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.

BLACK CHRISTMAS (2019) * ½

When is Black Christmas not Black Christmas?  When it’s Black Christmas!  

The genius of Bob Clark’s 1974 horror classic, Black Christmas was in its simplicity.  A crazy dude makes crank calls to some sorority sisters who are stuck at school over Christmas break before picking them off.  The 2006 remake overcomplicated things by giving the killer a gratuitous back story, but hey, at least it gave us a wicked scene where he used cookie cutters on someone’s back to make flesh cookies.  

This is the second remake and it pretty much jettisons anything having to do with the killer.  The premise is still the same.  A group of sorority sisters stuck at school are menaced by a killer.  Only this time the filmmakers infuse the film with a lot of feminist touches, commentary on the Me Too movement, and white male privilege.  Which is fine.  I don’t mind a movie that wears its passion on its sleeve.  

However, once the big reveal of the killer occurs, it undermines the message the filmmakers were trying to send.  I know the film was neutered by the studio to gain a PG-13 rating, and there are several moments where the would-be gore is awkwardly edited out or the ADR is obviously replacing harsher dialogue.  (It feels like you’re watching the TV version in the theater.)  I don’t know if these edits also altered the finale and somehow accidentally stripped the first hour of its potential power, or if the ending just wasn’t thought through to begin with.  Whatever the case may be, when Black Christmas shits the bed, it goes clear through the mattress and down into the box springs.

Lest I sound like I’m carving the flick up, let me state upfront I was with it from the get-go.  The opening sequence where a victim’s death rattle results in a snow angel gone horribly wrong sets the tone nicely.  There were also several instances where the cinematography was pitch perfect.  (I think my favorite use of lighting was the scene in which the sorority sister looked for her cat.)  I also liked that the filmmakers hired actresses that physically resembled Olivia Hussy from the original and Mary Elizabeth Winstead from the remake.  

To really get to the problem of the movie, I have to head to spoiler city, so anyone who doesn’t want the film spoiled for them, make a U-Turn now.  

Okay, so in the middle of the movie, the killers are revealed to be frat boys in black cloaks who wear Dr. Doom rip-off masks.  That would’ve been fine, I guess.  The problem is that they are all mind-controlled by this black goop that emanates from the founder of the school’s bust.  During a black mass/hazing ritual, pledges are smeared with his stuff and it “brings out their alpha” and causes them to be overly misogynistic and even homicidal toward women.  

Sure, this Tommyknockers bullshit is dumb, but it causes the film to shoot itself in the foot.  By attributing the boys’ criminal behavior to the onyx ooze, you’re essentially letting them off the hook.  Like the goo made them do it.  Wouldn’t the satire cut deeper if the fraternity brothers only had themselves to blame for their own toxic masculinity rather than this Stepford Skulls malarkey?  

Maybe I’m just overthinking the implications of the big reveal.  Maybe you’re not supposed to think when it comes to this movie.  If you ask me, it was better when the sorority sisters had to fend off one crazy psycho and not a bunch of Lovecraftian frat boys.  Maybe if they had called it anything but Black Christmas, I could’ve overlooked the shitty third act, because there truly is some decent stuff in the early going.

But let’s face it, “I’ve been getting some weird DM’s” is nothing compared to “THE CALLS ARE COMING FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE!”

TRA-LA-LA-LA-LA LA-VOLTA: SPEED KILLS (2018) *

Ben Aronoff leaves his lucrative New Jersey construction business under mysterious circumstances to go and sell speedboats in Miami.  He quickly falls in love with the sport and becomes a champion speedboat racer almost overnight.  Before long, his former employer, gangster Meyer Lansky (James Remar) comes calling.  He wants Ben to use his boats to run drugs, and because they are friends, he doesn’t mind so much when Ben pushes back.  Things change rapidly once Lansky dies and his hotheaded nephew (Kellan Lutz), who hates Ben with a passion, takes over.

