All posts by Louis Fowler

Machete (2006)

From the opening scenes featuring a middle-aged man with a machete cutting the throats of a few vatos playing a crooked game of dice, this Machete looks very much like a homegrown copy of that Machete, even if this was strangely filmed a few years earlier.

However, as soon as this Machete finds an adorable, Walter Keane-styled lad in need of a family getting beaten up by locals, it’s here where the film veers off into a somewhat violent tale of spiritual love as the possibly Heavenly Kid and a group of irreligious area thugs battle for the soul of Machete.

With a healthy appetite for tequila — Antigua Cruz, straight from the obtuse bottle — Machete, also known as Lukas, an ex-bodyguard for the president, wanders the desert, stopping by the small town of Purgatory — to hell with subtlety, I suppose — for reasons that are unclear and remain unclear. Either way, he causes trouble with the same three locals throughout the movie, swinging a flimsy machete around like a 5-year-old who’s just seen Conan the Barbarian.

Meanwhile, as a young girl and her “gypsy” mother are harassed by those same three locals, a gringo from Machete’s past — back in Vietnam, apparently — is looking for him, ready to take him back to Arizona, “dead or alive.” While they all impatiently come together for the climax, as the film tries to tie all the loose ends together at once, complete with Machete being shot to death.

Only he’s not. I think.

With guardian angels, familial intrigue and a white dude machete training montage in the desert, writer and star Pablo Esparza — who I do hope that I’m related to on my maternal side — does what he can on this zero-budget actioner, even if very little of it makes any sense which, of course, makes it incredibly entertaining.

At the very least, I hope they got a few bucks from the Antigua Cruz sponsorship. It’s in this flick so much, I’m surprised that bottle didn’t get a producer’s credit. —Louis Fowler

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Double Impact (1991)

If you’re anything like me — and I’m guessing you probably aren’t — you probably thought that The Parent Trap would have been a might better with Bolo Yeung as a Triad hitman who mercilessly shotgunned Hayley Mills’ parents to death in the film’s opening.

Double Impact gets you halfway there, albeit with double the Jean-Claude Van Dammes. Let’s get together, yeah yeah yeah!

Here, JCVD takes on the dual roles of Chad and Alex, somewhat different twins separated at birth and driven together by their love of smoking-hot blondes and, I guess, solving the murder of their parents while collecting the apparent royalties from the Hong Kong-mainland tunnel their dad completed before his death. But mostly smoking-hot blondes.

Between selling smuggled Mercedes on the high seas to busting up a clandestine Hong Kong drug operation, the brothers seem to be getting along until one of them gets way too drunk and imagines in his mind — and dramatized onscreen, thankfully — the other brother sexually satisfying a smoking-hot blonde, leading to some classic Van Damme-on-Van Damme action.

Still, after seeing a few Triads storm the beach the next morning, they decide to put their mutual dislike of each other aside and take on the nameless Chinese sentries, all to get to the snooty British businessman that, as snooty British businessmen are wont to do, put the hit on his parents for reason I still haven’t grasped.

With many instances of Bolo Yeung’s burly stockiness lurking about — and even a little bit of Cory Everson’s muscular thigh-crunching for equal opportunity — the screenplay, written by Van Damme and director Sheldon Lettich (Lionheart), is a highly nonsensical but ultimately fun kick to both of the gonads, preferably while in the patented Van Damme splits position.

For years, Van Damme has teased a sequel pitting Chad and Alex against the “South Central mob,” if such a thing exists, but those plans have yet to see the light of day. I guess those Tostitos commercials are the closest we’re ever going to come, which I’m okay with. —Louis Fowler

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Heroes Shed No Tears (1986)

In this life, there are many things that heroes shed but, apparently, tears are not one of them. At least that is the thesis statement behind John Woo’s 1986 testes-dropper, Heroes Shed No Tears, starring Eddy Ko (PTU) as the non-crying hero.

Actually, I feel like I should walk that back a few steps: Ko, as Chinese mercenary Chan, does cry a time or two but, to be fair, it is because for a few moments he believes the evil Thai colonel has set his small child on fire. I think that, if you were not to cry at something like that, you’re probably more of a sociopath than an actual hero, but I guess that’s just me.

Anyway, Chan is the leader of a group of Chinese commandos out to capture Gen. Samton, who’s running the drug trade in the Golden Triangle. Even though the capture is primarily a success, crossing the mountain range and getting to their contact into Vietnam is quite the bitch, especially with Chan’s kid and his aunt, a French reporter and a couple of soldiers with a hilarious gambling problem in tow.

With one violently cool set piece after another — how the evil Thai colonel loses his eye is worth the price of admission unless, you know, you’re an evil Thai colonel — this flick isn’t a predictor of future Woo flicks like The Killer or Hard Boiled, but instead absolute bloody proof that his ballistic ballets had been a staple of Hong Kong cinema for a while; it just took the rest of us world-cinema jerks to catch up to him.

