Lucky (2011)

Directed by Gil Cates, Jr. 
Starring Ari Graynor, Colin Hanks
Rated R
USA

"It smells like dead bodies in here, but you'll get used to it pretty quick." 

Ben (Colin Hanks, AKA Tom's good son) is a quiet, nebbishy nobody working in a law firm alongside his childhood friend and lifelong crush,  Lucy (Ari Graynor, Nick and Norah, Whip It), who routinely rebuffs his romantic advances, and who happens to be sleeping with the office stud/asshole. Ben still lives with his mother (Ann-Margret), and he can't even figure out how to use the xerox machine. Ben's having a bad life. That is, until one day when mom calls him at work and tells him to come home right away. He does, assuming there's some medical emergency to attend to, but when he get there, he finds out he's just hit the lottery, for $36 million dollars! Very soon after, Lucy rethinks her feelings toward Ben. What a turnaround! Now Ben's rich, and he's got the girl of his dreams! What could possibly go wrong?

Well, there's a slight problem. As it turns out, Ben is a serial killer. He's got a bunch of dead girls stuffed in a freezer in his mom's basement. In fact, the winning lottery ticket actually belonged to one of his victims.

But hey, that's a situation for another day. Charmed by his suddenly-bulging pockets, Lucy agrees to marry Ben. After a lavish wedding and lots of equally lavish spending sprees, the two head off to Hawaii for their honeymoon. Midway through the trip, after arguing with Lucy about money (he's blowing it too quickly), Ben chances upon a pretty blonde hotel housekeeper and bashes her skull in. You know, to let off some steam. Lucy happens to catch him the act, although he doesn't know she's there. As soon as the coast is clear, Lucy calls the cops and gets him arrested. The end.

No, she doesn't. She rolls the body into a sheet and throws it into a volcano. 36 millions bucks is 36 million bucks, man.

The couple return from their trip and move into their new palatial state. Lucy tries her best to just enjoy being filthy rich and not dwell on the whole cold-blooded murder thing. But one evening, while in the throes of sweet (fully-clothed) lovemaking, Lucy catches a police report about three missing women in their neighborhood, and comes to the startling conclusion that they - and the woman at the hotel - all look a lot like her. Is Ben serial-killing Lucy surrogates every chance he gets? Yep. Probably currently assuming that her homicidal maniac husband is also an idiot, Lucy heads over to mom's house and digs around in the backyard until she finds the dead bodies. Then she digs them up and puts them in her car to find a safer place to stash them.

That's around the time when her mind pretty much snaps. It is also around this time when Columbo-esque detective Harold Wayman (Jeffrey Tambor) starts putting the pieces of this bizarre puzzle together.

Things get weird from there, as they often do in these sorts of circumstances.

So, here's the thing: Gaynor and Hanks are so effortlessly likeable that you never buy into this  murder business for minute. You're really just thinking how awesome it would be to have a sleepover in a treehouse with them. I mean, they could be doing just about anything, and you'd have fun watching them. So ok, killing people, whatever. Good times.

- Ken McIntyre 

Twentieth Century (1934)

Directed by Howard Hawks 
Starring Carole Lombard, John Barrymore
Unrated 
USA

"I never thought I should sink so low as to become an actor."

Oscar Jaffee (John Barrymore) is a raving lunatic. He's also a hotshot Broadway producer. Twentieth Century opens with Oscar berating the cast of his latest production, especially young, fledgling actress Mildred Plotka (Carole Lombard), who he was sensibly renamed Lily Garland. Garland can't really act, but she's young and beautiful, and Oscar knows he can make her a star if he screams at her enough and pokes her in the ass with a pin when she's supposed to cry. So he does both of those things, over and over.

Amazingly, it works, and we fast-forward a few years. Lily and Oscar are the toast of Broadway. They are rich, famous, and miserable. Somewhere along the line, they developed a (very) dysfunctional romantic relationship, and now it's disintegrating in a loud and messy fashion. She wants to wear slinky dresses and go out dancing; he wants her to stay home and amuse him. So, they scream at each other and he threatens to throw himself out a window. He does that a lot. She encourages him to get it over with. He chickens out. This goes on for quite some time.

