znowhite01 Reviews

EXCRETION: The Shocking True Story of the Football Moms (2017)

This Is downward Spiral Tap

[7/10 · 24 February 2020]

Aaron Stielstra's multiyear ode to punk rock (and obligatory atrocities) blurs the lines between Spinal Tap mockumentary and thinly-veiled autobiography. Gone are the crime sprees, squibs, Karo syrup blood and shootouts of past Depth Charge entries, but the speech impediments, anti-social behavior, fecal humor and middle-aged shirtless men remain in abundance. The film is a scenic, homeless man's odyssey through the back alleys of LA, infused with a solid and often times truly epic, original punk soundtrack with questionable lyrics see-sawing between old people bodily functions and wizard sorcery. The film opens with a heartbreaking flashback which leads into a head-banging, fist-pumping credit montage (in one word "powerful af") followed by a blitzkrieg of Super8 movies, childhood trauma and psychoanalysis. Unfortunately, the movie can't keep up with its superb opening twenty minutes which delivers a full bounty of laughs and nostalgia while setting up its wet brain universe of deviants and custom fan art. This is a cautionary tale with a tragic hero that celebrates its deviancies from a distance, but its ultimately hard to sympathize with an angry musician that urinates in a recording booth because he showed up to work drunk.

The cast is grab bag of funny faces and aging groupies. Skip Parole's candid confessions (filmed in what looks like a log cabin from 1850s Oregon) bring a gravity and sincerity to a lineup of interviewees that are very excited about taking down Cozy Deathbed with a plethora of insults and embarrassing stories. Especially notable is Brian Scott Miller's smug demeanor who enthusiastically demonstrates his Casio synthesizer skills last used in 1984's Devil Doll From Hell. Some minor characters are not as strong but still possess a sleazy music scene vibe the movie faithfully recreates. Graffiti parks, drug deal alleyways and gritty train tracks are mandatory rock album staples and the locations deliver in spades save for a weak bar set (and frosted tip beach rat wig) that dilutes the power of an inevitable reunion of Dill Pickle and Cozy. Chad Kaplan even contributes some grimy, adult-oriented animation that looks like Friedkin's outtake reel from Cruising. Stielstra himself manages to deliver a handful of convincing performances (save for some awful wigs on loan from Wild Dogs Productions circa 2004); my favorite being a bulbous music critic that is so fat, he loses his own breath just crossing his legs. It's here that the film gets its credibility in storytelling with superb and open-ended reminiscing of how Cozy soils his pants at a party but doesn't stop celebrating. Cozy's stage performances are also a high note, but his off-stage antics start to get repetitive and just gross though it does gift us with a great shot of him stumbling through Echo Park in broad daylight in a bathrobe. Icky Terry mostly just acts like a spastic buffoon and is easily the symbolic dumbo of the group. A truly heinous personality that deserved all of life's sweet cruelties thrust upon him and a fitting punishment for any man seen wearing bulbous rock-climbing shoes with a thrift store blazer. Dill Pickle's Vegas bender and photo montage with two budget Craigslist models offer some nice production value.

Technically, the film is paced well and almost too fast if that's even possible. There's plenty of mismatched camera phone footage and one-chip visuals that, on one hand, detract from the overall picture but also add to the anarchy. Audio alternates between pure hiss and uneven room tone between cuts but the editing is good in hiding a lot of this, offering jokes and hand-drawn gags that distractingly keep the eyes looking all over the place and demand a rewatch of the movie. In fact, some of the boomerang editing and sloppily-pasted still frames add to the hilarity and give the film its edge, especially when its married to its punk songs, all of which are perfectly timed with black screen cuts and computer-generated explosions. And film scratches. Where's the music video collection and vinyl soundtrack? And while the audio may not be equalized or mixed to perfection, the sound editing is superb with pig squeals and controlled distortion that add to the Lynchian ambiance of horror.

All in all, this is an entertaining way to spend a couple hours with plenty of laugh-out-loud moments and decent performances. The band behavior is sometimes so spot on, it feels like a real documentary, and the montages offer so much visual overkill (the Nick Nolte's, the obesity drive-thru and Rocky Dennis flyers are my favorites), it can only be ingested with multiple viewings.

Anger of the Dead (2015)

A willing jump into the apocalypse.

[7/10 · 29 June 2015]

The latest entry in the saturated zombie sub-genre may not have much new to say but offers more maturity and technical competence than the average DSLR bloodbath. Director Francesco Picone manages to create dread and tension with carefully paced suspense and neatly-drawn characters even within the standard genre tropes of utopian hope and bleach-bypassed visuals. The result is a slick experience, if a familiar one, but with occasionally-welcomed twists and character reveals.

The attempts to hide Italian aspects of its production, like many 80s direct- to-video foreign action programmers, becomes apparent at times, but here the acting towers over its budget and shines enough to realistically portray an American landscape. The standout in the capable cast, Aaron Stielstra, is given an emotional subplot that is both heartbreaking and morally repugnant amidst the already copious amounts of gore and convincing practical effects. The film even allows for a quiet, introspective moment with this character to reveal the childhood memories of his dog. Luckily, the filmmakers and performers are able to balance this sentimentality with all the on screen mayhem in a way that helps raise the stakes rather than shamelessly manipulate them with hackneyed Hollywood ploys, even if much of the music seems recycled from inferior products.

Overall, a worthwhile production with some fine acting and thought put into it beyond just creative effects and kills.

