All posts by Louis Fowler

El Chicano (2018)

They say “Never say never,” but I’m saying “never”: Marvel or DC will never make a superhero flick that features a Latinx headliner — if they can even fucking find one, and I don’t mean as an alien, extraterrestrial or undocumented.

That means if we want a heroic avenger to cheer in an ongoing battle against evil, we’re going to have to create our own, typically to varying degrees of success. This is exemplified with the vigilante El Chicano, an original character conceived by Ben Hernandez Bray and Joe Carnahan, also to varying degrees of success.

In the film El Chicano, a dark knight has protected East L.A. and the surrounding areas since the 1940s, using his well-honed fighting skills, tricked-out cycle and skull-like visage to strike what I’m assuming is fear into the hearts of thugs and bangers, dealers and politicians.

While investigating a deadly cartel moving into his jurisdiction, LAPD Detective Diego Hernandez (Raul Castillo) discovers that his dead brother had taken on the mantle of El Chicano and now it’s his turn, using the mask and his muscle to disrupt the flow of drugs and the scourge of murders that, apparently, his childhood friend is woefully behind.

El Chicano picks and chooses what white-boy comic-book mythos to take from — a little Punisher here, a bit of Batman there — to become El Chicano. Despite an overly long origin, when he finally slips the half-mask on, it plays very much like the type of satisfying story superhero fans should crave, leading to a super-loco tacked-on coda for a sequel I wish were here right now. —Louis Fowler

Get it at Amazon.

Bill & Ted Face the Music (2020)

In the year 2020, America has become the first chapter of a particularly bad dystopian sci-fi novel. That’s probably why the excessively optimistic Bill & Ted Face the Music might be the most needed movie of the year, giving a bit of cinematic hope in our hour of needful reality.

Like any self-respecting member of Generation X, 1989’s Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure (and, to a lesser extent, 1991’s Bill & Ted’s Bogus Journey) was a defining moment for me and most of my friends, waiting desperately for the fictitious day that the music of Wyld Stallyns changes the world as we know it forever.

Of course, it never happened.

Now middle-aged and married with daughters, Bill (Alex Winter) and Ted (Keanu Reeves) are still trying to write the song that will evolve humanity toward a peaceful existence, with no luck. Ironically, time has seemingly ran out and the fabric of reality is about to collapse in on itself unless the mythical track is finally completed in about 70 minutes. This gives the guys the bright idea to time-travel to the future and steal the song from themselves.

While that’s going on, daughters Billie (Brigette Lundy-Paine) and Thea (Samara Weaving) use a spare time machine to go backward and create the greatest band ever, collecting musical icons such as Louis Armstrong, Jimi Hendrix, Mozart and so on. It’s not a spoiler if I say they definitely have the more solid plan.

With the return of Death (William Sadler), a holographic Rufus (George Carlin) and the never-was catchphrase “Station!,” as much as a goofy trip down memory lane as it wants to be (and is), it becomes something more in our current climate, with Reeves and Winter portraying two genuinely good guys compelled to do the right thing, even if it means giving the role of planetary saviors to their daughters.

It’s hard to not sound apocalyptic when recommending Bill & Ted Face the Music, but it is the movie we truly need right now — and maybe that’s the true peace-bringing message of the Wyld Stallyns and their excellent adventures. —Louis Fowler

Get it at Amazon.

The Beast Must Die (1974)

Ace adventurer Calvin Lockhart is aiming to trap and destroy the most dangerous creature known to man: a large man-dog responsible for numerous killings around Europe in the intriguing werewolf mystery The Beast Must Die.

In a remote countryside lair, Lockhart has invited the most interesting of British society for a weekend at his mansion including Peter Cushing, Charles Gray and Michael Gambon. His plan, however, is to use his many modern-day computer devices — modern for 1974, of course — to suss out who the beast that must die is.

An interesting take on the beloved British mystery, horror studio Amicus took time off from its typical anthology films to make this atypical werewolf flick, their final horror film most notable for casting Lockhart — then a solid name from Cotton Comes to Harlem — as the lead, a proto-Blade, supernatural stalker who should have really had his own series of beast-killing movies.

But what The Beast Must Die is probably remembered best for is the supremely silly “Werewolf Break,” wherein a ticking clock with pictures of the cast is shown on the screen as the audience is given 30 seconds to figure out who the beast that must die is. I guessed wrong and I’m sure you will, too. —Louis Fowler

Get it at Amazon.

Shining Sex (1977)

Within the first few minutes of Shining Sex, we find Jess Franco’s muse Lina Romay (Revenge in the House of Usher) plumping up her breasts and vagina to a tune that sounds like Procol Harum’s Matthew Fisher jamming on the Hammond. As her bare pubis humps the heck out of some shag carpeting, an emotionless couple admires her with dead eyes, inviting her over for the night.

Once there, Lina and the couple spend long periods of time mostly tongue kissing and rubbing nipples, all shown in extremely long and lugubrious detail. As she shakily orgasms after being penetrated by a small porcelain hand, Franco himself shows up miles away as a handicapped scientist babbling on about “hearing things.”

Between travelogues of Spanish castles and other beautiful scenes of the European countryside, after getting mystical lotion rubbed on her nude body, Lina is apparently possessed by some sort of “superior force” from another dimension which, of course, leads to even more loose and languid sex, the only true excitement coming from a constantly moaning Franco.

It’s a somewhat intriguing screenplay that probably could have been fleshed out — no pun intended — a bit more, but then I remembered this was Franco and we’re lucky we got this much of a story. Essentially a vehicle to show off Lina’s constantly spread genitalia, it’s films like this that make it hard — so to speak — to truly dislike a filmmaker like Franco. —Louis Fowler

Get it at Amazon.

True History of the Kelly Gang (2019)

If America had a wild west, then Australia had a fuckin’ wild west, mate, one that seems to continue in the barren outback to this very day. And like our own outlaws such as Billy the Kid or Jesse James, they have their own bloody versions as well, most notably the legendary Ned Kelly.

Having seen various on-screen incarnations of Kelly by both Mick Jagger and Yahoo Serious over the years, I’m gonna say both were heavily fabricated, while director Justin Kurzel’s apocalyptic interpretation in True History of the Kelly Gang seems closer to the real story, Oedipal subtexts and all.

In the film, Ned’s parents were a drunk and a prostitute — always a perfect recipe for a Down Under ne’er-do-well, if you ask me. His father’s inability to find the family food leads Ned to slaughter a random cow for beef, but Dad is taken away to the notorious Aussie prisons and ultimately killed there for his crime.

In need of money, Ned’s mom sells him to rotund Russell Crowe (Unhinged) — almost resembling Denver Pyle here — who promises to turn him into an outlaw and, true to form, lands him in jail within a few minutes. Growing up in the hud, Ned (George MacKay, 1917) becomes a two-fisted rabble-rouser prone to psychotic delusions of grandeur, all of which he writes in his diary, apparently the basis for this film.

Clad in women’s frocks and calling themselves the “Sons of Sieve,” this gang of proto-punks takes on the damned English one bullet at a time, leading to a final showdown with the colonial bastards where Ned dons his famous “iron man” suit, fighting the oppressors like a true hero of the people.

Gritty and grimy, dirty and dank, this anarchist retelling of the Kelly story is a steel-toed kick to a koala’s groin, giving the man’s mythology the revolutionary style it probably needed. It’s an Aussie tale of revolt and rebellion that even the Americans — on film and in real life — couldn’t compete with, and thank God for that. —Louis Fowler

Get it at Amazon.