All posts by Louis Fowler

Queen of the Blues (1979)

Before Rinse Dream turned the sex club in an atomic nightmare, director Willy Roe — with skin queen Mary Millington in her last film — turned it into a kitschy daydream, erections not included.

In London’s lily-white Blues Club — apparently the top spot for the hair-filled nudity in Mayfair — the so-called queen of the joint, literally and figuratively, is Millington, who writhes around on stage, moving her pubic mound up and down for all the patrons seemingly live there to see. In between, the rampant backstage cattiness of nude infighting truly makes Queen of the Blues a film to watch.

The main plot, if you can call it that, is about gangsters demanding protection money from the owner, although it’s probably around five minutes of actual film, as so much of this is dedicated to the sexy strippers, with a preamble by a terrible comedian who tempts me to push the fast-forward button.

A just a little over an hour — a mercifully short running time I definitely miss in film — Mary and her stripper friends soon attempt revenge on the gangsters. The sad thing is that Millington, by then the prime porn star of England, looks tired and, soon enough, would be found dead. Her publisher, however, was able to farm her buxom body into two more features, both of which are terrible.

Also, in case you’re wondering, there is no actual blues music to be heard here, but plenty of horrific dance tunes. I guess Queen of the Disco wouldn’t work, though. —Louis Fowler

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The Incredible Shrinking Man (1957)

As I watched The Incredible Shrinking Man, I realized how many classic sci-fi movies I haven’t seen, creating a mental wish list that, ironically, doesn’t seem to be shrinking at all. At least I’m off to a good start, as the signifying combo of director Jack Arnold and writer Richard Matheson have crafted the perfect gateway to the outer limits of old-school speculative fiction.

Based on the novel by screenwriter Matheson, everyman Scott (Grant Williams) is subjected to a mysterious cloud while boating with his wife one afternoon; maybe if he hadn’t been too lazy to get his own beer, he wouldn’t have been hit with this glittery dust. But he is, and within a couple of months, his clothes begin shrinking, creating adorable li’l khakis on him.

But his everyday wear is the least of his problems because, as he shrinks more and more, soon he’s living in a dollhouse and fighting a bastardly housecat in one of the most harrowing battles I’ve ever seen. Of course, I say that and, a few minutes later, he’s trapped in the basement fighting off a fucking spider with a sewing needle — yikes!

Complete with a truly metaphysical ending I think no one in their right mind was expecting — especially in 1957 — Arnold has crafted a thinking man’s science-fiction film that truly turns everyday household objects — and household creatures — into apocalyptic struggles of survival, ones that might prove a prick of irritancy to me but a visage of destruction to Scott.

And Pat Kramer, but at least she had that gorilla. —Louis Fowler

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The Dark (1979)

Originally to be directed by Tobe Hooper, this John “Bud” Carlos joint stars a haggard William Devane as Roy, a disheveled ex-con who, thankfully, happens to be a bestselling author. When his daughter is ripped limb from limb walking home late one night, it starts a killing spree down the scummiest streets of Los Angeles, which is most of them.

Besides routinely harassing the mostly useless cops on the case, Devane also finds time to bed reporter Cathy Lee Crosby, so at least he’s got his priorities straight, right? Meanwhile, the killer slices up a few more pedestrians, always with a low-rent light show beforehand, which tells me that this murderer ain’t a typical Angelino.

Turns out he’s actually an alien and, in the Star Wars-esque prologue, he’s here to test out his extraterrestrial camouflage, or something to that effect. Either way, Predator 2 did it better, which is really nothing to brag about.

While the space monster, when we finally get to see it, is less than impressive — most of the time he’s just got laser eyes to differentiate him — but at least that’s something entertaining. Otherwise, for the rest of the running time, it’s just a somewhat all-star cast of Devane, Crosby, Richard Jaeckel and Keenan Wynn — and look, it’s Casey Kasem as a coroner! — standing around arguing, flirting or both.

And let’s not forget the strange subplot about an aging psychic named — and named only — De Renzy.

According to Cardos, in the original Hooper treatment, The Dark was supposed to be about a mentally handicapped shut-in who roams the streets murdering whoever gets in his way after his abusive parents die in a fire; here, it’s just about a space monster, with no real rhyme or reason for the killing, with the exception of that bit about camouflage.

To be fair, that other bit sounds terrible as well. —Louis Fowler

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Mona Lisa (1986)

When I was a kid living in small-town Blooming Grove, Texas, my father would get two papers everyday: The Dallas Morning News and the Dallas Times Herald. While he was usually concerned with the news part of the paper, he always pulled aside the entertainment section for me, offering a two-color invite to a world of movies I thought I would never experience.

Obsessed with the advertisements, I was intrigued by a Dallas theater known as the Inwood. Even though it was the exact definition of an arthouse theater, their ads always had a “no one under 17 allowed” line on each, making its films feel like something that would always be beyond my reach, with Mona Lisa being one I vividly remember.

Directed by Neil Jordan, this HandMade Film (produced by Beatle George Harrison!) was, I thought, a love story between a prostitute and her driver. Like many films from my youth, I had an absolutely dreamy version of it playing in my head; in reality, it’s a dank and dirty story of a recently released from prison Bob Hoskins and his unknowing entry into the world of realistic prostitutes and their pimps.

I can see why they wanted no one under 17 to view the film.

Playing the criminal opposite of his ganglord in The Long Good Friday, here Hoskins is the dull-witted George, an emotionally vulnerable criminal who is used, pathetically, by mob boss Denny (an outstanding Michael Caine). Needing a job, George becomes a driver to Simone (Cathy Tyson), a high-class call girl who, in their time together, he falls for.

She, however, needs his help to find her smack-addicted girlfriend. Even though he’s in love with Simone, he helps her find her; it leads to a bloody shootout at the beautiful British oceanside, both literally and — in the course of his explosive feelings for her — figuratively.

Masterfully filmed by Jordan, this film — much like Friday — cemented Hoskins as the British go-to guy for slovenly criminals in an absolutely career-defining performance that I feel I would have totally understood at the tender age of 8 or 9 — and one that I absolutely understand get at 43, perhaps more than I should. —Louis Fowler

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I Am Toxic (2018)

With its Americanized name change, I’ll admit I was more than ready to pass up I Am Toxic. But, still, the idea of Mad Max meeting The Walking Dead, per Hollywood News’ cover blurb, piqued my interest enough to give it, at the very least, a 10-minute viewing just to test the diseased waters.

Seconds after popping it in, however, it became evident the film’s original title was Soy Tóxico and, even better, it was from Argentina. Realizing this wasn’t the same straight-to-video dreck I’m used to, I stuck around a bit longer. And the longer I stuck in, the more I got sucked into this brutal world of disease and death, not in that order.

It’s way in the future and the southern hemisphere has become one large garbage dump. A haggard man wakes up in the middle of a pile of corpses, unable to remember who he is or what he’s doing there. As he’s attacked by sun-beaten corpses, he’s momentarily rescued by an old scavenger in a tricked-out apocalypse-mobile.

The old scavenger takes him to his walled-in dump of a living situation with his two sons and, supposedly, a daughter. Of course, the nameless man is immediately taken prisoner and always on the verge of death; with a tattoo on his wrist providing the only key to his future, he starts to remember things as he goes through changes, mostly in his face.

With a final act that ties it all together ’til it bleeds, I Am Toxic is directed by Pablo Parés. With a seemingly shoestring budget, he’s able to turn what could have been a nonsensical mess into a rather pulse-pounding zombie (if they even are zombies) flick with only a handful of characters and even fewer locations. —Louis Fowler

Get it at Amazon.