Eventually, Lily wises up and splits town. She moves to Hollywood and makes it big in the moving pictures. Meanwhile, without his star, Oscar's theater goes bankrupt. His team - two berserk drunks - know the only way to get out of debt and climb back on top is to get Lily back. Oscar says he'd rather die, but then again, he says shit like that all the time. Due to various kooky circumstances, Oscar and Lily both end up on the same train, along with their respective loony entourages. Oscar tries every dirty trick he can conjure - and his sleeve is jammed full of 'em - to get her to sign a contract. And she does everything she can - including kicking him in the chest, repeatedly - not to. As the train rattles on, the two battle it out, each intent on getting their way, whether they have to kill themselves - or each other - to do it.

Director Howard Hawks, the crackerjack visionary behind the classic Bringing Up Baby, is firing with both barrels in this hilarious, over-the-top screwball comedy. Barrymore's Oscar is completely nuts, a twitching, wild-eyed madman with a tangled head of hair that looks more and more like Medusa as time goes on. At various points during the film, he wears a cape and fakes a broken arm, which makes him look like Bela Lugosi's goofy twin brother, thirsty for contracts, not blood. And his dialogue - delivered with all the conviction of an asylum inmate - is amazing. Once you hear him dismiss a colleague, which he does many, many time here, with his signature line ("I close the iron door on you!"), you may never end an argument in a sensible fashion ever again. The point is, John Barrymore is incredible in this.

Likewise his costar. Gorgeous and thoroughly modern and just as crazy as her sparring partner, Carole Lombard is the perfect parody of every entitled, self-deluded actress from then til now. The 1930's were a great decade for women in the movies, and many of the films made in that era featured fearless, empowered ladies with acid tongues and fists of fury. Lily Garland, despite her hysterics, definitely fits that bill. Lombard brings her to vibrant, roaring life.

Classic stuff, really. It zips along at breakneck speed, a blur of screaming, fighting, and laughs galore. Slinky blonde Lombard's a stunner (as is Billie Seward, as Oscar's stoic secretary), and Barrymore's punch-drunk producer is unforgettable. It may be almost 80 years old, but Twentieth Century has not lost any of its luster over the decades. Highly recommended.

- Ken McIntyre 

Juvenile Jungle (1958)

Directed by William Whitney
Starring Corey Allen, Anne Whitfield, Rebecca Welles
Unrated
USA

"One word and her head goes through a windshield!" 

Man, people were terrified of teenagers in the 50's. And no wonder, really. According to Hollywood, every single time you got more than two or three of 'em together, they'd cook up some kind of crime spree. And so it is with the motley crew of Juvenile Jungle. Gang boss Monte (Joe Di Reda) and resident toadie Tic-Tac (instantly recognizable character actor Richard Bakalyan) have a nice little operation. They wait until payday and case the local drugstore for ineffectual looking shmoes to cash their checks. On the way out, they drag them into the alley, fleece them, and leave them there, bloody and bruised. Then they buy a few cases of beer and join the rest of the gang (including an uncredited Yvette Vickers) for boozy make-out parties on the beach.

So that was the summer of '58: violent and crime-riddled, but breezy enough. And then, Hal McQueen (Corey Allen) shows up. A square-jawed drifter from parts unknown, Hal woos fiery diner waitress Glory (Rebecca Welles) to ingratiate himself into the pack of punks. Once he's in, he devises a sinister plan that'll net the whole gang a cool 50 grand. All they have to do is kidnap the daughter of the dude who runs the drugstore.

Well, “Kidnap without the kidnapping”, as Hal explains. To be honest, I had no idea what the fuck he was talking about, except that it involved him tricking innocent Carolyn (Anne Whitfield) into liking him so he can pretend to kidnap her later and score the sweet ransom loot. But here's the problem – and you're probably way ahead of me – he starts falling for saucer-eyed Carolyn and her simpleton ways. So much so, that he wants out of the deal.