Naples Never Dies... It Shoots! (2012)

Deviancy abound

[7/10 · 10 July 2012]

Spartaco Castelluci's international crime thriller contains the usual complacent deviants and human garbage we've come to celebrate from Depth Charge Productions. Starting with a brutal assassination in a group therapy session, the action soon relocates to Italia where the ever- running DC themes of paint addiction, human livestock trading and traditional drug smuggling begin to whirlwind out of control. Meanwhile, a snitch musician gets mixed up with a shady lawyer and homosexual closeted government agents over a massive cartel shipment. Apparently, a drug runner Cornell Parker is under FBI scrutiny after a series of brutal killings and kidnappings. Faceless hero Gus Benedict returns to make things right, or sulk in anger, depending on his mood and location to any given on screen scumbag looking to eliminate him. Or something like that. The on screen directions to a website for additional plot information led me to a broken link.

There's much more variety in cast and depravity than the movie's countless prequels, and with a healthy collection of cameos from excellent unknowns. The whole affair seems more epic and focused. Stielstra is back playing a plethora of scum, his most repugnant being the permed half-breed Parker. Parker drives the movie's sordidness and hatred to its comical peak but ultimately fizzles up in a series of shootouts. It makes Buster Pie's heroin-addicted saxophonist seem relatively stable. More characters come and go to be promptly executed before receiving ethnic insults or abuse. Standouts include Michael Fredianelli as Isaac Abrahams, a harmless Jewish attorney forced to associate with whiny musicians and narcotics smuggling. His hideous sideburns, cowboy boots and thrift store jackets--not to mention Fredianelli's bloated countenance--make for a pathetic presentation of authority. But it's that rare character in the film we root for and sympathize with. Until he's eaten by Mexicans. Actor Mike Malloy gives the other great supporting performance as a federal agent confined to an abandoned building with more antiquated surveillance and gadgetry than Jigsaw's basement. He's inexplicitly dubbed for a majority of the film, but it's his smarmy Bruce Dern delivery and ambiguous sexuality that really shock the audience and supplies a welcomed 70s crime throwback to the proceedings. Unfortunately, his character's fate remains unexplained through the end of the movie.

The film definitely has its assets, despite its amateurish shortcomings. The most impressive aspect of the narrative being the spot-on social commentary regarding pop culture and obesity in America, two motifs I'm pleased Stielstra has not yet abandoned. Other jabs at our decaying modern civilization include disgusting pop videos, a reoccurring news bulletin regarding an infant on a rampage, and a nauseating montage of bulbous ATV drivers. Not very subtle, but an appropriate commentary nonetheless. Sadly, the film's annoying medievalists were not mowed down by a nearby explosion.

Technically speaking, this is the most advanced and visually impressive of the DC productions. Some shots are very cleverly setup and executed, such as an extreme telephoto long take of a confrontation at the train tracks pre-firefight, and a sweeping pan across the Mexican border. Lighting is also used more effectively and sparingly, the best example being a moody showdown between Buster and Bud that ends in morbid David Lynchian fashion and weirdness. As per par for the course, the soundtrack rarely disappoints with enough stingers and drones to make any Bill Lustig fanatic take note—especially when they accompany a flaming miniature car explosion. The suspenseful compositions, such as Gus's themes, appropriately build tension and rarely falter. The remainder of the songs contain enough funk and groove to make the on screen atrocities more palatable and enjoyable.

The general look and feel of the movie still feels amateurish. A big part of the blame can be placed on all the worthless one-chip cameras and a lack of proper sound equipment, but there's still room for improvement in areas that don't require any budget or a big crew. Some more controlled camera-work would have helped, mostly in the countless montages that consist of sloppy hand-held pans, zooms and tilts. Also, too many scenes are obviously stitched together from numerous locations and it shows: the worst offenders being two brief action sequences.

Narrative-wise, the story is a lot easier to follow this time around, but there's still a large amount of talky exposition, incessant name dropping and elongated dialog scenes. More editing would have helped, even at the expense of creating plot holes. Also, the entire cast seems to fall into two camps, and since the main parts are acted so well, it just makes the inexperienced, weaker performers that much easier to spot.

Overall, the film delivers on the expected laughs and bloodshed despite its limitations. Eternally quotable lines such as, "Suck my buttocks," have already penetrated the everyday dialog of this viewer, and many gags will burn out the rewind button on my remote. Recommended, if you can focus on the main characters and ignore the plot confusion and visual patchwork.

99 and 44/100% Dead! (1974)

The one Frankenheimer wants you to forget.

[7/10 · 8 June 2010]

John Frankenheimer's post modern stab at the crime genre comes hot off the heels of Michael Ritchie's Prime Cut (from the same author no less), only the tone is more cutesy and the body count is nearly tripled. After a Pycal-inspired opening and an excellent underwater graveyard montage, we are introduced to pearly pistol gripped gangster Richard Harris who's en route to Chicago (?) to help win a dangerous mob war. The substandard mafia plot sits second tier to the film's sporadic comedy spoofing and mugging, much of what both fails and succeeds simultaneously at the hands of its dramatic director who must have been at the peek of his well publicized cocaine binge. Harris, with his balding curl mullet and wide-brimmed glasses resembles a young Michael Caine or Woody Allen depending on the lighting and camera angle, but performs his actions and delivers his dialog like a stone cold stoic; the juxtaposition is startling and dare I say cool as hell. Action scenes come out of nowhere and are framed and executed with professionalism, including a crazy ambush on an elevated bridge, and Chuck Conner's interchangeable James Bond claw which can alternate between knives and sex toys given the occasion. Much maligned and obscure gem. The skeletal dead humans and accompanying narrator reminds me of the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland.