Arguably one of the best action films in a decade that had nothing but, Heroes Shed No Tears is the overseas grindhouse version of the Rambo movies, with plenty of fighting for the guys, romance for the gals, and hardcore scenes of gambling addiction for the drunk uncles in the audience. —Louis Fowler

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The Tough Ones (1976)

Clint Eastwood’s iconic character of Dirty Harry inspired many a trigger-happy cop who plays by his own rules, but in Italy, he invented practically a whole new genre, with a prime shaker in their police film movement being Filthy Leo Tanzi (Maurizio Merli, Magnum Cop); in The Tough Ones, he delivers homily after homily about how the criminals rule the streets, all the while chasing down a sadistic hunchback (Tomas Milian, Don’t Torture a Duckling) who craps bullets. Literally.

Punching, kicking and most definitely shooting every punk and purse snatcher from here to the Coliseum, Roman detective Tanzi is an unlikable brute in a surprisingly stylish sports coat, the type of guy who’s got no problem browbeating his psychiatrist girlfriend, loudly, in a restaurant. As he works his way through the pristine Italian underworld, it keeps leading him back to the utterly disturbing villain who totes a smile and a machine gun like a Punisher baddie, probably from the Garth Ennis era.

Even when Tanzi’s boss demotes him to the permits department, he still finds the time to help track down a gang of rapists, preferably by slamming their heads right through a pinball machine. Much like the aforementioned Harry, to see an antihero cop take matters into his own fist, especially in the sleaze and grime of the sports car-driving, marinara-covered underbelly, it remains a cool enough ride of coveted two-fisted violence some 40 or so years later.

Also known as Rome Armed to the Teeth, Brutal Justice and Assault with a Deadly Weapon (from Sybil Danning’s Adventure Video line, which I remember fondly), famed director Umberto Lenzi directs with all the subtly of a hunchback spraying the crowd with gunfire, laughing manically as the spaghetti-sauce splashes across the screen, all to a funky Franco Micalizzi score, which, remarkably, is included here on compact disc in the gorgeous Grindhouse Releasing package.

An entertainingly blood-spewing example of the legendary poliziotteschi film series of the 70s, The Tough Ones may not be as trashily seminal as Lenzi’s Eaten Alive!, Cannibal Ferox or even Nightmare City, it is still nominally far dirtier than any American cop flick from the same era. So go ahead, make his … well, I’m sure you know the rest. —Louis Fowler

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The New York Ripper (1982)

I’ve seen Citizen Kane once. But Lucio Fulci’s The New York Ripper — as well as many other of Fulci’s flicks — I’ve viewed on VHS, DVD and now Blu-ray, more times than I can even count, many from a very young age that my parents should probably be ashamed of.

The New York Ripper, however, as bloody and gory as you’d imagine, is also Fulci at his most misogynistically goofy, throwing in so many offensive tropes against women that you have to wonder who was the person who hurt him so bad, filling his Italian soul with such anger. I have my theories, and Fulci does a great job of stabbing them all to hell, right in the guts and other assorted parts.

In a hysterical preamble, a possibly homeless man is playing fetch with his dog underneath the Brooklyn Bridge, only instead of a ball, the pooch brings back a largely decayed human hand. From there, we follow jerky police detective Fred (Jack Hedley, For Your Eyes Only) and even jerkier psychotherapist Paul (Paolo Marco, Watch Me When I Kill) as they constantly crack wise while they investigate the bizarre clues that take them on a wild goose chase throughout the city.

Let me rephrase that: a wild duck chase, mostly because the slasher will call and taunt both his victims and police in a creepy, Donald Duck-esque voice — one that I’m sure had the Disney lawyers checking their copyright-law books. From the inner workings of a live sex show on 42nd Street to the scummy apartment of the neighborhood sex freak, every red herring is taken as deviantly far as they can go in a reasonable, somewhat mainstream film.

With a brutally downbeat ending — spoiler alert! — featuring a little girl dying of a childhood illness (natch) and crying for her daddy in a hospital room, there are many times when The New York Ripper is such a down and dirty film, I’m surprised no one is wearing a Make America Great Again hat, each scene pornographically lingering on every physical and mental stab wound with sadistic glee.

The Blu-ray reissue from Blue Underground is an absolute embarrassment of impoverished riches, from the second disc full of fully produced documentaries and interviews, to a copy of the sleaze-funk score by Italy’s answer to Isaac Hayes — at least by me — Francesco De Masi. While many of the stars might be embarrassed to have taken part in — or be taken apart by — The New York Ripper, I’ll proudly set this edition on my shelf next to Zombie, The Beyond and, hell, even Citizen Kane. —Louis Fowler

Get it at Amazon.