All posts by Rod Lott

Sci-Fi & Fantasy

Godmonster of Indian Flats (1973)

Leave a comment

Although nearly a half-century year old, Godmonster of Indian Flats remains startlingly relevant for our times. It’s a story of a God-fearing, anti-science populace clinging to the idea of yesteryear. It’s a story of a politician who abuses his power to enrich his own station in life, at the expense of the poorer townspeople. It’s a story of one African-American man trying to do what’s the right while forever under the thumb of a racist society that fears “the other.”

It’s also a story of a “damaged mongoloid beast,” but to the film’s credit, it could function with that plotline excised. I don’t want to live in a world in which such a removal were made — I’m only saying it could be done. More is bubbling beneath Godmonster’s matted-cotton surface than mere creature-run-amok chaos.

And holy moly, what a creature! One morning, to the amazement of all-business anthropology professor Dr. Clemons (E. Kerrigan Prescott, Fiend Without a Face) and mild-mannered sheep rancher Eddie (Richard Marion, Child’s Play 3), a half-developed embryo is birthed into the flock. Dr. Clemons notes the preemie’s condition is the result of chromosomal breakdown during cross-fertilization, and these 10 seconds form all the scientific explanation we as viewers need. The professor incubates the thing in his lab, where it grows into an 8-foot monstrosity that looks like a mange-ravaged Mr. Snuffleupagus or a walking tumor as depicted by a Nabisco Barnum’s Animal Cracker, or perhaps both.

When it gets loose and terrorizes the town, Godmonster morphs into a classic Western as members of the “vigilance committee” assemble on horseback to hunt it down and lasso that li’l doggie amid the mayor’s declaration of martial law. Needless to say, audience sympathy aligns with that of writer/director Fredric Hobbs (Alabama’s Ghost): squarely on the side of the deformed, misunderstood abomination, no matter how many schoolchildren he scares the shit out of or number of filling stations he somehow explodes. Godmonster of Indian Flats certainly hums an odd tune, but at least it hums. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Thriller

L.A. AIDS Jabber (1994)

Leave a comment

At all of 19 years young, Jeff Roberts (Fart: The Movie’s Jason Majik, redefining “overwrought”) has a problem: In addition to mental issues and acid-washed jeans, he’s got the HIV. Shortly after receiving this death sentence from a rather lackadaisical doctor who can’t be bothered to get up from his chair, Jeff snaps and vows to get back at those who gave — or may have given — him the virus. Filling a syringe with his own blood, he becomes … wait for it … the L.A. AIDS Jabber.

Okay, so while he never goes by that name, the movie sure does. Unfortunately, although unsurprisingly, that eyebrow-raiser of a title is its most interesting aspect. Shot on video, the bad-taste slasher takes itself too seriously as Jeff jabs his way toward vengeance, starting with that whore Tanya. As people die by the little prick, a detective and a news reporter investigate, so much so that the sick flick becomes more about them.

The only movie written, directed and produced by actor Drew Godderis (Evil Spawn), L.A. AIDS Jabber cannot truly be discussed without spoiling its M. Night Shyamalandafuckyousay twist ending: The doctor learns the test results were mixed up; therefore, Jeff is not — repeat: not — infected with the HIV virus. One could say you definitely didn’t see that coming — Godderis included, because if Jeff’s blood was all on the up-and-up, what killed his victims?

The movie is sometimes called just plain ol’ Jabber, but hell, that’s no fun. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Action

Dixie Dynamite (1976)

Leave a comment

In the Deep South, because where else, Tom Eldridge (Mark Miller, Blonde in Bondage) runs a moonshine business on his 7.5-acre property … until the town sheriff (Christopher George, Mortuary) shows up to throw a wrench in the works. As Tom panics and tries to flee Johnny Law, he’s shot dead by a lummox of a deputy (Wes Bishop, who wrote and produced the film).

Daddy’s death is the first domino in a string of troubles in motion for Tom’s two daughters, Dixie (Jane Anne Johnstone) and Patsy (Kathy McHaley). They face eviction from their home, thanks to the local greedy banker (R.G. Armstrong, Evilspeak), and can’t find a job — cue the montage of the ladies walking past multiple “NO HELP WANTED” signs. When close family pal Mack (Warren Oates, Stripes) fails to win the $1,000 grand prize at The Moto-Cross Big Race — seriously, that’s what it’s called — the Eldridge girls decide to resort to the ol’ standby. No, not prostitution: revenge.

A knee-jerk reaction would be amazement that Dixie Dynamite works as well as it does. But Bishop and frequent director Lee Frost made B-movie magic almost every time at bat in their long and fruitful partnership, which included horrors that shocked (Race with the Devil), schlocked (The Thing with Two Heads) and stripped (House on Bare Mountain). This proto-Dukes of Hazzard entry into the hicksploitation contender is no different. In fact, it’s one of the better ones, comfortably forming a wheel-centric companion to Chrome and Hot Leather, Frost/Bishop’s 1971 biker pic.

