All posts by Rod Lott

Black Lizard (1968)

Although Rampo Edogawa, Japan’s answer to Edgar Allan Poe, had seen his material adapted for the screen dozens of times in his life, he died just a few years before the Golden Age kicked off. We’re talking Blind Beast, Horrors of Malformed Men and, coming first, Black Lizard, all within a year and a half. Talk about a trifecta!

One of the legendary Seven Samurai, Isao Kimura headlines this crazy crime tale as Akechi, a private detective with a lot going on. While investigating the disappearance of a corpse from a med school lab, he’s hired by the jeweler Iwasa (Jun Usami, The Vampire Doll) to protect his daughter, Sanae (Kikko Matsuoka, The Living Skeleton), at the secret go-go club where she works.

As Akechi is told, Iwasa’s been warned Sanae will be kidnapped by the mysterious Black Lizard, perhaps to get at his invaluable Star of Egypt diamond. A chloroformed rag or two later, Akechi fails his duties. Unknown to our dick, but not to our minds, is the Black Lizard’s true identity: the woman who runs the club.

Given the Black Lizard’s hunchbacked henchman, a snake-throwing henchwoman and a Sax Rohmer-ready hideout, it’s not like the movie lacks in audience appeal. But here’s where things get really interesting, because she was really a he — Akihiro Miwa, arguably Japan’s most celebrated drag queen.

For today’s viewers (who may recognize Miwa’s voice as Princess Mononoke’s Wolf Goddess), the actor’s true gender is no secret; it’s obvious as soon as his female character appears. Yet the more the Black Lizard is set up not only as Akechi’s foil, but as his potential paramour, the more I kept anticipating a proto-Crying Game reveal. To the progressive credit of director Kinji Fukasaku (Battle Royale), it never arrives!

Equal parts cigarette smoke and champagne effervescence, and buoyed by a score by Isao Tomita — yes, that Tomita!Black Lizard is a real Pop Art blast from the Far East. Both informed by and showing up American pulp fiction, Fukasaku’s confection has style to burn and then some. —Rod Lott

Get it at dvdrparty.

Sasquatch Sunset (2024)

Even if you’re a such a cryptid-cinema completist that you’ve subjected yourself to the likes of Bigfoot Goes to Hell or Bigfoot vs. D.B. Cooper, I guarantee you’ve never encountered a Bigfoot movie quite like Sasquatch Sunset. I say this already having seen the one in which he goes hog-wild at a nudist camp, the one where his nipple inflates from excitement and the one where he tears off a urinating man’s penis.

From indie-pic iconoclasts David and Nathan Zeller (Kumiko, the Treasure Hunter), the film depicts a year in the life of a four-member family of skunk apes. No dialogue is spoken beyond grunts and howls as they go about their way, foraging for food and shelter, and stumbling into one strange, dangerous situation after another.

Only two bits stretched too far into sketch comedy, like mimicking humans’ cellphone usage with a turtle standing in for the tech. Otherwise, ignoring the laws of nature dictate the shenanigans. It’s as if the “Dawn of Man” prologue in 2001: A Space Odyssey were remade as a ribald comedy. Mel Brooks’ History of the World, Part I took first crack by opening with Kubrick’s apes masturbating; the Zellners expand that into feature-length, covering all the bases of bodily functions.

It’s filthy, funny and — not referring to bowels here — oddly, oddly moving. To say such a style will polarize audiences is an understatement. Decidedly unconventional rather than experimental, Sasquatch Sunset is likely to prompt a flood of early walkouts. Whenever I witness such a hasty response — e.g., at every Paul Thomas Anderson or David Lynch screening — I consider it a badge of honor for the film. Congrats, Zellners! You’re in excellent company.

Expertly selling the inhuman illusion, the actors disappear behind first-rate makeup and prosthetics, to such a degree that I couldn’t determine whether Jesse Eisenberg (Now You See Me) or Nathan Zellner played the patriarch. No ID issue exists with Riley Keough (2019’s The Lodge) or Christophe Zajac-Denek (Tales of Halloween), respectively being the only woman and little person among the quartet. Each is excellent, gelling as a true ensemble.

Technically, the landscape shots are stunning, thanks to Oscar-worthy cinematography from Michael Gioulakis (2019’s Us). In its sixth screen collaboration with the Zellners, The Octopus Project delivers a beautiful score that, while different from the Texas trio’s alt-electronic albums, is no less melodic.

Detest Sasquatch Sunset all you wish — and many will — but its enigmatic energy clicked with me right away. The best moment arrives in a final shot that conveys irony, craft and an otherworldly power that registers that deadpan frame as an all-time great. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Sting (2024)

Nothing’s tantric with this Sting, a spider movie from Down Under that delivers a load. Of fun.

