Reviews

23 years ago, a younger, less-appreciative me wrote a review in which I shamefully called NDH the "worst thing ever created by mankind."

Sitting here, 23 years later and watching a beautifully restored NDH on Tubi (complete with trailer) I can tell you that NDH is one of the greatest things ever created by mankind. The 87 minute run time is perfect, the action is non-stop, and the psychotronic aspects are impeccable. I have no idea how younger me could have ever besmirched the awesomeness that is NDH.

If you don't love NDH, you're an unpatriotic commie and you need to leave the USA immediately.

Wow, has it really been 22 years since I last watched EFDR? Judging by my review, written under my then-profile name, the answer is yes. I was so naive then and not-yet versed in the proper appreciation for the psychotronic arts. I blame a certain tv show featuring wise-cracking puppets for that.

Anyway, having rewatched EFDR, 22 years on, I can emphatic state it is NOT boring. It is many things, but not boring. Funky? Yes. Fong-a-liscious? Yep. Incoherent? Sure. Awesome? Absolutely.

I'm grateful WOP freed the Fong man from death row and the unleashed him on our hearts.

It's been 10 years since the last review was posted, so I guess this will go unread, but I needed to set the record straight.

Unfortunately, the title "Blood Circus" was wasted on a generic "underground MMA fight to the death" movie. Really, if you're going to call your underground MMA fighting to the death movie "Blood Circus", then you should incorporate some circus-themed activities: Juggalos fighting each other, MMA fighters dressed like clowns while fighting, MMA fighters dressed like clowns while fighting on a high wire, etc.

Sadly, the filmmakers didn't share my artistic vision. The "circus" aspect never come into play. The "Blood Circus" is just a guy who I never believed for a second was a "former MMA champ" fighting an assortment of bums until he has to face off with "Santos", the mysterious "ringleader" behind it all. (Actually, I'm only halfway through the movie, so I'm just assuming he'll fight Santos. If he doesn't, I'll sure look stupid.)

A very sad looking Tom Sizemore turns in a bizarre, lazy performance as a detective who, for some reason, talks as fast as possible. I guess the best way to describe his performance would be "imagine someone doing a really bad impression of Brad Pitt in Snatch, minus the accent."

I try to say something positive about every movie I watch, so I'll say this: Robert LaSardo turns In a good performance as Santos's henchman. Oh, and all the actress are pretty cute, so there's that.

Well, what can I say about Ring of Death? It's cliche, it's predictable, it's a rehash of every B-list prison movie you've ever seen, and yet, it's oddly entertaining enough to warrant a one-time watch.

Stacy Keach delivers a hammy, effeminate performance that screams " I just don't care anymore."

Anyway, guys who I never believed for one second were hardened convicts bare knuckle fight each other while Stacy Keach streams the fights online and the guy who played Mr. O'Boyle on King of Queens is surrounded by topless playboy models and is somehow in cahoots with Stacy Keach.

If you're bored on a Saturday afternoon, let Stacy Keach pound your leather and give Ring of Death a view.

I've seen some bad movies in my day, but I can honestly say, without hyperbole, that Bloodsport 4 is one of the most bizarrely bad movies I've ever seen.

So bad, in fact, that's it's difficult to write a review. The movie starts with a man in tiny bicycle shorts fighting a meathead version of children's entertainer Raffi and goes downhill from there.

This is a movie that needs to be seen to fully appreciate how bizarrely bad it is, because words cannot do it justice. Did the director really think American judges wear frilly collars? Did the director really think prisoners in American prisons still dress like 1930's chain gangs? Did the director really think American prison wardens live in mansions that are staffed by bikini-clad models? (OK, I guess that one is true)

I try to say something positive about every movie I watch, so I can say this: Bloodsport 4 came out in 1999, in the early days of the internet, and one of the characters makes reference to looking something up on the web.

Also, the fight scenes at the end of the movie are well choreographed, so much so that they stand in stark contrast to the hambone, campy antics that proceeded them. Also, the fights feature proto-MMA moves, something not common in the days before UFC was more than a fringe sport.

Anyway, if you want proof that Future War is not Jean-Claude Gosh Darn's worst movie, check out Bloodsport 4.

Continuing my journey through the Kickboxer universe, I've arrived at Kickboxer 5, the last (so far) numbered sequel. Unfortunately, they saved the worst for last.

From the get go, the cheapness is overwhelmingly obvious. When your opening title sequence looks cheaper than the last iPhone video you took of your cat chasing a flashlight beam, you know you're in trouble.