Plus, with Oates as something of a third-lead ringer, Frost/Bishop were able to anchor the film with more talent than the duo’s lesser efforts. If Dixie Dynamite holds any sort of surprise, well, it actually has two. The first is that one of the racing cyclists is Hollywood legend Steve McQueen; don’t bother looking for him, because he’s hiding uncredited underneath a helmet. The other, larger surprise is not that Johnstone and McHaley had zero movie credits before this, but that they had zero afterward, as both women are radiant. The screen clearly adores them, making their vanishing act from it all the more criminal. And speaking of, the final reel’s heist sequence cleverly pulls a Quick Change/Inside Man trick years before either had the chance. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Kitchen Sink

The Fiend of Dope Island (1961)

Leave a comment

WTFSomewhere in the Caribbean, psychotic pot farmer and arms dealer Charlie Davis (Bruce Bennett, The Alligator People) is The Fiend of Dope Island, who physically abuses the native slaves he calls his employees. (Comparisons to Michael Fassbender’s Oscar-nominated role in 12 Years a Slave are not out of line.) Meanwhile, right-hand man David (Robert Bray, My Gun Is Quick) tries to right his boss’ wrongs. Besides being the only white guy on the payroll, David stands out for wearing a yacht captain’s hat as if he’s the top half missing from an “& Tennille” marquee.

One day at the isle’s bamboo-walled cantina (and the movie’s primary set), in sashays Glory La Verne (Queen of Outer Space’s Tania Velia, billed here as “the Yugoslavian bombshell”), a shapely firecracker Charlie has hired to perform hoochie-coochie dances for his viewing pleasure to the point of literal exhaustion for her — a weakened state making it all the easier for him to attempt rape.

Although directorial duties fell to oater specialist Nate Watt (Hopalong Cassidy Returns, et al.), the script was co-written by Bennett, who sure gave himself a meaty part as the antagonist. Seeing him bark orders — each punctuated with the crack of his trusty whip — is one thing, but Bennett is at his ham-hock best during the dance numbers, maniacally laughing and feverishly bongoing his way into an orgiastic frenzy as Glory shakes her groove thang. Dope Island may be nothing more than a melodrama, but his Reefer Madness-styled overdelivery infuses the picture with a nutty flavor, kicking it over into the stuff of many a men’s adventure magazine cover. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Martial Arts

DOA: Dead or Alive (2006)

Leave a comment

Finally, one of mankind’s greatest mysteries is solved by the film DOA: Dead or Alive: What would happen if a ninja princess, a leggy cat burglar and a star-spangled-swimsuit-clad pro wrestler were invited to join a high-stakes martial-arts competition on a hidden island?

The answer: Kicking.

Based on a video game franchise, the Maxim-rific DOA sat on the shelf for a number of years before quietly receiving a theatrical release. That suggests the flick is unwatchable; in truth, it does exactly what it sets out to do: titillate.

Kasumi (Devon Aoki, Sin City) is the aforementioned princess who leaves her Asian homeland to avenge the rumored death of her brother. Because she abandons her people, she is pursued by an assassin with pink hair.

Christie (Holly Valance, Taken) has just pulled off a lucrative heist when she’s questioned by police in her hotel room. She manages to fight them off while naked, simultaneously grabbing a falling gun as she puts on a bra.

And Tina (Jaime Pressly, Torque) is a beer-guzzling redneck wrassler who’s just defended her yacht from a band of pirates.

All three lithesome ladies are recruited — via electronic throwing-star invitations, naturally — to be among a handful of combatants in the winner-takes-all “DOA” competition, which promises a $10 million prize. No one said this makes any sense, but it all happens over the course of the film’s first 10 minutes, so at least it wastes no time.

On the island, a squeaky-voiced roller skater introduces them to Dr. Victor Donovan (Eric Roberts, Sharktopus), the mastermind behind the games. Yes, he’s evil, with the sport merely a cover for his greedy, misguided machinations.

With snot-slick visuals and leaden attempts at slapstick comedy, DOA: Dead or Alive plays like a marriage — or at least a one-night stand — between Mortal Kombat and TV’s Charlie’s Angels. It’s the kind of movie that keeps cutting away from a karate-laden fight scene to a women’s beach volleyball match because … well, hey, bikinis!

At least DOA wears its T-and-A intentions on its thong strap, not pretending to be anything but a made-for-cable-level exercise in action and eye candy. The DOA logo even appears full-screen at several points, handily suggesting where commercials could be inserted for airings on Spike TV.

It’s mindless, sure, but it cannot be accused of being boring. The actresses are easy on the optical orbs, and up to all the upskirt wire-fu that director Corey Yuen (The Transporter) has in store for them. For the viewer, that also means bright colors, quick cuts, slow motion and other shiny things to keep you entertained while dissuading you from applying logic.

If the shenanigans leave you in the mood for a much smarter film centered around three lovely ladies who know how to throw a punch, rent 2002’s So Close, also directed by Yuen. It may not have a wisecracking black guy in a shark-fin mohawk, but you can’t win them all. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.