HINDSIGHT IS 2020: CORONA ZOMBIES (2020) **

 

A lot of people were up in arms when Full Moon’s Charles Band released this horror-comedy in the midst of the pandemic.  It was derided as being poorly timed and having even poorer taste.  I won’t argue those points.  I will say, that as far as cobbled-together cash-ins of global disasters go, you can do a lot worse.

Basically, what we have here is a modern-day equivalent of What’s Up, Tiger Lily? (or Kung Pow:  Enter the Fist for you younglings).  Instead of inserting a new, humorous dialogue track into a Bond rip-off or a cheap Kung Fu movie, we have a redubbed version of Bruno Mattei’s already pretty entertaining Night of the Zombies (AKA:  Hell of the Living Dead).  Not content to just steal from Night of the Zombies, we also get scenes from Zombies vs. Strippers that appears as part of a “Breaking News” bulletin.  Along with that is some cheap linking footage of two bimbos talking to each other on the phone about what to do during the pandemic.

Some of this is already dated, if you can believe it.  (Do people still advise you not to touch your face anymore?)  Much of it is tasteless.  Even more of it is just plain dumb.  Some of it, God help me, is actually kind of funny. 

The footage from Night of the Zombies is repurposed so that the viral outbreaks occurs at “Scramble’s Soup Factory” (or “Scamble’s” if you read the news ticker).  “The Corona Squad” is deployed to take out a warlord who’s hoarding toilet paper.  Eventually, they come face to face with the dreaded Corona Zombies.

Many of the gags are sophomoric.  A lot of them are sub-sophomoric.  (Is “freshmantic” even a word?)  I can honestly say that about half of the jokes are in poor taste, obvious, or downright crude.  There are jokes about social distancing, hand washing, and the Me Too movement.  No low-hanging fruit goes unpicked.  However, some of the non-virus-related throwaway lines are funny.

That said, the laughs kind of dry up by the end, and the new scenes with the two bimbos get stupider as they go along.  (What the hell is with the shower scene in which the bimbo is completely clothed?)  Thankfully, it’s only an hour long.  If only 2020 came and went just as fast.

One of the bimbos gets the best line of the movie after her friend tells her to turn on the news and she replies, “News?  Ewws!”

HINDSIGHT IS 2020: A LOOK BACK

Usually around this time, I start getting ready for the year-end Video Vacuum Awards show.  Even though the nominations don’t come out until the end of January, I start trying to watch as many Oscar-bait films as I can while playing catch-up on the movies I missed over the summer.  As I was compiling my Top Ten Films of the Year (So Far) list, I was astounded to learn that I only legitimately liked SEVEN of those films on that list.  I then started looking at my movie-watching list for the year and was shocked to discover I had only watched NINETEEN movies from 2020 all year.  (For comparison purposes, I watched forty-four 2019 releases during 2019.)  I was stunned when I learned I had only watched TWO movies in the theater all year (not counting the Fathom Events rerelease of King Kong).  You want to know the last time I only saw two theatrical movies in a calendar year?  1982!  When I was FOUR YEARS OLD!  You want to know what those two movies were?  E.T. and Rocky 3!  You want to know what the two movies I saw in the theater this year were?  Birds of fucking Prey and The Invisible fucking Man!  How can that even be possible?

Oh yeah.  Global pandemic.  That’s right.

Folks, I was almost ready to scrap the whole awards show.  Instead, I was going to do a mini-wrap-up of the 2019 movies I had seen in 2020 and call it a day. 

However, I decided that if I did that, I’d be letting the virus win.  I refuse to let a shitshow of a year ruin such a momentous occasion as The 14^th Annual Video Vacuum Awards.  Instead, I am going to plow forward and watch as many 2020 movies as I can until I beef up those movie-watching numbers, or at least have enough fodder to create actual award categories. 

Time will tell how many new releases I will watch, but one thing is for sure:  I will do my best to find films that showcase the best, brightest, and most talented performers, technicians, and filmmakers that are working in the business today; not only as a tribute to them, but to the artform to which they tireless sacrifice.  

