THE CURSE OF LA LLORONA (2019) *

La Llorona, otherwise known as The Crying Woman, is a scary Mexican folktale.  She is a ghostly woman whose cries attracts young, wayward children.  Once she has them in her grasps, she promptly drowns them and disappears.

Her story has previously appeared many times on film.  The Curse of the Crying Woman is one of the greatest Mexican horror movies of all time.  Vengeance of the Crying Woman is a fun El Santo flick that makes good use of her legend.  This is a modern Hollywood gringo retelling for today’s audience.  That means it’s filled with lots of long scenes where people wander around darkened hallways before something jumps out at the camera, and there’s a shrill, piercing sting on the soundtrack.  Give me the good old Mexican movies any day.

Linda Cardellini stars.  You might remember her as Velma from the Scooby-Doo movies.  I think the only thing that could’ve saved this from being a total waste of time is if she lost her glasses and said, “Jinkies!” a bunch of times.

Anyways, she plays a CPS worker who saves some kids from a supposedly abusive foster home.  Really, as we all know, it’s The Crying Woman who’s doing all the abusing.  After the kids wind up dead, The Crying Woman sets her sights on Linda’s children.

And she would’ve gotten away with it too if it wasn’t for you meddling kids.

Most of the alleged suspense scenes are long, drawn out affairs.  Many are bathed in total blackness in lieu of actual atmosphere.  The same clichés are trotted out again and again, with only slight variations throughout the running time.  Just when you thought it can’t get any worse, they stoop to ripping off The Grudge with a scene where a ghostly pair of hands touch a character’s hair while they’re in the tub.  

Which country’s legends are you focusing on?  Mexico or Japan?  Pick a country and stick with it.

The clunky script also calls for characters to do stupid things in the name of suspense, only causing you to mutter “dumbass” under your breath at their sheer stupidity.  Like this one scene where the witch doctor tells someone don’t cross this line because The Crying Woman’s on the other side.  Seconds later, they do just that.  The make-up on La Llorona is cheesy too (she looks like something out of a Full Moon movie), which doesn’t help either.

If there is a silver lining, it’s the appearance of perennial That Guy Raymond Cruz turning up in a sizable role as the witch doctor who tries to cleanse the house of the evil.  Naturally, the family are so stupid that they don’t listen to anything he has to say, which ends up causing them more grief.  If Hollywood keeps making more movies this shitty based on the legend of La Llorona, all I have to say is weep for the future.  

AKA:  The Curse of the Weeping Woman.  

ARIZONA (2018) **

When the housing bubble burst in the early part of the century, many homeowners fell victim to predatory loans, became stuck with mortgage payments they could not afford, and wound up losing their homes.  Arizona is a darkly comic thriller that tries to tap into that frustration to fuel its plot.  It’s a novel and promising set-up, but unfortunately, the follow-through lands with a thud.

Danny McBride stars as a disgruntled homeowner about to lose his house.  He goes to the real estate office and confronts the realtor (Seth Rogen) who sold him his home and they wind up getting into a brawl.  During the scuffle, McBride accidentally kills the guy and is forced to kidnap another agent (Rosemarie DeWitt) who witnessed the whole thing to make her stay quiet.

It’s a great hook.  In fact, the opening twenty minutes or so would make for a terrific short film.  Think Desperate Hours meets The Big Short.  It’s just that the tension soon dissipates once the plot becomes more and more repetitive.  McBride does something stupid, DeWitt escapes, he has to recapture her, and another poor dope winds up dead.  There are only so many variations on this scenario you can do before it gets tiresome.  

First-time director Jonathan Watson does deliver one legitimately effective scene when DeWitt escapes McBride’s home, only to run through an eerily abandoned cul de sac full of empty houses.  It’s a good scene, but nothing in the next hour or so comes close to topping it.  The constant introduction of unnecessary supporting characters also helps break the tension when it really should be heating up.  I like many of the cast members (everyone from Luke Wilson to David Alan Grier turn up at some point).  It’s just every time the film cuts to their bit of side business it pokes a hole in the suspense.  

Despite the casting of many comedic talents, this is more of a kidnapping-gone-wrong thriller.  I enjoyed seeing McBride turning his usual persona into something a bit more sinister.  Too bad his character is one-note and wears thin after the first half-hour.  It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia’s Kaitlin Olson fares the best as McBride’s ex-wife who wants no part in his schemes.  It’s a shame she doesn’t stick around very long because she could’ve made the stay in Arizona more enjoyable.

HEART OF DRAGON (1985) **

Jackie Chan stars as Ted, a hotshot cop who spends most of his off-duty time caring for his childlike brother Dodo (Sammo Hung), who has special needs.  Keeping tabs on his brother is so exhausting that it makes Ted want to run away and join the Navy, so he doesn’t have to put up with Dodo’s shenanigans.  However, when Dodo is kidnapped by criminals, the dutiful Ted runs to his rescue.

