THE CHINESE STUNTMAN (1982) **

Bruce Li quits working at a karate school to sell insurance.  Meanwhile, a greedy movie producer plots to kill his biggest star and collect the insurance money.  Bruce’s crooked boss is in on the scheme and lures him into brokering the deal.  Bruce, unaware of the producer’s sinister intentions, goes along with it.  Bruce befriends the star, who is impressed by his karate background, and promptly hires him to be his stunt double.  Since the rest of the stunt team is in cahoots with the producer, they try to not only eliminate the leading man, but Bruce as well.

The insurance angle is certainly novel and assures that you probably won’t completely forget this one.  However, none of it really works.  I mean there’s a reason why insurance fraud isn’t a common plot point in chopsocky films.  The scenes of backstabbing intrigue on the movie set is equally inane.  Bruce does what he can, but the fluky plot and the lethargic pacing keeps The Chinese Stuntman from ever really cutting loose. 

There are a lot of film-within-a-film fights, but they don’t advance the plot, and ultimately mean very little in the long run.  Because of that, they act more like padding than anything else.  We do get a great scene where Bruce comes back to visit his friends at the karate school and they try to beat him up.  He attempts to diffuse the situation by saying, “Come on, guys!  Let’s talk about insurance!”  Yeah, because there’s nothing like a good insurance pitch to make trained fighters lower their defenses.  

The funniest scene though is the movie star’s lengthy love scene set to an instrumental version of “Hotel California”.  Unfortunately, this scene goes out of its way to make sure his partner doesn’t show her breasts, which is a tad frustrating.  Later, when there’s another chance for nudity, the actress’s boobs are completely blurred out!  What the hell?  

Another botched opportunity for WTF lunacy occurs near the end.  That’s when the Odd Job lookalike henchman shows up, complete with razor blade hat.  Not only that, he’s accompanied by a little person who acts as his Mini-Me sidekick.  Like most of the winning moments in The Chinese Stuntman, it’s nothing more than a little throwaway bit.

AKA:  The Chieh Boxing Master.  AKA:  Counter Attack.

OASIS: SUPERSONIC (2016) ****

I wasn’t really a fan of Oasis till I saw them on a triple bill with Spacehog and The Black Crowes.  From then on, I was sold.  Even before that, I was sort of mesmerized by the offstage antics of the brothers Gallagher.  Their volatile relationship almost always preceded the band, and the agitated pair’s interviews together were often hilarious and fun to watch.

Oasis:  Supersonic chronicles their rise as one of the greatest bands of the ‘90s.  An ordinary documentary would’ve been content to show the band’s rags to riches story through talking head interviews and performance material.  Lucky for fans of the band, and lovers of documentary cinema, this is anything but ordinary.

Instead, we get an amalgam of insightful, vastly personal home movies and electrifying concert footage.  Throughout, the band members are heard on the soundtrack in brutally honest and revealing interviews that act as a firsthand account and oral history of the band’s formation and rise to stardom.  The way the home videos and new audio is synched together gives the illusion that the band is coming together before your very eyes.  It’s like you’re a fly on the wall witnessing the birth of Oasis.  

You couldn’t have asked for a better script.  The brothers Noel and Liam Gallagher, who are at once explosive and confrontational, but also immensely loyal and supportive, grind out numerous gigs in relative obscurity.  One fateful night, they meet the head of England’s hottest label, who signs them on the spot.  In a matter of months, they take the world by storm, touring the globe, and selling millions of albums along the way.  Director Mat Whitecross blends all the footage and audio together in such a way that it makes it feel like you’re seeing it unfold as it happens, which is fascinating.  

Whitecross doesn’t shy away from the darker side of the band.  Their drug use, excess, temper, and propensity for fighting is not shied away from.  We see them acting cocky and brash, with attitude to spare in interviews.  We see some of the various personnel changes, and a bit of Liam’s habit of walking off the stage in the middle of gigs, but Whitecross chooses not to portray the band’s ultimate downfall.  Instead, he ends the movie when the band is at their zenith, playing a massive concert for a quarter of a million people.  