But here's the thing: he forgot about Glory. She's the jealous type. And Hal was her guy first. Glory is not losing her man AND her ransom dough, that's for sure. So in a remarkable display of spite and blind rage, Glory slaps, punches, and threatens any member of the gang who tries to queer the deal, dragging everyone into a vortex of ugly scenes and bloodshed. Who will survive Glory's inglorious tantrum, and will true love win over a woman (extremely) scorned?

Well, it was the 50's, so I'm sure you can figure that out.

Prolific director William Whitney's resume is mostly jammed with TV projects,  but it's also dotted with notable b-flicks through the decades. He had his JD trilogy in the late 50's (this one, The Cool and the Crazy, Young and Wild), squeezed out a Beach Party rip-off in the mid 60's (The Girls on the Beach), and even helmed an exceptionally bizarre post-Blaxploitation flick (1982's Darktown Strutters).  The thread that holds all of his films together is his penchant for whiplash pacing. Whitney likes to keep shit moving, and even with its brief running time (69 minutes!), Juvenile Jungle feels like it's racing to the finish line. There's not a lot of yapping on deck, it's mostly shouting, slapping, drinking, and scheming. And while the eye-rolling morality play washes ashore during the last act – a necessity to getting films released back then – for most of Juvenile Jungle, everyone's an opportunistic asshole. Which is fun. But really, everything else pales in comparison to Rebecca Welles' amazing performance. With her blazing eyes, micro-waist, and jet-black hair, she's a cool ghoul out for blood, and you never doubt for a minute that she'll chop anybody's head off who crosses her. This is Rebecca's only film appearance – she otherwise worked in TV for her entire career – which might explain the intensity of her performance. If you're relegated to damsels in distress on TV westerns all the time, a meaty role like this must feel mighty refreshing.

At any rate, fans of JD film will definitely enjoy this one. Quick, mean, lotsa snappy dialogue, a berserk villainess, and bonus Yvette Vickers dancing drunkenly on the beach in skin-tight stretchpants. What's not to love?

- Ken McIntyre

The Train Robbers (1973)

Directed by Burt Kennedy 
Starring John Wayne, Ann-Margret, Rod Taylor
Rated PG
USA

“Boil it!”

Westerns, like jazz, are one of those things you have to grow into. Nobody wants to sit there and watch old dudes squint and dust blow around for ten minutes at a time or listen to breezy trumpet solos when  they're 17 years old. But add twenty or so years and suddenly, it all makes sense. That's where I'm at now. Sure, I watched Clint Eastwood movies with my dad when I was still a pup back in the 70's, but that was largely because there were only three TV stations back then and we only had one TV. It was either that, or read the same issue of Cracked magazine again for the 20th time. I would not have called myself a fan. But now, holy smokes, I can't get enough of 'em. I usually stick with the ultra-violent spaghetti westerns, though. They've got the cool Morricone soundtracks, the evil bastards, the bright red paint for splattering blood, Klaus Kinski running around like some kind of animal, all that stuff. I haven't really watched any American westerns, and certainly not anything with John Wayne. Until now. Why? Ann Margret.

Ann Margret is, of course, the 60's flame-haired bombshell who starred with Elvis in Viva Las Vegas and Joe Namath in CC and Company, who recorded an album of cowboy psychedelia with Lee Hazelwood and starred in the kooky teen crime-spree classic Kitten With a Whip. Ann Margret sang too loud and danced too hard, and everything she did was drenched in unbridled sexuality. She was as good as the 60's got. And so, when I found out she starred in her own western, how could I resist?

The set-up is as straightforward as can be: Ann-Margret is the widow of a train robber who died in a gunfight in a whorehouse. He stashed half a million in gold out in the desert somewhere, and only she knows where it is. Being a proper lady (and the mother of a young son), she wants to retrieve the money and give it back to the railroad, thusly clearing her family name of any wrongdoing. To secure the loot, she's hired a crusty old cowboy (John Wayne) and his gang of straight-shooters. Since she doesn't quite trust the Duke, she won't tell him exactly where the gold is, so they have to bring her with them. She teases the location out at as they go along.

