TAMMY AND THE T-REX (1994) ** ½

Director Stewart Raffill has made some weird rip-offs in his time.  Raffill’s The Ice Pirates was the nuttiest Star Wars rip-off ever made.  His Mac and Me stands as one of the most warped E.T. rip-offs in history.  Although 1994’s Tammy and the T-Rex was clearly cashing in on Steven Spielberg’s Jurassic Park, it owes just as much to Wes Craven’s Deadly Friend.

High-schooler Tammy (Denise Richards) won’t let jock Michael (the late Paul Walker) date her because she’s afraid her psycho ex Billy (George Pilgrim) will kill him.  When Billy catches them together, he quite literally throws Michael to the lions.  (There just so happens to be a wild game preserve down the road… convenient.)  While Michael is laying in a coma, a mad doctor (Friday the 13^th Part VII’s Terry Kiser) steals his body and puts his brain into an animatronic dinosaur.  Once Michael becomes self-aware, the dinosaur goes out and gets revenge on Billy and his gang. 

When Tammy and the T-Rex was originally released, it looked like a harmless kid’s movie.  That’s because all the extreme gore had been removed by the producers.  Thanks to Vinegar Syndrome, the gore has been reinstated so we get to see all the squished faces, severed heads, and ripped-out guts in all their glory.  I’m sure the film would’ve played strangely enough without all the blood and guts.  With them, it just makes the whole experience that much more puzzling. 

I mean, you have to wonder who this movie was made for.  It’s almost like a Disney Channel film directed by Herschell Gordon Lewis.  It’s so schizophrenic that it’s hard to really appreciate because of the wild shifts in tone.  (At least The Ice Pirates is consistent in its WTF tone.)  However, for fans of seeing big-name movie stars paying their dues by starring in low budget crap before they were famous, it’s kind of hard to beat. 

I think the thing I enjoyed most about it was the conceit that the dinosaur is animatronic.  It’s as if Raffill knew he wasn’t fooling anyone with that dinosaur.  Either that or they didn’t have the proper time and budget to light and showcase the giant prop to effectively make it look realistic.  I bet when Spielberg saw this, he was kicking himself for using “real” dinosaurs in his flick.

As much as I wanted to like Tammy and the T-Rex, there were just too many clunky parts that didn’t quite fit.  The most ill-fitting stuff is included in the subplot where Tammy tries to steal a dead body to use as a host for her boyfriend’s brain.  This does lead to a truly bizarre scene where she does a striptease for a disembodied brain, so it’s not all bad.

AKA:  Tanny and the Teenage T-Rex.  AKA:  Tanny of the Teenage T-Rex.  AKA:  Tammy and the Teenage T-Rex.  AKA:  Teenage T-Rex.

DR. SATAN AND BLACK MAGIC (1968) ** ½

The Devil awakens his emissary of evil, Dr. Satan and orders him to track down and destroy a vampire who is searching for a formula that can change metal into gold.  Dr. Satan knows he can’t do it alone, so he turns a bunch of hot babes into his personal zombie henchwomen.  Meanwhile, some Interpol agents are trying to stop both villains before it’s too late.

The version I saw didn’t have subtitles, so if there were any other plot intricacies, I didn’t pick up on them.  Honestly, the best Mexican horror films of the era don’t need subtitles.  I can’t say Dr. Satan and Black Magic is among the best of its kind, but there are a few moments of cinematic nuttiness that translate into any language.  The cinematography, for starters, is excellent.  Everything looks like a million bucks, from the rocky sets of Hell, to the fog-shrouded nighttime scenes, to Dr. Satan’s Batcave-inspired laboratory, to the atmospheric moments when the hot babes rise from their crypts.  It’s just enough to keep you watching, but not nearly enough to qualify it as a must-see or anything. 

It’s also cool that the vampire in this one is Chinese, which gives Dr. Stan and Black Magic a different flavor than most Mexican horror flicks.  The bat transformation effects are cheaply done, but moderately effective.  For some reason though, he can go out in broad daylight and it doesn’t bother him.  Also, crosses have to be held upside down to defeat him for some reason.

It’s a little disappointing that the character of Dr. Satan is just… a dude.  He’s intense and all, but I can’t help but think he would’ve been better suited wearing a Lucha Libre mask or some sort of devil outfit instead of just a bunch of three-piece suits and black turtlenecks.  I did like the scene where he gets killed and begs the Devil (also the same actor in a cool, scary man-bat costume with a large wingspan) for another chance to return to Earth and complete his mission.  It’s basically a blatant rip-off of that old cartoon where Yosemite Sam goes to Hell.  That is to say, it’s awesome. 

Predictably, the stuff with the Interpol agents is the dullest in the film.  I’m not sure these guys were absolutely necessary.  I guess the filmmakers needed some good guys in there to counterbalance Dr. Satan’s anti-hero shenanigans.  They don’t derail the proceedings, but they don’t do it any favors either.  However, when Dr. Satan is working his black magic, the movie is a good deal of fun.

