5.31.2011

My Month in Review: May '11

Kick-Ass
Matthew Vaughn, 2010
Surprises are nice. I never thought I'd like "Kick-Ass", or for that matter find it a kinetic force of emotion with clever layers of controversy. In what appears a blast on the MPAA, the film is arguably geared toward the "PG-13" crowd while portraying said crowd in disquieted hard-"R" fashion. Like Vaughn's "Stardust" adaptation, it's a gradual build to an unrelenting finish that takes its time to generate varying moods and atmospheres. At one point it'll feel like a hang-out movie, at others a glorified snuff video, transitioning between these easily and energetically. Much of the comic book source material's aesthetic is captured while its narrative flow is vastly improved upon. And the cast? Out of the park, man! Aaron Johnson, Nicolas Cage and Chloë Grace Moretz are of particularly enthusiastic note, while it's always fun to see Michael Rispoli and Jason Flemyng, among others. Upon first viewing I had a few issues (initially I found the narration and supporting characters to be weak and unnecessary while blacks and homosexuals were heedlessly given a raw deal) most of which paved themselves over and then some on a solid rewatch. Also, greatest use of the "Battle Hymn of the Republic"? Ha, maybe so!

The Final Comedown
Oscar Williams, 1972
Billy Dee (whose Billy Dee Williams Enterprises co-produced) plays Johnny Johnson, an embodiment of the conflicted yet determined nature of late 1960s, early '70s black militants after hundreds of years of oppression. Openly addressed are the acceptance and self-loathe many brothers and sisters were subconsciously taught through white media. Though I've yet to see director Oscar Williams' '78 "Death Drug", I'm ready to call "The Final Comedown" (based upon Jimmy Garrett's play "We Own the Night") Williams' most important film. Read the full review.

Confessions of a Superhero
Matthew Ogens, 2007
Hey, two movies about ordinary folks dressing up like superheroes in one month! This thoroughly and uniquely affecting look in to an intricately odd slice of American humanity is obviously, however, quite a different beast from "Kick-Ass". Somewhat tangentially, I tend to take admiration to fully realized visions of filmic endeavors I've attempted myself and considering the two documentaries I worked on in 2007, "Confessions", technically, is just that (not to say either of my meager pieces are or could be close to becoming superior). It is a source of encouragement to keep on trucking, though an ironic one as, subjectively, it depicts sympathetic hopefuls willingly - almost blindly - trapped in a hopeless hamster wheel.

Truck Turner
Jonathan Kaplan, 1974
Without a single dull moment, "Truck Turner" is a perfectly paced, highly energetic wad of baadasssssery with a chemical supporting cast thoroughly humorous in their uptight characterizations. Even the love interest's pet cat has impeccable comic timing. The story, more or less about Truck taking out pushers so fly they could have saved Pan-Am, doesn't come spoon-fed or in a particularly formulaic manner. The cinematography coolly cuts between careful composition and guerilla-style handheld as Hayes' score echoes "Shaft" while defining itself in its own right. Read the full review.

The Spook Who Sat by the Door
Ivan Dixon, 1973
An uncompromising look inside American race conflicts of the early 1970s with the controversial power of a black Project Mayhem, if you will (makes me wonder if Chuck Palahniuk is a Sam Greenlee fan). Engaging from the onset, the slow burn never loses steam, and isn't likely to long after the credits have passed.

Poets of Mongolia
Peter Brosens, Peter Krüger & Sakhya Byamba, 1999
Brosens' "State of Dogs" and "Khadak" paint bleak portraits indeed, but their views of urban Mongolian culture and decay still, to my crazy self, anyway, mock the country up with great allure. Here, vignettes, their subjects' reverberating songs embedded in their realities, reveal a hopeless working class filled with dreams left unrealized due to outside circumstance (alternatively explored in "City of the Steppes", covered below). Next to the aforementioned titles "Poets of Mongolia" is a less intricate effort from Brosens, but no less an engrossing one. Since finally following up on my highly memorable 2007 "Khadak" viewing the guy has quickly become one of my favorite filmmakers.

Abar
Frank Packard, 1977
AKA "Abar: (The First) Black Superman". Wow, this one's a doozy. The ending is screwier than the "Oh Happy Day" finale to "The Thing With Two Heads" and preaches that the answer is not equality through morality but the strange karmic consequence of eating worms for being a racist. Now, at no point during "Abar" was I bored, or anything but enthralled, for that matter. Yes, ostensibly it is a bad film, but it's one of the best bad films I've seen. Read the full review.

Bedazzled
Stanley Donen, 1967
Through frequent use of extreme foreground framing and obscuration on Donen's part and casual subtlety on that of stars Dudley Moore and Peter Cook, who also conceived of and wrote the script, we are allowed to discover, as opposed to be spoon-fed, the sharp comedy (and is it ever sharp), making it all the more satisfying.


Further viewings:

Classified X - Mark Daniels, 1998
An edifying rundown of blacks' history in American cinema from the insidiest of insiders, the one and only Melvin Van Peebles. A technical masterwork it is not - not by any means - but it is, far more importantly, an authentically felt personal reaction to racism in film as though an extension of Spike Lee's montage finale to "Bamboozled" (which, granted, came a year or two later).