Like Travolta’s Gotti, this is another crummy gangster picture with insipid aspirations of being a Martin Scorsese movie.  Like Scorsese’s Mob films, there are freeze frames of important Mob figures (Travolta lets you know who they are via voiceover), montages set to songs by Italian crooners, and of course, gangland violence.  It’s unfair to keep comparing Speed Kills to Scorsese’s body of work because it can’t compete.  Heck, even compared to Gotti, it’s pretty much a mess.

Like Gotti, both films span decades.  Whereas that flick at least had an array of wigs, period costumes, and old age make-up to show the march of time, here, Travolta always looks like his usual self, albeit at times with a slightly different haircut.  Even though Speed Kills takes place from 1962 to 1987, it always looks like it’s set in present day!  (The only period detail seems to be a pay phone that’s featured in the early going.)

Although the plot may be a bit more coherent than Gotti, the film as a whole is even worse, if you can believe it.  Like Gotti, it’s incompetent on many levels (don’t get me started on the horrible CGI during the hurricane sequence), but it lacks the jaw-dropping badness that may give that flick a shelf life as a camp classic for future generations.  This one is just plain bad.  

Travolta does what he can, but this one is pretty much DOA from the start.  The supporting cast are equally at odds with the weak material.  Katheryn Winnick and Jennifer Esposito are wasted as the women in Travolta’s life and Tom Sizemore is underutilized as a hitman.  It was nice seeing Michael Weston, Travolta’s co-star from Lucky Numbers popping up in a sizable role.  The most bizarre bit though came from Matthew Modine in an extended cameo as George H.W. Bush!  

Director John Lussenhop of Texas Chainsaw 3-D fame had his name removed from the final product.  I can’t say I blame him.  He still retains a screenwriting credit though. 

I hope he was responsible for the only good line of dialogue, which comes when Travolta begins his meteoric ascension in the racing business and tells Esposito, “You’re swinging with Tarzan now.  Hang on.”

SANTO VS. CAPULINA (1969) * ½

Capulina (Gaspar Henaine) was a famous Mexican comedian who starred in over eighty comedies.  He was so popular it’s not surprising he would eventually meet El Santo.  I’ve never seen a Capulina movie before, and this one didn’t exactly make me want to see another one any time soon. 

El Santo is on the trail on some diamond thieves.  Naturally, his investigation causes him to cross paths with the irritating Capulina.  Santo brushes him off, but Capulina takes it upon himself to help nab the bad guys.  (He even buys himself an El Santo mask.)  Things get more complicated when the villain creates a robot double of Capulina, with predictable results.

The obvious problem with Santo vs. Capulina is that it’s more of a Capulina comedy than an El Santo movie.  His shtick just isn’t funny and mostly revolves around him accidentally knocking shit over.  The annoying comedic musical score that accompanies his routines is repeated ad nauseum and is liable to give you a migraine before the flick is over. 

This was especially disappointing considering the great Rene (Night of the Bloody Apes) Cardona directed it.  Even if you could dismiss Capulina’s unfunny shenanigans, Cardona drops the ball when it comes to the action.  Take for instance the fight in the warehouse.  It’s very cheap looking (El Santo is obviously knocking the bad guys into empty boxes) and the camera placement is awkward, which makes for a lackluster brawl.

The El Santo scenes work up to a point.  My favorite moment came when the villain sends a sexy robot babe after him and he pushes her into a swimming pool, and she explodes!  He also fights a robot wrestler, but it doesn’t count as a true wrestling match as it occurs during practice in an empty arena.  I mean what can you say about an El Santo movie that doesn’t even feature him wrestling?  There are also no musical sequences in the film, which would’ve preferable to Capulina’s unfunny comedy bits. 

Overall, I can’t say this is the worst El Santo movie I’ve ever seen.  It’s just the one that strays furthest from my sensibilities.  There’s always been an element of humor in these films, although it’s mostly unintentional due to the shoddy special effects and low budget.  This one is proof that when they try to be funny on purpose, the results are often painful.