

Directed by Mark Steven (Ghost Rider) Johnson, Killing Season sometimes veer into the realm of torture porn.  (There’s a lemonade waterboarding sequence.)  However, these moments help give the picture a memorably nasty streak.  We also get one arrow wound that’s as grisly as anything in a Jason movie.

Despite its excesses, Killing Season is almost always effective.  It’s an interesting project.  You wouldn’t naturally think an action drama like this would be an ideal platform to bring together two legends of the silver screen, but it somehow works.  

De Niro is particularly great.  There’s a phone conversation with his son (Milo Ventimiglia) in which the things that aren’t being said are just as important as the few words he speaks.  He also handles himself capably enough in the action-centric second half of the film.

Travolta is saddled with a terrible haircut, a beard and no moustache, and a Boris Badenov accent.  Due to his incredible skill, he’s able to make the character work.  It could’ve just been a Nic Cage style performance art piece, but Travolta’s flamboyant exuberance is a nice counterbalance to De Niro’s quiet introspectiveness.  The scene where they get drunk together and listen to Johnny Cash is worth the price of admission alone.

Killing Season is also noteworthy for having the same exact ending as Creed 2.  It even features the same actor, Milo Ventimiglia!  Except instead acting alongside Sylvester Stallone, it’s Robert De Niro.

THE COLONY (2013) ***

When the Big Freeze happens, it drives the few remaining survivors into underground bunkers.  Their biggest threat is the common cold.  With their numbers dwindling and supplies running scarce, Bill Paxton takes it upon himself to shoot anyone who gets sick, protocol be damned.  Leader Laurence Fishburne tries to put him in his place but must leave basecamp to investigate why a nearby colony has gone radio silent.  There, he and his team discover things have gone horribly wrong.

After seeing so many post-apocalypse movies that take place in the desert, it’s refreshing to see one that takes place in the snow.  Director Jeff Renfroe sets a nice atmosphere in the early going and gives Fishburne’s trek through the snow a decent amount of suspense.  When the big twist occurs halfway through, the plot veers more and more into horror territory.  This section is the weaker half, although only slightly.  That’s mostly because it’s here where the film stops being a post-apocalyptic survival movie and becomes another variation on a modern zombie flick, albeit a sporadically effective one.  

Fishburne does a fine job, giving a sincere performance.  He easily slips into his role of leader and has a nice rapport Kevin Zegers in their scenes in the frozen tundra.  The movie really belongs to Paxton.  Like many of his villainous roles, he’s not really the “bad guy”, but more of a self-righteous asshole, which I appreciate.  He has his own reasons for doing what he’s doing, and you kind of sympathize with his actions, if only because they are coming from a place of knee-jerk survivalist mentality.  What I liked about the movie was that Zegers keeps giving Paxton opportunity after opportunity to redeem himself, and he always proves to be an asshole.  You have to admire that kind of stubbornness, even after the apocalypse.  

AKA:  The Colony:  Hell Freeze Over.

TELLING LIES IN AMERICA (1997) ***

Brad Renfro stars as an immigrant kid who looks up to his local rock n’ roll DJ, Kevin Bacon.  Bullied at school, and looking for a way out, he fudges the results of a contest and lies his way into getting a job being Bacon’s right-hand man.  Bacon knows he’s full of shit, but he likes the kid’s moxie and uses Renfro as a go-between to collect payola from the record companies.  

The screenplay was written by Joe Eszterhas, who shows a surprisingly tender side, considering he wrote the sleazy screenplays for movies like Basic Instinct, Showgirls, and Jade around the same time.  It’s a nice blend of coming of age drama and a nostalgic look at the rock n’ roll era.  It’s consistently watchable, all around enjoyable, stopping just short of pulling at your heartstrings.  At least Eszterhas doesn’t try to make the kid learn some big life lesson at the end.  Having said that, the final scenes do feel a bit too pat.  

Still, the music is great, and the performances are excellent.  The two stars are keenly matched with Bacon’s seedy charisma being a good foil for Renfro’s calculated toughness.  The role of the crooked DJ fits Bacon like a glove and Renfro once again shows he had so much promise.  It’s a shame he died so young.

Maximillian Schell is measured and reserved as Renfro’s Hungarian immigrant father.  Calista Flockhart has a number of good scenes with Renfro too (like when he tries to give her some Spanish Fly) as his prospective girlfriend, and Luke Wilson is amusing as his harried boss.  Paul Dooley, who’s always a welcome presence in anything he’s in, is equally fun as Renfro’s consistently shocked and appalled priest.

Bacon gets the best line when he tells Renfro, “I think you’re slicker than two snakes screwing in snot!”

AKA:  Seventeen.

MITCH APPEARS ON THE DIRECT TO VIDEO CONNOISSEUR PODCAST!

