Genre

“I found out that if you wanna know the purpose of a thing, you can’t ask the thing to tell you. A car doesn’t know why it’s a car; only the manufacturer knows what it was meant to do. And I guess that’s the same way it is with God.”

Not Easily Broken was written by a minister, Bishop T.D. Jakes. So you should expect a very spiritual message when you watch this movie. If that’s not your cup of tea, as they say, this really isn’t going to be the film for you. The message is quite clear throughout the film: Life will throw everything it’s got at you. It will try you. It will test you. The movie proposes that only through a spiritual connection with God can you overcome these obstacles. The story uses the example of marriage, but it’s obviously intended to apply to every aspect of life.

Alan Rickman, in a stunningly unexpected bit of casting, plays an arrogant, womanizing SOB of a chemistry professor who has just been awarded the Nobel Prize. While he and wife Mary Steenburgen jet off to Sweden, their son (Bryan Greenberg) is kidnapped. Before long, the parents receive are sent a severed thumb as proof of the kidnapper's serious intent. But nothing is quite what it seems.

What we have here is a blackly humoured cross between farce, caper and revenge story. The name-studded cast also includes Bill Pullman as the detective assigned to investigate the kidnapping, Elize Dushku as Greenberg's love interest, and Danny DeVito as a gardener recovering from an obsessive-compulsive disorder. Ernie Hudson and Ted Danson also show up in small roles. DeVito doesn't have much to do in the film, but then, in the end, neither does just about anybody else. Rickman, though top-billed, isn't asked to do more than his patented bastard shtick, which he can do in his sleep. There's a creative heist scene, and plenty of twists, but these latter have a merely academic interest. There is no emotional attachment to anyone in the film, which means that the OTT flash and dazzle of the editing becomes pure surface distraction. Then there's the soundtrack, partly the work of electronica deity Paul Oakenfold. Too often, it has no relation to the action on screen, and is so loud that, fine as it is in and of itself, it becomes irritating. End result: a slick but empty, only fitfully engaging effort.

In 1951 Robert Wise made the Earth stand still. The United States, in fact the entire planet, was in the middle of a frightening cold war. If you believed the media at the time, we were standing just moments from nuclear annihilation. We were given images of a crazy man’s itching trigger-finger poised over a button. School kids were led in air raid drills that promised protection from this powerful menace by the wooden tops of your desks. The government and private sectors were engaged in witch hunts to smoke out “commie” sympathizers. The fear touched every aspect of our lives. Hollywood was no exception. We confronted these atomic fears with giant creatures and post apocalyptic humans, all mutated by radiation fallout. But Robert Wise delivered a morality tale that offered something far different. It offered hope.

I avoided this remake at the box office. This time it wasn’t just because I was too busy. I love the Wise classic and have long considered it off limits for a remake. When I heard about this one, it brought cringes. I had flashbacks to Steven Spielberg’s total rape of War Of The Worlds. Suddenly the new story wasn’t about hope or an interplanetary federation. It was a Captain Al Gore fantasyland come true. I stayed away.

Posted by Ken Spivey

Some movies are simply made better by enjoying them with a six pack of beer and several of your closest, silliest friends. Unfortunately, when I watched “Come Hell or High Water” I was alone drinking a Coke...so the desired experience was diminished. Yet, to better relay the plot of the film, I shall use the lens of myself after about six shots of “Wild Turkey.” This shall lend itself better to the film's narrative style.

Try this plot on for size: Gordo, an ape owned by carnival sideshow barker the Great Lampini (Paul Richichi), gets loose and rampages about Long Island, raping and killing and stealing cars (!). Meanwhile, the moronic detective in charge of the murder case dismisses the idea that an ape is the culprit, and casts his racist eye on the unfortunate Duane Jones (Christopher Hoskins, whose character is named after Night of the Living Dead's lead).

Though made in 1997, this shot-on-super-8 effort does its level best to come across as the Lost 70s Grindhouse Flick, and it has to be said that it does a pretty credible job in capturing that trash aesthetic. There is also wit on display, most prominently in Lampini's deliberately overwrought and baroque dialogue. The film does, though, take its time getting to the rampage: nearly half its 77-minute running time has elapsed before the attacks begin. That first thirty minutes consists largely of people arguing, which has varying entertainment value. The gore scenes have a charming DIY feel, but there is a nastiness to the attacks on women that, as with Blitzkrieg: Escape from Stalag 69 (director/co-writer Keith Crocker's other recently released effort), is in some ways more off-putting than those of its inspirations, given how much of the rest of the film works as a goofy comedy.

