All posts by Rod Lott

Martial Arts

Labyrinth of Death (1988)

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Part of Ground Zero Entertainment’s gray-market Black Belt Theatre budget-DVD line, Labyrinth of Death (aka Chess Boxing Matrix) is one of those logic-free, crazy Asian — or “crAsian,” as I now like to call them — movies where you understand so little (even with subtitles) that you can barely remember anything scene to scene.

Here’s what I remember:
• A hopping vampire kid.
• DragonBall-style special effects.
• Guys with painted faces.
• Jack and Mark Long presumably doing “chess boxing.”
• The hopping vampire kid peeing in one of the Long brothers’ mouths.
• The hopping vampire kid farting in the face of the other one.
• Some freaky, runty dragon monster.
• Absolutely no labyrinth, of death or of otherwise.
• Being thankful when it was over. —Rod Lott

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Horror

Mirrors 2 (2010)

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Honestly, I’m cool with direct-to-video horror sequels. What they lack in big-name stars, they make up for in gore. See Wrong Turn 3, 30 Days of Night: Dark Days and, now, Mirrors 2.

Looking like Dexter‘s little brother, Nick Stahl plays Max, still grieving over the car-crash death of his fiancé. His dad (William Katt) hires him to be the night watchman of his soon-to-open upscale department store. He’ll be replacing the one whose mirror image happily chewed broken glass, causing his own face and mouth to be cut up.

And so it goes that upper management get killed as they watch their mirror images do gruesome things, such as slicing their own tendons. The best death scene comes when Christy Romano (formerly Disney’s squeaky-clean Kim Possible) meets a really bloody death in the shower after soaping up her new, ugly fake boobs.

While the first half plays like Final Destination in the creative deaths department, the second finds Max and second-half love interest Emmanuelle Vaugiér attempting to solve the riddle behind these gruesome shenanigans. Maybe it makes more sense if you’ve seen the first Mirrors; I haven’t. As director, DTV vet Victor García (Return to House on Haunted Hill) brings visual class to these proceedings, yielding a satisfying fright flick, even if it’s completely void of frights (Katt’s middle-age ponytail notwithstanding). —Rod Lott

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Sex

Killing Me Softly (2001)

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Austin Powers would be proud to see that Heather Graham shags well — and shags often — in Killing Me Softly, the kind of softcore erotic thriller most name actresses aren’t desperate enough to appear in this early in their career. Was she in such a slump that she thought humping Joseph Fiennes on film half a dozen times was her ticket to the A-list?

In Killing Me Softly — not an adaptation of the Roberta Flack song — she plays a designer of corporate CD-ROMs. I’m not convinced that the real-life Graham even knows how to insert a CD-ROM, so the credibility factor goes right out the window from frame one. Plus, every reaction shot of her suggests deer-in-the-headlights stupid (but hey, nice headlights!); nevertheless, they cast her as this happy, well-off, picture-perfect, upwardly mobile gal living in London who, one day, exchanges lustful glances with a mega-creepy Fiennes on a street corner and, within the hour, exchanges sex fluids with him without so much as asking his name.

Heather, thy name is horny! These two do it everywhere, at the drop of a hat, a needle, a thong — you pick the object. And violently! Apparently, she has no problem with vaginal chafing. His character is a mountain climber and he likes to mount her — so clever! Despite a demeanor that suggests Fiennes is a predatory nutball, the sex is so good that Graham dumps her boyfriend for Fiennes, seconds after he smashes a would-be thief’s head to a pulp in a phone booth. Y’know, for her.

You’d think that would be the first sign that her Mr. Mountaineer is an unhinged loony, but nope, Graham needs several more! Not even when, on their honeymoon, he ties a naked Graham up in knots like a freaking Gerry Anderson marionette so he can cut off her breathing while he nails her. Finally, as the clues pile up so high they threaten to topple over on her, she starts to suspect him of murdering an old girlfriend. By then, I was praying she’d become the next victim.

I know that the sex isn’t supposed to be funny, but it is here. And Graham (Acting It Poorly) looks ridiculous feigning passion with her boobs flying every which way (Bouncing Them Madly). Not only am I unsure what her character sees in Fiennes, I’m also unsure what the filmmakers saw in him, either, because with his stoic nature and half-evil smile, he comes off as autistic. Granted, an autistic who’s grrreat in bed, but autistic nonetheless.

Killing Me Softly is a tremendous embarrassment to all parties involved, so be sure to get the unrated cut; I have a sneaking suspicion the R-rated version is far less riotous. —Rod Lott

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Horror

Terror Train (1980)

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When I was a child, Terror Train freaked me out. Today, I realize there’s nothing scary about it, outside of a creepy Groucho Marx mask, an overabundance of disco tunes, and hairdos as misbegotten as the truly awful dialogue. Still, the movie’s enjoyable enough as a partially derailed example of the ’70s’ slasher craze.

Basically Halloween on a train, but with the menacing suspense left behind at the station, this choo-choo chiller details what happens (bad things!) when a bunch of asshole college seniors embark on a coke-and-booze-fueled train trip, complete with David Copperfield doing a magic show. They all wear Halloween costumes, even though it’s New Year’s Eve.

Smart, they’re not. Especially because that nerdy pledge they humiliated with a mean prank four years ago is all aboard for revenge. They made him think he was gonna make it with Jamie Lee Curtis, but had a corpse waiting instead. So he dons mask after mask and goes bonkers with a big ol’ knife.

In an unrated cut, Terror Train might have real bite. As is, it’s more of a curiosity than ticket-punching winner. Jamie Lee doesn’t even get much to do, but the third-act sequence with her in a conductor’s cage is the only set piece that approaches real fright. It leaves big questions in terms of plot holes and logic, plus the burning “Will they cast Criss Angel for the inevitable remake?” —Rod Lott

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Action

Seoul Raiders (2005)

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This good, but not-as-good sequel to 2001’s Tokyo Raiders again centers on all-around good-guy private eye Tony Leung. He’s the only holdover from the previous Mission: Impossible-style Asian actioner. Here, Tony retrieves counterfeit American currency plates from enemy hands, intent on returning them to U.S. hands, but immediately finds himself duped and pursued by bad guy Richie Ren.

No fear, however, as Tony is aided by too-cute Transporter baggage Shu Qi and a bevy of thinly drawn beauties. Expect great action and style to burn. Don’t expect lucidity. Seoul Raiders grows tiresome in its final third, but overall, it’s fun enough, and Leung is nothing if not charismatic. —Rod Lott

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