It was my privilege to appear on the Direct to Video Connoisseur this week.  Host Matt Poirier and I had a lengthy discussion about comic book movies past and present, from the direct to video adaptations of the ‘80s and ‘90s to the blockbusters of today.  Matt was also kind enough to give me a platform to once again sing the praises of my favorite holiday horror movie, Elves!  We were only supposed to talk an hour and we wound up doing double that, mostly because the subject was so far-reaching, but also because we were both having a lot of fun.  Hope you enjoy!

The Podcast can be found here: https://www.talkshoe.com/episode/7915569?fbclid=IwAR2Ss3MK6fs260IzXy-Ge9eqbvR5epk9nY1s3Co7XUw9PrDGpc2mnSHf0jA

GRAVE ROBBERS (1966) ***

A mad doctor is going around robbing graves and performing experiments on dead bodies.  He wants to bring them back to life, but soon determines they are far too weak to resurrect.  He reasons he needs a resilient and strong specimen if his experiment is to be a success.  Naturally, he sets his sights on El Santo for his next experiment.  When the attempt on El Santo’s life fails, the mad doctor sets a trap for him by kidnapping his friends.  

The scarred doctor doesn’t work alone.  He has team of informants who keep him up to date with El Santo sightings.  (One even pretends to be a flamboyant hairdresser!)  He also has the power to turn ordinary everyday objects into death traps.  Of the film’s three musical numbers, two are interrupted by the villain’s creations.  One hip-shaking dance number ends abruptly when the strings of a violin attack its musician, flies out of his hands, and spontaneously combusts!  Gina Romand’s big number is also cut short when her wig comes to life and tries to kill her!  The sight of a flopping killer wig running around like a mini Cousin It is one I won’t soon forget, and its demise is equally memorable.  (El Santo stomps on it and blood gushes out.)    

On the wrestling side of things, we get two matches.  The first one contains a surprising show of sportsmanship as El Santo’s opponent embraces him after being defeated.  This is a nice change of pace as his opponents are usually trying to kill him.  Which is exactly what happens during the second wrestling match.  The doctor’s hunchbacked assistant Igor injects El Santo’s opponent with a serum that drives him crazy in the ring.  He soon leaps into the audience, causing panic, before dying in the dressing room.

The centerpiece sequence is when the villain sends El Santo a lamp through the mail.  Thinking it’s an anonymous gift, he plugs it in, and it emits a piercing sound that nearly kills him.  This scene is highlighted by some great camerawork that helps to punctuate the suspense (and absurdity).  

Outside the ring, El Santo gets into a good fight in a graveyard with the mad doctor’s henchman.  The brawl ends when they knock El Santo out cold and bury him alive.  This is very similar to the scene in The Ghost of the Strangler (which came out the same year) in which the same exact thing happened to El Santo.  It really doesn’t matter if the circumstances are overly familiar, especially when it culminates in a great moment when El Santo rises from his grave.

Grave Robbers should please even the most die-hard lucha libre fan.  There’s plenty of nutty moments, genuine atmosphere, and lots of body slams to keep most everyone happy.  Sure, it may borrow (or rob) from some of El Santo’s other adventures, but I say any movie featuring killer violins, evil wigs, and homicidal lamps is a helluva lot of fun.

WINTER BREAK (2003) * ½

Milo (Rocky Balboa) Ventimiglia stars as a college grad with a big-time job waiting for him.  When the company gets sold, he finds himself unceremoniously unemployed.  Low on options, he gets shanghaied by his friends who whisk him off to a ski resort in Aspen.  There, he falls head over heels with Maggie Lawson, who naturally has a boyfriend.  They start up a friendship that quickly turns awkward because the two are obviously attracted to one another.

The cover makes Winter Break look like it’s going to be a teenage sex comedy.  The original title was Snow Job, which certainly sounds like it was going to be a throwback to the sex comedies of the ‘80s.  Unfortunately, it’s more of a coming of age story than a sex comedy, which is disappointing, especially considering there’s no sex or nudity anywhere to be found.  If anything could’ve broken up the monotony of Ventimiglia’s relationship woes, Eddie Kaye (American Pie) Thomas’ unfunny mugging, and the gratuitous slow-motion skiing montages, it’s a little gratuitous T & A.

The back and forth between Ventimiglia and Lawson gets boring pretty quickly.  There’s no drama in the will-they-or-won’t-they, because it’s already a foregone conclusion that they’ll end up together.  It doesn’t help that the performers have very little chemistry with one another.  

Ventimiglia makes for a bland lead.  Anna Faris has an extended cameo as his ex-girlfriend.  One can only imagine how much better the movie would’ve been if she stuck around.  The best part of the movie is seeing George Lazenby as the distinguished old skier who dispenses life lessons and love advice to the characters.  Still, if you have to watch George Lazenby ski, you can always watch On Her Majesty’s Secret Service instead of this crap.

AKA:  Snow Job.

MANHUNT (2018) ** ½

John Woo returns to his action roots with the occasionally exhilarating, but mostly uneven Manhunt.  Some Woo fans will bemoan the fact that it’s more of a thriller than his action fests of the past.  (It definitely hews closer to The Fugitive than The Killer.)  Still, there are enough shootouts, chase scenes (one involving a jet ski), slow motion, freeze frames, and random shots of doves flying about to keep his die-hard fans satisfied.