And with that, I am proud to proclaim the first film I will be watching under the new Hindsight is 2020 column will be… uh…

UNTAMED MISTRESS (1955) **

Ron Ormond’s cut and paste jungle adventure, Untamed Mistress is sort of in the same vein as his Mesa of Lost Women.  That is to say, it’s pretty much a fucking mess.  Hey, at least there’s some nudity in the third act, which is more than I can say for Mesa. 

Two brothers on safari tend to their dying hunting guide.  He tells them a long story about how he used to be a big-time prince and traded it all in for the love of his life, a jungle girl who ran off to be one with the gorillas.  One of the brothers just so happens to be romancing a sexy jungle girl who may also succumb to the same fate.

The first act is full of flashbacks and footage from another movie.  The second act has a bunch of scenes of the heroes interacting with stock footage.  Things come to life in the third act though when the monkey business involving the guy in the gorilla suit comes into play, but until then, it’s rough going throughout most of the picture.

Some of Ormond’s attempts to blend the stock footage with the newly shot scenes works well enough.  The color palette matches more often than not, and the animal shots don’t look too grainy.  It’s when Ormond tries to mesh the actors in with the native dancing do things really become laughable.  (It’s obvious the dancers are part of some sort of exhibition as there are clearly hundreds of people watching from bleachers.) 

This stretch of the movie not only contains some completely gratuitous stock footage of native nudity, it also features some completely gratuitous new footage of native nudity, which I’m sure was the main attraction back in ‘55.  It’s a lot more T & A than many films from the era have, but it takes a long time to get there, and it’s not exactly worth the wait.  Still, I have a soft spot for movies in which guys in gorilla suits carry off gorgeous women into the jungle, so I can’t be too hard on it.

The lead actors are dull, but Jacqueline Fontaine periodically puts a little spark into the picture as Velda, the saucy jungle girl.  She gets one particularly good scene where she does an impromptu tribal dance.  In moments like this, you swear the film is about to come to life.  Most of the time though, it’s just a random assortment of scenes of guys looking at and talking about scenes from other movies. 

VARIETIES ON PARADE (1951) **

Ron Ormond got his big break in pictures making Lash La Rue westerns.  Before that, he got his start, like most performers of the era, in vaudeville.  Varieties on Parade is more or less a filmed vaudeville show with lame comedy routines, ho-hum musical numbers, and a handful of name performers. 

Eddie Garr acts as emcee.  He isn’t very funny, but he keeps the acts moving along at a steady clip.  First up are are a mother-daughter team of bicycle daredevils, followed by a pair of juggling “comedians”, Jackie (Uncle Fester!) Coogan, Jimmy and Mildred Mulcay (the harmonica duo that appear in many of Ormond’s films), a comedian who has a dog that does “tricks”, magician Ormond McGill, a woman who does a comedy number with two guys in a horse costume, and then another trick bicyclist (a solo act this time) performs.  After that, Garr introduces Lyle (Plan 9 from Outer Space) Talbot, who does a routine about an “eight-day cigarette” with a sexy doctor.  That’s followed by a cowboy star performing a country number before being joined on stage by Garr and Coogan, who help him sing another song.  Then we get girls jumping on a trampoline, a comedic ballroom dancing duo, and a comedienne who tries to put the moves on Tom (Detour) Neal.   Finally, there is a tap dancing duo (with a little person accompanying them on accordion), a bit where Coogan recreates his role as The Kid alongside a Chaplin imitator, a pretty duo do a song and dance number about Peggy Lee, and acrobats perform on a seesaw before the grand finale where everyone comes out for a curtain call.

Many of the performances are a bust, but it might’ve been worse had someone unfamiliar with the format not been at the helm.  In fact, Ormond does a good job making the mundane acts seem cinematic.  This is particularly evident in the opening scenes, which are shot in first-person.  The camera glides along as you enter the theater, are greeted by the ticket taker, and led down to the front row by an usher.  It’s a novel and effective way to make the viewer feel like a genuine vaudeville audience member.

Overall, Varieties on Parade isn’t very good, but at least you can get a glimpse of a dead artform preserved for all time.  It should also be noted that Ormond’s wife, June served as an associate producer.  This was at a time when the idea of a woman producer was almost unthinkable.  She is definitely one of the trailblazers of her day, and it’s a shame she doesn’t get the recognition she deserves.

