All posts by Rod Lott

Horror

Grizzly II: Revenge (1983)

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William Girdler’s Grizzly was such a profit-churner in 1976 that another outing for the killer bear was just a matter of time. But 37 years’ time?

Shot in Hungary in 1983, but held up first by money troubles and then pure indifference, Grizzly II: Revenge finally saw the light of day in 2020 — a gap the film touts as a positive with Selznickian aplomb. It’s only by the grace of God — or Suzanne C. Nagy (who confusingly credits herself as producer and executive producer) — giving director André Szöts’ only feature some finishing touches. Those amount to:
• shooting a musical performance in close-up and against black so she didn’t have to worry about matching backgrounds
• grabbing sound effects from YouTube
• adding visual effects as unconvincing as Birdemic’s
• and padding generously with stock footage from Adobe Stock, iStock, Shutterstock, Getty Images and more, to get this thing over the magic 70-minute mark

Her bananas patchwork is like nothing you’ve seen. Unless, of course, part of your day is hallucinating things like Raiders of the Lost Ark’s John Rhys-Davies in Crazed Davy Crockett mode, ominously growling lines such as “You got the devil bear!”

By an enormous stroke of luck, Grizzly II opens with a troika of pre-A-list celebs in Academy Award winner George Clooney, Academy Award winner Laura Dern and HIV winner Charlie Sheen, playing friends hiking their way to the big rock concert at Yellowstone Park. After setting up camp for the night, Clooney and Dern get frisky, leaving Sheen (who resembles Jason Schwartzman) as the third wheel. No matter, because five minutes in, the future stars are dead, killed by an uncommonly tall bear presumably angry for its poached cubs.

With the grizzly on the loose, out for vengeance and often depicted with a limited-articulation puppet, the park’s most principled ranger (Steve Inwood, Staying Alive) and its “director of bear management” (Deborah Raffin, Death Wish 3) think maybe having tens of thousands of people gathered for an outdoor concert isn’t the greatest idea. Coming from the Mayor Larry Vaughn School of Decision-Making, however, park boss Draygon (Louise Fletcher, Exorcist II: The Heretic) disagrees. The final scene is a riot, in both senses of the word.

If only Draygon listened to reason, many lives would be spared … but we wouldn’t have a movie. Then again, whether we have one now depends on your criteria for calling each scene complete, as Nagy has taken so many shortcuts to deliver her Revenge, the titular carnivorous mammal has no time to shit in the woods. Unfortunately, not enough are taken — shortcuts, not shits — where viewers will wish Grizzly II had: during Yellowstone’s would-be Woodstock. I mean, whatta lineup: Toto Coelo! Set the Tone! The Dayz! Landscape III! Korlátolt Felelősségű Társaság! —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Horror

Cyst (2020)

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If Dr. Giggles and Dr. Pimple Popper merged practices, Cyst would be their collab. Short on budget and tall in imagination, this goopy, goofy horror comedy is a two-location wonder like the kind Charles Band’s Full Moon Entertainment used to make, minus the visual flatness.

In 1961, three patent examiners return a final time to the medical office of Dr. Guy (George Hardy, the dad from Troll 2) after a disastrous first demo of a machine he calls “The Get Gone.” For America’s acne-afflicted, blister-bodied, polyp-peppered and sore-saddled, Guy’s invention could be a godsend, as it promises “painless” skin removal. It lies.

Dr. Guy basically pisses on his own hospitality and Nurse Patty won’t allow it! Tired of his misogynist ways, the incessant bullying and torrents of milky discharge on her face — from patients’ squeezed zits (why, what were you thinking?) — the long-suffering Patty (a strong and stunning Eva Habermann, TV’s Lexx) is working her last day when she becomes the hero of this sebaceous story, seemingly torn from the time-yellowed pages of EC Comics’ Weird Science.

That shift happens after The Get Gone goes wrong and a cyst it slices off the back of the doc’s meek assistant (Darren Ewing, Troll 2’s tree boy) suddenly sprouts spidery legs and a thirst for human blood. From there, Cyst is a mess — on purpose, of course — with fluids shooting and spilling and oozing and killing as Patty takes charge to help her fellow trapped characters try to stay alive while the little malevolent, malignant mass grows to full rubber-monster stage. Not all succeed.