Even though Jackie Chan is the star of Heart of Dragon, most of the screen time is devoted to Hung hanging around with a group of kids who act like an Asian version of The Little Rascals.  Their misadventures (going to a restaurant without being able to pay, coercing Hung into posing as a kid’s father when he gets in trouble at school, etc.) are OK, but it really comes at the expense of the action.  

Speaking of action, most of the Kung Fu stuff is limited to the beginning and end of the film.  Jackie gets a bombastic Ramboesque opening sequence that turns out to be nothing more than a training mission.  There’s also a good car vs. motorcycles chase scene that feels like something out of a Police Story sequel.  The finale, set in a building under construction, is more violent than your typical Chan movie, and involves him slicing people with machetes, stabbing them with crowbars, and shooting them in cold blood.  These events are rather shocking, and lack the carefree fun of his stunt-heavy best work.

Still, Jackie and Sammo are quite good together.  Easily the best scene in the movie is when Chan finds Hung’s tutor belittling him for his condition.  Even though many of the scenes of the brothers squabbling are unnecessarily maudlin, this moment when he stands up for his brother strikes the right dramatic balance that the rest of the film fails to achieve.  

Then, there’s the overlong and bizarre denouement featuring Chan going to prison for acting above the law.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before in an action movie, and with good reason too.  It just sucks the life out of the film and makes the last ten minutes a chore to get through. 

AKA:  First Mission.  AKA:  Heart of the Dragon.  AKA:  Powerman 3.

THE HUNTER (1980) ***

Steve McQueen stars in his final role as Ralph “Papa” Thorson, a down and out bounty hunter (loosely based on the real Thorson) taking every job he can to provide for his very pregnant girlfriend, Dotty (Kathryn Harrold).  In the process, he winds up making a lot of enemies, including a corrupt sheriff (Ben Johnson) and a psychotic speed freak named Mason (Tracey Walter).  While Papa is away in Chicago tracking down his next assignment, Mason kidnaps Dotty, and it’s up to the dad to-be to save the day.

Throughout his career, McQueen exceled at playing cool, collected, and badass characters, but this kind of loveable loser fits him like a glove.  He’s still adept in the ass-kicking department.  It’s just that when he does get the jump on his prey, it’s usually by the skin of his teeth.  I especially loved his interactions with his collar-turned-protegee, LeVar Burton.  (Whose role, as legend has it, was originally written for a dog!)  The funniest sequences revolve around McQueen’s inability to parallel park and drive stick shift, which is made even funnier if you know he was such a car nut in real life.

The film is breezy fun, but it’s also episodic to a fault.  It often feels lightweight and slight compared to many other McQueen vehicles, which is probably why it’s usually held in such low esteem.  That’s kind of what I loved about it though.  It almost feels like a pilot for a TV series (which makes sense since director Buzz Kulick was mostly known for his television work), almost like an updating of McQueen’s Wanted:  Dead or Alive, except he’s playing his age, often for comedic effect.  

Some scenes don’t quite work, and the tone sometimes is jarring.  For instance, there’s a Trans Am chase that feels like it came out of Smokey and the Bandit.  Even though it feels goofy and out of step with the rest of the movie, it does have a pretty funny punchline though.  Some parts are almost like a soap opera and then, there’s a big Dirty Harry-style chase in the very next scene.  Despite that, McQueen’s performance is able to hold it all together and keep you engrossed in the film, even when it begins to play like a hodgepodge of different genres.

GERRY (2003) *** ½

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

THE ART OF SELF-DEFENSE (2019) ***

Jesse Eisenberg stars as Casey, a meek accountant who is accosted and mugged on a dark street.  After healing from his injuries, he decides to take up karate lessons to learn how to be more masculine and protect himself.  He excels at rudimentary karate and quickly moves up to the rank of yellow belt.  His Zen-like instructor (Alessandro Nivola) takes a shine to Casey and invites him to attend his “night class”, which is much more strenuous, deadly, and possibly illegal.  

The Art of Self-Defense reminded me a bit of Observe and Report as both films contain the same brand of dark humor.  Both also deal with men wrestling with possible mental illness working a job they are unfit to be employed.  There’s also a bit of Fight Club in there as well, as the movie starts out as primarily about fighting, but then takes a foreboding turn in the second act where the characters stop grappling and begin focusing their energy to criminal endeavors.  (Minus the satire though.)  

Eisenberg is ideally cast as the hero.  It’s fun seeing his transformation from introverted geek to alpha male.  It’s Nivola who steals the movie though.  He kinda looks like Armand Assante channeling Bruce Springsteen as the ultra-masculine, self-absorbed, and potentially whack-a-doodle “Sensei”.  He totally disappears into the role and chews the scenery while issuing hilarious monologues about what it means to be a man and the importance doing masculine things.  I know one thing:  If they ever reboot Karate Kid 3 with Nivola in the Terry Silver role, they’d have my $15.