Black Devil Doll from Hell (1984 Video)

Casio heaven

[3/10 · 8 June 2010]

Unbelievable obscurity from the mid-80s revels in its pornographic and horror inspirations. A church-going lady saving herself for marriage goes shopping at a thrift store and picks up a Jamaican puppet believed to have evil powers. It then proceeds to rape the living bejeezus out of her and turns her into a horn dog, only human meat cannot satiate her newfound hunger for puppet penis. Absurd on every level with pacing that can block a magnum bullet, this has garnered a cult status for all the right reasons. Only a few freeze frame montages show any creativity and deliver the biggest belly laughs, unless you count the disco scene from 1984 with numerous extras shaking their booties to Casio music. Which is the film's other main asset: score. The opening credits droll for a full 6.5 minutes with an accompanying song you'd swear was performed and vocalized by Aaron Stielstra; the rest of the songs coming from a Casio keyboard demonstration (literally) and an unbearable one-note synth drone that sounds like your tape is broken. Remarkably, the puppetry is very competent and I couldn't spot any humans manipulating the Fat Albert-voiced doll. Many, many scenes of erotica and nudity from one of the most unattractive women to grace the screen. The thrift store owner's line reading is hilarious and deserves its own drinking game.

Good Times (1967)

A sign of things not to come

[3/10 · 1 May 2010]

First feature from William Hurricane Friedkin in 1967 is a comedy musical starring Sonny and Cher(!), and we're a far cry from the all the vehicular mayhem, gay themes and people getting shot in the face which was to soon follow from the man. Sonny Bono, here resembling the love child of an ogre and Gerard Depardieu, plays himself in a silly fantasy plot about trying to get his pre-surgical wife Cher in the film business. No, this is not a documentary, but a fun, harmless "what-if" caca comedy. We are then treated to three daydreamed scenarios: a Western with wimpy Bono cleaning up a corrupt barroom; a Tarzan jungle movie; and a film-noir detective parody. It's amazing how low and childish the direction sinks at times with its pseudo-hippie sensibilities and innocent morality. The slapstick gags are usually unfunny with only a few inspired moments: a card game with talking chimps and an overdone nightclub shootout. In between each episode comes the musical number which may or may not serve as anesthesia for the sequences that come before. Sonny's pilgrim haircut and squash physique may turn viewers off, but it's surprising to see that Cher was actually cute at one point.

They Call Me Fred (2010 Video)

Sweaty modern day Western outing is a shot in the right direction

[7/10 · 12 April 2010]

First film directed by promising Vince Lopes Jr., the familiar face from various AZ indie projects, most notably the ones from Aaron Stielstra (See Naples… then Die) and Angelo Lopes (Armas .45). This modern day film noir Spaghetti Western hybrid showcases an ultra hot and ugly stucco Tucson landscape as the battlefield between a desperate loner and a plethora of two-timing half wits, femme fatales, hotel-dwelling lowlifes and dueling desert nomads. Like any good film noir, the protagonist even has his own self-loathing angel of reason (if you can call it that) via split screen special effects in place of the more traditional voice-over. The result is a sometimes compelling, sometimes random series of events, the best being a middle act dedicated to life-threatening Sergio Leone gun draws. For the most part, this film delivers the goods on almost all fronts: it's entertaining, the characters are memorable and the tone will definitely appeal to crime and Western fans. Unfortunately, it doesn't have enough content for a feature length project and much of the sound is poorly recorded and mixed, especially in some dialog scenes that overstay their welcome (the film's major flaws). The original music is a wonderful, eclectic marriage of old Morricone (when he was good) and Mexican funk – an odd merge, but one that pays off in an offbeat way; and the widescreen visuals immediately invite us into the SW world it tries to imitate. The acting is a mixed bag but the standouts are readily apparent: the reliable Aaron Stielstra and Brendan Murphy steal every scene they're in, and the lead performance from the director himself proves a powerful inner and physical presence as well as a romanticized loneliness which should get him bigger, more thankful parts in future WD and DC productions (one could only hope). This movie is very hard to find, but if you run across it, I suggest picking it up.

Boats Beat Back (2009)

Against the currents...

[6/10 · 26 January 2010]

After a slew of shorts, genre scripts and a handful of Wild Dogs contract assignments, the first feature from director Todd Jurgess finally gets its overdue release. Ripping a page from the book of troubled twenty-something relationship turmoil (a Jurgess hallmark) Boats throws its average Joe nice guy into a dangerous drug trade of Asian mules, wholesale dealing and suburbanite cokeheads that listen to their death metal way too loud and way too late in the evening. Derek is your mild-mannered numbers puncher with a life so humbly satisfying and straight, the only possible direction it can take is a downward spiral. When given the opportunity, he hooks up with an old dope fiend from the past, much to the secrecy of his girlfriend who leaves town for job interviews, and life expectedly begins to unravel at a startling pace until its inevitably violent and exhausted climax.

At its core is Derek: the prototypical Jurgess young white male. It's a reoccurring theme in past projects (Time to Talk, You Know Best, Safety Nets, etc.) of a man coping through his loss of control at the expense of his romantic happiness, usually created by his own personal choices or past infidelities. Derek's current situation consists of a ho-hum desk job and a relatively happy partner; his nights plagued by reading books in dimly-lit rooms and suffering boredom (or merely just a longing remembrance of drug days past). Resurrecting a broken friendship with a seller back in town, his addictions obliterate any mundane computer work and open up a new lifestyle punctuated with lots of travel and good times, but at the cost of sanity and safe living.

A documentary aesthetic is applied to the visual style, sort of like a hodgepodge of early 80s Jim Jarmusch mixed with current hand-held trends. The approach gives it a sense of realism and simplicity with an occasional risk taken here and there. The drug high scenes take on a hyperactivity without the pretentious push and excess of a similarly themed Aronofsky movie which shall remain nameless, and the use of sound during the action scenes brings everything to a much more personal level. Not all of the cutting is a success though, much of what I suspect is trying to hide sloppy directing rather than setting a particular mood. There are a few odd scene transitions in the first half, a permanently broken 180 line, and many dragged too long sequences. The narrative would have greatly benefited with about fifteen minutes of fat trimmed from the more bloated segments without sacrificing the artistic merit of "time wasted on drugs." A wonderful score and scary ambiance accompanies the proceedings and dues must be paid to composer Aaron Stielstra. My favorite songs are the romantic thriller overtones which bring to mind early 80s DePalma.