Of course, any posse of good guys needs a gang of bad guys to chase 'em around. Future Fantasy Island boss Ricardo Montalban leads a band of pistol-packing crazies as they chase our heroes through the desert, intent on grabbing that gold as soon as it's revealed. Wayne insists that Ann Margret wear her clothes as tight as possible so that the bad guys know she's there. Since she's the key to finding the gold, they won't shoot anybody while she's around. Thanks for that one, Duke!

In a surreal moment, the gold is located in an train wreck in the middle of the desert. From there, Wayne and the gang have to fight off Ricardo's men in the desert and then in a tiny town, where things escalate into a literally explosive climax. Seriously, they blow the whole fucking town to smithereens fighting over that fuckin' gold.

It's clear that John Wayne was a couple years past his expiration date here. He only shot a few more movies and died six years after filming this. He's got old man's body and looks visibly creaky. Still, you can see enduring cowboy superstar behind the jowls, and beyond his iffy physicality, he's great in his role as the stoic leader of the gang. Ann Margret is surprisingly subdued (except for a scene where she's supposed to be drunk on whiskey, and she goes full-on Foster Brooks) and the supporting players (including a skittish Christopher George) are solid. There's a lot more horse-galloping than bloodshed, but the desert stand-off and the climactic town-torching are both nail-biters. Also, unlike the spaghetti westerns, The Train Robbers operates with a clear moral compass. There's never any doubt that Wayne and his men are the good guys, or that Ann Margret is anything but a virtuous young lady. And then, amazingly, the last minute of the film upends everything in a funny and jaw-dropping twist.

Over all, great stuff. As I mentioned, if you're young and jumpy, it'll probably move too slow to satisfy, but if you've got the patience for a slow-burn gold chase, The Train Robbers reaps significant rewards.

Plus, Ann-Margret's in it.

- Ken McIntyre 

Romantics Anonymous (2010)

Directed by Jean-Pierre Ameris
Starring Isabelle Carre, Benoit Poelvoorde
Unrated
France 

“I want to get married and make chocolates with you forever."

Holy fuck, is this movie romantic. A socially-inept cutie named Angelique (Isabelle Carre, from the perfectly pleasant French pop band Lilicub) applies for a job at a chocolate  factory run by the equally awkward Jean-Rene (Benoit Poelvoorde, AKA the dude from 90's serial killer comedy Man Bites Dog). The factory is actually on its last legs and about to go bankrupt, but he's never had a relationship before, and his therapist told him he needs to ask somebody out, so he hires her. She thinks she's going to make chocolate, but the job is actually for a sales-rep, which she is terrible at, since she panics and faints whenever she has to speak in public. He doesn't really care if she can sell anything, he just wants to take her to dinner.

So, dinner happens. Jean-Rene is such a ball of nerves that he brings a briefcase stuffed with extra shirts everywhere he goes, just in case he sweats through the one he's wearing. And that's exactly what he does five minutes into their stammering dinner conversation. He retreats to the bathroom, and comes out wearing a ridiculous ruffled shirt. He's so embarrassed, he escapes out the bathroom window and runs home.

Meanwhile, Angelique is trying to make sales and getting nowhere. Everybody thinks Jean-Rene's chocolate is awful. She's got a secret weapon to save the company – she's actually an expert chocolatier – but she can't tell anybody, or she'll be too nervous to make any chocolate. What to do? Also meanwhile, Angelique and Jean-Rene share a kiss, and it's suddenly clear that they're both nuts for each other. The problem is, they're also both literally nuts.

So, can love win out over panic attacks?

Hey man, love wins over everything if it's speaking French.

What can I say? This movie is fucking delightful. If you're not shoveling chocolate down your gullet and/or making out on the couch with somebody by the time it's over, then abandon all hope.