After a rather flawless first half-hour, the film kind of falters once it becomes clear that Nivola is a nut and his night class is a front for his sociopathic tendencies.  Once he starts playing his students against each other and pushing them into illegal extracurricular activities, the fun slowly drops out of the movie.  Naturally, this all leads up to a final confrontation between Nivola and Eisenberg which manages to be surprising, frustrating, but fitting at the same time.  I can’t quite say The Art of Self-Defense is a great movie, but there are enough flashes of brilliance, especially in the early going, to make it a champion.

BOOKSMART (2019) * ½

Booksmart is essentially a female version of Superbad.  That isn’t the worst idea for a movie, but unfortunately, it’s a tone-deaf, clunky, and often times unbearable chore to sit through.  That’s mostly due to the insufferable batch of unlikeable screechy characters that we’re stuck with for 102 painful minutes. 

The film follows the time-honored high school comedy tradition of having two outcast best friends (Kaitlyn Dever and Beanie Feldstein) trying to get laid on the last night of school.  The big difference is that we have two women as our leads and one of them is a lesbian.  This could’ve worked, but there seems to be more of an emphasis on humiliation and heartbreak than anything, which runs against the grain of the silly early scenes.  

Those allegedly comedic scenes feel especially belabored and drawn out.  Working on the conceit that the girls don’t hang out with the popular kids, therefore have no idea where the party is, they must travel from lame party to lame party looking for the big kegger where all the cool kids are at.  All this does is eat up a lot of screen time, and worse, isn’t very funny.  (I think it was about the time the characters were using Harry Potter shit for pick-up lines that I started to mentally tap out.)

All Booksmart really did was make me feel old.  High school is a lot different now than when I went, that’s for sure.  Even though what the girls go through was far removed from my own experiences, the film does very little to make you care about them.  Movies like The Perks of Being a Wallflower and The Edge of Seventeen, while vastly different from my days of a teenager, still managed to engage and inform, while giving you characters you could relate to.  This movie has none of that.  

Even worse, is when it finally looks like the gay character has found a compatible match, she winds up vomiting all over her, which just seemed needlessly cruel.  First-time director Olivia Wilde handles these scenes of embarrassment and exclusion without much finesse, which makes them even more uncomfortable to watch.  The pacing especially drags in the second act as Wilde lumbers from one unfunny scene to another without much energy.  

The only real fun comes from a bizarre stop-motion drug trip scene in which our heroines are inexplicably transformed into Barbie dolls.  This sequence has a spark and edge to it that’s missing throughout the rest of the film.  Wilde’s husband, Jason Sudeikis is also good for a laugh or two as the dopey principal, but for the most part, Booksmart is rather witless.  

EAST MEETS WATTS (1974) **

Larry Chin (Alan Tang) travels from China to San Francisco to find the man who killed his wife.  Along the way, he crosses paths with a soul brother named Stud Brown (Timothy Brown) who’s being hassled by a racist cop (Aldo Ray) who handcuffs them together.  They give the cops (not to mention another assorted crop of racist shitkickers) the slip, get the cuffs off, and decide to work together to take down a local drug kingpin (James Hong).  

East Meets Watts is what you get when Al Adamson can’t make up his mind whether he wants to make a Kung Fu movie or a Blaxploitation actioner.  He splits the difference and tries to give both genres his own unique spin.  It’s obvious that the Kung Fu sequences are much more competent.  By “much more competent”, I mean they’re just as crummy as your typical low budget ‘70s chopsocky flick.  Still, there’s plenty of kicking, chopping, and nunchuck twirling to keep your interest.  We also get at least one memorable death when Tang rips a guy’s scalp off with his bare hands.  

The Blaxploitation elements are the weakest aspects of the movie, mostly because Adamson films the action so poorly.  Simple shootouts and chase scenes are rendered nearly incomprehensible thanks to the schizophrenic editing.  There’s also an unintentionally hilarious subplot involving a mute love interest (played by Carol Speed from The Mack) that will leave you howling.  

The scenes where our two heroes are cuffed together work well enough.  You almost wish they had spent the whole movie that way.  Think a Kung Fu version of The Defiant Ones.  (The Defiant Wongs?)  However, whenever they split up for their separate missions, the movie often spins its wheels.  Despite its shortcomings, I find it hard to completely dislike any film that features Aldo Ray AND James Hong, so it’s still worth watching not only for die-hard Kung Fu and Blaxploitation fans, but for connoisseurs of cult movie stars as well.

AKA:  Dynamite Brothers.  AKA:  Killing of a Chinese Bookie.  AKA:  Stud Brown.  AKA:  Main Street Women.  AKA:  Dynamite Brown.

THE YESTERDAY MACHINE (1965) **

A teenage couple break down on route to a football game.  On their way to a gas station, they cross through a wooded area with a posted “No Trespassing” sign.  The girl disappears into thin air and the boy is shot by, get this… Confederate soldiers!  A befuddled reporter and the missing girl’s lounge singing sister investigate and run smack into a Nazi plot to build a time machine.