All in all, it's rough around the edges, and a more polished technical construction would help sell the narrative, not to mention some stronger acting, though I will admit, the performances significantly improve as the film progresses. I was also upset to see writer/director Todd in only a brief glorified cameo. His profane dialog, delivery and ultimate demise were too entertaining to be relegated to the sidelines. Better than just a Hitchcock walk-on I suppose.

The Men Who Fell (2007)

Dark sci-fi delivers chills and endless bickering

[7/10 · 2 January 2010]

After two space prisoners crash their aircraft in the desert, they enter an underground hallucinatory bunker under orders from a company willing to knock time off their sentences upon completion of a mysterious mission. Ultra indie sci-fi effort squeezes every last penny from its wallet, AE and available warehouse sets to convincingly portray a beautiful/ugly fantasy world. The film relies heavily upon its two leads (Wild Dogs alumni Aaron Stielstra and Brendan Murphy) who endlessly bicker and whine much more than your average space detention criminals, but add a level of professional that clashes with some of the sillier plot elements that later enter the picture. Which is part of the problem. The film's first act is so good and gritty it's like a Don Siegel program with nomads and Mad Max action, including a documentary-lite space shootout complete with bo staff needles and other crap I can't even explain. The story soon takes a more whimsical sci-fi turn with the heroes walking around and talking in set after CG set, which admittingly look good, but bring the pacing to a grinding halt. Some other mumbo jumbo, inner and physical demons appear but can't do much to elevate the already sloggy second act, further compromised by a weak Slayer character and it's decision to drop the second male lead from the plot (only to later appear in a dynamite return). But even if the monsters and demon children threaten the established dark tone, they are appropriately gooey, atrocious, and most importantly, scary. Visuals are as good as they can get from a DVX100 with lots of balanced lighting, pleasing widescreen compositions and stark contrast, all accompanied with a decent score. Perhaps some more cutting all around would help things, but as it stands, a highly recommended and enjoyable effort. 7/10

See Naples... Then Die (2008)

A dangerous movie

[7/10 · 7 December 2008]

After securing enough funds from playing bit parts in a variety of Wild Dogs features, director/writer/actor/musical talent/caterer Aaron Stielstra assemble the closing(?) crimer in his trilogy of sadism, perversity and atrocity-laden mayhem nestled quite violently and belligerently in an abundance of absurd action conventions. Those seeking more metal yetis, Tucson immigrant personalities and beautiful hand-held pans of Genoa look no further than this shocking tale of paint smuggling and revenge. While the plot may lose viewers that don't have the fortune of a map and instructions, there's enough singular action and bulbous Italian humor to keep the funny bone tickled and satisfied. Authentic dag0s and sceneries push the boundaries of the film's limited origins with a few newcomers offering their sweaty, foreign flavor to the American based production - the squash like ogre kingpin Scugnazzi constantly exudes menace whether he's berating his henchmen or crippling a cacco fruit (his two favorite activities) and a poorer Ray Lovelock lookalike brings a much needed poliziotteschi element to the promised title with a collection of Italo winter wear and scarfs.

Filmed with a cornucopia of one chip camcorders and on-camera mics (I heard a couple of audio scenes were recorded using tin cans and string) it's up to the performances and scriptwriting to keep the whole affair afloat. Unfortunately, the script is a mixed bag. While the premise is original and utterly ridiculous, the story arc and plot lineage is contrived and uninvolving. Many of the action cliché staples rear their ugly heads including the most annoying: bad guys reveal their plans without killing good guy. But Stielstra's gifted ear for scumbag speak makes for a delightful collection of colorful dialog and profanity without getting too cutesy or self-referential on itself ala Kevin Smith. And there is a scary surprise ending that is both tragic and heartbreaking in its implied nihilism and misanthropy, though in retrospect it should really come as no surprise as it seems the director's intent all throughout is to blueprint the downfall of civilized society. Even when the focus shifts away from criminal activity, we see quick inserts of normal civilized folks and how they struggle with equally life threatening issues such as obesity (as personified in Fat Jessica) This need to exploit such helpless figures is a brilliant mirror image to the bigger picture of hooking teens on inhalants, a theme the movie feels it wants to explore but never really gets to develop adequately.

Stielstra gives us possibly his best acting work with a whole line of characters that each have a distinct (and severe) mental disorder or physical deformity, and on the opposite end, he injects enough sympathy and melancholy into Gus to keep the overall conflict balanced. My favorites are Mr. Nido, a self-absorbed health nut with a hankering for barbarian metal and the need to speak in Shakespearean tone, and Nosotros Martinez Parker, a little bald-headed Mexican with thug aspirations and sociopathic tendencies. It's too bad Stielstra is way too tall for this character. I think Joe Tamayo would have nailed it but I guess he wasn't available. The action scenes are all brief and range from OK (foot chase) to cool (end shootout) to awesome (Nosotros' deft massacre of two FBI agents is straight out of a Glickenhaus flick and the subsequent gorno viewing with a Jewish rabbi discharging urine from his anus may just raise the film to genius level). All the original music is great and fun with its synth and stingers and drummy Chuck Norris notes. The tunes easily shift tone to accompany the more somber montages and voice-over sequences which are well conceived and written. Todd's metal song about demons and his vision of the ultimate music video is a candidate for MTV's Headbanger's Ball. The supporting cast is all decent but it's easy to spot the players with less experience. Nose phones it in letting his coke bottle glasses do the work for him, but he really isn't given much to do anyway. His character IS given the dignity of a pulpy slow mo shooting, but I still can't figure how he appeared in Italia (my only guess is that he was shipped with Sean Levine's body but the film doesn't leave many clues). The one actor that plays the squeaky, annoying Virgil Barleycorn is terrible. I can't tell who it is under all the latex and overalls, but judging from the broken nose and scarecrow arms, I would guess it's Fredianelli. Brendan Murphy seems to have put on some weight for his role, but the magical beard and right-wing hunting caps he so proudly displays make his Scarsdale hillbilly a hilarious and frightening creation.