- Ken McIntyre 

The Disco Exorcist (2011)

Directed by Richard Griffin
Starring Michael Reed, Sarah Nicklin, Ruth Sullivan
Unrated 
USA

"Get Down. To Hell!"

It's the 70's. A skinny creep in a wig named Rex (Michael Reed) meets a crazy-eyed redhead named Rita (Ruth Sullivan) at the disco. They have a fling, but the next night, Rex dances with his favorite porn star, Amoreena Jones (Sarah Nicklin), causing Rita to flip the fuck out and lay a whammy on both of ‘em.

The next day, Rex is enlisted into Amoreena’s latest skinflick, and halfway through the proceedings, Amoreena and the twin topless rollergirls are possessed by demons. They murder the entire crew. Rex escapes with Amoreena and, as they slither around the disco underworld, they search for a cure for her affliction. They need…you guessed it, a disco exorcist.

Directed by Richard Griffin (Nun of That), Disco Exorcist is another retro-grindhouse flick, complete with the scratched-film filter, the “missing reels” inserts, the brutal jumpcuts, etc, all of it tossed into the mix in a vain attempt to make it look like something it is not, AKA micro-budgeted and shot-on-video. Every 70’s cliché you can think of is jammed into every frame, from polyester to beaded curtains, lava lamps to Quaalude references, discos to porn theaters, Satanists to orgies. Of course, not everything that happened in the 70’s happened at the same time, like they inevitably do in these throwback opuses, but you gotta give it to Griff, he broke the bank on the goddamn thrift store knick-knacks. Still, on this level (sub-basement), it’s almost impossible to convincingly portray the ugly splendor of 70’s America (the visionary Viva notwithstanding), and all the retro-trappings on display here are really just distractions. He could’ve easily set this story up in the present, and it would have worked just fine. That being said, there’s tons of bared-boobs, blood spurting everywhere, a few seriously kooky set-ups (the climactic, occult-tinged orgy is pretty inspired), and the cast are all on full-throttle. It’s definitely not the 70’s – or even a reasonably facsimile thereof – but it is a groovy, goofy good time.

- Ken McIntyre

Jucy (2010)

Directed by Louise Alston
Starring Cindy Nelson, Francesca Gasteen
Rated M
Australia 

“A womantic comedy of platonic proportions”

Jackie and Lucy are two 20-something slackers working in Brisbane’s (real, and pretty amazing) cult video superstore, Trash Video. Jackie (Cindy Nelson) is a manic-depressive, Lucy (Francesca Gasteen) is a compulsive eater. Neither are any good at making friends or life decisions, so they pretty much just hang out with each other. After yet another disastrous appearance at a cast (naked!) party for their local theater group, when a snarky nude blonde accuses them of being ‘straight lesbians’ in a ‘womance’ (“That’s the girl version of a bromance”, she helpfully explains), our hapless heroines decide that maybe the mean naked lady is right, and that maybe there’s a world out there beyond flaming-crimson hair-dye and cupcake binges.

And so, Jackie and Lucy both try out for the lead in Jane Eyre. Jackie does so because she thinks it’ll get her laid. Lucy thinks it will be her ticket to fame and/or fortune. To prepare, Lucy meticulously rehearses her lines. Jackie takes a different route: she stops taking her psych meds.

The audition happens. One of ‘em gets the role, one of ‘em loses her mind. And then things get really messy. Throw in a pudgy stalker, a preening douchebag, a few full-on meltdowns, and a synchronized dance (they synchronize dance A LOT in Australian comedies) and you’ve got your basic recipe for either disaster or enlightenment. Or possibly both.

A frothy and likeable cross between Ghost World and Muriel’s Wedding, Jucy is a fun, romp-y coming-of-age comedy. It threatens to dip into tearjerker territory here and there, but mostly it stays light n’ sweet. There’s nothing salacious or sleazy on deck (bummer), but the leads are adorable and it’s almost impossible not to root for ‘em.

- Ken McIntyre 

Starcrossed (1985)

Directed by Jeff Boom 
Starring James Spader, Belinda Bauer
Unrated
 USA

"She fled to our world but they came to take her back...dead or alive!"