The Yesterday Machine is just different enough from the norm to be memorable, but it’s not quite weird enough to be called “good”.  Things kick off with a memorably cheesy beginning featuring a cheerleader standing along the roadside and twirling her baton to a rock n’ roll beat.  The highlight though is the hilarious lounge number, “Leave Me Alone”, sung by Ann Pellegrino, one of the surliest performers I’ve ever heard.  This has got to be one of the most ridiculously pessimistic songs recorded on film.  This song alone is almost enough to make it recommended.  I don’t think Pellegrino has sung anything before or since.  She probably wanted to quit while she was ahead.

Unfortunately, whatever merits the film may have are canceled out by the sluggish pace.  It also suffers from a truly crappy villain.  Jack Herman, who plays the Nazi doctor, sounds like Ludwig von Drake and is about as menacing too.  Once he shows up, the whole thing gets bogged down with a lot of talky scenes of unending scientific gobbledygook.  Old time cowboy star Tim Holt gives the movie a shot of class as the police lieutenant on the trail of the Nazis, but the majority of the performers are amateurish at best.  

In short, if it wasn’t for “Leave Me Alone”, I doubt I would remember The Yesterday Machine tomorrow.

THE DEVIL’S DAUGHTER (1973) **

While attending the funeral of her estranged mother, Diane (Belinda J. Montgomery) bumps into Lilith (Shelley Winters), an old friend of the family.  Lilith invites Diane to stay in her home, and before she can even move in, the mute servant (Jonathan Frid) is trying to warn her something’s amiss.  Diane eventually figures out Lilith is some sort of Devil worshipper and gets out of there quickly.  When Diane meets the man of her dreams (Robert Foxworth), she forbids the ever-meddling Lilith to stay out of her affairs.  Too bad she was pretty much doomed from the start.

Poor Diane had to realize she was in danger right from the get-go.  I mean you know you’re in trouble when Shelley Winters invites you to stay at her house where there are devil paintings on the wall and Barnabus Collins is her mute servant.  If that doesn’t tell you that you’re trapped in a crappy Made for TV Rosemary’s Baby knockoff. directed by Jeannot Szwarc, I don’t know what will.

Written by Colin Higgins, who had just written Harold and Maude the previous year (and would go on to direct 9 to 5), The Devil’s Daughter follows the standard ‘70s Made for TV horror formula to a tee.  Something cool happens in the opening minutes to grab your attention, and then you have to wait until the last few minutes of the film for something equally compelling to occur.  Even when it finally happens, it’s wholly predictable and tame.  I guess that would’ve been an acceptable trade-off if everything in between hadn’t been such a slog. 

The supporting cast is strong though.  Diane Ladd makes a memorable impression as Diane’s ill-fated mother in the opening scene.  Joseph Cotten also does a fine job as the kindly old judge who probably isn’t all that kindly after all.  The funniest casting is Abe Vigoda as one of the Devil worshippers.  Not only do you get the hilarious visual of seeing Fish dressed in a black cultist robe, you get to hear him TRYING to do a Mexican accent, but he basically just sounds like Boris Karloff.  That alone makes The Devil’s Daughter almost worth watching. 

THE THIEF OF BAGDAD (1924) ***

Douglas Fairbanks stars as a miscreant thief who is content on picking pockets and living life like a complete scoundrel.  One day, he spies a fair princess (Julanne Johnston) and falls head over heels in love with her.  Wearing garments he’s stolen from the bazaar, the thief poses as a prince to win her hand, but is flogged publicly when his true identity is discovered.  Afterwards, a contest is held, and it is declared that the man who brings back the rarest treasure will take the princess as his bride.  The thief then goes off into the desert and faces various perils in order to find a precious treasure and prove his love. 

Fairbanks is a lot of fun to watch, especially while performing feats of derring-do and flashing his Cheshire Cat smile.  The real star though is production designer William Cameron Menzies who combines the lavish sets with the amazing costumes and the incredible special effects with eye-popping pizzazz.  Even when you can spot the seams in the matte work, the artistry needed to coordinate all those departments together (particularly for the time) is considerable.  One thing is for sure, there’s more imagination and old-fashioned movie magic on display in one given frame of this movie than many modern-day blockbusters have in their entirety. 

At 155 minutes, The Thief of Bagdad is really way too long for its own good. Things get particularly pokey during the middle section.  Once Fairbanks goes on his quest, the movie kicks into fourth gear and moves at dizzying speed.  In this stretch of the film, he fights a giant lizard, encounters a creepy looking tree man, and does battle with an enormous bat.  I think my favorite moment though was Fairbanks’ duel to the death with a vicious looking sea spider.  Too bad these scenes are rather fleeting and are quickly over before they can really begin, but monster movie fans are sure to love the creature designs.  The famous scenes of Fairbanks riding on a magic carpet pack a punch too.  