Du Qiu (Hanyu Zhang) is a lawyer for a big-time pharmaceutical company.  When he is framed for murder, he is forced to go on the run.  Yamura (Masaharu Fukuyama) is the hot shot detective who believes he’s innocent, but is still obliged to bring him in.  Things get complicated when a pair of lady assassins (Stephy Qi and Ji-won Ha) join the fray. 

The opening is a lot of fun and involves a wonderful bit of misdirection that leads up to an impressive shootout.  I also liked the fact that being a cinephile is enough to not only bond two complete strangers but also prevent them from killing one another later in the film.  However, after the exciting set-up, the bright spots become fewer and fewer.

Most of this is overly familiar, but Woo is able to make it work most of the time.  His penchant for macho tough guy bromances helps propel the movie along even though the plot is spinning its wheels.  It’s only in the third act when it completely goes off the rails when it takes a detour into sci-fi territory.  Even though none of this comes close to matching the films from his heyday, Manhunt remains a solid exercise in action filmmaking from one of the old masters.

WARCRAFT (2016) * ½

I had pretty much gotten out of gaming by the time the whole World of Warcraft craze hit.  I think it even stopped being a phenomenon by the time this film adaptation came out.  Having never played the game, I really have nothing to compare it to.  To me, it plays like a third-rate version of Lord of the Rings.  Or perhaps a second-rate Dungeons and Dragons.  Either way, it doesn’t really work.  Die-hard WOW fans’ mileage will vary.

The special effects are the big stumbling block.  I mean, the scope of Duncan (Moon) Jones’ film is quite ambitious.  I’m sure it takes thousands of technicians sitting around computers to make such a sprawling, CGI-heavy epic like this.  It’s just that it’s maybe a bit too ambitious for its own good.  The various orc designs only occasionally look near-photo realistic.  Most of the time though, they look so cartoony that it just feels like you’re watching a video game.  Imagine if the Hulk dressed up in D & D cosplay and that might give you an idea of what these orcs look like.

On the human side of things, there’s no one to really root for, mostly because they’re your basic underdeveloped kings, knights, and magicians you’d see in this sort of thing.  The typically intense Ben Foster is hilariously miscast as a Merlin-type wizard, which doesn’t help.  The fact that he’s played by Foster kind of tips off that he’ll eventually turn into your more typical Foster character late in the game.  The only one who comes close to leaving an impression is Paula Patton as the half-orc slave who betrays her people to help the humans.  

Warcraft is watchable for the first half-hour or so.  Then it just gets bogged down with a lot of boring backstabbing and double-crossing subplots between the various species.  The big Braveheart-style battles in the finale don’t do much to pique your interest either.  I will admit, the cheesy-looking Golem that pops up near the end is kind of cool, if only because it resembles an old school stop-motion monster.  Maybe that’s what’s missing from the film; a bit of that old school moviemaking magic.  With all the state-of-the-art effects at Jones’ disposal, all we get is a film that’s about as much fun as watching somebody else playing a video game.

AKA:  Warcraft:  The Beginning.

LET MY PUPPETS COME (1976) ****

Let My Puppets Come is the world’s first puppet musical comedy porno movie.  Leave it to Gerard Damiano, the director of The Devil in Miss Jones to come up with something like this.  Sure, the idea of puppets singing, cursing, and fucking seems crude and obvious, but the surprising thing is, it manages to get a lot of laughs.  Although I can’t quite say I was aroused by all this, I have to admit the sight of puppets going at it works better than you’d probably expect.  

A trio of brothers are up to their necks in debt.  “Mr. Big” is giving them 24 hours to pay up, so they have to think up a get-rich-quick scheme, and fast.  They decide to pool their resources and, naturally, make a porno.  

Previously only available in a shortened forty-three-minute version, Vinegar Syndrome has released Let My Puppets Come it in its original uncut form.  Now we can see it in all its puppet-fucking glory.  Even at seventy-five minutes, it feels like half that because it whizzes by at such a dizzying clip.  

The scenes of puppets sucking and fucking are warped, weird, and/or just plain fun.  One involves a dog fucking its owner.  Another has the “head nurse” blowing her terminally ill patient.  (This is the only scene that contains an actual onscreen “orgasm”.)  Pinocchio, predictably, bangs girls with his nose.  

This was probably the inspiration for Peter Jackson’s Meet the Feebles.  It’s not as consistently funny or crazy as that film, but man, is it something to see.  If there is a complaint, its that the human cast is kind of sparse, so there’s only a handful of nude scenes involving flesh and blood women.  Even then, these scenes manage to get some big laughs.  

Besides, pornos with human casts are a dime a dozen.  Pornos with puppets are precious and few.  Thank God Vinegar Syndrome is there to preserve this one for all time.