City of the Steppes - Peter Brosens & Odo Halflants, 1993
The pain of purge and repression still felt decades after de-Stalinization, Mongolia carries forth as it can in this oft-dreary (though encouragingly endcapped) compilation of profiles of life in the country after the collapse of the Soviet Union. Brosens' most intriguing idea, one he would expound upon in subsequent films, highlights posed life as though breathing photographs - a wayfarer's tableau vivant, if you will. Of note is the apparent musical influence from Western culture, I.E. Glenn Miller's "In the Mood" and John Lennon's ever-fitting "Imagine". I'd like to learn more about the "Eagle Dance" performed by wrestlers pre-bout, as I've now seen the tradition in this, Brosens' "State of Dogs" and particularly memorably in the 1945 epic "Tsogt Taij" (my guess as to its significance is simple: golden eagles are mighty hunters with powerful, raptor-like claws - "raptor" coming from the Latin "rapere" meaning "to grip" - and the grappler dance emulates this to embolden and intimidate). Finally, I hope, outside future viewings of this picture (and even then I might just cover my eyes), I never have to see a lamb-skinning again. That was brutal.

Gentlemen Prefer Blondes - Howard Hawks, 1953
Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell are awfully funny in this shockingly racy pastiche of upper class ethics. Monroe is fabulous in the centerpiece number, "Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend".

Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides - Rob Marshall, 2011
So releasing the heathen god Calypso from her imprisonment in the oddly sultry (save for those teeth) human form of Tia Dalma doesn't appear to have untamed the seas but in fact brought the misfortune of Rob Marshall upon our pirates and their Caribbean (and beyond, from Britain to Florida, as it were). "On Stranger Tides" is the "Mighty Joe Young" to the "King Kong" that was Gore Verbinski's one-two knockout of "Dead Man's Chest" and "At World's End" (my initial thoughts on which you can read here, where in retrospect I didn't award them enough favor, with expanded reactions - including one for "The Curse of the Black Pearl" - readable just below in this month's rewatch section). What made those predecessors great, in a (pea)nutshell, is that they weren't satisfied to merely deliver a reliable Disney product - they had the ambition, like their free-spirited characters, to go where no blockbuster had gone before and do it better than most could hope to in the future. Still, I concede that more Johnny Depp as Jack Sparrow and Geoffrey Rush as Hector Barbossa isn't exactly a horrible thing. Read the full review.

Jane Eyre - Cary Joji Fukunaga, 2011
Where "Jane Eyre" frequently looks nice, particularly with its exteriors, it just as frequently plays like an episode of "Masterpiece Theater: Porn for Women", though having not been previously familiar with the story allowed me to become freshly interested in the social struggle between human nature and rigid class structures then especially wrapped up in the romance that lifts above that struggle. Mia Wasikowska capably leads the cast that also boasts Judi Dench's matronly comic relief and the impeccable jawline of Michael Fassbender, who plays not only the sole man Jane ever really forms any kind of acquaintance with but also, almost humorously, just about the manliest man she can begin to imagine.

The Way Back - Peter Weir, 2010
As expected - good with a few overt blemishes and, of course, Colin Farrell!

Empire Records - Allan Moyle, 1995
It's rocky going, but if you've ever worshipped at the altars of John Hughes, Richard Linklater or Kevin Smith there's plenty to like in this day-in-the-life ensemble picture about a pre-Napster record store featuring Liv Tyler's hotness zenith, Renée Zellweger before she became intolerable, Ethan Embry at his tweakiest, a welcome appearance from Debi Mazar, a really bad Rory Cochrane haircut and a cool little montage to perhaps Dire Straits' greatest single, "Romeo & Juliet". I should probably get around to Moyle's often-recommended "Pump Up the Volume".

Bridesmaids - Paul Feig, 2011
Now, it would be entirely unfair to judge this or any film based on what it could have been with an alternate direction, but I can't help but feel an opportunity for endearingly raunchy gal-pal fun was wasted in favor of this "Apatow for chicks" outing. Still, the centerpiece cast - even its minor supporters - deliver to their respective, self-set standards and better, standouts being Melissa McCarthy, Jon Hamm, Franklyn Ajaye and Maya Rudolph. I'll throw Chris O'Dowd in there as well, because although he's not given much to work with here I love him on Channel 4's "The IT Crowd" and it's great to see him getting somewhat more prolific face time (I didn't recognize him in his blind, mustachioed fencer bit part in the stateside take on "Dinner for Schmucks"). To the credit of wide appeal, I can give "Bridesmaids" the distinction of being the only comedy I've heard make its audience match the roaring laughter that shook my auditorium when Steve Carrell blib-blabbed the news in "Bruce Almighty" (thanks to a scene in which... well... if you've seen it, you know). Speaking of Carrell, director Paul Feig has helmed many an episode of America's "The Office" and wouldn't you know it, former Dunder Mifflin CFO David Wallace himself, Andy Buckley, was also in this... but... as... an extra? Maybe he had scenes that got cut... or maybe he was just there for moral support?