Despite the sometimes-overwhelming length, this Thief of Bagdad is a lot more fun that 1940 remake, which was co-directed by Menzies.

AKA:  The Thief of Bagdad:  An Arabian Nights Fantasy.

FINAL ROUND (1994) **

Lorenzo Lamas and his then-wife Kathleen Kinmont were the Bogey and Bacall of early ‘90s straight-to-video kickboxing movies.  This isn’t one of their finest hours, but it’s an acceptable time waster for fans who don’t mind unimaginative Most Dangerous Game variations.  After directing Lamas in three consecutive Snake Eater movies, George Erschbamer once again collaborated with Lamas for this flick.  Sadly, the touches of humor that made those films so much fun are used sparingly.  

A team of “Hunters” with cameras attached to their eyeballs chase unwilling contestants through an abandoned industrial complex while people around the world watch via satellite and bet on the outcome.  Kinmont is a spotter for the underground gambling corporation who picks Lamas to be the next contestant.  Naturally, Lamas bucks the odds as he takes out more and more Hunters.  Before long, people are placing bets on him to survive the game, which puts the livelihood of the corporation in jeopardy.

This was mostly a long slog, but there are one or two funny bits that kept it from being a total snoozer.  I highly enjoyed Lamas’ bar fight where he picks a guy up and sticks his head in a whirring ceiling fan.  He also gets a long Skinamax style sex scene with Kinmont that seemingly goes on forever.  My favorite moment was when a fellow contestant referred to the pair as “Sleazy and Cheesy”, causing Lamas to pause a moment and ask, “Wait, which one of us is ‘Cheesy’?”

Too bad the subplot that explores the business side of the underground gambling operation slows things down considerably.  Every time the film switches away from the action to focus on random phone operators taking bets or the head of the organization getting into a beef with his former underworld employer, it takes the wind out of its own sails.  Seeing the intricacies of the organization at work aren’t nearly as successful as the similar scenes in Hostel 2.  All they do is get in the way of the fun of seeing Lamas kickboxing and flambeeing dudes with cameras in their faces.  

At one point, Lamas says, “I think I’ve seen this movie before.”  You’ll probably feel the same way.  

Producer Robert Vince later went on to direct dozens of Air Bud movies.  

AKA:  Human Target.  

THE SEA WOLF (1993) ***

Cultured aristocrat Humphrey Van Weyden (Christopher Reeve) and pickpocket Flaxen Brewster (Catherine Mary Stewart) are the only survivors of a massive shipwreck.  After drifting a sea, they are eventually picked up by the crew of “The Ghost”, whose cruel captain Wolf Larsen (Charles Bronson) rules the ship with an iron fist.  He takes pleasure in putting the dandy Van Weyden to work as a cabin boy and delights in trying to break him both mentally and physically.  It’s then up to “Hump” to man up and outwit the captain at his own game aboard his own ship.

Based on the classic novel by Jack London and directed by Michael (Logan’s Run) Anderson, this made for TNT original is a solid effort all around.  If there is a drawback, it’s that it’s the kind of movie your dad (or grandfather) would watch.  The made for TV nature of the film also makes for an awfully tame adventure.  I’m sure it could be shown in English class without raising so much as an eyebrow.

For fans of Charles Bronson, this will be well worth watching as it’s easily one of his best latter-day performances.  He’s engaged, enraged, and commands the screen with ferocity.  Heck, he has more dialogue here than he did in the last three Death Wish movies combined.

Reeve makes for a good foil to Bronson’s embittered captain.  It’s fun seeing him slowly transform from aristocratic dandy to hardened seafarer and matching wits with the cunning captain who is a lot smarter (and more dangerous) than he lets on.  Marc Singer also fares well as a mutinous crew member, but unfortunately, Stewart doesn’t have much to do until the movie’s almost over.   

Bottom Line:  Even though the Made for TV budget hamstrings The Sea Wolf from really setting sail, it’s impossible to hate any movie in which Paul Kersey fights Superman while The Beastmaster looks on.

AKA:  Captain Larsen.

COSMOPOLIS (2012) *

Cosmopolis is David Cronenberg at his most basic.  It’s cold and detached, populated with characters that exhibit no feeling during sex, and even contains some body horror elements.  (In one scene, Robert Pattinson says, “My prostate is asymmetrical” with the same feeling as someone talking about the weather.)  Strip away the gooey special effects, warped sexual predilections, and psychological underpinnings of his best work, and I’m afraid all you’re left with is a stifling, self-loathing, and lethargic bore.  This is easily his all-time worst film. 

Pattinson stars as a billionaire who takes his high-tech limo to get a haircut.  There’s a lot going on in the city on that particular day.  The President is in town, a rapper’s funeral procession is going through, and there’s a big anarchist protest happening in the middle of the streets.  All this causes the limo to move at a crawl.  Because of that, he’s able to have several meetings with people inside the limo and even have lunch with his wife (Sarah Gadon) in a cafe and not miss a beat.  After several bizarre run-ins, the billionaire comes face to face with a disgruntled former employee (Paul Giamatti) who wants to kill him.

