All posts by Rod Lott

The Crocodile Hunter: Collision Course (2002)

In space, no one can hear you scream “Crikey!” But that’s where, in Collision Course‘s opening moments, a U.S. satellite explodes, sending its beacon-equipped core crash-landing in Australia, where a crocodile promptly swallows it. CIA agents are deployed to retrieve it, unaware it’s in a croc’s belly, putting them on a collision course … with danger!

Meanwhile, Animal Planet host Steve “The Crocodile Hunter” Irwin and his masculine wife, Terri — playing themselves because that’s all they can do — spend their day collecting all sorts of wildlife for zoo research. With all his scenes framed TV-style and talking straight into the camera, Steve finds something, catches something and indulges himself in a five-minute, diarrhea-of-the-mouth treatise on the animal, whether it’s a wily snake, a venomous spider or hungry crocodile. His typical, hypercaffeinated shtick is peppered with such exclamations as “If you ever see a snake like this, DON’T MUCK WIT’ IT!”

The two “stories” converge briefly when the agents come upon the croc in Steve’s possession and he mistakes them for poachers, putting them all on a collision course … with laughter!

Actually the movie puts you on a collision course … with sleep! It’s pretty dull, livened up only by the prospect of seeing Steve have his face penetrated with poison-dripping fangs, but alas, such blooper-worthy shenanigans never come to be. No mistake about it, this is simply an episode of his TV show with a pointless government-agent wraparound, putting me on a collision course with … aw, never mind. —Rod Lott

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Seven Deaths in the Cat’s Eye (1973)

Seven Deaths in the Cat’s Eye makes about as much sense as its title, but it’s fun to watch it unfold, bereft of logic and lucidity, provided you’re into Gothic cinematic trappings. While this one comes from the country and era of the giallo, it has more in common with AIP’s Edgar Allan Poe cycle from Roger Corman.

Blame it on the pussy.

Expelled from her all-girl Catholic school, a young woman with the unfortunate name of Corringa (Jane Birkin) returns to her family’s castle at a time of chaos and crisis, with the owners being pressured to sell it all and move away. Corringa’s ready to party until she accidentally throws the Bible into a roaring fire, supposedly inviting bad juju.

Must be true, because shortly thereafter, she discovers a rotting corpse in the castle’s underground tunnels, not to mention a caged gorilla. He’s the pet of Lord James (Hiram Keller), who’s possibly insane and rumored to have killed someone, and possibly even has the power to shape-shift. And every time the titular tabby shows up, someone gets killed, thereby putting the “ow” in “meow.”

Even in the muddy print I saw, the mood set by director Antonio Margheriti (Cannibal Apocalypse) was palpable, fueled by striking visuals more interesting than the murder mystery at its dark heart. You could do worse than having to ogle Birkin for a good portion of it; speaking of the songstress, her rapscallion lover, Serge Gainsbourg, has a small role as an investigating police detective. —Rod Lott

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Las Vegas Lady (1975)

Las Vegas Lady begins, appropriately enough, in a theme park and wax museum. But it’s not as much fun as either. I’m going to dish out blame to a mood-setting (read: mood-destroying) country-rock theme song that’s worse than any turd ever dumped onto drive-in screens by Crown International Pictures.

Said song is about Lucky, played by government-certified MILF Stella Stevens. As the tune goes, “She’s a winner and a sinner,” and the plot is only slightly more complex. In the opening moments, a shadowy figure in a cowboy hat ropes her into a job of robbing a Vegas casino of — pinky toward mouth, Dr. Evil — half a million dollars! The place deserves to lose it, because the unsmiling owner (George DiCenzo, Helter Skelter) is a real douche.

It’s a not-so-ritzy joint where the entertainment isn’t Goth magicians, killer tigers or stick-up-the-ass Billboard divas, but a chintzy circus act starring three busty trapeze artists, one of whom is sick of all the flying around. Lucky corrals her (Linda Scruggs) and a token black woman (Lynne Moody, Scream Blacula Scream) to aid her in the gig, along with Lucky’s fuck buddy (Stuart Whitman), who works security there and won’t stop asking her hand in marriage, even though she’s hot and he’s … well, like a beer gut in unkempt human form.

Ocean’s Eleven this is not, as the heist is as low-tech as the casino, which may as well have wood paneling. It’s so bottom-barrel by today’s standards that you can smell the Pall Mall through the screen. The biggest element into pulling the job off are Stevens’ pendulous breasts, which distract WKRP‘s Frank Bonner, forever endanger the PG rating, and mitigate that the big twist is obvious from the first scene. —Rod Lott

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Men of War (1994)

Meet Nick Gunar (Dolph Lundgren), a former mercenary who wears a palooka beret and drinks from a flask. He’s approached by two yuppie maggots about going to the tiny island of South China Sea and making the native give up their mining rights.

Because his former superior tells him that “The art of war is the art of life” or whatever, Nick assembles of team of expendables from all over the nation to stick the business end of their guns, rocket launchers and other weapons in the faces of the islanders to convince them to give up what’s theirs. Of course, they encounter resistance, but what really sways Nick’s soul and mind to the other side are the terrific bared breasts of Charlotte Lewis (The Golden Child). That’ll do it.

Directed by actor Perry Lang (Spring Break), Men of War also features Catherine Bell of TV’s JAG as part of Nick’s team. Unlike Charlotte, she doesn’t take off her clothes. However, this may be a good thing, because here she looks like a man. In fact, her role is so butch, my genitals wept.

Shit blows up in this Thai-shot actioner. And by “shit,” I mean people, mostly. There’s even a bad guy with a burnt face who has what looks like a vulva where his right ear should be. What it lacks in story, it makes up for in mindless violence and Dolphitude. Judging from the credits, I believe the crew may have been locals forced to work for free, under threat of Dolph. Just look: Special effects assistants? Lek, Niphon and Kob. Electrician? Jakkrid. Dolly grip? Meng. —Rod Lott

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