Maciste contro i Mongoli (Maciste Conquers the Mongols- Domenico Paolella, 1963
AKA "Hercules Against the Mongols". Yep, Maciste just isn't marketable in the states, it would seem, even when you've got the not-quite-Herculean (or at least not-quite-Steve Reeves/Reg Park-ian) Mark Forest reprising the part, here for the fifth of seven times. Each Maciste film (and Ursus film, for that matter) is dubbed and retitled to make him either a more widely recognizable mythological muscleman - often Hercules - or a more widely recognizable mythological muscleman's son - often Hercules'. This outing, comfortable in its wild historical inaccuracies as "One Million Years B.C." is in its blend of prehistoric epochs, is middle-of-the-road for its wave. It treads a line twixt the sufficient entertainment of, say, "Le fatiche di Ercole", and the flavorless insipidity of something like "Teseo contro il minotauro", never quite falling to either side while, in true pepla fashion, lacking the would-be inevitable showdown(s) between its central adversaries in favor of brawls with lions and somewhat larger scale skirmishes.

Death at a Funeral - Neil LaBute, 2010
For what it's worth, this is probably on par with Frank Oz' original, if not slightly more entertaining (and containing of perhaps the strangest Wilhelm scream use I've heard). In the meantime, I suppose I should finally get around to LaBute's more reputed "In the Company of Men" and "Your Friends & Neighbors". I've seen "Lakeview Terrace", which is a finely effective pot boiler, and "Nurse Betty", which is... uh... well, it's "Nurse Betty", at any rate.

The Princess & the Frog - Ron Clements & John Musker, 2009
So we go in to "The Princess & the Frog" knowing all the hype about Disney's first black heroine, which may be a bigger deal than even they make it out to be, as the company's past non-white animated women such as Jasmine and Mulan have come across just as any other in the princess archetype). Now if only we could have a black heroine who didn't have to spend most of the runtime as an amphibian. As for the film itself, well, my two key observations are that first, there are way too many computers involved with cel animation these days and it takes away all the charm. Technology and social matters aside, things get off to a mostly agreeable start but go way downhill when our practically motive-free villain stirs up his spells and there begins a seasoning of random, instantly forgettable songs with garnishes of Disney Renaissance references.

Sweetgrass - Lucien Castaing-Taylor, 2009
Anyone who knows me knows I love the Big Sky country. Unfortunately I'm not sure "Sweetgrass" really cuts my Montana mustard, though it does try in the admirable fashion of Davaa Byambasüren's Mongolian docudramas and, to be fair, on a base level does provide a glimpse into the lives of some of our "last cowboys".

Wet Hot American Summer - David Wain, 2001
This production from the Stella team brings intermittent laughs with its parodic exaggerations, but is carried out amateurishly enough to spoil under its hot summer sun.

That Man Bolt - Henry Levin & David Lowell Rich, 1973
Boiled down, title character Jefferson Bolt is the black James Bond, a charming mother with an affinity for high jump kicks and a knack for getting out of traps and enduring torture. His best weapon is his mean attitude, which he frequently launches in the droopy faces of his staunch, British bosses who do condescendingly and obligatorily rib him for his blackness. The character has little to no backing from his surrounding, unengaging picture, the only technically interesting aspect of which is the repeated use of a certain editing technique that I believe was somewhat forward for its time. Read the full review.

Slaughter - Jack Starrett, 1972
With a purposeful neglect of story beyond the basics of "Rip Torn and Rip Torn's friends are trying to kill Jim Brown and Jim Brown's friends", 1972's "Slaughter" almost goes to show that with enough soulful funk and righteous attitude you don't need so bothersome an element as a story to give the post-"Sweetback", post-"Shaft" crowds what they craved. Once, however, the energy surge has worn from the capturing opening title sequence (accompanied by Billy Preston's title theme, also heard in brief more recently in the oddly punctuative Hugo Stiglitz interlude of "Inglourious Basterds"), we realize just how little there is to "Slaughter" and we begin, rapidly, to grow bored. Read the full review.

This Film Is Not Yet Rated - Kirby Dick, 2006
Though sloppily produced as many of these documentaries on film business tend to be, this agreeable example is more interesting and informative than many of its brethren.

Thor - Kenneth Branagh, 2011
For all it lifts from Oliver Stone's "Alexander" with its establishing chapter in a Babylonian Asgard (including but most definitely not limited to a similar opening narration from Anthony Hopkins), "Thor" neglects all clues regarding effective pacing, causing its few better moments throughout - moments typically involving Tom Hiddleston's sympathetic, honorably intentioned Loki and/or Idris Elba's stoic Heimdall (though a certain Avenger's brief first appearance goes not without notice) - to drown in what is, quite frankly, a loud and boring affair with all the camp of "Conan the Destroyer" and more questionable Dutch angles than you can shake a mythical hammer at. This portrayal presents the Norse thunder god as a right cocky bastard, and just like the Greek demigod Perseus in last year's abominable "Clash of the Titans" remake, he is rewarded by his omnipotent father for not learning a thing over the course of what passes as his arc and remaining a right cocky bastard though tones and posturing would have us believe otherwise. Our script is one of many conveniences and, when we are on Earth in particular, one of many clichés - a script about as thin as the paper it's written on. Pity, I wanted to like this one and very much enjoyed its trailer. Oh, also, really, people need to quit saying "this is madness" in movies. Takes you right out of it. "Oh, also" number two: if "Iron Man" gets Black Sabbath (on top of a slew of AC/DC), what gives with the lack of KISS' anthemic "God of Thunder" here? The theme "Thor" offers up instead, Foo Fighters' "Learning to Walk Again", is wretched.