Cosmopolis is a lifeless, allegorical bore.  If you thought Pattinson looked half asleep in those Twilight movies, wait till you see him here.  There are times where you almost want to check his pulse.  There’s a scene late in the film where he asks his head of security to zap him with a taser so he can feel something.  I swear to God I never rooted for someone to be tasered so bad in my entire life.  Too bad the film is so inert that it can’t even deliver on that simple pleasure.  If his performance of a self-absorbed billionaire with lots of high-tech gadgets at his disposal is any indication, we are in serious trouble when that new Batman flick comes out.

Pattinson’s various run-ins with employees and lovers are long, dull, and interchangeable.  Even when it looks like something is going to finally happen in the climax, it doesn’t.  The finale confrontation with Giamatti goes on far too long and the ending is downright infuriating.

Gadon gets the best line of the movie when she suspects him of having an affair and says, “You reek of sexual discharge.” 

BIRDS OF PREY (AND THE FANTABULOUS EMANCIPATION OF ONE HARLEY QUINN) (2020) * ½

After a disappointing opening weekend, Warner Brothers and DC quietly changed the name of Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) to a more streamlined Harley Quinn:  Birds of Prey.  (The version I saw kept the needlessly wordy original title intact.)  The more I think about it though, the newer title is shockingly a lot more accurate.  This is a Harley Quinn movie with precious little Birds of Prey action.  The original title seems to suggest that the Birds of Prey would be the main focus with Harley Quinn’s parenthetical adventure being almost an afterthought.  That is not the case however as Harley dominates the movie.  So much so that the Birds of Prey probably only get about ten or fifteen minutes of screen time together as an actual team.  

The schizophrenic title should’ve been my tip-off that this was going to suck.  It immediately clues you in on how the movie gratuitously winks at the camera and thinks it’s oh-so precious and clever when it’s really just a noisy, ugly, and obnoxious slog.  Like the title, the picture itself is unnecessarily cluttered with a lot of extra nonsense that a more experienced director would’ve chunked in favor of forward motion.  As it is, it’s full of a bunch of little asides, flashbacks, and mini-origin stories in search of a feature film.  

For the record, I think a standalone Birds of Prey movie would’ve worked.  I also believe a Harley Quin spin-off could’ve been great.  Frankensteining the two projects together does neither property any favors.

I liked Margot Robbie as much as anyone did in Suicide Squad.  She was easily the best thing about that film.  Here, the filmmakers make her the centerpiece, which wasn’t a bad idea in theory.  However, their approach is to make the movie as colorful, rambunctious, and chaotic as the main character, which is a crucial mistake.  It’s so all over the place you might have to sprinkle a little ADHD medication over your popcorn to make sense of it.  You know you’re in trouble when the usually energetic Rosie Perez gives the most subdued performance.  

Fans of the Birds of Prey TV show and comics will probably be mystified by the handling of the non-Harley characters.  Black Canary (Jurnee Smollett-Bell) only uses her sonic scream once and Cassandra Cain (Ella Jay Basco) has more in common with Oliver Twist than Batgirl.  Only Mary Elizabeth Winstead really nails her character, Huntress.  Even then, they try to make her comical, which feels kind of forced and isn’t very successful (although I liked her interactions with the team as she is not a people person).  I mean, where’s Oracle?  How they could do a Birds of Prey movie without her is beyond me.

Only Ewan McGregor shines as the villain, Black Mask.  He doesn’t take any of this nonsense seriously and is content to just chew on the scenery.  He gets a funny line or two, but that’s not nearly enough to make it worth the slog.  Chris Messina might’ve gotten to sink his teeth into the role of his henchman, Victor Zsasz, but he’s pretty much wasted.

Most of the movie plays like the byproduct of an offscreen bet between film departments to see who could louse up their job the most.  The costumes are atrocious, the lightning is garish, and the cinematography is ugly.  At least the fight scenes are coherent, although only one of them (Harley’s action sequence in the police station) is memorable.  

The R rating feels gratuitous too.  The adult approach to Joker and the in-joke snark of Deadpool warranted an R rating.  Here, it just feels like a tween who just found out they can say the word “fuck” and begin tossing it out whenever they feel like it.  

In short, Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous yada, yada, yada) is by far the worst DC Extended Universe movie and their worst effort since the much-maligned Superman Returns.

DC Extended Universe Scorecard:  

Batman v Superman:  Dawn of Justice: ****

Man of Steel:  ****

Aquaman:  *** ½

Wonder Woman:  *** ½

Justice League:  *** ½

Shazam!:  ***

Suicide Squad:  ***

Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn):  * ½

AKA:  Harley Quinn:  Birds of Prey.  

