FANTASM (1976) ***

Before he directed the Ozploitation horror flicks Patrick and Road Games, Richard Franklin made this breezy, funny, and sexy softcore comedy.  The crew was split between Australia and Los Angeles, which meant Franklin was able to utilize a veritable who’s who of talent from the ‘70s American hardcore scene.  John Holmes, Rene Bond, Candy Samples, Uschi Digard, William Margold, and Serena all turn up at one point or another, which makes it a treat for fans of vintage smut.  

“The Wraparound Sequences” (*** ½) begin with a woman quietly pleasuring herself.  Then, a German shrink (John Bluthal) walks into her bedroom and begins addressing the audience (much to her confusion).  He informs us on the importance of opening up about our sexual fantasies instead of keeping them secret.  He then tells ten stories about ten different women and their sexual fantasies.  

“Beauty Parlor” (***) involves Dee Dee Levitt being pampered in a salon by three men.  This sequence is probably the least sexy of the bunch, but it’s not without its charms.  The slow build-up eventually leads to a nice payoff when Levitt climaxes while her nether region is being shaved.

The second segment, “Card Game” (*** ½) finds a married woman (Maria Arnold) getting sucked into a strip poker game with her husband and his friends (one of whom is William Margold).  Eventually, it turns into an all-out orgy.  This sequence delivers a nice balance of yearning and fulfillment, and Arnold does a fine job as the unsure wife who slowly lets down her guard and becomes increasingly uninhibited.   

Gretchen Gayle stars as a horny housewife in “Wearing the Pants” (****).  While daydreaming in her kitchen, she notices a pervert (Con Covert) stealing her undergarments from the clothesline and gets her revenge by using a strap-on on him.  This segment is just plain fun.  Most of that is credited to the drop-dead gorgeous Gayle who is clearly relishing playing the role of dominatrix.

“Nightmare Alley” (***) features Rene Bond fantasizing about being tied up and raped in a boxing ring.  Fans of “roughies” (and Bond) should enjoy this interracial scene.  However, it’s much too brief to deal with the psychological underpinnings inherent in her fantasy. 

The fifth story, “The Girls” (****) is the real centerpiece.  It involves Uschi Digard seducing a bookish woman (Marta Lutra) in a sauna.  Whereas the other sequences were fanciful, comical, or lurid, this one is just straight-up intensely erotic.  Franklin does a good job at showcasing the women and their contrasting body types (Lutra has a small, girlish figure while Digard is, of course, massively bosomed), which adds to the overall intensity.  I especially liked the coda when the two women are eventually engulfed in steam, making it a perfect capper on this mini-masterpiece of ‘70s erotica.  

John Holmes pops out of a swimming pool naked and rubs fruit on the naked body of a lonely housewife in “Fruit Salad” (** ½).  Despite his presence, it’s one of the weakest sequences in the bunch (unless you have a food fetish, that is).  While this segment is somewhat lacking, it’s the only one that features hardcore footage, albeit briefly (and underwater to boot).

“Mother’s Darling” (***) has Candy Samples’ son coming home from war and she rewards him with a hot bath.  The tone of this incestuous sequence is all over the place.  Her son goes from making disturbing confessions of the trauma he experienced in war to using a rubber ducky on his mother in a comical manner.  It doesn’t quite work, but Samples is sexy enough to make up for its shortcomings.  

“Black Velvet” (** ½) features a black hooker (Shayne) who sits three of her clients down on a bed and then does a striptease for them.  As she does so, she fantasizes about being a stripper on stage.  There really isn’t much going on in this segment, which feels kind of like filler compared to the more outrageous episodes, but it isn’t bad, all things considered.

Roxanne (Female Chauvinists) Brewer steals the show in “After School” (*** ½).  She plays a big-titted schoolgirl teasing her teacher (Al Ward), who gets so frustrated that he spanks her.  Brewer has a commanding screen presence and is super sexy in this sequence, which gives her an ample opportunity to show off her exquisite frame.

The final sequence is “Blood Orgy” (** ½).  It revolves around Serena being fucked and sacrificed on an altar by a Satanic cult.  Despite the prime set-up, it doesn’t go anywhere and is over much too quickly.  I did like the imaginative use of a candle though.

As with any anthology, Fantasm is pretty uneven.  However, Franklin, a disciple of Hitchcock, fills many of the segments with artsy touches that make them stick out.  Whether it’s a clever use of mirrors (as in the first sequence) or unique sexual positions (there’s a hot scene involving a rocking chair) or subtle camerawork (like in the dominatrix sequence), these little flourishes help to heighten the sexual atmosphere.  The wraparound sequences of the German shrink introducing each segment are also good for a few laughs, which adds to the fun.  Franklin’s eventual Hollywood output was a bit of a mixed bag, but this is probably the most blatantly fun movie he ever made (although you could definitely make a case for FX 2:  The Deadly Art of Illusion).

AKA:  World of Sexual Fantasy.