With Robert Rodriguez releasing films where he directs, writes, scores, edits and produces some people humor themselves into believing that anyone can do the same.  With Diary of a Tired Black Man, Tim Alexander attempts to accomplish a similar feat.  Jimmy Jean-Louis headlines the small cast as James who recently divorced his wife Tonya (Paula Lema)of four years. Alexander directed an internet clip that dealt with this relationship and from that 3 minute clip he adapted it into a feature film.  The story evolves into a complex investigation of relationships from the black male perspective. 

 

Bradford May, oh Bradford May. I have a good history of watching movies directed by Mr. May from a couple of Darkman sequels to the more recent Ring of Death. His style is pure popcorn and an attitude of leave your brain cells by the door. It is only fitting that I was interested in seeing another flick with his name on it. This one was called Mask of the Ninja. Right away, it sounded like a classic Bradford May movie. However, after watching it, I realized that Bradford had broken some laws in his production. He had broken the sacred five rules of portraying a ninja.

Danny (played by Dominic Rains ) is a cop impersonating a typical street punk who pushes illegal drugs. He gets caught wearing a wire when an undercover cop playing the guitar for the local band makes the save. His name is Detective Jack Barrett (played by Casper Van Dien). In the middle of the arrest, Danny gets a call from his girlfriend: Miko (played by Kristy Wu) who sounds like she is in dire trouble. Jack takes the call instead and decides to investigate what exactly is going on.

The sleaze of the grindhouse era inspires a special kind of love. Warped, dubious, indefensible, yet real all the same. Part of that love is a nostalgia from those bad old days. But it takes an even more special brand of that special love to seek to recreate forgotten exploitation genres, and yet that is what we have here: the first Nazisploitation flick in close to thirty years.

With Nazi hunters closing in, former SS commandant Helmut Schultz recounts to a priest his activities as the ruler of Stalag 69. In the closing days of the war, he performs terrible scientific experiments, along with the expected torture, on an international (and co-ed) group of POWs. Said prisoners, meanwhile, plot their escape and their revenge.

We all knew it had to happen eventually. With the success of the “torture porn” films like the Hostel and Saw series, we had to expect that there would be some lightweight twists and turns on the thriving genre. Shuttle is one of those attempts. It gingerly treads on the now familiar ground of the aforementioned films, but each time it makes the obvious moves in that direction, it pulls back and stalls. Edward Anderson is the writer and director of this mess. It was first attempt at either, and it shows, very badly. He couldn’t decide if he was making a traditional slasher film or one of the more trendy “torture porn” exorcises. So, he ends up doing neither effectively.

The setup was pretty much what we’ve already seen a hundred times. Two young women are on their way home from a Mexican vacation. It hasn’t been going all that well, and the plane ride back to the States was bumpy and plagued by horrible weather. Mel (List) is apparently engaged, and Jules (Goodman) is apparently her best friend. It’s late, and they just want to get home. They opt to accept a ride from a shuttle driver (Curran), who offers to take them for half price, instead of accepting a ride from two guys they just met. They figure the shuttle would be safer. But, of course, if that were true we couldn’t have 106 minutes of movie. By the time this hell ride is over you’re gonna wish they’d just taken the offered ride. The girls would be home safely in their beds, or perhaps the guys’ beds, and your life would now be 100 minutes or so longer to do some of those things you’ve promised yourself needed to be done.

Donkey Punch was partially funded by the British Lottery. That means you might have actually lost twice. Once if you bought a losing ticket, and again if you watched this movie made possible by your gambling itch. Mama always said nothing good comes out of gambling. Turns out she was right. If this is what the British Lottery Authority is doing with the money, you’re better off going to a bookie. At least Mario “The Shark” Cabliario will spend the money on something worthwhile, like women and booze.

The movie begins with three young women on a tropical vacation. They meet three guys at a bar, who claim to have a yacht parked (okay docked) nearby. The dudes wanna know if the chicks wanna party. They say definitely not. Are you kidding? Of course, they say yes. Turns out these fine upstanding lads crew a yacht for some rich guy who is out of town. That leaves them alone with the toys. Kind of reminds me of the Jimmy Buffet song, Gypsies In The Palace. After a few drinks and a few drugs, the trio and one of the guys’ brother head below to make out. If these scenes get tiresome, bring a book to your theater. The sex scene rambles on for over 20 minutes. Finally, the lame brother decides to take a turn with one of the girls. He’s not too bright. He decides to try a stunt his brother told him about called a donkey punch. Apparently it’s this sexual myth. While having sex with a chick you smack her so hard upside the head that it breaks her neck. Why, I have no idea, but the kid tries it and kills the girl. Now everyone panics. The guys, for the most part, want to dump the girl in the ocean and claim she got so drunk and high that she fell overboard. The girls, understandably, aren’t too keen on that idea. At first they don’t even know how it happened, and assume she overdosed or something. Unfortunately, one of the guys was videotaping the entire orgy and caught the donkey punch on tape. The next half hour is a battle between the factions to gain possession of the tape.