Identity Crisis - Melvin Van Peebles, 1989
Written by and starring Van Peebles' son Mario, "Identity Crisis" is a crazy mess, but a mess feeling enough like a fun father/son bonding experience that it manages to be watchable at least.

Micmacs - Jean-Pierre Jeunet, 2009
Characteristically inventive and kitschy (often irritatingly so) but uglier and less interesting than most Jeunet, and that's saying something.

White Material - Claire Denis, 2009
Obligatory shake-cam plus quietude does not provocation create.

The Drawn Together Movie: The Movie! - Greg Franklin, 2010
A censorship lift renews some of the ultra-meta "Drawn Together" cleverness but can't restore the gang to what they were in the typically hilarious seasons 1-3. And I'm not so sure their bitter lambaste of "South Park" is either justified or all that concrete.




















Total first-time viewings: 29

Rewatches (12 total): Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End x2 (Verbinski, 2007), Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest x3 (Verbinski, 2006), Kick-Ass (Vaughn, 2010), Confessions of a Superhero (Ogens, 2007), Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl x2 (Verbinski, 2003), Classified X (Daniels, 1998), Rock-A-Doodle (Bluth & Goldman, 1991), Valhalla Rising (Refn, 2009)

If "Dead Man's Chest" impresses me and makes me realize this whole Disney pirate thing can be damn swell after all (and then some, of course), its concluding piece does a few better to render me a giddy "Pirates of the Caribbean" fanboy. "At World's End" is a true triumph of blockbuster adventure, heartily engaging from stem to stern. It is all parts intense drama, ambitious surrealism, honor of freedom in a dangerously beautiful world, deserved fanservice and guileless self-parody sewed up tight by a provocatively intricate yet seamlessly woven story with the enhanced Davy Jones lore strong at its core. This is what escapist filmmaking is all about.
- Where "The Curse of the Black Pearl" primarily makes merry with an amusement park ride, the first half of its considerably prettier sequel couple, "Dead Man's Chest", takes the play on pirate lore to new levels with the brilliance of Davy Jones' cephalopodan personification and its extensions. With the advantage of the stage already having been set for better or for worse, "Chest" also broadens its high adventure scope to massively entertaining effect, providing greater a sandbox for its well-blocked characters to romp about in. And I'm not one to be swept off by computer effects, but the crew of the Flying Dutchman are phenomenally accomplished. Verbinski appears to know better than most of his epic peers how to show the use of every last penny of a multi-hundred-million dollar budget. The care that goes in to even the minutest details in the briefest shots is literally awesome.
- Would you believe this was my sixth viewing of the respectably subgenre-resurrecting "Curse of the Black Pearl"? Well, approximately. I haven't been keeping track quite that closely. I loathed the flick with my initial theatrical viewing but returned repeatedly on borrowed home video, desperate to determine what I was missing that everyone else was going nuts about. Turns out I'm still not wild about it, though this revisit - my first after finally giving the sequels the ol' college try and coming out enamored - proved worthy at least of sitting through, particularly for the many little set-ups that get paid off and then some in what was to come. Overarching positives exist, such an ever-reliable "Three Musketeers" tone, yet the key negatives I originally cited are still glaringly apparent - dreadfully weak British Navy characters (perhaps intentionally so to increase the rascally allure of piracy but bland enough to take away from as much) and cheap and childish theatrics throughout (including an extreme overuse of and over-emphasis on the term "pirate") - but I can now appreciate the rare and glorious high seas adventure, particularly considering its admirable narrative structuring and thickly peppered iconicity (Jack Sparrow's would-be big entrance at the forefront). The picture would be little without Johnny Depp or Geoffrey Rush, though I'm finding myself oddly impressed with Orlando Bloom as well. Where previously I thought him more wooden than ever here (I might mention quite liking him in "Elizabethtown", however), this time I find myself taken by his overwrought posturing - he performs as though a silent film swashbuckler, which fits the part just fine. If anything, hey, Zoe Saldana! Hottt. With three Ts.
- Hadn't seen "Rock-A-Doodle" since probably before I was in double-digits. In those childhood days I frequently watched it and others of its ilk a la "All Dogs Go to Heaven", "The Brave Little Toaster" and "An American Tail" (along with the more typical Disney fare), and it was a major source of pseudo-trauma. The Christopher Plummer-voiced owl villain recalls the butt-judge from "The Wall" and is thrice as scary, while the entire film is grounded in terrifying scenarios and visuals. Even the cheerier moments are creepy, what with certain odd sensibilities in place and the strange, seemingly inconsistent size relation of the characters to one another. The narrative is haphazardly tossed but this hardly affects matters.
- Considering how much I loved "Valhalla Rising" on my first go, it was strange to find it floundering upon a much-delayed rewatch. Maybe it grew to something (even) greater in my mind as I reflected over these past six months (and oh, there was reflecting). I'll chalk it up as a mishap and try again some other time - it wasn't a complete "180" of perception, just a dismaying underwhelm-nosity.

