scorpio-x Reviews

Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street (2007)

Um, Not So Much

[4/10 · 2 July 2008]

The more I think about it, the more I wasn't crazy about it. I've always been really fond of "Sweeney Todd" (Yes, I used to have the original cast album. Thank you.), I even made my parents take me to see an in-the-round Broadway production when I was in high school that was quite awesome. But the movie, really, is far too pretty and sanitized--it just isn't grim enough. "Sweeney Todd" is like "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre" as written by Charles Dickens. Not a Cure video. I feel this is largely because Depp & Bonham-Carter were both too young and pretty and sympathetic. Like that whole at-the-sea-quence that seemed to be mostly devoted to getting her dolled up in Gothic Lolita drag. (I mean, she looks fabulous. I love the tatty Victorian outfits. But Mrs. Lovett can not wear a smoky eye and a push-up bra!) And they eliminated my favorite number, where the villain flogs himself while singing hymns and ogling his lovely ward through the peephole.

All I could think was this: "Dammit, if they'd gotten Tom Waits and Marianne Faithful, this would be the greatest film in history." Think of it. Marianne's half-"screw you," half-rueful "Worst Pies in London" (And, on her, the smudged mascara and the hoisted tits would work.) matched only by the chilling glory that would be Waits' "Epiphany" number. (Depp was good and all, but I know Waits' "Care for a shave?" would make the blood freeze in your veins. Remember his ace performance as Renfield in the otherwise kinda excruciating "Dracula?"). And, oh, their cannibalism duet would be so gravelly and witty and perfectly paced. I can see and hear it all so clearly in my mind and, thus, this version--while nice and all--frustrates me even more. Honestly, most of the people who loved this movie seem like they'd love pretty much anything by Tim Burton and/or with Johnny Depp.

Clash of the Titans (1981)

CGI is for cowards!

[29 July 2003]

This movie has been a favorite of mine since i was a kid--i was very into Greek mythology during grade school, so i loved this film, even though i've seen it about two dozen times (it continues to be a Sunday-afternoon staple on TV). There are a number of mythological inaccuracies in this film (the Kraken wasn't a mythological monster; Perseus didn't have Pegasus, but actually borrowed Hermes' winged sandals, etc.), but it's still a good kids' introduction to ancient mythology. While the actors playing the "mortals" are definitely inferior to those playing the Gods, i suppose it works in the sense of their being the Olympians' puppets and, well, a little limpness in the thespian department is somewhat de rigeur (as is the wise/comic sidekick of Burgess Meredith and the 'little and cute' factor of the mechanical owl) for the kind of classic matinee swashbuckler that "Clash of the Titans" is.

But all these complaints that the Harryhausen effects are crap and it would be so much better done with CGI... well, that's pure craziness. Sure, the monsters don't look convincing, but they look a hell of a lot more convincing then they would as cheap computer animation--can you honestly imagine the Medusa sequence being done any better with some cartoon computer program? (Why? So it could look like the crap in "Phantom Menace"?) I've always felt that Harryhausen's stop-motion technique and the resultant odd way in which the monsters moved added to the sense of their mythic status, their unreality, the sense that these are creatures from another world, another plane. (The recent Asian fantasy/action film "Onmyoji" paid tribute to the master by having a CGI demon army move in Harryhausen stop-motion style and damn me if they didn't look scarier, more unearthly for it.) In my opinion, CGI looks even less "real," more like a painted-on cartoon. There's a depth and detail to creatures that have actually been created in the three-dimensional real world that those who have only existed on a computer screen don't have. Also, no matter how good an actor is, there's a difference between someone who's in the same room with the monster he's fighting, or who at least knows what it looks like, and someone who's just trying to "act scared" in the general direction where something will be inserted later. (Imagine the "Alien" movies made with a hyped-up animated creature: you know that even motionless and plastic squeezed between light stands, that giant H.R. Geiger monster gave everyone on set the creeps.) Maybe people like CGI because they feel safer with obviously fake monsters, things that never even existed as a three-foot high model next to the ham sandwich in someone's shop.

Chrome and Hot Leather (1971)

What's HE Doing Here?

[15 July 2002]

I appreciate the cheesy and inept exploitation flick as much as the next person--in fact, probably a good bit more--but even by by basement standards, "Chrome and Hot Leather" is a piece of crap. The whole story of Green Berets vs. Bikers is lame and unconvincing on all sides, the bikes are nothing special, nor is the riding done on them. But one thing does set this film apart and that would be the presence of the legendary Marvin Gaye as one of the aforementioned military types. And it makes one a bit sorry that he didn't do more acting (his only other dramatic role seems to have been alongside Lee Majors in a similarly forgettable film): Gaye's on-screen presence is as relaxed and charming as his musical style and he was certainly easy on the eyes. Still, what drove him to make supporting appearances in drive-in fodder escapes me--probably the same thing that drove him to train with the Chicago Bears. But, if it's biker trash you want, I suggest the classic "The Wild Angels" or the magnificently sleazy "She-Devils on Wheels." And, if you want to appreciate Marvin Gaye's talent, you might be better off tracking down one of his "Shindig!" or "T.A.M.I. Show" appearances.