James Spader is...well, his usual preppy douchebag 80's self (although he's inexplicably supposed to be car mechanic here. A car mechanic who wears powder blue gloves?)  who runs into a girl in a red leather jacket with a Superman curl (Belinda Bauer) who's getting chased down by a couple creeps. He scares them off with tough talk (!) and then takes off with her in his pink convertible (!).

They head back to his place - it's stuffed with retrojunk, like one of those space-age 8 track players and a TV from 1955 - and they get to know each other a little. He's Joey, she's Mary. She tells him the thugs have orders to capture her and take her back to wherever she's from. He assumes she's from Russia. She does not confirm or deny this.

Joey goes to sleep. She turns off all the lights...with her mind! In the morning, he suits up for work (he's got a peach-colored jumpsuit!), but on his way out, he runs into the dudes again. They chase him upstairs and he and Mary vamoose down the fire escape in a shower of lasers and explosions. Yikes, what kind of madness is afoot?

They hide out in a pool hall and she gives him the news: she's an alien from an enslaved planet. She's come to Earth seeking asylum. Joey is, naturally, skeptical. So to prove she's really an alien, she sinks all the pool balls...with her mind! He wants to know where she's from, so they sneak into the planetarium so she can point out her home planet. While there, they run into the lady scientist who runs the joint (?) and they spill the beans. After more psychic tricks (Mary's wicked good at card tricks) she agrees to help our goofy duo evade the bad guys. Or does she?

At any rate, she takes them to see her spaceship, which she left at the town dump. But as soon as they get there, the bad guys show up and blow-up the lady scientist. They try to blast Joey too, but Mary moves a car...with her mind! And so, they escape. For now.

Later on, Joey teaches Mary how to take a bath. While she's soaking in the tub, his doofus buddy from the garage shows up and tells him they ought to sell her off to the media and make a bundle. Joey throws him out the door where he's immediately scooped up by the Feds. They're on the case, too.

Meanwhile, Mary wants Joey to teach her about this Earthling "love" she's heard so much about. So he totally does, man, with slo-mo make-outs and soft-jazz.

The next morning, Joey goes out for breakfast and the FBI snatches Mary. When Joey comes back, he is at first confused, but then he gets a message (...in his mind!) from Mary, who tells him where she is. Joey rushes over to the Federal building where they tell him they've been observing them for days and that they have big plans for our beret-wearing space vixen. Things look bleak, but then Mary mind-explodes the wall and they make a break for it. 17 guys with machine guns chase after them, but no one shoots. They make it out of the building, but now the space thugs are chasing them, too!

Mary decides it's time to get back to her ship and go home. This whole experience has soured her on the whole Earth thing. But she needs Joey's help to get there. I know you love her, Joey, but she's not from here, man. There's a climactic battle (handled, literally, by a smoke machine) and then Mary gets in her ship (literally, a few florescent tubes taped together) and off she goes. The end.

For whatever reason, this tepid TV movie time-waster is fondly remembered by many, but honestly, your breakfast was more eventful then this movie. Stick with Tuff Turf for early Spader thrills.

- Ken McIntyre 

Big Doll House(1971)

Directed by Jack Hill
Starring Pam Grier, Judy Brown, Sid Haig, Brooke Mills, Pat Woodell
Rated R
USA

"You don't look like a hardened criminal to me"

 The funniest part of this whole movie came right at the beginning for me. Not that that this is a funny movie in any way, or that it's low budget automatically creates funny scenes, or even that it's directed by Jack Hill. No, the funniest part for me was seeing the Metro Goldwyn Mayer intro. I mean somehow Roger Corman secured major distribution though this major studio! How is that even possible? You've got to give it to the man, selling a movie about women in prison to MGM. So yeah, that cracked me up a bit, especially after watching the last MAG movie which was also a Roger Corman production. And like Ken said about the man, he's been using this formula for fifty years now, and it still works.