Coogan was later in Ormond’s Mesa of Lost Women.

SANTA’S SUMMER HOUSE (2012) *

This week, I was a guest on The DTVC Podcast where Matt and I discussed this in more detail.  You can listen to our in-depth discussion of the film (among other topics) here:   DTVC Podcast 79 Santa's Summer House (talkshoe.com)

A van gets lost in the fog on the way to a summer resort.  The driver happens along a secluded mansion and decides to stop and ask for directions.  The owner, “Nana” (Cynthia Rothrock) invites the passengers to forgo their vacation and stay for the weekend with her and her husband, “Pop” (Chris Mitchum).  The guests soon come to the realization that their generous hosts are none other than Santa and Mrs. Claus. 

Santa’s Summer Home was directed by David DeCoteau.  He started his career in porn before becoming a legendary B movie director.  After helming the classics Creepazoids, Sorority Babes in the Slimeball Bowl-O-Rama, and Nightmare Sisters within the span of two years, he spent over a decade making films for Charles Band’s Full Moon Pictures, directing everything from Puppet Master to Skinamax fare. 

Around the turn of the millennium, DeCoteau branched off on his own and began churning out films at an unbelievable rate.  He alternates between gay-themed horror flicks (like the 1313 series), Lifetime Originals (like the “Wrong” series), and family entertainment like this.  Of the kid-friendly movies, A Talking Cat!?! is probably his most well-known.  Santa’s Summer House isn’t quite as jaw-droppingly bad as that one; it’s just innocuous, overlong, and boring.

At least the cast, which is chockfull of B movie action stars is interesting.  In addition to the aforementioned Cynthia Rothrock and Chris Mitchum, we have Gary Daniels, Daniel Bernhardt (playing a rocket scientist!), and Kathy Long.  You can’t really blame them for trying something new.  I’m sure they appreciate an opportunity to make a movie where they don’t have to kick somebody in the face for 90 minutes straight. 

The idea itself isn’t bad.  I mean it certainly sounds better than your typical Hallmark Channel Original where the former childhood sweethearts rekindling their love affair while trying to save the local coffeehouse or some shit.  The third act hits all the cliches you’d expect from a Christmas flick.  The workaholic dad learns he needs to pay attention to his family, squabbling sisters put aside their problems for the holidays, etc.  The cast commit to the material as best they can, but I’d much rather have seen a Christmas-themed action movie starring same cast.  Can you imagine Daniels, Rothrock, and Bernhardt saving Santa from Ninjas or terrorists or something?  That would’ve been great.

If you’re a fan of DeCoteau, you’ll enjoy seeing the same house he uses in a lot of his recent movies.  I wonder if Santa’s Summer Home is part of the same continuity as his other films.  It would be funny if Santa rents out his summer home to covens, vampires, and talking cats while he’s up at the North Pole.  Maybe DeCoteau is building up towards an Avengers-style crossover in which it all comes together.  Only time will tell.

As much as I’m trying to sugarcoat this (it is Christmas, after all), there’s no denying how bad Santa’s Summer Home is.  From the nonstop public domain Christmas music blaring in the background, to the crappy porn-level cinematography, to the cheesy Christmas card-looking wipes during the transition scenes, it’s just plain bad.  Not even a jolly performance by Chris Mitchum as Santa can save it.  (That’s a sentence I never thought I’d write.)  He certainly gives it all he’s got.  He doesn’t have a beard (because it’s the “off season”), but it is kind of funny when he randomly busts out his “Ho-Ho-Ho’s”. 

I haven’t even gotten to the worst part.  It’s a scene that will put even the most die-hard “So Bad, It’s Good” fans’ mettle to the test.  I’m talking about… croquet. 

If you’re a fan of Mystery Science Theater 3000, and you’ve seen The Lost Continent or Hercules Against the Moon Men you know what the terms “rock climbing” and “sandstorm” mean.  That’s right… DEEP HURTING.  They are scenes that stop the movie cold and zap whatever energy it had right out of it.  I’d add croquet to the list of DEEP HURTING.  About a half-hour into Santa’s Summer House, everyone stops what they are doing and plays croquet… and they play… and they play… and they play… 

In most movies, sports sequences are shown as montages.  In this one, you more or less get to watch the game unfold in real time.  Folks, this goes on for literally ten minutes.  No attempt is made to make it interesting or exciting.  They just play… and play… and play…  To make matters worse, the shaky-cam camerawork makes the whole thing look like a home movie.  Even if they had ESPN-level camerawork, it would not have made a difference.  This is Deep Hurting of the highest order.