5.22.2011

REVIEW: Pirates of the Caribbean: On Stranger Tides (Rob Marshall, 2011)

So releasing the heathen god Calypso from her imprisonment in the oddly sultry (save for those teeth) human form of Tia Dalma doesn't appear to have untamed the seas but in fact brought the misfortune of Rob Marshall upon our pirates and their Caribbean (and beyond, from Britain to Florida, as it were). "On Stranger Tides" is the "Mighty Joe Young" to the "King Kong" that was Gore Verbinski's one-two knockout of "Dead Man's Chest" and "At World's End". What made those predecessors great, in a (pea)nutshell, is that they weren't satisfied to merely deliver a reliable Disney product - they had the ambition, like their free-spirited characters, to go where no blockbuster had gone before and do it better than most could hope to in the future.

Here, the continued adventures of Jack Sparrow in which the now-notorious rascal more or less takes center stage to show us how he attains his self-preceding reputation (though in what becomes a stooge's manner), it is as though returning writers Ted Elliot and Terry Rossio, producer Jerry Bruckheimer and whoever else were afraid to bust in spin-off mode and have gone for some heartless amalgam of the original's structure and an '80s "B"-fantasy feel with an unwarranted excess of new and painfully rigid supporting characters (meanwhile leaving behind the Greek chorus of Pintel and Ragetti). From the art departments, in comparison the makeup is lacking though I'll concede some fine work was done on Blackbeard's ship, the Queen Anne's Revenge.

On top of it all, where a handful of directors have already publicly experimented with the on-set technology to great - or at least interesting - ends, Marshall apparently has no idea how to take advantage of 3D. Not a single composition in "Tides" lends itself to the format and what's more, the heavy use of fog and candlelight washes out much of the basic, action-compromising cinematography's would-be depth.

Whining and moaning aside, once I reached a point in this picture - which relies on foreknowledge of its characters whilst decidedly ignoring all the nuance that makes them endear - when my anticipation no longer felt betrayed, I conceded that more Johnny Depp as Sparrow and Geoffrey Rush as Hector Barbossa (and why not, Kevin McNally as Joshamee Gibbs) isn't exactly a horrible thing, and I walked out rescued from ultimate disappointment's depths with a feeling that while yes, it would seem everyone in the "Pirates" world is still weary from "sailin' to da inds ahf da ert" in their last installment, at least there are a few fairly earned laughs alongside a hope that the inevitable sequel(s) will get back to form. Obvious first step: ditch Marshall on that minuscule isle where Keira Knightley's Elizabeth Swan famously set fire to the rum supply and don't look back. Hopeful second step: Give us more of Orlando Bloom's Will Turner as captain of the Flying Dutchman alongside Stellan Skarsgard's Bootstrap Bill! At a loss, hey, we have Verbinski, Depp, Elliot and Rossio's "The Lone Ranger" to look forward to.

5.20.2011

Three Honkies: Slaughter (Starrett, 1972)

With a purposeful neglect of story beyond the basics of "Rip Torn and Rip Torn's friends are trying to kill Jim Brown and Jim Brown's friends", 1972's "Slaughter" almost goes to show that with enough soulful funk and righteous attitude you don't need so bothersome an element as a story to give the post-"Sweetback", post-"Shaft" crowds what they craved. Once, however, the energy surge has worn from the capturing opening title sequence (accompanied by Billy Preston's title theme, also heard in brief more recently in the oddly punctuative Hugo Stiglitz interlude of "Inglourious Basterds"), we realize just how little there is to "Slaughter" and we begin, rapidly, to grow bored.

Once again, the white villains' racist remarks come forced, with little motive beyond riling up black audience members. Jim Brown endures these comments, knowing he'll soon be giving their speakers what they've got coming (with the help of frequently utilized yet seldom effective distorted lens effects), and he does a suitable job - the camera does like him - but I greatly prefer his turn in the same year's more folky and relevant "Black Gunn" (co-starring Martin Landau as a villainous car salesman).

Director Jack Starrett went on to head up what was to be the first capitalization on both the Black Power movement and second-wave feminism, "Cleopatra Jones" (which, also bland, barely gets by on a few poppy moments and Bernie Casey's Bernie Caseyness), but the picture was beat to its own punch by its original, cast-aside producer, Larry Gordon, and director Jack Hill with the fast-tracked yet vastly superior icon of soul cinema that made Pam Grier a star, "Coffy".