Big Doll House and indeed Attack of the 50ft Cheerleader are perfect examples of that Roger Coman Formula. Forty two years apart, different directors and producers, and yet it's so obvious that they're related. Both offer nothing more than what you think you're going to get. And both deliver. Whalla! Perfecto. What a formula!

The plot of Big Doll House is pretty simple. A bunch of American babes are in some sort of Banana Republic prison for no detectable reason. They get tortured every once in a while by the sadistic guards and fight amongst themselves for power. And unlike the misleading tag line in the otherwise wonderful poster art, these women are less than pleased by men. They're only real desire is to get the fuck out of there. Still, they make due by having cockroach races, engaging in various dominant and submissive lesbian trysts and dancing around on heroin.

 The only males in the film are a pair of horny fruit and vegetable delivery men(Jerry Franks and Sid Haig) and a hapless prison doctor who's flat performance throughout the movie provide a lot of chuckles.

Pam Grier made her debut in Big Doll House and it's easy to see she's the real star of the film. She lights up every scene she's in and her future as a box office draw is pretty clear. Jack Hill is often credited for discovering her but in his own words she just showed up for a casting call and the rest was history. Her performance alone makes this film worth watching and her brief scenes with Jack Hill staple, Sid Haig are golden.

Grear(Grier) lets Harry(Haig) feel her up and molest her now and then in exchange for cigarettes and heroin for her junkie slave. Fair enough. But life in this women's prison, as sexy as it is, isn't always a bowl of cherries. The main guard is a total pervo and uses some strange combination of military styled BDSM to torture the ladies. Everything from electricity to poisonous snake torture shows up in her sessions, all as a masked figure watches from the distance.

At this point the girls have had it and they get to work planning their escape. Personally I would have liked a little more implied lesbian bonding at this point. They've been cat fighting for the whole film so far and now they're friends and it would have been hot, but whatever.

From this point on it's guns and murder as the girls fight their way out. They trick the boys into helping them, there's another snake scene(only in the Philippines, man)and even a cat who delivers a key securing their escape. Unfortunately all this goodness leads us to the films one major flaw; the unnecessary rape scene.

Eww. Sure she's the bad guy and she had some sort of comeuppance due, but...gross. This scene would have played out way better with some light to maybe heavy lesbian torture by one of the former prisoners. It would have made more sense and ended up a lot hotter. All the men fail at this point in the film. Harry, once at least an understandable character, becomes intolerable. Fred, the other fruit guy does nothing and the hapless doctor becomes pathetic as he looks away. Oh well.

But even before you can process any of this, all hell breaks lose as a bunch of prison guards show up and start shooting. Craziness ensues and in true Jack Hill form, nothing good happens in the end.

Big Doll House is often cited as the first of the women in prison films, and that claim is often disputed by weird Internet people citing earlier examples. I can see their point is some cases, but give me a break. Are these weak-ass examples distributed through Metro Goldwyn Mayer? No. They are not. So yes, it's safe to say that we owe Roger Corman a big pat on the back for introducing the concept to the world, and therefore creating the genre.

So for that, and for introducing us to Pam Grier, and even despite the unfortunate rape scene, I have to give Big Doll House a huge Rumspringa Woo.

-Drew

Land of Doom (1986)

Directed by Peter Maris
Starring Deborah Rennard, Garrick Dowhen, Daniel Radell
Unrated
USA

“You creep! You creep!!” 

