All posts by Rod Lott

Comedy

Safari 3000 (1982)

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In director Harry Hurwitz’s Safari 3000, David Carradine basically plays David Carradine, as a former Hollywood stuntman who enters the African International Race with Playboy photographer and vaguely mustachioed Stockard Channing as his navigator. Interesting, but that’s not the kind of bush of which Playboy is interested in running pictures.

Christopher Lee is the villainous mogul who also wants the crown, and the tricks he and his henchman pal are worthy of Bullwinkle cartoons — meaning that they’re entirely stupid for a live-action film. Which is much of the problem for this witless exercise: It’s unsure whether it’s an actioner, an adventure, a comedy or even a goddamn travelogue. Because it’s so start-to-finish insipid, I’m going with comedy. One thing’s for sure: It’s not worth your time.

The four-digit number in the title refers to the amount of kilometers of the race, but I suspect it was put there to fool moviegoers into thinking it a sequel to Carradine’s hit Death Race 2000. It also implies futurism, but about the only dose of that you get is Lee driving around in a Darth Vader helmet. —Rod Lott

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Thriller

Death Game (1977)

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Every time my wife leaves town, the house is dead silent. But in Death Game, as soon as George’s wife leaves town — on his 40th birthday, no less — two hotties knock on the door, looking for an address they can’t seem to find. George (Seymour Cassel, whose voice is obviously, horribly dubbed for some reason) lets them in, and they’re quite impressed by his digs: “Hey, that bathroom of yours is far-out!”

Seconds later, Jackson (Sondra Locke) and Donna (Colleen Camp) are stripped naked in his Jacuzzi bath, and approach him for a threesome. George protests, but they grab his crotch and, literally, the waka-waka disco music begins. ‘Tis a great night, but in the morning, a spent George is peeved they won’t get out of his house.

They have no intentions of going. In fact, they tie him up and “hold court,” pledging to kill him at the end of the weekend. Jackson goes all nom-nom-nom on his groceries like a brain-damaged pig (“You have the manners of an alley cat!” he screams), while Donna plays the piano horribly. Both fuck with his wife’s makeup so they look like they’re part of a troupe called Whore du Soleil, and cackle like the batshit-crazy loons they are. But, hey, Camp’s breasts.

This is Camp in her prime. She positively oozes sex, but the bland Locke oozes tapioca pudding. Death Game is all about punishing George for consuming two servings of underaged vagina, but the movie is ultimately pointless. However, with a bosom like Camp’s, who needs motive? The utter nonsense keeps you entertained, even when you want to throttle them. The final shot is a WTF howler. —Rod Lott

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Martial Arts

Fighting Life (1981)

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From the box: “Fighting Life is a remarkable film rejoicing the spirit of life. It is the dynamic tale of two brothers who overcome immense physical and emotional handicaps, and become vital members of society. The two stars of the film are both physically handicapped and truly prove that everyone can make it. Starring: All Star Kung Fu Cast.”

In reality, Fighting Life is a decent film rejoicing in the fact that they got the two stars of Crippled Masters together again for a couple hundred yen. It is the generic tale of two brothers who drive around in a specially built vehicle that looks like a combination of Fred Flintstone’s car and a Rube Goldberg contraption. The two stars of the film are both physically handicapped and truly prove that moviegoers can only take so much of the one guy’s Thalidomide flipper-nub flapping around before they get visibly ill. Starring: Two Guys I’d Be Hard-Pressed to Name, Other than “Dude with No Arms” and “Dude with Almost No Legs.”

Sometimes found retitled as Crippled Masters 3, this isn’t as good as the original Crippled Masters because — and I hate to say this — it’s not as exploitative. Instead of graphic scenes of blood and gore, you get elongated employment searches. If you’ve seen one kung-fu flick with Frankie Shum and Jack Conn — real-life guys who get all the best parking spaces — you’ve seen them all. —Rod Lott

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Horror

Tales from the Crypt Presents: Ritual (2002)

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Ritual was supposed to follow 1995’s Demon Knight and 1996’s Bordello of Blood into theaters as the third in a trilogy of Tales from the Crypt movies. But it didn’t, finally premiering on DVD, and that’s because Ritual is shit-ual. Trust me: You’ll be praying for the return of Dennis Miller.

In this remake of Val Lewton’s classic I Walked with a Zombie, a post-schnozz-job Jennifer Grey portrays Dr. Alice, who, after having her medical license suspended for two years, accepts an advertised hospice position in Jamaica. Once there, she wonders if maybe she hadn’t made a rash decision: “Why does everyone carry machetes?”

Her employer, Craig Sheffer, explains his crazy brother (Daniel Lapaine) believes he’s a zombie. With so much voodoo afoot, lots of hallucinations are experienced in this ridiculously routine shocker: crawling spiders, moving trees, crashing ceiling, Medusa hair and so on. Holy shit, does Grey sure scream a lot. But she has no Principal Rooney to kick in the face immediately thereafter, which makes a huge difference.

That’s because a solid sense of humor is sorely missing; other than the slapped-on opening featuring the Cryptkeeper in dreadlocks, in no way does it ever feel like a Crypt film, much less a Crypt episode. I did like the necrophilia gag, but that’s the last shot of the movie. That’s right: Not even the Cryptkeeper could be bothered to show up and say goodbye. (The post-credit fake bloopers — complete with fart joke — don’t count.) —Rod Lott

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