Never Too Young to Die (1986)

Sweet Screaming Jesus, Save Us!

[7/10 · 24 July 2001]

***SLIGHT SPOILERS*** Wow. I've seen a lot of crap in my life, but this, this may truly be the worst of it all. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, I wanted to hide under my chair, but I was paralyzed with fear and disbelief.

So, what happens? Well, let's see... John Stamos and his big poufy head of hair play Lance Stargrove, a high-school gymnast who wears either creepily tight jeans or scarily semi-transparent white Z. Cavaricci pants. His dad--played by George "I was James Bond once. Once." Lazenby--was some spy who got whacked for some computer disc that can contaminate! the city's entire! water supply! forever! (I guess it has some kind of water-soluble virus on it.) Vanity plays his dad's former partner or something, in a lot of spandex and bronze makeup and the two of them have to get dad's killer and find the disc.

And who was his dad's killer? None other than Gene Simmons. In drag. Yes, you read that right. Gene Simmons stole one of Cher's old wigs and a few of her cheesier outfits to play a transsexual or transvestite or hermaphrodite or something--the plot is vague on this, as it is with many things. Actually, this entire film feels as though it was generated by Mad Lib. And Gene Simmons has an army of Road Warrior-rejects to do his bidding, all done up in the best "punk" attire the crack-addled, clinically insane and underpaid wardrobe lady could come up with, including that ubiquitous spike/shag synthetic "punk" wig that appeared (usually with wraparound sunglasses) in every "punk" crowd scene during the 80's. (And I say underpaid because she had to measure Stamos for those pants. And Simmons for the gold lame corset. Let us shy away from Vanity's buckskin fringed bikini altogether.) As if all this weren't disturbing enough, Robert "Freddy Kreuger" Englund appears as Simmons' lackey. And sometimes they touch each other. In unsettling ways.

Other disturbing events? How about the seemingly endless and definitely pointless scene in which Vanity strips, hoses herself down, takes her top off and hoses herself down more while Stamos chomps down on a variety of apples and bananas like a 70-year-old redneck with a half-pound of tobacky stuck in his craw. How about the scene where Simmons unfurls the tongue that once rocked Detroit City and sticks it down the throat of Stamos? The array of really bad fake facial hair inexplicably sported by various characters throughout? No wonder Vanity left the entertainment industry and turned Christian: After just watching this movie, I felt like I should spend the next three years praying for forgiveness.

The Saint Strikes Back (1939)

The Snide Saint

[23 July 2001]

George Sanders makes his first appearance as the Saint in this film and all I can think is: "Hey, It's Addison DeWitt, private eye!" Because this Saint is nothing but snide, more prone to shoot off a cutting remark than a gun. Did Sanders ever make a movie where you didn't get the feeling he was slumming? Where you didn't get the feeling it pained him to be surrounded by such fools? (Making one wonder, then, why the hell he married Zsa Zsa Gabor.) Playing opposite as the romantic interest is Wendy Barrie, who comes off as more hard-boiled than a two-hour egg. Then, of course, Barrie was a pretty tough broad, having been Bugsy Siegel's girl before Virginia "I'll put my mouth where the money is!" Hill came along. This was also the first of Barrie's three appearances in the Saint series, although she played a different character each time.

But what of the film itself? Well, there's not much to say--the plot is confusing the minor characters difficult to tell apart and the visuals not particularly interesting. The real enjoyment in this picture comes from Sander's deadly wit and Barrie's remarkable aura of toughness.

The Happy Hooker (1975)

Strong outfits, weak plot.

[16 July 2001]

Well, there's not much smut to be had here. Not much humor, really, either. So what does this film have to recommend it? Well, Lynn Redgrave wears a series of smashing early-70s outfits--floppy hats, go-go boots, backless evening gowns, big-sleeved minidresses... and the other hookers have some fresh attire as well (some charming negligees, lavender disco dresses, etc.). And some of the scenes of her tricks are mildly amusing (although many inadvertently so), particularly the one where she does a reverse striptease while reciting a business report.

Still, it starts off excruciatingly slow and you can see what plot twists there are coming a mile away with bludgeoning sticks in hand. And the party scenes in the brothel aren't nearly as much fun as you'd expect, considering as the 70s was a golden era for movie party scenes and this is supposedly a whorehouse. Not worth watching, really, although it is worth flipping back and forth to if there's not much else on.