5.19.2011

Three Honkies: That Man Bolt (Levin & Rich, 1973)

If one were to pick a sole male figure to signify the blaxploitation wave, chances are so good they can hardly be called "chances" that Fred Williamson would come out on top every time, if not for his reliability as a badass at least for the great quantity of films he headlined. "That Man Bolt" is one that gets by largely on Williamson badassery. Were there a less charismatic star here there'd be very little worth watching. The eclectic Henry Levin, whose directorial filmography charts back to the '40s and includes "Journey to the Center of the Earth", helmed "Bolt" in 1973 with television veteran David Lowell Rich, though it wouldn't seem either gentleman brought much beyond your average, serviceable exploitation direction. Boiled down, title character Jefferson Bolt (mistakenly and humorously called "Lincoln Bolt" in IMDb's synopsis) is the black James Bond, a charming mother with an affinity for hi jump kicks and a knack for getting out of traps and enduring torture. His best "gadget" is his mean attitude, which he frequently launches in the droopy faces of his staunch, British bosses who do condescendingly and obligatorily rib him for his blackness. The character has little to no reason or backing from his surrounding, unengaging picture, the only technically interesting aspect of which is the repeated use of a certain editing technique that I believe was somewhat forward for its time (the commencement of a scene, while a character's plan for said scene is still unfolding, carried over from the previous scene as a voiceover segue... for all I know this has been used since the '30s, but I don't think it came into prominence until the early 2000s).

One occasional feature of these films is a non-narrative musical interlude, typically set in a club, highlighting an up-and-coming artist performing a song or two. "Blacula", for example, features The Hues Corporation (of "Rock the Boat" notoriety and whose Bernard St. Clair Lee died last month) enthusiastically belting one of their three songs from the film's soundtrack, the invigorating "There He Is Again". Some may also be familiar with Hammer's decidedly funky early '70s entry in their Dracula franchise, "Dracula AD 1972", and its opening party sequence featuring The Stoneground, who offer up "You Better Come Through" and "Alligator Man". "That Man Bolt" takes the cameo nature of these appearances a bit further as Bolt's arrival in a club and subsequent recognition by the performer, here Teresa Graves of the Doodletown Pipers (who also appeared in "Black Eye" with Williamson the following year), decides the next song (lyrics of which declare "I'm so glad to see you here in my part of town") before the performer actually becomes a short-lived love-interest-with-a-history character.

5.08.2011

Three Honkies: Abar (Packard, 1977)

Wow, this one's a doozy. "Abar" AKA "Abar: Black Superman" AKA "Abar, the First Black Superman" AKA" In Your Face" (a title under which the film inexplicably saw new cover art featuring an anonymous, magnum-wielding fatty disproportionately positioned behind a lazily sassy-looking black betty) comes to us from 1977, after blaxploitation's prime, as a home brew project by some fellow called Frank Packard, though that name may well be a consolidating invention (a la "The Final Comedown" director Oscar Williams' renaming to "Frank Arthur Wilson" upon that film's questionable re-release). A well-to-do black doctor (who frequently hears Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I Have a Dream" speech in his head when he's alone) moves his family to an upper echelon white neighborhood only to meet with bigoted hatred blazing as strong as a hundred swastika-shaped suns and eventual protests ranging from goose-stepping sign wavers to beatings courtesy "Look Away, Dixieland"-whistling upstarts. Not a single white person comes close to liberality. The outward racism recalls a pre-Civil Rights era (even still appearing extreme), winding up odd and unintentionally humorous in its late '70s setting added to hilariously uninspired performances. Much of your everyday dialogue comes across just fine, but the plentitudes of shock and anger are delivered with enthusiasm so lacking it makes Peter Criss' lackadaisical line readings in "Kiss Meets the Phantom of the Park" look, well, at least Golden Globe-worthy.

I don't make practice of divulging spoilers in my write-ups, but I feel to convey the sheer nuttiness of "Abar" one does not simply walk into its mindset. Its black power is guarded by more than just MLK sound bites. There is a communal infection that does not sleep, and "the Man" is ever watchful. The ghetto is a barren wasteland riddled with pushers and condemnation and despair. See, Abar is a motivational speaker and leader of a vigilante justice squad, his ideals nestled somewhere twixt MLK and Malcolm X, and when he catches wind of his cross-town soul brother's plight he trades his protection services for the opportunity to become more powerful via a secret experiment the doctor has been needing a strong test subject for. No supermanning occurs until around the hour-and-fifteen mark at which point less than half an hour remains, but once that mark passes Abar's new psychokinetic powers essentially unleash a wave of biblical plagues on the neighborhood in concern. Whiteys are terrorized by rats and snakes, spaghetti becomes a plate of worms when negativity toward blacks is uttered and if anyone tries to run, hurricane-force winds sweep them away. This ending is screwier than the "Oh Happy Day" finale to "The Thing With Two Heads" and preaches that the answer is not equality through morality but the strange karmic consequence of eating worms for being a racist. The punishments are not relevant to the transgressions. Then, as a final footnote, out of what I can't stress enough as being absolutely nowhere, the next-door neighbor who started all the ruckus confesses she's actually ashamedly black and only living with whites because she has sickle-cell anemia.

For all the filler "Abar" takes us through - would-be family relative subplots, randomly birthed and loose-ended "Frankenstein" subtext and an Old West dream sequence depicting Abar as a drifter unfortunately named "Deadwood Dick" - it does present an interesting idea or two. As viewers, of course we are led to want the doctor's neighbors to finally accept him and his family. To give in to the violent ignorance and leave would be to admit defeat, thereby falling to the white man's enforced superiority. We do come to question the doctor's stubbornness, however, as the indiscretions grimly worsen yet he remains coldly refusing to budge. Then, what of Abar's brothers and sisters in the ghetto? The doctor's money isn't doing them any good on the white side of town. If the doctor went back to what is, according to his new enemies, where he belongs, he could stand to help that community immensely. The doctor contests this rather weakly by accusing Abar of being "worse than the black bourgeois escapees", "a scavenger living off the corruption of [his] own kind" so prideful in his position as community messiah that if the ghetto were cleaned up he might be "the first one to soil its fragrance to keep [himself] up on that pedestal of 'look at me'". Desperate though the declaration may be, it does foretell Abar's delusions of divinity upon receiving his powers.