Maybe it’s better that way.  Many lesser movies would’ve been happy to trot out the sordid details of the band’s demise.  Lesser documentaries would want to assign blame for the implosion of the band.  To pick apart what exactly went wrong.  Not only does Oasis:  Supersonic choose to end on a high note; it makes you feel like you were a part of something.  In short, this is one of the best documentaries I’ve seen in a long time.

Noel gets the best line of the movie when he says, “I want the severed head of Phil Collins in my fridge by the end of the decade!”

AKA:  Supersonic.

1313: COUGAR CULT (2012) **

I never turn down a chance to see the three greatest Scream Queens of all time, Linnea Quigley, Michelle Bauer, and Brinke Stevens in a movie together.  The fact that it’s from David DeCoteau, the director of their iconic Nightmare Sisters certainly doesn’t hurt.  Having just sat through DeCoteau’s jaw-dropping Bigfoot vs. D.B. Cooper I figured I’d give this a shot.

Quigley, Bauer, and Stevens star as a trio of witches who turn into literal cougars.  They lure three college boys to their mansion under pretense of giving them jobs as live-in servants.  Really, they want to use the boys as sacrifices in their black magic rituals.

Like Bigfoot vs. D.B. Cooper, there are a lot of scenes of shirtless guys.  Unlike that film, the scenes where they flop around on the bed while dreaming, massage each other, hose themselves off poolside, and of course, take showers, are vital to the plot.  You see, the cougars must constantly keep an eye on them because they must perform occult rituals over the boys’ bare chests and… oh... who am I kidding?  It’s all as gratuitous as ever.

1313:  Cougar Cult starts out promising enough, but it all goes downhill pretty quickly.  The endless shots of the shirtless guys, which was so over the top and fun in Bigfoot vs. D.B. Cooper, just feels repetitive here as DeCoteau fails to give them a unique vibe.  Because of that, the seventy-three-minute running time feels a lot longer. 

I also wish the trio of leading ladies had more to do.  It’s great to see them, and they all look smoking hot, but it’s far from the best use of their talents.  Having them speak in “scary” voices for much of the final act certainly didn’t help. 

The most memorable thing about 1313:  Cougar Cult was the hilarious effects.  (I hesitate to use the term “special”.)  When Linnea, Michelle, and Brinke turn into cougars, it’s nothing more than a picture of a cougar pasted over their face!  Seriously, it looks like an Instagram filter or maybe an emoji sticker.  It’s truly pathetic, but also quite funny.

I also wish the jokes were funnier.  As it is, the cougar effects are easily the funniest thing about it.  Still, there was at least one dialogue exchange that was good for a laugh:

Shirtless Guy #1:  “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth!”

Shirtless Guy #2:  “Gift horses don’t eat people!” 

BIGFOOT VS. D.B. COOPER (2014) ** ½

David DeCoteau’s Bigfoot vs. D.B. Cooper offers us one of the oddest, obscure pairings of on-screen adversaries in cinema history.  I mean everyone knows and loves Bigfoot, but will anyone under fifty even remember who D.B. Cooper was?  Something tells me today’s audiences would have a better idea who D.B. Sweeney is. 

Anyway, the movie begins with an eleven-minute pre-title scene of our hero Bernie (Jordan Rodriguez) walking shirtless through the woods.  In real time.  DeCoteau’s attention to detail in this scene is almost Warholian as we see every blessed step of his journey.  There’s no payoff or anything.  It’s just an excuse for DeCoteau to show off Rodriguez’s chiseled abs.

This is almost immediately followed up by a nine-minute scene of two other shirtless guys jogging.  After their jog, they change clothes.  That is to say, they change their shorts.  I don’t even think they bothered to pack a shirt.

Hot off the heels of that perplexing scene there are not one, not two, not three, but FOUR consecutive scenes where guys strip down to their underwear and pose with guns in front of a mirror.  Oh, and did I mention Bigfoot has been voyeuristically watching them the whole time?  This movie is amazing. 

If you’re wondering what D.B. Cooper has to do with all this, fear not.  The narrator, Bernie’s present-day self, tells us all the sordid details of Cooper’s daring mid-air heist in between the scenes of guys walking around in their underwear.  Oh, I guess I should tell you the narrator is played by none other than Eric Roberts.  I have a sneaking suspicion that Roberts’ narration was taken during the same recording session as the one for DeCoteau’s A Talking Cat.  That is to say, DeCoteau just recorded a phone conversation he had with Roberts and put it into a movie.