The only major concern is the abysmal video quality that fluctuates from camera to camera and location to location. Content is important but presentation is as well, especially when your audience is weaned on perfectly filmed one-hundred million dollar blockbusters. A lot of the scenes seem too disjointed and odd partly due to inferior equipment being used and the necessity to shoot and dub shots from single scenes on completely different sets and audio background. Ignoring the homemade difficulties and mediocre storytelling, the flick does deliver on hilarious characters, content and intentions. I feel like buying Stielstra a proper camera and microphone to make something that LOOKS wonderful too.

Robin Hood (1998)

"Merry" this ain't

[2/10 · 8 May 2008]

Perhaps not the *worst* short in the Martinez cavalcade of shock, this backyard fairy tale takes a sadistic and darkly humorous approach to its folklore legend like a Monty Python skit. We are immediately introduced to Robin Hood, a dashing Errol Flynn persona, here dressed in a hooded sweatshirt and sweats – comfortably awkward in that his rich victims are wearing the same (but with a thrift store blazer for a capper). It isn't long before all heck breaks loose and we are treated to a violent river crossing with Little John that includes enough broken tree branches and stuntman leaps that it makes the similar sequence in Robin Hood Daffy seem like a mere child's parody. Then fat-ass Friar Tuck gets in on the act and beefs his way through on onslaught of merry men/henchmen and (spoilers) chucks a spear through Robin Hood's chest plate, killing him instantly! I was shocked by this surprise twist. Appropriate narration is humorous and informative and is not shameless enough to shoehorn in a John Saxon reference in its devilish parade of charlatans and miscreants. A poor man realizing he now has money turns into tragedy as his excitement sends him crashing down a grassy hill. As per usual for these pre-2000 productions, the cinematography looks like an underground bestiality video.

The End of a Dynasty (1998)

The 1 out of 10 user rating is well deserved

[1/10 · 8 May 2008]

I approached this short with some hope of gaining fun insight into the Kennedy assassination. After eleven minutes I am more stupider than before and Scythe contract-player George Thompson has elevated from number 6 to 3 on my sh!t list. Opening with a killer title sequence that cruelly tricks its human viewers into thinking they're in for a Euro slice of heaven, we are quickly transported to hellhole-nowhere Fairbanks where a bunch of teens pose, masquerade and giggle like complacent Calvin Klein models…only with acne, frizzy hair, visible body odor and, in the case of one poor fat slob, the girth of a Volkswagen. Pretentiously divided like chapters from a book, this film (ahem) chronicles each Kennedy death with as much visual panache and audio creativity as a public access show run by heavy metal journalists. One particularly flinching scene has a teen injecting heroin into his veins. What is the point of this nonsense? Has director Mike A. Martinez lost his marbles? Why must serious issues such as drug use and public assassinations be treated with such indignity and carelessness? And scientists wonder why our society is so corrupted and ill-informed. Powerful cameo by the director shooting dry rounds of a cap gun into JFK and subsequently fleeing the scene like a robotic scarecrow with a stick in his ass.

Unfortunately, the outtakes have been edited into the movie. Yes folks, for the first time ever, a movie has included its outtakes as actual cuts in the final film, and while credit must be given to the editor for brazenly adopting such a controversial technique, it becomes tiresome and overstayed once we see it for 80 percent of the movie (it should also be pointed out they're not funny either). Also not funny is the condescending plot narration and convoy of mini-vans posing as automobiles in 1963 (apparently it snows in Texas, too). What is funny is the direction, writing, wardrobe, lighting and sex life for all the actors in the movie.

The Stabilizer (1986)

Dummies and slow-mo aplenty

[2/10 · 28 February 2008]

Abysmal Indonesian action film from legendary Arizal triumphantly sculpts a template for future Cinemax pap like 'China O'Brien' and 'Do or Die' with Erik Estrada while simultaneously burying poor rising action star Pat O'Brien with a hackneyed backyard script and three cans of hair-styling gel to perm his impressive 1984 mullet. This guy's physical prowess resembles a more femme Mark Gregory and his next credit would be second fiddle to Chris Mitchum as "Tom Selick." Powerful. At least the action is mindless and non-stop with some daring Asian stuntmen risking their lives for what is essentially a poorly constructed movie by teens and/or meth addicts with no concept of reality. One poor extra gets gorno-ly shredded by an electric hedge clipper and many more are killed by getting hit in the head by odd objects such as a motorcycle wheel or cardboard box. Classic rape scenes are tasteless and priceless and quotable dialog such as, "I would rather trust a rattlesnake!" are delivered with such exuberance and fervor from the third-rate polizioteschi voice actors. Random highlight: some crazy dude eating live lizards. Movie also holds the record for most cars driven through walls. 2/10

An Enraged New World (2002)

Unjustly praised Martinez Effort

[4/10 · 17 February 2008]