Now, let it be known that at no point during "Abar" was I bored, or anything but enthralled, for that matter. Yes, ostensibly "Abar" is a bad film, but it is one of the best bad films I've seen.

5.06.2011

Three Honkies: Truck Turner (Kaplan, 1974)

Hide your mommas! Jonathan Kaplan follows up his 1973 Jim Brown vehicle "The Slams" with '74's energetic "Truck Turner" in which "Isaac Hayes, the big brother of soul, [makes] a new kind of music… and it's mean jive." Hayes' laid back, well-rounded lead earns his bread as a skip tracer and makes his way by orchestrating destruction to his benefit. A respect for equal morality is his driving purpose, not letting potential advantages of post-Civil Rights blackness become an excuse, but that doesn't mean foulmouthed whiteys ain't getting their due in the meantime.

I feel as though "Truck Turner" is a lesser-known flick, and now that I've seen it I can't understand why. Without a single dull moment it's a perfectly paced, highly energetic wad of baadasssssery with a chemical supporting cast including Yaphet Kotto, Nichelle Nichols, Alan Weeks, Sam Laws and Scatman Crothers, all thoroughly humorous in their up tight characterizations. Even the love interest's pet cat has impeccable comic timing. The story, more or less about Truck taking out pushers so fly they could have saved Pan-Am, doesn't come spoonfed or in a particularly formulaic manner. The cinematography coolly cuts between careful composition and guerilla-style handheld as Hayes' score (you know it) echoes "Shaft" while defining itself in its own right (any "Kill Bill" fan will recognize the main theme from the Bride's pre-toe-wiggling hospital escape). The parade of open-shirted hot chocolate (with sprinkles of macadamia) just about rivals King George's feisty harem from "Coffy". Rob Zombie fans will recognize Nichols' line, "I want you to come out there and shake your asses, proper, y'hear? Now get out there and make it look good!" from "Dead Girl Superstar" off "The Sinister Urge". Put simply, there's a lot here to love.

And as if that wasn't enough, the action takes no prisoners. An early car chase complete with an unnecessary explosion sees the chased seeming to purposefully take out everything in his path including fire hydrants, flower stands and Jewish bagel carts. The climactic hospital confrontation goes out-and-out insane with child patients as hostages, doctors pulling pistols and a shootout across an in-use birthing suite.

If you're a blaxploitation fan or one of the uninitiated toying with unassured curiosity, wanting to see what it's all about without risking a haphazardly built film that merely gets by on soul, you can't go wrong with "Truck Turner".

5.05.2011

Three Honkies: The Final Comedown (Williams, 1972)

Billy Dee (whose Billy Dee Williams Enterprises co-produced) plays Johnny Johnson, an embodiment of the conflicted yet determined nature of late 1960s, early '70s black militants after hundreds of years of their race's oppression. Following a montage of galvanized black power, police cruelty and retaliation seemingly artistically influenced by "Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song", we open on Johnny suffering a potentially fatal wound for the cause. As partners attempt to help him amidst a siege of pigs, Johnny reflects on events that flesh out the "hows" and conversations that exemplify the "whys" including altercations with complacent parents and irresolute acquaintances, conspiration with white liberals, being presumed a thief simply for operating a vehicle licensed to his Jewish boss, and checking the views of an old, white, unemployed man with a sign reading, "I am a brother too". Openly addressed are the acceptance and self-loathe many brothers and sisters were subconsciously taught through white media. D'Urville Martin ("Black Caesar", "Hell Up in Harlem", the "Boss Nigger" trilogy and more) and the luscious Pamela Jones ("Lamont Goes Karate" from the Redd Foxx-less stretch of season three "Sanford & Son") co-star in strong supporting roles.

Though I've yet to see director Oscar Williams' '78 "Death Drug", I'm ready to call "The Final Comedown" (based upon Jimmy Garrett's play "We Own the Night" and also unfittingly known as "Blast!" following a '76 re-cut) Williams' most important film. The man went on to make '73's heritage-heavy "Five on the Black Hand Side" (based upon Charlie L. Russell's eponymous play) and '76's "Hot Potato", a highly amusing departure of a sequel to the formulaic yet groovy-as-hell Jim Kelly and Scatman Crothers-starring "Black Belt Jones" (which he wrote and supervised). "Comedown" is easily the most powerful of these (not that the chopsocky lite of "Hot Potato" was going for as much, exactly) and thus far the only of this cinematic wave to make me want to weep (on multiple occasions, at that).