Did I mention the characters have all congregated in the woods for a pre-wedding turkey shoot?  That is supposed to explain why the guys walk around in their underwear holding rifles.  It does not explain why supposedly seasoned hunters would venture out into the woods with their guns ready to hunt and not wear camouflage, let alone a shirt.

Seriously, the shirt budget for this movie was virtually nonexistent.  

There’s more.  A lot more.  There’s a long shower scene where a guy spends a long time washing one specific part of his anatomy.  There’s a scene where a guy goes looking for another guy and says, “Morgan…” about 128 times in a span of eight minutes.  There are shots that alternate from day to night in the same scene, just like an Ed Wood movie. 

Bigfoot vs. D.B. Cooper is not a good movie in a traditional sense.  Like at all.  However, I must give DeCoteau credit.  He shamelessly projected his cinematic obsessions onto the screen and committed to it like few others have ever dared.  Say what you will about it, but it’s all his.  Only DeCoteau could make it, which is the sign of a true auteur. 

There is barely seven minutes of plot in the seventy-six-minute running time.  You also have to wait until the seventy-minute mark to finally see the confrontation between the two titular characters.  Some may feel cheated because of that.  Then again, the revelation that Bigfoot’s mythology operates on werewolf logic is almost worth the wait.  

One thing I try not to call directors out on is self-indulgence.  I mean why make a movie unless you can indulge yourself?  This might be the most self-indulgent movie of all time.  Never before has someone’s cinematic fetishes been so brazenly displayed for the world to see.  You have to admire that level of confidence.  

Alfred Hitchcock had his blondes.  Russ Meyer had his impossibly busty women.  David DeCoteau has guys with rock-hard six packs in boxer briefs.

Let’s face it.  Women in these movies have been crassly objectified for years.  It’s about time the guys were too.  

I guess what I’m trying to say is that this is quite possibly the greatest gay bigfoot voyeur movie of all time.  

If we are judging Bigfoot vs. D.B. Cooper on the merits of what conventional pundits consider to be “good”, it would be a One Star movie, if not lower.  If, however, we are judging it as a director working at the height of his powers, shamelessly giving in to his desires and putting it all out there for the world to see, it’s a Four Star deal, easily.  So, we’ll split the difference and call it ** ½.  

Bigfoot vs. D.B. Cooper exists in a realm where Star Ratings don’t exist.  It must be experienced to be believed.  I don’t know if I can quite call it “The Next Plan 9” or anything, but it’s certainly one of the most unforgettable cult movies I’ve seen in recent memory.

666: DEVILISH CHARM (2014) * ½

A group of sorority sisters come into possession of a demonic charm bracelet that grants wishes to the wearer.  Once they reach their six-wish limit, the devil takes their soul.  It’s then up to the lone brainy sister in the bunch to outwit the devil and reclaim her friends’ souls.

666:  Devilish Charm plays like a mash-up of director David DeCoteau’s Nightmare Sisters and Sorority Babes in the Slimeball Bowl-O-Rama.  That sounds almost too good to be true.  Trust me, it is.  If you think this comes close to matching either of those classics, you’re going to have to keep wishing.

Like Nightmare Sisters, it’s about a group of girls who are stuck at their sorority when their sisters leave them all alone.  (In this case, on Valentine’s Day.)  Like Sorority Babes, the plot hinges heavily on wishes.  (Except this time, it’s a stupid talking bracelet instead of a cool, foulmouthed imp.) 

I guess most of this would’ve been okay if there was some T & A or gore like in Nightmare and Sorority.  However, this is so tame that even though it’s supposedly “unrated”, it could’ve easily been PG.  Heck, if they lost one or two double-entendres it would probably wind up on The Disney Channel.  (Even with all the girls in bikinis and shirtless guys gadding about.)

The plot certainly smacks of The Disney Channel, right down to the childish level of the wishes.  Most times, a character will say something to her friend like “I wish you’d shut your mouth!” and her mouth becomes stuck.  Yes, it’s that dumb.

It’s not all bad though.  There are one or two actual chuckles, however that’s not nearly enough to put salve on the wound.  There are also flashbacks within flashbacks and flashbacks to things we just saw ten minutes ago to help pad out the already scant seventy-eight-minute running time (which feels much longer due to the overly repetitive, herky-jerky plot). 