David Sloan is gone, murdered by a South African kickboxing syndicate for reasons I'm not entirely sure of. Are kickboxers kidnapped, falsely imprisoned, and murdered as much in real life as they are in the Kickboxer movies?

The always-awesome Mark Dacascos plays...I don't remember his character's name. I'll just call him Kickboxer. Kickboxer has to go to South Africa and do something kickboxing related...I think. I just finished watching it and I really don't remember.

One unusual plot point that is never expounded upon is the relationship between Kickboxer and his elderly, sweater-vest wearing, gentleman friend. At first, it seems that the gentleman is Kickboxer's gym manager, but a bit later, it appears they live together. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

MST3K fans will, of course, recognize James Ryan , here playing the head of the evil South Africa kickboxing syndicate, as "MacPhearson" from the classic Space Mutiny episode. Every time he appeared on screen I reflexively started yelling out David Ryder's nicknames.

Anyway, I'm looking forward to moving on to the next entry in the franchise.

Continuing my journey through the Kickboxer franchise, I've arrived at Kickboxer 4: The Aggressor.

The first thing I notice: the budget appears to have gotten smaller.

The second thing: Tong Po's face has gotten weirder. You'd think the "most powerful drug lord in Mexico" could afford some better plastic surgery.

Yes, you read that right: Tong Po has given up his simple, small time Muay Thai ways and has become the most powerful drug lord in Mexico. Oh, and he killed Eric and Kurt Sloan and framed David for a murder. Oh, and something about David trying to bring a drug dealer to the US and Tong Po kidnapped his wife...frankly I couldn't follow it all, and I literally just watched that part twice.

Anyway, it seems Tong Po has built a Han-esque fortress in the Mexican desert and hosts a tournament every Day of the Dead and Kickboxer has to go undercover....you know the routine by now.

Tong Po must pour a good portion of his drug profits into his henchmen's wardrobe budget. Seriously, all of his goons are decked out in colorful, Mo' Better-esque shirts, accompanied by high-waisted slacks. Very stylish in the Garth Brooks era.

Also, we find out that not only is Tong Po Mexico's most powerful drug lord, he's also a "visionary record producer". Wow, and you though Phil Spector was harsh!

Keeping with part three's theme of celebrity look-a-likes, there a guy in the prison yard fight scene that looks like Dog the Bounty Hunter, and later Kickboxer fights a guy in an abandoned warehouse that looks like a pumped-up Doug Henning.

Be sure to watch for the light-up Zima wall sign during the bar fight. Much better times indeed.

As an action dude who grew up in the '90s, it's no surprise that the original Kickboxer remains one of my favorite movies. For reasons I don't remember, I've eschewed watching the sequels until recent.

I'm up to Kickboxer 3. It's as fun as Kickboxer 2, with an added twist: celebrity lookalikes!

The movie starts off with a machete-wielding goon who looks like Gilbert Gottfried. Then, we see a brothel patron who's a dead ringer for Leslie Nielsen. A bit later, our Kickboxing hero is confronted by a bum who looks like UFC fighter Clay Guida. During a kickboxing exhibition, we see a dude who looks like a pumped-up John Holmes.

Have you wanted to see a flamboyant Samba instructor who looks like a Stephen Root/John Waters hybrid? Well, I know where you can see one.

Remember that "Ba-na-na-way, ba-na-na-way-nanna-way" song from Only The Strong? It's makes a surprise return here during a beachside capoeira demonstration. I guess KB3 came out a year before OTS. Maybe OTS stole it?

Anyway, if you love DTV sequels, and celebrity look-a-likes, Kickboxer 3 is the movie for you.

I just finished watching Bare Knuckle Brawler, and I want to get this review written because the memory of watching Bare Knuckle Brawler is already fading.

First, I should say that for a low budget punchfighter ( if I may borrow that term from the almighty Comeuppance Reviews) Bare Knuckle Brawler isn't that bad. It's cheap looking, predictable, and cliché, but would you want it any other way?

Creel (the Final Bare Knuckle Boss) had an joyful energy and a joie de vivre that is sadly lacking in most Final Bosses. Chong Li didn't have it, Tong Po didn't have it, Screwface didn't have it, but Creel's smile and joyful capering about the ring will make you believe in love...again!

Danny Trejo was smiling a lot too. Must have been a fun shoot.

Also, what happened to Martin Kove's face? He looks like someone wearing a Dollar Tree "Evil Karate Man" Halloween mask.

Anyway, Bare Knuckle Brawler isn't a bad way to spend a lazy Saturday afternoon.