DATE BAIT (1960) ** ½

Brad (Richard Gering) is a disturbed hophead who gets out of jail to find his ex, Sue (Marlo Ryan) is now in the arms of Danny (Gary Clarke from How to Make a Monster).  Almost immediately, they begin brawling at the local juke joint.  Brad’s brother Nico, a small-time gangster who looks after him and mops up his messes, warns Danny to stay away from Sue.  Naturally, they end up eloping, which sends Brad over the edge. 

Date Bait comes to us from the makers of High School Caesar, and it’s a pretty sleazy juvenile delinquent movie for the time.  The surprising use of heroin (we see Brad with the needle, but not it going into his arm) is what makes it memorable.  I mean we’re not talking about The Man with the Golden Arm or anything here, but the fact that it broaches the subject of drug abuse so boldly (Gering’s wild-eyed junkie performance would look right at home in Reefer Madness) is enough to make you take notice.

Overall, this isn’t nearly as strong of a film as High School Caesar.  That’s mostly because the storyline isn’t quite as involving.  What made Caesar feel so fresh was that there weren’t a lot of unnecessary parents and guardians chastising their JD kids.  Date Bait is rife with them, and the scenes of the temperamental fathers grounding their daughters and unsympathetic big brothers not listening to their troubled siblings until it’s too late really bog things down.  Also, Clarke is merely serviceable in the lead and lacks the intensity of a John Ashley.  Gering is pretty good as the hopped-up dope fiend though.

While Date Bait lacks the energy of High School Caesar, director O’Dale Ireland does deliver a decent car chase sequence.  He also gives us enough scenes of teenagers dancing in malt shops to make it watchable.  Say what you will about the movie, but you have to respect any director who makes a film that features a scene where teenagers hold a calypso picnic.  That alone is enough to make you wish Ireland directed more stuff.  

HIGH SCHOOL CAESAR (1960) ***

John Ashley stars as Matt, a juvenile delinquent who runs a low-rent racketeering operation out of his high school.  Together with his hoodlum friends, they routinely shake down their fellow classmates.  This of course means he’s a natural fit for politics.  Matt rigs the election to get himself voted president of the student body and uses his newfound powers to have his flunkies steal test answers, which they sell for a profit.  The seeds of his downfall are sewn when he accidentally kills a classmate in a fit of road rage and flees the scene.

High School Caesar has everything you could possibly want in a juvenile delinquent movie.  It’s populated with greasers in leather jackets, flunkies with names like “Cricket” and “Stick”, hot rods, and teenagers dancing to rock n’ roll in malt shops.  This one is just different enough to distinguish itself from the rest of the pack.  For instance, most JD flicks feature drag racing.  In this one, it’s a big road race with over a dozen entrants tearing hell down a dirt road.  

I also appreciated the fact that the adults were largely absent from the picture.  That means there’s no useless subplots about town sheriffs warning teens about speeding or lame scenes of teachers trying to “reach” their students.  In fact, much is made about Ashley’s absentee parents being the cause of his delinquency.  He’s really just a misunderstood mixed-up kid looking for attention who’s lashing out because his rich daddy never hugged him.  Heck, he probably would’ve been okay if his dad called him now and again.

Writer/director/producer O’Dale Ireland only made one other movie, Date Bait, which was High School Caesar’s co-feature when it played on drive-in double bills.  That’s unfortunate too because he does a fine job, especially on the racing scenes.  He also gives the finale, in which Ashley’s peers turn on him, a dreamlike quality that is unlike many similar genre films of the time.

ASSAULT OF THE REBEL GIRLS (1959) ½ *

Assault of the Rebel Girls was Errol Flynn’s last movie, and what a depressing swan song it is.  Legend goes Flynn owed an investor another movie on his contract.  In a pinch, he took footage from Cuban Story, a pro-Castro documentary he directed, had his drinking buddy Barry (The Beast Who Killed Women) Mahon film a handful of new “dramatic” scenes, and cobbled this together.  Flynn appeared as “The American” (who is basically himself) and gave the leading lady role to his seventeen-year-old girlfri… uh… “protege”, Beverly Aadland.  The results are akin to watching a partially dramatized newsreel directed by Coleman Francis.

The plot has Flynn going down to Cuba to see firsthand the rise of Castro.  Meanwhile, an American girl played by Aadland searches for her boyfriend who left home to join up with the revolution.  Naturally, it doesn’t take long for her to get caught up in the cause.

Assault of the Rebel Girls is shoddy in every way imaginable.  The bulk of the film is comprised of long scenes of documentary footage narrated by Flynn.  The Cuban footage is mind-numbingly dull, which makes the hour-long running time feel about three times longer.  I mentioned Coleman Francis earlier, and that’s really the best comparison I can make.  Assault of the Rebel Girls would make an ideal double feature with Francis’ Red Zone Cuba as both contain long, perplexing stretches where nothing happens.  

