All posts by Rod Lott

Exit Wounds (2001)

From the same creative team that brought you Romeo Must Die and Cradle 2 the Grave comes Exit Wounds, an enjoyable piece of trash that has to be Steven Seagal’s best movie since Under Siege except for that one on the plane where he died in the first 20 minutes.

Now markedly puffy and with out-of-control sideburns, Seagal is a Detroit police officer reassigned to a lesser precinct after saving the life of the U.S. vice president, but embarrassing him in the process. The cops there don’t like him sticking his ever-curious and pudgy nose into their business, especially when he learns they’re dirty and deep into a heroin ring with Internet gazillionaire DMX. Thus begins a barrage of super-slick car chases and gunfights, with lots of requisite slow-motion martial arts and surprising gory violence.

Director Andrzej Bartkowiak certainly has an unapologetically commercial style that’s high on gloss and short on everything else, but there’s something about it I like. Although it’s far from brilliant, it’s also far from incompetent. I’m just not sure why every movie he does has to star DMX and Anthony Anderson (a little of whose ad-libbed shtick goes a long way). Also starring in this outing are Tom Arnold (some of whose scenes with Seagal seem filmed without Seagal even there), Isaiah Washington and, all too briefly, Eva Mendes. —Rod Lott

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Bride of the Gorilla (1951)

Universal monsters screenwriter Curt Siodmak monkeyed around on his typewriter to go ape with Bride of the Gorilla, which you could mistake for a partial remake of his The Wolf Man. It’s equally as cheesy as other monkey movies of the era, but twice as routine.

Raymond Burr stars as a beefy worker on a jungle plantation who’s diddling his boss’ wife. When the boss finds out, he punches Burr in the face; Burr responds by throwing him at a deadly snake, which fatally bites the old man. A nearby witch witnesses the event puts strange leaves on the boss’ eyes, thus placing a curse on Burr.

No sooner has the future Perry Mason married the not-bereaving widow when he begins turning into a gorilla, through a series of cheap and unconvincing transformation sequences. Your average killing rampage ensues. My mind was long checked out by then. —Rod Lott

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Jackie Chan’s Crime Force (1983)

As expected, Jackie Chan is hardly in Jackie Chan’s Crime Force. But it doesn’t matter — the movie succeeds in being entertaining in its own plotless, over-the-top manner without him.

Known in some public-domain circles as Golden Queen’s Commando, it’s a crazy-Asian female version of The Dirty Dozen, minus five protagonists. The opening sequence introduces us to each of the felonious females, including the eyepatch-wearing Black Fox, the tattooed Amazon, the fright-wigged Black Cat, the pickpocketing Quick Silver, the whore Sugar, the pyrotechnic Dynamite and some alcoholic chick whose name I didn’t catch because the titles are poorly framed and cut off.

Upon her arrival in prison during World War II, Black Fox (Brigitte Lin of Chungking Express and Police Story) double-crosses each of the girls so they’ll all end up in the hole together. There she hatches an escape plan, and while it does gets the movie rolling, it denies us the usual women-in-prison clichés to which American renters are so pruriently accustomed (subbing a ballet-like basketball game and Keystone Kops-esque food fight instead).

Once they flee on horseback, Black Fox reveals they’ve been recruited to help her infiltrate an evil warlord’s chemical weapons plant. In a booby-trapped forest, they encounter the usual dangers — nets, spikes, sword-wielding skeletons — and are soon captured, but are allowed to go free when they beat their enemies at their own games — namely archery, blindfolded balloon shooting and noodle-eating.

Following a brief interlude in haunted woods, the girls finally arrive at the cat-stroking warlord’s Enter the Dragon-ish secret cave lair. Said warlord is portrayed for all of about two minutes by Chan. This is the best part, however, because the chicks shoot a lot of minions and do flips. You get all this plus severed limbs, a rat pierced with a chopstick and a fat guy named, well, Fatty. Arguably it’s the silliest thing Chan’s ever done outside of Fantasy Mission Force, yet still a better career move than The Medallion. —Rod Lott

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Boat Trip (2002)

Why doesn’t this turd have the words National Lampoon in its title? What sort of incriminating photos did the producers have of Cuba Gooding Jr.? Can the Academy for Motion Picture Arts and Sciences rescind the awarding of Oscars? And most importantly, why did I have to see if this really as bad as everyone says it is? Because it’s worse.