It's a shame capoeira-mania didn't sweep the nation like Kung fu in the '70s or ninjas in the '80s.

Sure, capoeira might not have the exotic mysticism of Kung fu or the shadowy appeal of ninjas, but if Only The Strong is a fair representation of the capoeira community, then I know one thing that capoeira has that Kung fu and ninjas don't.

What is that thing?

Poppin' fashions, that's what! This movie is a smorgasbord of some of the greatest clothing ever put on film. Baggy, high-waisted pants, plunging neckline t-shirts for men, air brushed overalls, and I would be remiss if I didn't note the stylish zip-up wife beater the head villain was rockin' towards the end of the movie.

Oh, and did someone say vests? Every bad guy, and a few of the good, sport colorful vests at some point in the movie, usually sans shirts underneath. Leopard print, basic black, Cosby-esque geometric patterns, they're all represented! If I had to pick a fav, I have to go with the head villains red-and-green star pattern vest. I think he may have just cut the sleeves of his grandma's Christmas sweater.

Most poppin' movie fashions evah!

You know how some sequels are considered better than the original? Terminator 2, Aliens, Road Warrior, and, of course, Police Academy 4: Citizens on Patrol.

Well, in my book (Blartmania, coming early 2021 from Viking Press) you can add Paul Blart 2 to that list. PB2(as the fans, aka, Blartheads, call it) takes all the elements from PB1 and amps them up 11. (That's a reference to a movie that's not nearly as funny as either PB 1 or PB2, btw)

PB2 has it all: a David Lynch-inspired scene featuring a piano player and a peacock, an old lady getting punched in the stomach, the Fabulous Thunderbirds "Wrap It Up", and an avant-garde stage show that makes "Goddess" from "Showgirls" look like "A Private Dance", also from "Showgirls".

Throw in vibrating forks, a KISS tribute band composed of little people (yeah, a KISS tribute band made up of little people. Bet you wish you had though of that, don't you, Mr. Failed Comedy Writer?) and Adam Sandler's wife and what do you have?

Only the best sequel ever made.

Remember that episode of The Office when they filmed Threat Level Midnight? That's the level of filmmaking we're dealing with here. Seriously, I was expecting to see "A Michael Scott Joint" during the end credits.

Bruce Willis stands around in an empty office and woodenly reads some lines (maybe they just filmed the rehearsals ?) while some other bad actors, including one guy who sounds like the fat gay guy from Modern Family, recite their lines in an even wooden-er fashion.

Meanwhile, Michael Chiklis gives it the old college try, but can't overcome the cliche script or Meadow Williams's inability to express any emotions or facial expressions. I was surprised to see on IMBD that she is, apparently, a real actress and not a porn star trying to go mainstream or a robot.

Ultimately, 90 minutes pass and things happen, and then it's over and you don't remember much of it.

As another reviewer stated "Even Tarantino doesn't do Tarantino anymore", but unfortunately director Paul Solet didn't get that memo, or he was hit on the head and thinks its still 1997.

Sadly, had this been played straightforward, with no artsy-fartsy directorial flourishes or each main character delivering their own dog-themed monologue, this could have been decent. As it stands, it plays as a far-too-late "homage" to early Tarantino and all the "next-big-thing" directors that lived and died in his early '90s wake.

Also, as much as I respect Adrian Brody as an actor, he was miscast in this role. I never once bought him as a hardened ex-con, and I found the scene where he sported a man-bun to be particularly risible.

As for Antonio Banderas...I have no idea what he was supposed to be doing. That part towards the end where he delivers his dog-monologue....I think he was supposed to be intimidating, but it's hard to say.

Everyone on this site is bashing Death Machines, but its cool. I understand. Some of you just haven't taken the time to look under the surface and see just how deep this movie is. I'm talking Moodys deep, man. Really deep.

Three racially diverse assassins, unstoppable, even with bullets, unless you shoot the white assassin in the head, then he lets out a girly scream and gets arrested. What does it all mean? That unstoppableness transcends all racial and social boundaries? I don't know. Evil mushmouthed, giant-haired Asian dragon lady, the mastermind behind it all. Are all Asian women with gigantic wigs evil? The blackmailing henchman who carries incriminating photos in a wicker basket? Who is he really? The wimpy by-default hero who takes karate lessons only to have his hand cut off then have disappointing sex with his nurse-turned-girlfriend? Why did the director turn him into a human water fountain? The religious old guy who gives the white assassin a hamburger? Was he a direct descendant of the similar character from "I Accuse My Parents"? Like I said, deep. Think about it.