Fresh out the thread gate I'm already questioning whether a film is actually "blaxploitation" or not (a question I, coincidentally, also maintain for "Five on the Black Hand Side"). On the basest of levels I suppose yes, "The Final Comedown" must be, as it features strong black leads and certainly would not have been able to be put in the mainstream pre-"Sweetback". The obvious "exploitation" root of "blaxploitation" implies to me that something is being blatantly exploited, sometimes to a point of relative ridiculousness, for the sole purpose of entertainment, for example biker counter-culture, graphic sex and/or gore in any number of '60s and '70s flicks from the likes of Herschell Gordon Lewis and Al Adamson (who also directed Jim Kelly in '77's "Black Samurai"). Here we have serious subject matter carried out so to educate about the black and white liberal plights and perspectives of post-Civil Rights Movement militants. Johnny Johnson is no "black private dick who's a sex machine to all the chicks", he's a Panther wrestling with what's right and what needs to be done to achieve it within a very real urban landscape. This is not unlike Melvin Van Peebles' son Mario's '95 film "Panther", chronicling the Black Panther story and profiling its leader, Huey P. Newton (who appears on a propaganda poster on Johnny's wall early in "Comedown"), yet we don't call that "blaxploitation"… why, because it came out in the '90s? "The Return of Super Fly" also came out in that decade and what do we call it (granted it was the very early '90s)? The more I examine it the more I agree a rebranding is indeed called for. Confining the genre to a certain timespan is appropriate, however, as continuing to label films based on their leads' skin color too far beyond the initial call is unthinkable. Of course there's much more to what can classify "blaxploitation" than just skin color, but that's what got me questioning here in the first place, isn't it?

Three Honkies the Hard Way


"The way I saw it then and still see it now is that the biggest obstacle to progress in America is our conditioned susceptibility to the white man's program. Our minds have been colonized by images of black humiliation, marginality, subservience, impotence and criminality that are ubiquitous in mainstream American cinema. These are the supposed self-images seen when African-Americans look into the socio-cultural mirror of the cinema. We've been violated, confused and drained by this colonization and from this brutal, calculated genocide the most vicious racism has grown. It was with this starting point in mind and intention to reverse the process that I went in to cinema in the first fuckin' place."

- Melvin Van Peebles, "Classified X"


From cinema's beginnings the white man has called the shots with a white audience in mind. As early as when Thomas Edison first put images to film in the 1890s began the most widely influential characterization yet of blacks as ever-quaking, watermelon-chomping hoofers - a stereotype placing our brothers and sisters only a rung or two above apes and ultimately, however unintentionally, keeping the brown man down. Viewed from a white perspective, this could be and was revered as simple fun with no harm done, but subconsciously these characterizations grew inside brains both white and black. In all, even the most ingenuous, is the great educator propaganda, and in a fashion that still exists through media today, whites' prejudices were being seasoned and blacks were being further alienated and confused by their screen portrayals.

Come the end of WWII, once racism had been given even worse a reputation and America needed to embrace its status as a "melting pot", Hollywood introduced "the new negro". Though this was a more fleshed-out, less minstrel approach to black characters, whiteness still reigned in the mainstream and "the new negro" (and "pinky" films, for that matter) only inflicted deeper insults through boxing in and subtle justification. All-black films reflecting genuine humanity but still plagued with the acceptance of white class supremacy were produced on tiny budgets and distributed to rare blacks-only theaters, but it wasn't until 1971 with Melvin Van Peebles' independent break "Sweet Sweetback's Baadasssss Song" that studios realized good money was to be made from black audiences... and "Sweetback" wouldn't be anything without the Black Panther Party for Self Defense.

It is fitting that the Panthers made "Sweetback" required viewing for all members thus spawning the blaxploitation wave (most prolific from 1971-'74) as it can easily be said that blaxploitation films perpetuate racism against whites within the black community, which was to an extent a mentality of the Malcolm X-inspired movement. So if I'm white, how come I love these films so much? Here's the thing - I think the vast majority of us everyday people, black, blue, white or green, can relate to being kept down by "the Man". I sure can, thereby I find it empowering to watch those who have famously been treated unfairly in reality and represented unfairly in film in unfair manners rise up in the public eye with supremely funky attitudes and fight for what's right.

Then, what are the parameters of blaxploitation? The more I look into them, the more vague they appear. Some may trace blaxploitation (an iffy label that may or may not mutate through the ages depending on who you're talking to) back decades upon decades while others confine it to the post-"Sweetback" '70s. I think it has more to do with subject matter. What is really being exploited, and what held more precedence - the message or the money? With this in mind, certain films regarded within the genre may not be as such at all. All kinds of discussions can and may be had over the origins and consequences of blaxploitation, but from where I sit a retaliation was needed, has proved mostly positive with its effects and sure makes for good moviegoing.

"Three Honkies the Hard Way" is a thread on The Corrierino in which Blevo, Colonel Kurz, Mod Hip and their brother that the pusher put out of commission, Derninan (who may cameo with a guest review here and there), have had enough of the Man! We've each selected a number of blaxploitation films we've not yet seen to view and report on at our own pace along with several already-beloved titles to highlight as entries in the soul cinema canon. They bled our mommas, they bled our poppas, but they won't bleed us.

Follow "Three Honkies the Hard Way" and read further thoughts on blaxploitation in general here.