AKA:  Dr. Satan vs. Black Magic.

KLUTE (1971) ***

Klute was a daring film for its time not only because it centered around a call girl, but because it featured an independent woman who was in control of her sexuality.  Not only that, she spoke about sex frankly (it is her vocation, after all), which must’ve been shocking when it was first released.  As played by Jane Fonda, the character of Bree is one of her most memorable, not just because of the character’s explicit discussions, but because of the humanity that she brings to the role.  If the character of Bree was something of a revelation (at least in big budget studio films of the time), the movie itself is rather standard issue. 

Donald Sutherland stars as the title character.  He’s a strait-laced cop who is on the search for a missing businessman.  His only lead is Bree, a call girl the man frequented.  She’s also been getting obscene phone calls from a stalker who just may have murdered Klute’s missing man.

He may have his name in the title, but Klute sure as shit plays second fiddle to Bree.  Sutherland’s not bad in the role, it’s just that it’s flimsily written, which is strange given the fact the movie is purportedly about him.  I bet director Alan J. Pakula sensed the detective story angle was an old hat and decided to focus in on Bree instead.  In fact, the movie is at its best when the two are in the midst of their will-they-won’t-they affair.  It’s when the killer plot starts to sneak in does the movie feel routine.  The climax is a bit of a mixed blessing because it’s more of an emotional confrontation than a physical one.  While it works for the character of Bree, fans of thrillers in general may feel a tad disappointed by the finale.

The fact that Klute still feels a bit trailblazing after all these years is a testament to Fonda.  The famous scene where she is in the throes of passion with a client and then stops a beat to check her watch is justifiably a classic.  Too bad you’ll be checking your watch too during the slower sections of the film.

THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT (2018) *** ½

Matt Dillon stars as Jack, a mild-mannered serial killer who recounts five incidents that happened to him in a span of twelve years.  First, he picks up an annoying stranded motorist (Uma Thurman) who gets on his nerves so much that he has to bash her face in with a jack.  The second has him posing as a police officer to gain entrance into a widower’s home so he can kill her.  The next incident finds Jack hunting a family in the woods.  The fourth involves him trying to have a “normal” relationship with a woman (Riley Keough).  The final story is about Jack’s method to cause the maximum amount of death with the smallest amount of effort.

Lars Von Trier made a powerful film here.  It’s structured almost like an anthology.  Each segment has its own distinct style.  The first feels like a recreation on a true crime TV show.  The second is almost like a macabre black comedy with Dillon’s OCD forcing him to perpetually revisit the scene of the crime and keep cleaning up.  The third plays out like a variation on The Most Dangerous Game.  The next one is reminiscent of an edgy ‘90s indie drama.  The final incident could’ve come out of a Human Centipede spin-off.  This isn’t a movie for the faint of heart as Von Trier offers many stomach-churning moments along the way (like the baby duck scene).  There’s also a scene involving a woman’s boob that I am not likely to forget any time soon. 

Dillon is terrific, alternately playing cold, comedic, rugged, intense, and manic.  There are humorous sequences where he looks like he stepped out a Farrelly brothers movie and others in which he is downright coldhearted and bloodthirsty.  This is definitely one of his best performances in a long career of great performances.

What’s interesting is that among the five “incidents” there are many more murders detailed that Jack throws in there almost as a bonus.  Like your typical serial killer, he can’t help bragging, and slips these extra anecdotes in there almost to show you how clever he is.  He also goes on about such mundane things as architecture, winemaking, and fighter planes with the same level of detail as his killings, which shows just what a wacko he is as he can’t distinguish the intricacies of murder with so-called “normal” conversation.

The House That Jack Built is near-perfect for about two hours or so until Von Trier arrives at the totally unnecessary epilogue.  Some may enjoy the hellish nature of the finale, but I personally feel it was overblown and heavy-handed.  If the movie ended with Jack’s “house” being built, it would’ve been a masterpiece.  Then again, I may feel different about it if I see it again somewhere down the line.  I don’t know when that will be because it’s a rather hard pill to swallow.  It is truly one of the most unsettling movies of the past twenty years.

THE BLACK ROOM (1983) ** ½

Larry (Jimmy Stathis) is a family man who is perpetually getting cockblocked by his bratty kids every time he tries to make love to his hot wife Robin (Clara Perryman).  His solution:  Rent a guest room in the Hollywood Hills so he can bang hitchhikers and hookers on the down low.  Little does Larry know his kooky landlords, a creepy brother-sister duo named Jason (Stephen Knight) and Bridget (Cassandra Gava), are photographing all his sordid trysts.  Even worse, they’re using his conquests for their bizarre blood transfusions to keep Jason alive.  Things become even more complicated when Robin discovers his secret and begins making her own secret rendezvous with Jason.