It's the end of the world. How'd it end? Who knows and who cares? That's what our heroine/narrator says at the beginning. So, ok. All that's left are pockets of civilization out in the desert, but they are being slowly-but-surely decimated by the “Raiders”, a group of half-assed, mostly middle-aged slobs in leather pants who drive around on “armored” motorcycles. Only the armor is cardboard spray-painted silver. Anyway, as the film opens, the Raiders are raping (clothes on) and pillaging yet another village. The only survivor is Harmony (Deborah Rennard), a plucky bleached-blonde in a baggy surfari suit. Given the outfit and her lack of eyeshadow, one would  assume that there'll be a “makeover” segment at some point, where she emerges with a face full of makeup and maybe a black leather bikini. That's how these post-apoc things always play out, right? As the 'story' wears on – she teams up with a wisecracking mercenary and a puppy-loving lute player, fight French/southern redneck cannibals, gets kidnapped by the Raiders, some Jawas show up with a flamethrower, etc – you keep expecting the goddamn sexy makeover to happen. That's the only thing that keeps you going, because everything else sucks. The pop-disco soundtrack is lousy, there's no gore or nudity, the dialogue is witless, there's just no GOOD PARTS. But at least she'll look super-hot at some point, right? Then all this will be worth it. Meanwhile, you start feeling bad for everyone involved. It strikes you that these are all full-grown ADULTS involved in this childish nonsense, and you think about all the wasted time, money, and resources that went in to this Z-grade, no-budget Road Warrior rip-off, and it really starts to bum you out. But hey, it's 1986, so she's gonna put on blue eye shadow and do a sexy Amazon dance any minute now, right?

Well, spoiler alert: SHE NEVER DOES.

If you're thinking of watching this – it's currently streaming on Netflix, so I can see how you might be tempted – honestly, don't. Anything would be more entertaining. Read the phonebook, watch some paint dry, go sit at the doctor's office and read three year old issues of People magazine. Those would all be more fun than watching this was.

Land of Doom? More like Land of Dumb, amiright, people?

- Ken McIntyre

Sunset Boulevard (1950)

Directed by Billy WIlder
Starring Gloria Swanson, William Holden, Eric Von Stroheim
Unrated 
USA

"Shhh, you might wake the chimp." 

Joe Gillis (William Holden) is a two-bit heel slash hack screenwriter on the lam from various debtors. One day he spies some repo men aiming to take back his wheels, so in desperation, he pulls into an empty garage and stashes his car. He notices that he happens to be in the courtyard of a once-luxurious, currently decrepit old mansion. Before he's able to slink off into the night, he's accosted by a grumpy German butler (Eric Von Stroheim), who ushers him into the house and shoves him upstairs, where a batty old lady is awaiting him.

Said bat is Norma Desmond (Gloria Swanson), a former silent film star now aging disgracefully among her faded photographs in her crumbling mansion. She thinks Joe is here to help her bury her dead monkey. Initially, Joe just wants to bail out of this freaky scene, but once he figures out that she's flush with crazy money, he decides to stick around for awhile. She convinces him to help her write a screenplay that will usher in her comeback. Joe knows the script is hopeless, but does it for the paycheck. She falls in love with him, and he falls in love with the easy money.

Along the way, Joe's best friend Artie (Jack Webb) introduces him to his fiance, Betty (Nancy Olsen), another aspiring screenwriter. Together, they start fleshing out one of Joe's stories. It's a lot more promising then Norma's kooky project, so he begins spending more time with Betty, which infuriates jealous old Norma. And if Artie knew just how close Joe was getting Betty, he'd be pretty furious, too.

Norma decides she's finished with her comeback script, and brings it to CC Demille (played by the real CC Demille!), who basically pats her on her head and sends her on her way. Between this gentle rejection and Joe's philandering, Norma goes right over the brink, into a new realm of crazy that still hasn't been matched in sixty years of woman-gone-mad cinema.

Even if you haven't seen  Sunset Boulevard, you're probably familiar with some of Norma's more notorious lines ("I am big, it's the pictures that got small!", "We didn't need dialogue, we had faces!", "Mr Demille, I'm ready for my close-up!"). It's one of the most quotable films I've ever seen. Ostensibly a film-noir, it often verges into deep black comedy, and the campy vamping is just relentless. The fact that Swanson really was a silent film star, who actually worked with Demille, just makes the whole thing even more delirious. Wilder keeps things at a breakneck pace and his script veers expertly between hardboiled and hilarious, but it's Swanson's go-for-broke performance that really puts this one over the top. Her loony glares alone are worth the price of admission.

Great stuff, highly recommended. Just be forewarned that you'll be quoting crazy old lady dialogue to anyone within earshot for days after watching.

- Ken McIntyre