In short, throw this one on the yule log.

AKA:  Super Dog’s Summer House.

39 STRIPES (1979) *

39 Stripes was the last film by Ron Ormond.  Like all the movies he made in the last decade of his life, it is a Christian picture.  Unlike If Footmen Tire You What Will Horses Do?, The Burning Hell, The Believer’s Heaven, and The Grim Reaper, it is not designed to scare the audience into accepting Jesus as their savior.  Instead, it’s supposed to uplift them with an inspiring story of one man’s quest for spirituality.

Ormond was a lot more fun when he was scaring the Jesus into people, that’s for sure.

39 Stripes tells the true-life story of Rev. Ed Martin, who appears as himself in the prologue.  As a reckless youth, the hotheaded Ed resorted to a life of crime to make ends meet.  He is arrested for theft and sentenced to work on a chain gang, which does little to cool his hot temper.  When he hears a religious sermon, it changes his perspective, and he starts to accept Jesus into his life.

This is frankly a slow, boring, preachy mess.  It’s only an hour long, but it feels longer than the Hellish eternity Ormond depicted in The Burning Hell.  There are no nutty quirks or bizarre imagery this time around, which will severely disappoint Ormond fans looking for another one of his wonderfully campy Christian Scare movies.  While there is a brief religious recreation near the end, it isn’t nearly as weird as Ormond’s best stuff.

At all times, 39 Stripes looks and feels just like something they would show in Sunday School.  I was nodding off almost instantly and had to resort to grabbing a cup of coffee to keep me awake.  Even then, my eyelids were growing heavy by the end of the picture.  Even the usually energetic Tim Ormond, who plays Martin, looks as if he’s merely going through the motions.

Unfortunately, this proved to be Ron Ormond’s final film.  Even though it is by far the worst Ormond movie I have seen, his other pictures are really unique and wild.  If Ormond believed what he preached, he’s up in Heaven looking down and enjoying seeing new generations of fans discovering his work.

DIAL CODE SANTA CLAUS (1990) **

Dial Code Santa Claus is a French horror flick that plays like a mash-up of Home Alone, Silent Night Deadly Night, Rambo, and Die Hard.  Thomas (Alain Musy) is a little boy who stays up late on Christmas Eve to get a glimpse of Santa Claus.  What the kid doesn’t know is it’s a killer Santa (Patrick Floersheim).  Before long, the crazy Kris Kringle begins terrorizing the boy and his half-blind grandpa (Louis Ducreux).  What Santa doesn’t know is that Thomas more or less thinks he’s Rambo, and he has an arsenal of homemade weapons, booby traps, and high-tech surveillance to help fend off the not-so Jolly Old St. Nick’s attacks. 

The way this thing started out had me thinking it was going to be some kind of classic.  The scenes of the kid suiting up for war cannily pokes fun at American action icons like Sylvester Stallone and Arnold Schwarzenegger as they closely imitate both Rambo and Commando.  I also thought it was interesting how the early scenes predicted the perils of online stalking as the creepy Santa tries to lure kids using a primitive French version of the internet.  The initial face-off between Santa and the kid works too. 

Unfortunately, it quickly goes downhill from there.  This might’ve been a fun short, but as it is, it just goes on way too long.  Although the premise is kind of thin, it could’ve worked had director Rene Manzor not played all his cards so soon.  While it often flirts with cutting loose, it always seems like it holds back just when it’s about to kick into gear.  I don’t know if that had to do with having a child as a protagonist, or what, but it just never really goes for broke.  The conclusion is needlessly drawn out as well. 

Still, I guess it’s better than watching Home Alone for the umpteenth time this year.

AKA:  Game Over.  AKA:  36.15 Code Pere Noel.  AKA:  36:15 Code Father Christmas.  AKA:  Deadly Games.