During a city-crippling ice storm, a Brooklyn apartment building gains an unexpected visitor: a rock from space that houses a dandy li’l spider. It’s found by Charlotte (Alyla Browne, Furiosa), a young girl who lives there with her family. From room to room and floor to floor, Charlotte traverses the complex via its ventilation ducts, foreshadowing the eventual activity of her new eight-legged pet, whom she names Sting and keeps in a jar.

This being an arac-attack film, Sting grows to horrific size — enough to give even the most hard-nosed he-man a case of The Shivers. Like Charlotte’s stepdad (Ryan Corr, Wolf Creek 2), who serves as the building’s super. We meet him running the basement’s trash compactor, which practically screams, “See you back here for the showdown!”

So originality isn’t Sting’s strong suit. Nor did I want it to be. From a spider movie, I seek only three things:
• spider action
• and lots of it
• without shoddy CGI

Is that so much to ask? Not for writer/director Kiah Roache-Turner. One of Ozploitation’s rising stars as the creative force behind the Wyrmwood zombie franchise, he delivers on all three. In initial, tiny form, Sting is computer-generated — required for the incredible title sequence, depicting the spider crawling through a dollhouse — but done without cutting corners. When the arachnid grows (and grows!) to sizes not even Australian spiders get, Sting is presented as a practical, in-camera effect, meaning it’s all the more terrifying — doubly so being built by Wētā Workshop, known mostly for its stellar work on everything Peter Jackson.

Although no Arachnophobia, Roache-Turner’s Sting does take a cue from John Goodman’s exterminator by casting Jermaine Fowler (The Blackening) to function as similar crowd-pleasin’ comic relief: “Let’s kill this bitch!” He nearly steals the show out from under all eight legs, a pair of balls and a couple of good jumps. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

James Bond and the Sixties Spy Craze

As George Lazenby’s 007 opined in 0n Her Majesty’s Secret Service, the world is not enough. Neither is the new book James Bond and the Sixties Spy Craze, although it gets close.

Written by Thom Shubilla (Primetime 1966-1967), the handsome hardback from Applause tracks the wannabes, never-weres, knockoffs, one-offs and other Bondy-come-latelys proliferating after the worldwide moviegoing public gave a hearty “yes” to 1962’s Dr. No.

Rather admirably, the book gives overdue attention to those cinematic spies of comparatively short shrift — many colorful and comical — from Matt Helm and Derek Flint to Harry Palmer and Bulldog Drummond. Even better, Shubilla doesn’t stop there, devoting later chapters to the Mexican and European also-rans (including Sean Connery’s own sibling, Neil, in Operation Kid Brother), as well as television. It’s thorough enough, you may cry U.N.C.L.E.

But all this comes after the author spends nearly 50 pages introducing us to Bond, James Bond. While I get the need to set the table, 007 could be handled in the introduction, since we’re not told anything new — unless you count Lazenby’s aforementioned quote erroneously attributed to Connery.

Sixties Spy Craze reads like a Wikipedia page, for both good and ill, meaning it’s packed with facts, but lacks a narrative. For delivering pure production info, one could make the case nobody does it better. However, what’s sacrificed are Shubilla’s own viewpoint and assumed passion for this subgenre. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Ninja Scope (1969)

Cobbled from episodes of the children’s TV series Masked Ninja Red Shadow, this Japanese feature has popped up under numerous titles in its lifetime. Thanks to importing, white people like me are apt to encounter it as Ninja Scope. Whichever name it bears, the flick packs a lot of action in a mere 52 minutes.

It pits the red-masked, swoopy-haired superhero Akakage (Yuzaburo Sakaguchi, Lone Wolf and Cub: Baby Cart at the River Styx) and kid-ninja sidekick Akokage (Kaneko Yoshinobu, Watari) against a cult. Do you think the cult leader is cool with this? No, he is not, so he sends in his clowns to battle. By “clowns,” I mean creatures of all shapes and sizes and sativa-inspired designs, including a:
• rock monster
• giant, flame-breathing toad
• rectangle-faced goon with sawblade sandals

For these and other colorful storybook shenanigans in which our heroes find themselves, the matinee movie occasional pauses to allow Akakage to bust that fourth wall and inform audience members to don their 3-D viewers. With each fight sequence, Ninja Scope diverts to black and white to allow for anaglyph antics; while it’s kind of a bummer to lose color, when it comes to pushing objects toward the lens, the filmmakers didn’t dick around. 

With a pantyhose-headed puppeteer, exploding plums and a dude on a kite, Ninja Scope never rests to allow itself to get dull.  It’s as if your eyes ate 12 bowls of cereal in a sitting. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.