An Enraged New World is hardly the Martinez masterpiece its reputation and user comments want you to believe, but when placed in a career as sketchy and tumultuous as his, the cringe factor is considerably less than any of the Video8 efforts. Opening with a horrendous techno beat more suitable for the dating scene at a dive bar than a gritty sci-fi adventure, we're soon thrown on board a spacecraft (more likely the server room for tech services at the local college) with three astronauts finally landing after seven years of space study. (Whether they had gay relations or remained celibate for all that time is a question plaguing this viewer.) After a crash in the lake in a series of unconvincing miniatures and plundered stock footage that would make Antonio Margheriti and Umberto Lenzi collectively throw their hands in shame, the three 'nauts roam a deserted countryside trying to piece together logic and sanity. The proceeding banter and play acting between these thespians is easily the worst I have ever seen in my life of movie-watching. These dumbos do line readings with the confidence of first graders reciting Shakespeare and even their mere task of reacting is horribly misguided and awkward. Even worse, these "actors" wander the frame with not a clue what to do, and it just takes me right out of the narrative. It also doesn't help that Mike directs them one line at a time and from poor angles to boot, making whole scenes even more disjointed than the actors could have made them on their own. And what's with all the hand-held zooms and blown out skies?

So a couple death scenes come and go with no dramatic tension besides the fun of identifying which Italian crime score Mike has plundered yet again. One particular combat sequence has the worst editing and choreography of any action scene outside of high school plays. I thought the out-of-focus shots during this karate match were poor photography, but now I know Martinez was trying to blur his inept actors and phony punches. We then move on to the best scene of the movie: a college campus massacre. Could have used some blood, then again this movie could have used a script. On to some really great locations in the snow now, and the sequence with masked soldiers surrounding George Thompson in the abandoned factory is easily the most tense in the entire picture, this in part due to the lack of music, great sound design and decent (or maybe I should say non-cringing) acting from Thompson for once. With a tape now in his possession, he returns to a frosty apartment complex and forces his way into some stupid tart's house to watch it. She can't act for heck either and she's quickly shot down by a platoon of gunfire with nary a squirt of blood. Very convincing again, Mike.

An enraged new gunfight take place in which the credits proudly proclaim 44 humans were killed (like anyone gives a rat's fanny) and the protagonist wakes up in a frightening plot twist that may seem cool for anyone who hasn't seen Fight Club. So basically, it's cool for no-one. Gordon Mitchell shows up and he's underutilized in his not-so-great cameo, but compared to the rest of the hacks around him, it's a Daniel Day-Lewis performance.

On the plus side, it's fairly well-paced and somewhat ambitious even when considering it fails on so many levels.

Jonathan degli orsi (1994)

90s Enzo

[3/10 · 6 June 2007]

E.C. is back after a long string of unspectacular flops dating back almost twenty years before the release of this late entry Spaghettio. Franco Nero returns in a sloppy, long-haired guise emulated after his titular Keoma, but the similarities to that masterpiece end right about there unless you want to count the atrocious, narrating vocal musicals that are so self-absorbed and confident in their strangeness, I have to give the makers some ballsy credit. The film comes off as pretentious propaganda, tackling numerous themes unsuccessfully, the most blatant and offensive being racial prejudice and oil production. And naturally, given its release date, when revisionist Westerns were all the rage in Hollywood, we're deprived of proper bloody action and served CBS mini-series drama and cues. I counted only one decent slow-mo Enzo battle and that consisted mainly of dangerous horse stunts not balletic squibs and shooting spray. The bear subplot was a new idea albeit handled with a lacking child performance which somehow finds its way into every dramatic arc for the rest of the feature. The most amusing instant comes during a fight where the participants turn into their younger counterparts! The lil' cub was pretty cute though.

David Hess and John Saxon provide some legitimate villainry. Even Enzo's real-life papa adds a bearded grittiness to his role. On the technical side, this is the most polished work Castellari has done. Gone are the paintball squibs, shoddy camera-work and cheap pyrotechnics, but all this guerrilla charm is a trade off for the stock orchestral music and dramatic fodder. I'll take The Big Racket any day. Hell, Light Blast.

Breaking Point (1976)

Points that break

[4/10 · 31 May 2007]

Breaking Point: Bob Clark's lost vigilante epic finally gets a shameful full frame release from the ornery bastards at Fox, most likely in an attempt to cash in on the man's fatal car wreck. Bo Svenson, a full and lanky vertical 7'8", is taking his stepson home from an intense sports game when he sees two gangsters beating a poor man right outside his home. He interferes like a true neighbor would, bludgeoning the attackers with his gargantuan fists. Predictably, after the Bo's testimony, the mob sends out torpedoes to rub him out in some truly baffling hit-man reasoning and logic like throwing a Molotov cocktail at a man standing right next to a river. There's nothing here that distinguishes itself from any other Death Wish clone or Walking Tall entry, with minuscule action scenes peppered throughout the final third. If you're lucky enough to stay awake that long, you'll be treated to a magnum facial, a 2x4 used as a spear and Svenson flipping a house over a cliff. Robert Culp plays a weary police officer that's half Boggs and half, well, nothing. Love the music credit which actually lists a computer for the synthetic score!

The House by the Edge of the Lake (1979)

A mighty turd from a mighty director.

