All posts by Rod Lott

Fist of Fear, Touch of Death (1980)

Part sports documentary, part biopic and part clip job, Fist of Fear, Touch of Death is all steaming pile. It’s also all comedy — and not that intentional kind, either. Matthew Mallinson’s film is so inept and pathetic on every level that it deserves to be known as the Plan 9 of not just Bruceploitation pics, but martial arts movies in general.

As it begins, ’70s trailer narrator king Adolph Caesar (Oscar-nommed for A Soldier’s Story, but certainly not for this) discusses the big impending karate championship at Madison Square Garden, where someone will walk away with the honor of the title of Bruce Lee’s successor. But will they also walk away with Lee’s curse — aka the Touch of Death? That’s the conflict set up by the — how you say? — “script,” and then completely discarded 80 minutes later.

Credited as “Hammer, the Ladies Man,” Fred Williamson (Vigilante) wakes up next to some skanky white ho in a hotel room. He’s gotta get to the Garden for the match, but his mattress partner wants to “make it a six-pack,” not fully satisfied with being Hammered the mere five times prior. In a running gag, the Hammer is continually mistaken for singer Harry Belafonte. This, my friends, is what the dictionary means by “funny.”

After giving Williamson a lift to the Garden and then interviewing him, Caesar brags about having discovered Lee, and then gives us the whole story about Lee’s pre-stardom years, courtesy of poorly dubbed black-and-white sequences. In these, Bruce often dreams of his great-grandfather’s prowess as a samurai warrior, which we see flashbacks of, courtesy of color clips from 1971’s kick-ass Invincible Super Chan with a fighting midget and a guy who uses an abacus as a weapon.

Caesar briefly mentions Lee’s breakthrough role as Kato on TV’s The Green Hornet, and in present day, we see karate champ Bill Louie decked out as Kato, beating up would-be rapists in the park, killing one with hurled ninja stars. The whole ugly scene starts when some horny redneck, spotting a comely jogger, exclaims, “Shit! Fuckin’ cantaloupe tits!”

As for the much-discussed karate match, we see precious little of it, but that’s okay. At least we get to see a bit of one bout, ending with one guy’s eyes being ripped out of their sockets, complete with cartoon sound effects! So what the hell are you waiting for? —Rod Lott

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How to Choose, Grow & Style the Perfect Beard or Mustache (1997)

WTFFrom the Wahl Clipper Corporation, How to Choose, Grow & Style the Perfect Beard or Mustache is about welding and soldering. Ha! I kid. It’s about big, bushy collections of face pubes.

As the VHS instructional tape begins, it looks like you’re in for wacky pratfalls galore as some poor schmo gets water sprayed in his face in his own bathroom, and Home Improvement sidekick Richard Karn bursts in without knocking to save the day with a Wahl clipper! But these shenanigans last all of 30 seconds, whereupon Karn vamooses in favor of an elongated lesson facial hair lesson subtitled in Spanish. It’s kind of like back in junior high when you’d be invited to a “free” pizza “party,” only to discover you had to sit through a lecture on Jesus.

The “how-to” here is accompanied by image after image of thick-necked Bigfoot-type guys trimming their beards. One sleazeball with a bolo looks like he worked the evening shift at Radio Shack. One fat guy combs out his scraggly, multicolored beard, and I swear he was going to find bits of stew.

Then some “Draw Tippy!”-style illustrations demonstrate how a mustache and/or beard can enhance the faces of various effeminate males. You can play this game at home with one of those dime-store magnetic-dust face toys. The narrator said something about “will not leave a gummy residue,” which will do nothing to allay your fears. —Rod Lott

Fantomas Unleashed (1965)

Picking up one year after the events of Fantomas, the sequel Fantomas Unleashed opens with the bumbling Commissioner Juve (Louis de Funès) being named a Knight in the Legion of Honor for ridding France of that masked master criminal Fantomas (Jean Marais) … uh, even though he didn’t. Fantomas just went on hiatus, but he’s back to embarrass the blood-boiling Juve and announce his intent to “perfect a ghastly weapon. … Soon, I will be the master of the world.”

Said game changer is a mind-control ray, and all Fantomas lacks is the participation of both the scientists who have been developing it. Having abducted one already, he sets his sights on kidnapping the elderly Professor Lefèvre (also Marais) at the International Scientific Conference; hero journalist Fandor (Marais once more) offers to take the learned man’s place by disguising himself as the bald, bulb-nosed prof. It’d be a mistake for Unleashed to ignore a ripe opportunity for mistaken identity — and then some! — so it doesn’t.