Any movie in which a character lip-synchs and dances to James Brown’s “I Feel Good” should be thrown in cinematic jail for life, but Boat Trip keeps piling on offenses, like doing a Chariots of Fire parody (those ceased being funny in 1983), giving Saturday Night Live’s Horatio Sanz a starring role, having Cuba dry-hump a porthole until he jizzes on a guy’s face, and having Roger Moore suggestively lick weenies, among other things.

The story (with apologies to the word “story”) has Gooding brokenhearted after his girlfriend (Vivica A. Fox) dumps him when he barfs on her cleavage and proposes marriage. To cheer him up, his ultra-horny janitor pal Sanz convinces him to accompany him on a cruise to engage in lots of promiscuous sex with loose women. But unbeknownst to them, a vengeful travel agent (Will Ferrell, whose cameo is the film’s only saving grace, outside of Victoria Silvstedt’s purple panties) books them on an all-male, all-gay ship. Let the homophobia ensue!

The initially disgusted Sanz thinks the trip might be okay after all when he accidentally shoots down a Swedish bikini team’s helicopter with a flare gun and they must board, enabling them to suntan and do jumping jacks topless. Gooding, meanwhile, falls for the ship’s dance instructor, Rush Hour 2 hottie Roselyn Sanchez — who does things to a banana here that presumably killed her career — but he can’t reveal to her that he’s not a homosexual.

Despite all the cheap shots, the film actually does carry a “being gay is just fine” message, but I doubt very many could make it that far. Its humor is absolutely infantile, and the look suggests a cheap, made-for-cable comedy that wouldn’t get watched without gratuitous nudity. —Rod Lott

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Beyond Re-Animator (2003)

H.P. Lovecraft’s demented Dr. Herbert West made a third house call with the long-overdue Beyond Re-Animator, a sequel that’s a garish, gory and good-humored (although definitely not good-natured) good time. Jeffrey Combs returns as West, now imprisoned in the Arkham State Penitentiary after one of his living dead experiments escapes from Miskatonic Asylum for some milk and kills a young woman. Thirteen years later, that girl’s little brother — who witnessed her gruesome demise — is the prison’s new doctor, and he’s brought West a present: a syringe full of that familiar glowing green goo.

The doc (likable but goofy Jason Barry of MirrorMask) wants to use the serum to find ways to help people; West, however, just seems interested in continuing his freakathon, although he has developed a method for restoring life, thanks to some secret research with rodents. At first, they inject a prisoner here, a smokin’-hot Spanish reporter (Elsa Pataky, Fast Five) there, but the second half of the film is an all-out prison riot with electrocutions, hangings, exploding stomachs and a wrestling half-torso, courtesy of the unique talents of Screaming Mad George.

I’ll admit I harbored strong reservations about Beyond; the fact that it was shot in Spain, set in a prison, scripted by a first-timer and had no principals return except Combs combined to portend an idea whose time had long passed. Plus, director Brian Yuzna’s spotty filmography — Faust: Love of the Damned, anyone? I thought not — didn’t bode well, either. To my relief, Beyond is a solid third chapter in a B-movie franchise of Grand Guignol that has a lot of life left in it, reanimated or otherwise.

If you thought that all the Re-Animator trilogy lacked were a techno-dance theme, you’ll thrill to the disc’s unintentionally hilarious Dr. Re-Animator music video for “Move Your Dead Bones” (sample lyric: “Reanimate your feet!”). And don’t you dare switch the movie off before the closing credits, lest you want to miss the fight between the rat and the penis. —Rod Lott

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