[3/10 · 30 May 2007]

This late mysterious entry in the Spanish giallo sweepstakes shows the giallo-ic side of Castellari - the side we saw in sexy thrillers like Cold Eyes of Fear...a side we'd like to quickly forget. A young child sees her mother drown in a boat by a human hand that appears out of the water. Flash forward to her adult life as she lives in a haunted (?) house and has sex with men that mysteriously die soon after through scary twisted events, one of which includes a telekinetic link with her sister who masturbates frequently (I counted at least five times). The plot makes absolutely NO sense and no explanations are given for anything, not even the @&%# hand which demands an explanation if ever there was one. Lots o' titties bouncin' around, but the gratuitous nudie romps in the hay are wasted in an amateur hour production that rivals the poorest of Italian lakehouse rip-offs. Most of the first act is outright incompetent with basic direction that wouldn't pass a USC intro class let alone grab international distribution. One masturbatory sequence shows the same car explosion in triple(!) split screen, and Castellari gives himself a glorified actor's cameo. Given most great directors' inability to show any signs of screen presence in front of a camera, Castellari looks to have bulked up with steroids and growth hormones for his meaty role. The guy looks like a marriage of John Saxon and Coco the gorilla. Not even recommended for the die-hard Enzo completists.

Escape from Chernobourg (1999)

At least it's better than Tony Blair Witch...well, maybe

[2/10 · 17 September 2006]

The cosmic space ninja must fight his way off the planet Chernobourg in Mike Martinez's homage to chop-socky cinema and Italian gore. As usual, Mike has enlisted the help of the worst high school actors in the country to construct this wobbly minstrel show of missed kicks and unsynchronized dubbing. I must give kudos to some wonderful snowy, dirt block and waterfall location work. It brings a sense of class and visual panache to this grimy production which was apparently shot on the budget of food stamp.

In between the rubber mask storyteller and pirated stock footage, the flick is loaded with punching, jumping and general mayhem. The lead shows some impressive back flips and karate chops but falls flat during his dirt-eating performance. This totally offensive and downright tasteless scene looks like an outtake from Salo, and if Mike had any brains, he'd make his actors eat chocolate milk powder instead of real mud. About thirty minutes could be trimmed from the running time including all the audio-distorted narrative and gentle tapping of plastic swords. The henchmen look so much like a bunch of fairies in their physical prowess that I was begging for another disembowelment of empty costumes and caramel syrup. The comedy has a failure rate of about 90 percent, with an endless brother joke that may garner some chuckles from the viewing audience of Friends, but not from any individual with a knowledge of cinema beyond Quentin Tarantino and Boondock Saints. The fact that it's delivered by an actor who looks like a fluorescent skunk with anorexia only adds to the inhumanity.

Mike's direction, if you can call this direction, is basically non-existent. Actors look lost and wander, the 180 degree axis is broken numerous times, there's about ten feet of headroom in countless shots and any action choreography is uneven within every editorial cut. Maybe this was his attempt of disguising the horrible script, but anything short of burning every copy of the movie could not do that.

Final note: The pre-credit music cue from High Crime is totally out of place and unnecessary.

The Tony Blair Witch Project (2000 Video)

Dear God...dear God.

[1/10 · 6 September 2006]

In this frightening shockumentary, a group of film critics and Tony Blair himself(!) venture into the dangerous outskirts of West Virginian hick territory to uncover the doubted existence of a mysterious "Tony Blair Witch." During a heartfelt homage (or just straight-up theft) of Cannibal Holocaust, a nutty professor treats us to the rare footage and scary behind-the-scenes adventures of this motley crue of cut-throats and thespian hacks. The retards participating in this excursion, who collectively possess about half the intelligence of the cast of Jackass (and half the balls), roam the countryside breaking windows in a ghost town while discussing the cinematic integrity of American-made Francois Truffaut films. How such behavior would elicit the attention of a mythical ghost is beyond this viewer's comprehension. I can only imagine they were trying to tick it off so it would run out and kick Mike's butt which is what I wanted to do after he forced me to watch this turd.

From a technical standpoint, this cinematic equivalent to cancer is wrong on every possible level. Windows are broken off-screen, accents are dropped on a whim and clothing changes from scene to scene, this being one of the few redeeming aspects of the entire show as it distracted for two milliseconds from the ADD-raddled, Parkinson-diseased cameraman who was literally making me nauseous after three minutes of his Michael Bay shaky-cam nonsense. As for editing, I always wanted to see what 30fps NTSC video would look like being tricked into 25fps. The result was not worth the wait. And the pacing...oh the pacing. Shots do not linger or dwell for atmospheric purposes, they break the void of time and space and suspend in the air like worthless amoebas existing for the sole sake of being. Honestly, this flick is paced like a block of cheddar cheese moving through the bowels of a 70-year-old platypus. How anyone in the editing room let this abomination of a cut pass is beyond any logical explanation and I refuse to listen to it. (I would have assumed the whole project didn't even go through an editing program, but a couple of unconvincing muzzle flashes proved me wrong.) Mike Martinez fares best in the cast with his accent being the most authentic and consistent, but when compared to the other bozos on screen (now working at McDonald's and Wendy's respectively) this is faint praise. I may as well be comparing the performance to dog crap. The movie is evil in that it tricks you into thinking it's over, but then some rednecks show up and we have to watch another thirty minutes of fake punches, high school play acting and just balls-out buffoonery. One actor throws up with a cup of green jello plainly visible in his hand. I mean, c'mon, this is just sloppy! I'm trying to think of something good to say, but I really can't. Truly a movie that lives up to its reputation.

Malevolence (2004)

Mike Martinez is back to his old tricks

[8/10 · 10 April 2006]

Well, actually he's not, and that's a good thing. Otherwise we'd be watching SPACEWORMS 2 and be all the more retarded for it.

In the tradition of such recent Hollywood epics as CRASH, HEAT and MAGNOLIA comes another gut-wrenching drama about inner racism, violence and human nature in the gritty city: MALEVOLENCE. Where does one start with a plot synopsis? This movie has it all, from gangsters to prison escapees to rogue doctors to dangerous gangs...yet it all makes sense in the end. The narrative takes more twists and turns than Quentin Tarantino running a pretzel factory.