“These days, it’s all secret agents and gadgets,” says Juve — a bit of self-reflexiveness, as returning director André Hunebelle doubles down on the 007 influence, packing the picture with more gadgetry and accoutrements than before. While Fantomas has acquired a remote-controlled mini-car and submerged-volcano lair, Juve makes use of a third-arm contraption and bullet-firing cigars. These items of spy-fi work in support of the cartoon opening credits to cue viewers in on how seriously not to take the next hour and a half.

Front and center in the first Fantomas, Fandor yields the spotlight to Juve this time, likely because the commissioner’s brand of comic relief — so hot-tempered, he’s a walking ad for beta blockers — works in harmony with the light tone. Back as Fandor’s fiancée, Mylène Demongeot enjoys an elevated role as her character more actively participates in the caper and gains a precocious little brother (Olivier de Funès, son of Louis, in his film debut). Whatever the ratio, the group not only continues to charm, but charms more, and Unleashed is the better movie for it. —Rod Lott

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The Texas Chain Saw Massacre: The Film That Terrified a Rattled Nation

Beginning with the oft-told anecdote of director Tobe Hooper fantasizing about crowd control via a certain gasoline-powered tool during a hectic holiday rush at Montgomery Ward (and thus planting the seeds that soon sprouted into an eventual horror classic), Joseph Lanza’s The Texas Chain Saw Massacre: The Film That Terrified a Rattled Nation is hardly the first nonfiction book about the 1974 movie. It is, however, a unique one. Lanza treads territory that prior TCM texts simply weren’t interested in exploring: the film as a result of American’s turbulent, troubled times. Those days were wrought with immense societal upheaval and disruption that arguably strengthened the movie’s effectiveness in striking chords and stirring up as much shit as it scared out of audience members.

In examining how the “post-’60s version of Hansel and Gretel” was shaped by the country’s mood at the time, the author does so more or less scene by scene, placing each chapter against a different aspect that was in the air: for example, the astrology craze, the dangers of hitchhiking, a nationwide beef shortage, the rise of porno chic, the birth of the serial killer. It’s a fascinating approach to considering a famous film, and an introductory page listing a “supporting cast” hints at the book’s depth and breadth: Johnny Carson, Richard M. Nixon, Alice Cooper, Linda Lovelace, the Zodiac Killer and the Ray Conniff Singers among them. But those just scratch the surface; among those unlisted but who come into play as the pages turn include Cormac McCarthy, Patty Hearst, Edmund Kemper, Charlie Chan, Barney Miller, Allen Ginsberg, Jim Jones, the NRA and the Loud family.

Lanza brings the same incisiveness he has to his previous subjects (from enfant terrible Ken Russell to ear-terrorizing elevator music), leaving us with a whip-smart whipcrack of a read: a mix of “making of,” film criticism, true crime, pop culture history, sociology and a historical zip through the zeitgeist during an era of pivotal uncertainty, when Americans went looking for the America they once knew … and found it dangling from a meathook. —Rod Lott

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Jessicka Rabid (2010)

Picked up and released by Troma, which just about says it all, Jessicka Rabid is the kind of irredeemable, hateful trash that gives horror films a bad name. The mute Jessicka (Elske McCain, Poultrygeist: Night of the Chicken Dead) is literally treated like a dog by her male cousins-cum-captors (Mega Scorpions’ Jeff Sissons and The Pact II’s Trent Haaga). She is kept caged, fed dog food, hosed down in the bath and, when she needs to do her business outside, leashed by the neck. Every now and then, she is drugged so she can be pimped out to a porn director (played by this movie’s director, Matthew Reel).

And then there’s a lesbian scene in which Jessicka is seduced by the ol’ “peanut butter on the nipples” trick. Finally, she turns the tables on her masters. And the point is …?

I could not find one, other than a means for misogynist, filth-wallowing by featuring-debuting Reel (following such aggro shorts such as American Asshole and All the French Are Whores). The viewer would feel as used as McCain, if not for the fact that she co-wrote the damn thing with Reel, so you feel used for her.

A strong argument against DIY movies, Jessicka Rabid does have one tick mark in the plus column: the pun of its title. Whereas Who Framed Roger Rabbit’s Jessica Rabbit was famous for purring, “I’m not bad. I’m just drawn that way,” Jessicka Rabid is drawn to be bad. —Rod Lott

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