In his third feature as director or writer, the Texas Cotton-pickin’ Tyler Russell gooses Cyst along with a sure hand and a tongue so in-cheek, it gets mail there. The reverential injection of B-level camp is not only on purpose, but obviously encouraged behind the scenes, being produced in part by Greg Sestero (The Room’s Mark and ergo, author of The Disaster Artist). I somehow missed Sestero’s name in the opening credits, because I didn’t recognize him as one of the patent examiners.

There’s zero mistaking Hardy, however. Destined for eternal Troll 2 infamy even after he leaves this mortal coil, the real-life dentist turned accidental actor certainly has limitations in range. While the aw-shucksness that’s made him a horror-convention fan favorite isn’t present in this villainous role, Hardy’s dopey nature and above-amateurish delivery are — and they actually work for the unhinged mad-scientist persona. With Nic Cage-mannerisms aiming to leap over over-the-top, Dr. Guy is as anything-goes intent on securing that patent as a former game-show host to a second stint as POTUS.

But will lowbrow art imitate life, even in a nice, compact 69 minutes? To find out, give Cyst a good poke. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Thriller

Lucky Bastard (2014)

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At the very least, Lucky Bastard approaches the found-footage trend from an angle I haven’t seen tried: inside the porno industry. Its “document everything” conceit allows us fly-on-the-fly access in HD as porn producer Mike (Don McManus, Paranormal Activity: The Ghost Dimension) persuades his supposedly hottest star, Ashley Saint (Betsy Rue) to, ahem, “do” her first episode of his Lucky Bastard series.

As one may surmise from the title, each installment recruits a fan to co-star, as it were, with the female talent — STD test results permitting, of course. After Mike wears down Ashley’s misgivings and protests, she agrees to have sex with the selected regular Joe — in this case, Dave (Jay Paulson, Black Rock). Well-meaning but socially awkward, Dave looks like the kind of guy whose Velcro wallet dutifully contains a punch card for Great Clips at the ready, perhaps adjacent to a condom he may never use.

In the run-up to rolling camera, their special guest does and says things that creep Ashley out — so many that she refuses to do the scene. He snaps, in what must be the world’s biggest case of blue balls. With LAPD footage of the grisly aftermath at a Van Nuys home, Lucky Bastard’s prologue tells us right away what the poster’s tagline only echoes: “This will not end well.” We just don’t know exactly how or when (although if you pay attention to the movie’s running time, you can make an educated guess as to when the sparks will hit wick’s end).

When the group stops for a quick lunch en route to set, Dave is so antsy to get depantsy, he complains to Mike that no one watches this portion of his Lucky Bastard series; they want to fast-forward straight to the sex. The movie Lucky Bastard, however, faces a contradictory problem: I wanted them to skip the sex for the storm.

Neither portion satisfies. Moving from the venerable (as an Emmy-nominated writer and producer of TV’s Law & Order) to the venereal for his directorial debut, Robert Nathan asks some interesting questions, like “What if a mentally ill man were chosen for an amateur porn shoot?” yet answers them with less curiosity. More attention seems placed on simulating (?) explicit acts — some pixelated despite an NC-17 rating — than sharing a fleshed-out story. To that end, one can claim Nathan’s picture is perhaps most porn-realistic in the one way a legitimate feature shouldn’t strive to be: dismissive of plot.

The three leads acquit themselves. Paulson is particularly convincing as the outcast powder keg; McManus, appropriately greasy and sleazy; and Rue looks every bit the damaged, button-cute part. Best known for her not-a-stitch performance in 3D in 2009’s My Bloody Valentine, she again demonstrates remarkable bravery in her immodesty, but this time for a project that neither deserves nor rewards her investment. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Sci-Fi & Fantasy

Rampage (2018)

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For moviegoers who have longed to see Dwayne Johnson literally arguing with an albino gorilla via sign language, including one flip o’ the bird, Rampage answers your prayers. It also reunites Johnson with his San Andreas and Journey 2 director, Brad Peyton, officially making it a hat trick. Maybe you were praying for that, too?