Some limitations of low budget film-making come into play (inexperienced action editing and some horrific acting - a Martinez staple) but it ultimately ends up a fairly engrossing grim fairy tale that writes its own rules. Easily the best film in the Martinez cannon.

The Frozen Inferno (2000 Video)

Snowy Apoco

[5/10 · 11 March 2006]

Decent no-budget effort from MAM with a freezing apocalyptic twist. Martinez plunders the Italian vaults and took some editing lessons, creating a much more coherent film than his previous Space Worms. While the acting is leagues above that film, it is still poor here and is the biggest distraction (well, that and no ending). The writing is no great shakes either, but this project comes together quite well in all the technical departments. Great stunts like the car hit and free fall were brilliant, as were the war scenes, Russian Mohawks and all. The comedic touches (like the patient constantly getting stepped on) were actually funny and not just stupid like past Martinez humor. Someone give this guy a budget and some actors.

Attack of the Flesh Devouring Space Worms from Outer Space (1998 Video)

"Will it ever end?"

[1/10 · 11 March 2006]

Is what I kept asking myself during this mind-numbing blight on homemade film making, Lucio Fulci and all other things holy in this world. Mike Martinez, a smart and creative man with decent knowledge about cinema (though you would never believe it just based on this feature) drags out a non-entity of a story from a should-have-been five minute short into a 55 minute epic assault on senses and intelligence. Let's get the first major atrocity out of the way first: acting. I sympathize with no-budget, homemade film makers as I am one myself, forced to use uninterested family members and friends to perform, but c'mon Mike. These silly idiots laugh, giggle, eye the camera IN EVERY EFFING SHOT, and basically make me feel better about myself as a struggling and insecure thespian. There was absolutely NO EFFORT involved. NONE. ZERO. I would have fired these morons the first day, but I guess they were nice enough to help you out. I understand how it goes. I don't know what editing program was used (I'm hoping dual VCRs) because it is plain bad. So bad, I'm not even going to dignify it with a witty dismissal. Tip: When someone fires a gun, the bullet takes about 1/100 a second to reach its target, not one full minute. Also, people do not pause longer than two seconds when speaking a line of dialog to each other. Got that Mike? You're not David Lynch, you're not Jean-Pierre Melville, and you're not foolin' me. Special effects? Awful. One character who is supposed to be holding up a decapitated head, gleefully swings around an empty mask. You mean to tell me you can't put a pillow or sweater in there? You guys wreck your parents' hardwood floors with fake blood and throw juice all over their bathroom, but stuffing a mask with a T-shirt is too much work? OK, so it's funny, but it's obviously a result of incompetence and not clever writing. There's a divider between campiness and plain stupidity, a line these people fail to recognize. Wrting and directing is just as bad with dialog apparently written by second graders raised on early-80s Halloween rip-offs. The worst part is hearing Mike direct DURING the takes he used to edit. David Wood was shameless enough to credit himself as a fight choreographer, which may be the funniest thing about this mess (that or the HEINOUS mop haircut). Sorry, Mike. I know you have *some* talent as I saw in Chimera. I guess we have to crawl before we can walk.

Deadly Impact (1984)

Outrageous action, not much else

[2/10 · 4 March 2003]

Bo Svenson and Fred Williamson ought to ignite the screen ablaze, but the spark here is not even big enough to light The Hammer's cigar. Skip over a totally inane plot about a tech-nerd taking Las Vegas for a bundle, us action fans come to see fistfights, guns and chases - admirable traits of exciting cinema this movie carelessly fumbles. The scenes are over-the-top to blatant unfunny parody; an innocent driver violently flipping his car over the distance of a football field is hilarious, but the wacky odd couple pairing shenanigans of the two stars is not. When they crash their helicopter into a cliff face, it explodes into a huge fireball yet the pair emerges unharmed with the chopper in perfect condition! This trick is physically impossible, and I sat dumbfounded at the stupidity that played in front of me. Despite two or three scenes of interest, I was glad when the end credits rolled. Director Fabrizio De Angelis has done much better work as a producer for Umberto Lenzi and E.G. Castellari's films.

The Solitaire Man (1933)

Terrible film

[2/10 · 4 March 2003]

Just what I wanted to see: a stage play masquerading as a movie. It's one of those few times in which you forget the entire content of the film just minutes after watching. Most of us get into movies to be visually and emotionally stimulated, but this MGM cheapie fails on both fronts, at times even daring the viewer to stay awake with its endless dialogue and overblown theatrics. A caper plot about a stolen necklace on an airplane could and should have been better than the nonsensical soap opera mechanics on display here. The old hags were not only rude and insulting, but they practically beg the viewer for a well placed slap across the mouth. Given the technical limitations of 1933, the plane set where most of the film takes place looks like a kindergarten stage with a few random chairs spread around for good measure. Thankfully, this wretched excrement of old cinema remains unreleased on video; those that get TCM may have to suffer a terrible ordeal, though.

3000 Miles to Graceland (2001)

It doesn't get much worse

[3/10 · 3 March 2003]

In what is the worst movie of its respected year and a possible runner up for worst of all time, every frame of 3000 Miles to Graceland manages to either annoy, repulse or confuse a sane viewer to the brink of madness. Images fly with the speed and chaos of Michael Bay directing a music video, which for once might be a good thing (the less seen of this stink pile, the better). The cast may have big names, but with the exception of Russell and Slater, collectively posses the talent of a trained chimp with no ambition to grab the banana. Direction consists of holding the camera on a pretty explosion while Kevin Costner, Ice-T, Howie Long, or whoever other hack actor, runs unprotected into a firefight to sounds of ear-deafening nu-metal noise. The big `laughs' are supposed to come from David Arquette passing gas in an Elvis costume, so if that's your cup of tea, good knowing you and your abysmal taste in cinema.