Who Killed Teddy Bear (1965)

A Masterpiece of Sleaze!

[10/10 · 16 July 2001]

This film is truly a work of art of the highest magnitude and no, I am not kidding. Shot in glorious, high-contrast black-and-white, it reeks of exploitation from the note of the cheesy theme song all the way through the strobe-cut ending and every horn-blaring, high-heeling, hip-grinding moment in between. Sal Mineo plays a busboy obsessed with aspiring actress/club DJ Juliet Prowse (and Prowse is at her foxiest in this one, with her pencil skirts, kitten heels and cat eyes), coming off like a perverted puppy dog.

The obscene phone call bits--all heavy breathing, bulging tighty whiteys and sweat--will make you want to leave the theatre and take a shower. Or, if that isn't nasty enough for you, how about the scene with bulldyke Elaine Stritch fondling Prowse's fur (so to speak), or the retarded kid sister locked in the closet or the policeman obsessively playing audio tapes of various twisted criminal's confessions as his daughter listens wide-eyed from the other side of the door? Or how about the "twist lesson" that brings the film to it's climax (no pun intended)? Another asset of this great piece of cinema are its New York City location shots, especially when Mineo goes walking the city at night, looking for filth in scenes that must've influenced "Taxi Driver" (also love the W.S. Burroughs titles in the window of the "dirty bookshop"). I cannot recommend this movie highly enough. It's not available on video (Curses!), so if it's ever screened at the theater or on TV in your area, be there.

The Barefoot Contessa (1954)

Ava Gardner carries herself--and the film--beautifully.

[7/10 · 14 July 2001]

"The Barefoot Contessa" is a greatly underrated film--which is rather surprising, when you consider the amount of talent involved. First, there's the brilliant script by Joe Mankiewicz, who was always at his best when dissecting Hollywood and its denizens. The movie's best scene may be the Hollywood party where Kirk Edwards gets his comeuppance, all booze, boredom and viciousness ("What she's got, you can't spell. And what you've got, you used to have."); although the scenes of the pathetic/glamorous European jet set are also excellent, the way Mankiewicz can create a small line or gesture that delineates an entire character. Really, the only time his touch fails him is toward the end, when Maria meets her Count and things get a bit melodramatic.

Also magnificent is the cinematography by the always-brilliant Jack Cardiff, who invests everything with color-drenched glamour. (Did you know that, along with shooting such visual masterpieces as "Black Narcissus," "The Red Shoes" and "Pandora and the Flying Dutchman," Cardiff was also the cinematogrpaher on "Rambo: First Blood." Yikes.) Edmond O'Brien won a well-deserved Academy Award for his portrayal of the sleazy PR man Oscar Muldoon, managing to bring hints of depth and dimension to a character that could have easily been pure caricature. Another fine, if brief, supporting turn comes from Mari Aldon as Edwards' long-suffering mistress, Myrna (especially her "I'm just a scared tramp" exit line).

Still, what makes this film work is the presence and performance of Ava Gardner. See "The Barefoot Contessa" and you will understand why many have thought her to be the most beautiful woman ever to grace the screen. She is simply breathtaking. Ava's appearance alone is enough to give credibility to Maria Vargas' legendary magnetism--and, without that, the whole film would fail, as it's really just about three men standing around one woman's coffin, wondering that made her tick--but it's her work as an actress that raises the character from beautiful blank to irresistible enigma. Even when her dialogue is a bit trite and soap-opera, she manages to make it believable by making shallowness appear to conceal depth (if you get what I mean), and even does a fine job with the accent. This was the film that earned her the tag "the world's most beautiful animal," but Ava Gardner was much more than that.

Suburban Roulette (1968)

"No more booze for me and no more boyfriends for you!"

[10/10 · 8 July 2001]

You know you're in for a treat as soon as the montage of split-levels and a faux-Sammy Davis Jr. theme song ("Let's swap partners/Here's the game/Suburban roulette") hit the screen. This touching family drama opens with the Fisher family moving to a new suburban home, in hopes that the change of scenery will do them good--or, as Mr. Fisher tells Mrs. Fisher, "No more booze for me and no more boyfriends for you!"

As you can imagine, that doesn't last long once the Fishers fall in with their neighbors, the Elstons and the Conleys. The Elstons are the real fun couple in the subdivision: disdainful tramp "Mattress Back" Margo and her husband, leering blond stud Ron. Martini-fueled pool parties abound, as Ron embarks on an affair with the Jiffy Pop-haired Mrs. Fisher and Mr. Fisher sweats a lot and passes the time getting wasted with self-hating lush Fran Conley. Mrs. Conley resembles Judy Garland in full suburban housewife drag, which may be why the Conley's eldest son is already a vicious little queen at age 12. Meanwhile, Mattress-Back Margo looks bored and humps anything who comes within a three-foot radius since, as she repeatedly points out, her "pendulum" swings both ways. It doesn't take long for the Elstons to break out with the toy roulette wheel and begin spouse-swapping in earnest. There's bullet bras, there's ugly bedspreads, there's a fistfight under the sprinklers, there's too much other trash to list here. A fine, fine film.