Although the ads made a big deal about Aadland being Flynn’s protégé, she can’t act to save her life.  She manages to botch even the simplest of line readings.  (I did like her delivery of this chestnut though:  “The man I love is somewhere in this lousy, stinking jungle and I’m gonna find him!”)  It’s almost as if Flynn wasn’t even teaching her how to act!  What’s interesting is that even in their scenes together, there is zero chemistry between them.  That’s kind of odd for a pair who are allegedly banging… I mean…. engaged in a mentor/protégé relationship.

The mixture of turgid love story, half-assed war scenes, and haphazard insertion of documentary footage will leave you doubting your sanity.  You can’t blame Flynn for looking blitzed.  I’d be drunk as a skunk while making this turkey too.  (He especially looks hammered during his final pro-Castro speech to the camera.) 

This was Mahon’s first feature.  It’s probable that most of the movie’s problems weren’t his fault as he was likely just doing what Flynn told him to do.  Thankfully, Mahon got much better at directing, especially once he turned his talents to the nudie-cutie market.  (There’s a brief skinny-dipping scene that sort of portends Mahon’s eventual nudie career, although nothing is shown.)  

Mahon was the real-life inspiration for the Steve McQueen character in The Great Escape.  If you ask me, Hollywood really needs to make an Ed Wood-style biopic about his life.  Unlike Plan 9, Assault of the Rebel Girls isn’t enjoyable in the least.  However, the circumstances around its creation ensure its place in cult movie history. 

AKA:  Cuban Rebel Girls.

THE KILLING KIND (1973) ***

Terry (John Savage) is an already disturbed young man when his friends force him to participate in a gang rape.  He takes the rap for his friends and winds up going to prison.  Terry gets out two years later, much to the delight of his overbearing and suffocating mother (Ann Sothern).  She thinks everything will be okay since he’s safe at home, but unbeknownst to her, Terry sneaks out at night and gets revenge on the people he blames for landing him in jail.  Meanwhile, a pretty boarder (Cindy Williams, the same year as American Graffiti) and a sexually repressed neighbor (Dementia 13’s Luana Anders) take a shine to Terry and try to seduce him, which makes him even more emotionally unstable.

Directed with admirable restraint by Curtis (Night Tide) Harrington, The Killing Kind has a unique creepy vibe and an air of sinister atmosphere that hangs over the entire movie.  Harrington is more interested in examining the relationships between his conflicted characters than he is getting bogged down with cliched plot devices and delivering scares.  The dynamic between Savage and Sothern has passing similarities to Psycho (there’s even a bathtub version of Hitchcock’s shower scene), but Harrington prefers to get under the characters’ skin and find out what makes them tick to orchestrating suspenseful set pieces.  Because of that, there are some stretches where nothing happens, but the performances are strong enough to make up for some of the lengthy, sluggish passages.

Savage is great, and his tortured performance keeps you invested even when the movie is spinning its wheels.  Sothern brings a fun energy to the film too.  You’re never quite sure what she’s going to do next.  The best performance comes from Anders, who in the movie’s most memorable scene tries to drunkenly proposition Savage.

So, if you enjoy moody atmosphere rather than cheap thrills, and prefer multi-faceted characters to standard-issue horror movie victims, then The Killing Kind will be your kind of film.

CHOOSE ME (1984) ***

From the outset, writer/director Alan Rudolph’s Choose Me looks like it’s going to be a sexy thriller, but as it turns out, it’s more of an offbeat drama that’s less about sex and more about loneliness and longing.  A character finds someone they yearn and desire, yet somehow they wind up sleeping with someone else.  They feel lost and lonely, but their desire pushes them like a broken compass to places they probably shouldn’t go with people they don’t necessarily need to be with.

Lesley Ann Warren is a bar owner who gets new roommate played by Genevie Bujold.  She’s a call-in radio show host who specializes in sex therapy.  She’s traveling incognito so she can better research Warren, a frequent caller to the show.  Keith Carradine is a mental house parolee and habitual liar (or is he?) who becomes the object of desire by not only Warren, but the other female customers.

Characters intersect, most times at the bar, and leave an indelible impression on one another.  When they’re not in each other’s thoughts they’re in someone else’s thoughts (or beds).  Jazz music runs throughout the film, and the way Rudolph allows scenes to play out often feels like visual jazz.  Sometimes the riffs have structure.  Other times not.  It’s not so much about the notes, but the feeling.  

The cinematography is also kind of dreamy.  The sky often looks unnaturally purple.  The bar is filled with over stylized light, making it feel like someone’s memory of a bar rather than a functioning business. 

Choose Me maybe spins its wheels a bit too much.  There are a few narrative dead ends too, and it goes on a good fifteen minutes longer than necessary, but it’s still an engrossing little sleeper.  That’s mostly due to the performances.  Carradine and especially Warren, are terrific.  Their scenes together particularly crackle.  Some of the other interaction among the cast are a little on the uneven side, but whenever they are front and center, Choose Me is worth choosing.