SANTO FACES DEATH (1969) **

The El Santo movies that don’t rely on fantastic elements are usually the toughest ones to sit through.  Santo Faces Death is no exception. The closest the flick comes to the horror-inspired silliness the series is known for is the shot of a poster outside an arena that promises El Santo will be fighting Dracula.  Unfortunately, neither of his opponents look anything close to the classic bloodsucker.  

The plot, such as it is, is rather dull.  It finds everyone’s favorite masked wrestler hunting emerald thieves.  The ringleader of the group is a shadowy figure who wears a large brimmed hat and keeps his face hidden until it’s time for the big reveal.  

Things kick off with what looks like a homemade version of The Dirty Dozen filmed in someone’s backyard.  This sequence looks incredibly cheap, and is sometimes laughable, which perfectly sets the tone for the rest of the film.  I did enjoy the reveal of the commanding officer, who turns out to be a sexy redhead, though.  

Sure, Santo Faces Death may be a dull and lackluster entry compared to his more bombastic outings, but at least there’s plenty of eye candy to go around.  Both the film’s nightclub performances feature alluring women, one dressed as harem girl, and the other as a sexy belly dancer.  Of the movie’s four wrestling sequences, two involve lady wrestlers.  In addition, two of the opponents get into a frenzied catfight in the dressing room after the match!  While none of these sequences are particularly stellar, they do add to the abundance of feisty females that dominate the picture.

Much of the film feels like it’s on autopilot though.  Many clichés from previous El Santo vehicles are recycled yet again.  (There’s yet another assassination attempt during a wrestling match.)  The scenes of El Santo hunting down his foes are hampered by a shitty score that’s painfully ill-fitting and helps deflate any of the tension.  The public domain library music is often repeated over and over and the Muzak version of “Sunny” feels really out of place. 

As you can see, the quality runs from shoddy to piss-poor, with the crummy camerawork and editing (or sometimes lack thereof) being the chief culprits.  It really bogs down in between the action sequences (which includes El Santo battling an evil double and getting involved in a fencing match) too.  Because of that, Santo Faces Death never quite gets itself into gear.  Still, if you ever wanted to see El Santo skydive, here’s your chance.  

NIGHT OF SAN JUAN: SANTO IN BLACK GOLD (1977) ** ½

A messenger bursts into the boardroom of an oil company and demands his terrorist organization be paid a huge ransom.  When security tries to apprehend the man, he jumps out the window, and his mangled remains reveal him to be a robot double.  The board members then turn to El Santo to stop the terrorists. 

Directed by El Santo’s frequent collaborator, Frederico (The Mummies of Guanajuato) Curiel, the highlight of this uneven entry comes when El Santo goes to see his girlfriend Marta (Rossy Mendoza) perform at a nightclub.  In order to go out in public unrecognized, he wears a Mission:  Impossible-style false face to keep his identity a secret.  What makes it even better is the face he wears makes him look like Charles Bronson!  I can’t tell you how tickled I was to learn that the actor playing El Santo in this scene is a wrestler whose gimmick was... wait for it... being a Charles Bronson imitator! 

After watching Marta perform her act (she’s backed by a mariachi band) and jiggle around in revealing body stocking, El Santo (who’s now wearing his signature silver mask) takes her for a walk on the beach.  It doesn’t take long before they are jumped by several goons.  What I like about this scene aside from the fact that it jumps from night to day several times (sometimes within successive shots), is that Marta is no damsel in distress.  She fights back against her attackers with everything she has (and she has quite a bit). 

El Santo eventually squashes the terrorist organization by disguising himself as a priest and going undercover inside a prison.  It’s here where the villain’s all-robot army is hiding out.  The part where the priest rips off his face to reveal El Santo underneath is priceless.  More movies should feature a hero who wears a mask on top of another mask. 

There are two wrestling scenes in this flick, and both feature a lot of production value compared to the wrestling matches found in most of El Santo’s movies.  Instead of taking place in nearly empty arenas it looks like he’s playing to packed houses. (The second match is a tag team bout held inside a baseball stadium).  Both fights look like they were probably taken wholly from televised matches.  At any rate, the matches are long, involved, and fun to watch. 

All in all, Night of San Juan:  Santo in Black Gold is a decent enough Lucha Libre flick.  It just needed a bit more wackiness to put it over the top to make it a must-see.  Human henchmen with a few wires dangling from their ears parading around as “robots” only take it so far. 

Also, much of the nighttime finale is too dark to see, which kind of ends things on a down note.  It needed a bit tighter editing too as the scene where El Santo escapes from the prison goes on much too long.  Speaking of editing, like most of these things, there’s also a steamy version with added sex scenes (which may explain why two titles are shown on screen).  Unfortunately, I saw the regular version, but I imagine a dose of gratuitous nudity probably would’ve made this a *** affair. 

AKA:  Black Gold.  AKA:  Santo in Black Gold.  

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.