Reborn from Hell: Samurai Armageddon (1999)

Wow. They figured out how to make undead Samurais boring.

[6 July 2001]

Well, admittedly, the full title of this film (as I saw it anyway), "Reborn From Hell: Samurai Armageddon" is truly one of the great ones of the late 20th Century. However, this movie is wack, and wack is truly the most accurate word for it. The opening is promising enough, with an evil overlord that looks like that crazy host guy with the beaded jackets from "Iron Chef" raising the first of his army of demon warriors--who bursts alien-style through the body of a nude Japanese virgin (the first of a legion of nude virgins). But, from there on in, aside from occasional bursts of gore (tons of very fake blood, until they get into battling demons, at which point they apparently ran out and went with green tempura paint), more toplessness, mediocre swordfights, green light bulbs, primitive blue-screen effects and pointless plot twists, there's not much to see here.

Even worse is that the ostensible hero is plodding along, working his way through the seven (well, sometimes there's nine, depending on who's was standing around in the dubbing booth right then, I guess) demon warriors and then all of a sudden we cut to evil Iron Chef guy going "Ah ha ha ha ha! There's still three more demon warriors to go! And Armageddon comes on June 6 at 6am! Ah ha ha ha!" And then the credits. What about the kidnapped chick!? What about the ostensible hero's impending showdown with his father!? What about Armageddon!? What about the other three to five demon warriors?! Sheesh.

Staying Alive (1983)

A Trip to Hell, Scored by Frank Stallone

[6 July 2001]

Oh! So hokey! So bad! Tony Manero gets a job on the world's worst Broadway musical where two soap opera actresses catfight over his affections. Did I mention that all the music is by Frank Stallone? Of course this is because Sylvester Stallone directed, but Sly also keeps things in the family way by plopping Mama Jackie Stallone headbands on every friggin' chick in the film. The musical seems to involve a lot of dancers writhing about in "hell" (Drowning in dry ice, wearing Jackie headbands and listening to Frank, so there is at least a few scant shreds of reality fluttering here.), basting Tony in baby oil and tearing at his loincloth. This goes on non-stop for about the last 20 minutes, except for the moment when the director comes back waving his scarf at Tony and hollering "What is going on out there?" (Yeah, man, I was wondering too.) Still, if you're a fan of Travolta in his liberally greased and half-naked physical prime, you might derive a modicum of enjoyment from this. (I didn't. My mom did.) Great basket shot at the end, though.

Slaughter (1972)

Ah, the kickass stoicism of Jim Brown

[6 July 2001]

It kicks off a little slow, but by the time they get to Mexico, things pick up and get pretty smokin' in the conclusion--Jim Brown's entrance to the casino is terriffic, it's got the shock value of having a dwarf thrown through your bay window. His later entrance to the bad guys' lair from the car is also classic. Jim Brown isn't a great actor, but his ass-kicking stoicism is at it's best here, as he slaps down legions of bad guys with barely a raised eyebrow. (Did you know that, aside from his football skills, Jim Brown was supposedly the greatest Jai Lai player on earth?) Stella Stevens and Rip Torn are also very good, but even higher praise goes to Billy Preston's theme song.

The Viking Queen (1967)

It's Hammer Time!

[6 July 2001]

Ah, yes, let us now all take a moment and consider our debt to the fine British gentlemen of Hammer Films, who kept the 60s and 70s full of luridly colored historo-horror epics. Arguably, the essence of the Hammer style is 1,001 ways to nearly show naked breasts, and "The Viking Queen" is a high example of such. The queen of the title seems to be based on Bodicea, bloodthirsty queen of the Britons. Still, she is a Viking, even though she is supposedly British, and queen of the Druids, even though they all worship the Greek god Zeus. Whatever. Said queen is played by "International Beauty" Carita in a style so rigid that "wooden" doesn't even cover it. This was her only film--I believe she was actually a hairstylist and did Jane Fonda's astonishing do's in the Euro-Poe flick "Spirits of the Dead." Starring opposite her as her hot-panted, eyeliner-ed Roman love interest is Don Murray, a long way from Marilyn Monroe and the "Bus Stop."

Still, my favorite scene is where the British-Viking-Greek-Druids are sacrificing Romans to the fiery pit and there's this great awkward moment where some kind of assistant priest has to climb down from the big rock and stoke the fire for the next human sacrifice while all the other British-Viking-Greek-Druids stand waiting impatiently. I hate it when that happens.