AKA:  Devilish Charm.

THE DISASTER ARTIST (2017) ***

James Franco directed and stars as Tommy Wiseau in The Disaster Artist, which is a chronicle of the making of The Room.  I guess Franco was trying to make an Ed Wood for this generation.  You know, showing the hopes and aspirations of (allegedly) untalented filmmakers who against all odds manage to make a movie so bad (or unique, depending on your point of view) that it becomes legendary.  While it lacks the poignancy of Ed Wood, it certainly is a doozy of a showcase for Franco.

Tommy meets Greg Sestero (Dave Franco) in acting class and they bond over their love of acting, movies, and James Dean.  Greg is an inhibited pretty boy who is intrigued by Tommy’s fearlessness on stage, even if it does look fucking crazy.  Together, they make a promise to stick by one another through thick and thin.  After years of not making it big in Hollywood, they finally decide to make their own movie, the one and only The Room.

Franco disappears into the role of Wiseau completely.  He captures his mystique and larger than life personality perfectly.  He never turns him into a cartoon though and even gets you rooting for his underdog character.

At its heart, The Disaster Artist as a tribute to the dreamer.  It’s about following your dreams no matter how big and no matter your skill set.  If there is a flaw, it’s that it’s missing the energy of the film its chronicling.  Then again, the recreations of The Room are fun (especially the side by side comparisons near the end), even if they do lack the unbridled zeal of the movie.  

I guess another quibble I had was that it also feels a bit rushed near the end.  The idea that Wiseau could win over the audience in one screening sort of smacks of your standard biopic formula (as does Seth Rogen’s character, who is basically there to relay to the audience just how bad the movie is and why Wiseau’s unorthodox directorial decisions are wrong).  It’s hard to know how broad the movie’s appeal will be.  I don’t know if anyone beyond fans of The Room will want to have anything to do with it.  All I know is that as a fan of The Room, and Franco, I had fun with it.

ANNIHILATION (2018) **

A meteor crashes on Earth and creates what scientists refer to as “The Shimmer”, a giant translucent bubble that envelopes a swamp.  The government sends search parties into the ever-expanding bubble, but only Oscar Isaac has come out of The Shimmer alive, and barely at that.  His concerned wife (Natalie Portman) convinces the project leader (Jennifer Jason Leigh) to let her join up with the next mission.  You see, this time they’re going to send a team of lady scientists and soldiers into The Shimmer to find its source.  I mean the men clearly haven’t produced results, so why not let the women have their shot?   

The opening of director Alex (Ex Machina) Garland’s Annihilation is a real grabber.  The thrilling opening eventually gives way to endless scenes of women walking around while occasionally bumping into some pretty lame mutants.  The recipe for something special was there, but Garland brings no tension to the table once we enter The Shimmer.  It’s at this point where Garland, who had built up the mystery surrounding the giant bubble so well, throws up his hands and allows things to just sort of happen.  Instead of giving us a prolonged sense of dread or an unraveling of a mystery, he’s content to toss scenes from The Thing, Prophecy, Knowing, Alien, and whatever the heck the latest SYFY Channel Killer Crocodile flick was, put them into a blender, and hit the puree button.

Of course, I’m going to spoil the ending because it’s so hilariously stupid that we HAVE to talk about it.  After almost two hours of pussyfooting around, Portman finally comes in contact with the source of the whole deal and it turns out to be alien mass that speaks like beats from an EDM rave.  Then, if that wasn’t stupid enough, it turns into shitty looking Slenderman thing and together, the two of them do a re-enactment of the mirror scene from Duck Soup.  I shit you not.

Speaking of shit, you have to admire the grandiose way the movie shits the bed.  I mean when it shits the bed, it shits it hard.  Full force.  Clear through the mattress and down to the box springs.  When it shits the bed, there are no half-measures involved.  It shits it while looking at you dead in the eye knowing damned well you’re going to be the one to clean it up, and giving zero fucks along the way. 

Despite all that, the set-up is quite marvelous.  Leigh is excellent as the leader and Portman delivers another fine performance.  Besides, if you ever wanted to see Padme cheat on Anakin with Poe Dameron, here’s your chance.