Simply awe-inspiring! After seeing this film I moved to Dallas and tried to join the Dallas PD's ROTOR program. They looked at me like I was crazy and denied such a program existed, but I know the truth. I know somewhere deep inside the Dallas PD's headquarters there is a robot that can do everything from tai chi to full field combat. I know there is a robot that can wade through a sea of plastic chairs as if they were plastic chairs. I know there is a robot that has SENSOR RECALL, a computer program that gives law-enforcement robots the power of wizards. Are you on my wavelength? You know I'm right. Officially. Unofficially. Unofficially.

The year 1989 is considered by most movie critics to be the last Golden Age of Cinema. That legendary year saw the theatrical release of three of Hollywoods most beloved films-the Hulk Hogan opus No Holds Barred, the Sylvester Stallone masterpiece Over the Top(OK, I guess that came out in 1987,but it has a totally 1989 vibe) and our current topic of discussion, Road House.

Master auteur Rowdy Herrington has taken the archetypes from ancient mythology (the hero fated to undertake an impossible task, the wise elder who guides the hero, and the villain who the hero must confront)and crafted a tale as powerful and everlasting as any of the classical myths.

Dalton, the worlds greatest (or second greatest, depending on who you ask) cooler is given the Herculean task of cleaning up the Double Deuce, a honky tonk bar so vile they sweep up eyeballs with disturbing regularity. Armed with incredible tai chi skills, Dalton completes his task, but runs afoul of Brad Wesley, the evilest man in Jasper, Mo.

Dalton soon realizes even his tai chi skills won't be enough to defeat the ascot sporting Wesley, or his army of monster truck driving, booze bottle smashing henchmen, so Dalton is forced to call in his mentor Wade Garrett (the world's greatest, or second greatest cooler, depending on who you ask)to help him defeat the forces of evil.

Will Dalton and Wade prevail? Will Brad Wesley continue to finance his evil empire by shaking down the three businessmen that operate in Jasper? All I can tell you is this--Don't be too stupid to have a good time. Put on your right boot, hop into your monster truck and head on down to the video store and make Road House your regular Saturday night thing.

When movie fans discuss the most influential directors of all time, the name Clive Turner is usually at the top of the list. Like some sort of bizarre love child of Lynch and Tarantino, Turner exploded onto the scene with his masterpiece, Howling VII, and with that one film, defined post-modern primativism. In the limited space I have available, I will discuss my interpertation and views of Mr. Turner's awe-inspiring vision.

First, the character of the inspector. Just as Eastwood destroyed the myth of the remorseless gunfighter in Unforgiven, Turner destroys the myth of the police investigator. Turner's inspector isn't glamourous, he doesn't drive an expensive car, he doesn't solve crimes with only a few clues he carefully pieces together. Turner's inspector is so world-weary, so jaded, that he cannot even listen to a simple werewolf-on-the-loose story without taking a break to absorb all the information, because his mind is so haunted by his past cases, he simply cannot stop thinking about all the pain he has witnessed.

Turner even manages to reduce the werewolf, probably the most primative of monsters, into a simpler form. No CGI effects here, no elaborate camera tricks,. Just a very simplistic, very primative revealing of the monster hiding inside all of us.

One of the biggest complaints I have read about this film is Turner's use of "ordinary townpeople" rather that real "actors" in his film (this in a time when reality TV is considered the height of human achievement) This unique casting decision again shows Turner's devotion to post-modern primativism. No other director would dare to take a chance like this. "Real" actors could never have delivered the raw, primal emotions the performers in this movie demonstrate. I know I am not the only audience member to "Stand Up and Testify!" when Pappy (Turner's brilliant play on the authority-figure archtype) commands, nor am I the only one to recoil in horror at the sad, brutal reality of alcoholism and drug abuse as demonstrated in the song "Sit here and drink my good Christian beer."

The final point I would like to discuss is the line dancing, probably Turner's most powerful statement about our sad modern world. Notice how unhappy and robotic all the line dancers look. Turner is forcing us to confront our MTV controlled culture. No matter how unhappy or robotic we feel, we must follow and worship whatever MTV tells us is "cool." Don't like rap? Don't like boy-bands? Too bad, MTV says you must like it, and it is your duty as a good consumer to roboticly follow.

Howling VII, much like Rebel Without a Cause, Saturday Night Fever, and Pulp Fiction is a movie that defines a generation and causes us to re-examine the world we live in. Mr. Turner is trying to warn us: Stand up, testify, absorb the world around you, before you wake up one morning and discover there is dirt in YOUR chili.