The Black Room is an interesting near-miss as it’s more arty than exploitative.  It’s also more concerned with the characters and what makes them tick than it is with putting the screws to the audience.  That would be okay if it actually stuck the landing.  (The open-ended finale is kind of drawn out and a bit of a letdown.)  The scenes of the brother and sister’s photography sessions feel inspired by Blow-Up and the scenes inside the titular abode look like something out of a Jose Ramon Larraz movie. 

Stathis makes for a boring lead, but Perryman is much more well-rounded and personable than most of the wives you find in an ‘80s horror-thriller.  The same goes for Gava (who you will probably recognize as the witch from Conan the Barbarian), who far outshines the unmemorable Knight.  I also enjoyed seeing Linnea Quigley popping up late in the game in a small role, and a young Christopher McDonald also appears.

The black room itself is really the star though.  Draped in black velvet, surrounded by candles, and sporting a sweet glowing coffee table, it has a lot of personality.  Robert Harmon, the future director of the classic The Hitcher, was the director of photography, and he did a fine job of giving the room a sinister vibe.  Too bad many of the goings on that occur there are brief and not very steamy. 

Co-director Norman Thaddeus Vane also helmed Frightmare, which was released the same year.

FATAL GAMES (1984) **

Students sequestered at a New England sports academy are training to compete in the Olympics.  Even though the whole place is built around getting the athletes prepared for the Summer Games, it takes a while for the grown-ups to realize that so many of the teens are missing.  As it turns out, there is a Mad Javelin Thrower running amuck on campus who is hell-bent on turning the athletes into human shish kabobs. 

Fatal Games is frontloaded with a ton of nudity, which leads the viewer to believe this will be some sort of slasher movie classic.  There are sex scenes, sauna scenes, and lots of shower scenes.  We even get some implied lesbianism courtesy of a handsy masseuse (played by future Oscar nominee Sally Kirkland).  ‘80s B-movie fans will spot Brinke Stevens in the shower and probably be able to pick up on the fact that Linnea Quigley was used as a body double for the lead actress.  Too bad the skin gets so slim in the second half.

I will say that the filmmakers did a good job of making the actors look like legitimate athletes.  I don’t know if they actually went out and got real gymnasts, runners, and swimmers (which may be the case because they ain’t great actors), but they certainly look the part while they are participating in the sports-heavy sequences.  The opening montage set to a great ‘80s tune “Take It All the Way”, is pretty good too.

The first couple of javelin murders are well done.  However, they quickly wear out their welcome and become increasingly repetitive as the movie goes on.  I mean there is only so much you can do with such a clumsy weapon of choice.  They do at least TRY to spice things up courtesy of the hilarious UNDERWATER JAVELIN MURDER scene.  I just wish there was more of that nutty spirit throughout the rest of the film.

After that hilarious moment, the movie unfortunately goes on autopilot.  The final third is especially draggy.  Even the big plot twist falls a little flat and the eventual Final Girl confrontation goes on far too long.  The killer gets a fitting demise, but overall, Fatal Games falls short of slasher movie gold. 

AKA:  Olympic Nightmare.  AKA:  The Killing Touch. 

GIRL ON THE THIRD FLOOR (2019) ** ½

Don (Phil Brooks, AKA:  professional wrestler C.M. Punk) moves to the suburbs and buys an old house with a sordid history.  (It was formerly a house of ill repute.)  His task is to renovate the place before his pregnant wife (Trieste Kelly Dunn) joins him in their new home.  While sprucing up the joint, Don encounters a sexy young girl (Sarah Brooks), who naturally seduces him.  When she refuses to go away, it threatens Don’s already shaky marriage.

Girl on the Third Floor is an interesting amalgam of a haunted house film and a psycho stalker chick movie.  (Otherwise known as a “Man Gets in Trouble by Thinking with His Dick flick”.)  Director Travis Stevens steals bits from haunted house classics such as The Changeling (a ball bounces ominously down a flight of stairs), House (there’s a misshapen, cackling zombie woman), and The Amityville Horror (lots of mysterious black goop on the wall).  While it all doesn’t quite gel as a whole, he proves to be technically proficient when it comes to creating atmosphere and mood in such a claustrophobic environment. 

The game performance by Phil Brooks holds it all together.  The scenes of him screaming, performing emergency self-surgery, and being covered in all manner of glop, slime, and grossness play like his audition tape for the role of Ash in the next Evil Dead reboot (which I would probably pay to see, given the fact that Brooks is so entertaining in this flick).  The other Brooks in the cast, Sarah, does a great job as the seemingly innocent seductress that is more deadly than she initially appears.  She has a Rachel Nichols quality about her that is winning, even if she isn’t all that menacing once all the chips are down.

Brooks, Phil, that is, does a remarkable job considering it’s a one man show throughout much of the movie.  So much so that the scenes without him pale in comparison.  The third act is weak and predictable, and that’s probably what held me back from giving it a full *** rating.  However, Brooks shows enough promise here to make me want to check out whatever he does next.