Based on the semi-classic arcade game of giant monsters destroying buildings, Rampage indirectly acquires its big bads from the heavens when an Energyne corporation space station explodes, raining a trio of canisters across America. Since the jars contain a genetically edited pathogen that causes rapid growth and mutation, each is consumed by and/or exposed to a different animal — conveniently, those of the game: a wolf, a crocodile and that aforementioned ape.

The latter lives at the San Diego Wildlife Sanctuary, where Davis Oyoke (Johnson) works as some kind of souped-up zookeeper. Because he has huge muscles that might also be the product of rapid growth and mutation, Oyoke is a shoo-in at saving the world — or at least the Windy City — when all three creatures converge on Chicago’s Energyne HQ, lured there by radio signals sent by the tech firm’s greedy CEO (Malin Akerman, 2009’s Watchmen) and her ineffectual brother (Obvious Child’s Jake Lacy, either overplaying dopiness or being the only one cognizant of the source material’s campiness).

Oyoke is assisted by Energyne’s former engineer/current whistleblower (Naomie Harris, Spectre), who explains just enough science behind her CRISPR research to make the exceedingly stupid premise plausible. What I didn’t know until after the film: “CRISPR” is actual DNA terminology and not some off-brand air fryer.

Porting his Jumanji-sm appeal straight to another family-friendly piece of IP, Johnson does what he does well, which is rely on his massive charm, even if he recognizes it only goes so far: to when the soullessness of CGI takes hold to render a triple-bout monster mash in that last third. Johnson can stare wide-eyed all he wants, but it doesn’t make the sequence fun. (A one-line exception: “Of course the wolf flies.”) An empty-calorie blockbuster that should play better, Rampage gives you no quarter. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Kitchen Sink

Ingagi (1930)

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WTFOne has to admire the guts and gusto of the gang behind Ingagi — or would admire if director William Campbell’s very idea and execution weren’t so, well, racist. It’s a historical curio nonetheless.

A color-tinted stew of ethnography and chicanery, the film purports to be a documentary of a 1926 African expedition by one Sir Hubert Winstead. In actuality, Ingagi not only was faked, but much of its safari footage stolen from another movie, which explains why those scenes are of much lesser resolution.

As the opening crawl of exposition informs audiences, Winstead has heard wild stories of a remote village in Africa whose tribesmen adhere to a most unusual yearly ritual: sacrificing a woman to a sex-mad gorilla, simply because they believe the gods demand it. The gods must be crazy! So Winstead and his fellow British explorers head to Africa to take some time to do the things they never had.

Upon arrival, they watch a beggar perform cigarette tricks and play three-card monte with eggs — all a mere prelude to the zoo-as-menu shenanigans on which the bulk of Ingagi is built, from warthogs to wildebeest. Animals encountered and/or hunted include crocodiles, zebras, elephants, leopards, deer, giraffes, ostriches, vultures, rhinos, armadillos, hyenas and fairly tame impala. Many, if not most, of these creatures are killed, with retrieval of the bodies left to Winstead’s native “boys.” Maybe it’s my chronic back pain, but dragging a dead hippo looks like quite the chore.

We also witness a python denied a lunch of lemur, as well as Winstead’s crew setting traps for little monkeys; when one is caught, narrator Louis Nizor chuckles with a tinge of cruelty, “What a duffer!” (Nizor, who fulfilled similar duties a year later for Campbell’s follow-up, Nu-Ma-Pu – Cannibalism, is highly opinionated throughout, remarking on “grotesque baboons” and outright declaring, “Rhinos are stupid beasts.”) For good measure, they “discover” a new animal they dub the “tortadillo,” which is a tortoise affixed with phony wings and tail, looking not unlike a Pokémon precursor.

Infamously, Ingagi’s climax depicts Winstead’s cameramen catching footage of that fabled gorilla nabbing a topless native woman for some interspecies hanky-panky. The big ape is played by none other than Charles Gemora, who donned such a suit in more than 50 movies, including The Gorilla and Island of Lost Souls. After more than an hour of buildup, the sequence is deflating to expectations — fitting for what amounts to a no-taste National Geographic special and forebearer of the mondo mockumentary. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.