Apparently, the rescuers arriving in the final frames of 1972’s The Poseidon Adventure stuck around for all of 15 minutes, because when Irwin Allen’s sequel begins the same day of the topsy-turvy event, the once-mighty ship and all its innards are up for grabs. This time around, our ostensible heroes are the aptly named Turner (Michael Caine, having learned nothing from The Swarm), captain of a mortgage-hilted tugboat; his salty right-hand man (Karl Malden, Meteor); and flibbertigibbet Celeste (Sally Field, Smokey and the Bandit), who might be a prostitute.

On New Year’s Day, Turner and crew arrive at Poseidon’s wreckage to salvage all the jewels and money. They’re not alone, either, because posing as medical rescue personnel are a terrorist (a super-suave, snot-slick Telly Savalas, Killer Force) and his goons, seeking barrels of plutonium. Everybody crawls inside, thus beginning what amounts to the Poseidon as haunted house and/or escape room, with each character taking turns climbing ladders, crossing makeshift bridges, dodging flames, leaping over holes and — in Turner’s case only — referring to Celeste as “Monkey.”

Members of the all-star cast balloon as the group goes further (and then decrease accordingly with each set piece). Among them are a mouthy bar owner (Young Frankenstein’s Peter Boyle in a pink puffy shirt), a blind man (Jack Warden, Used Cars), a farmer (Mark Harmon in a bowl cut) and, playing against type, White Line Fever’s Slim Pickens as a quantum physicist.

I’m totally kidding. Pickens plays a wino named Tex who says things like, “I smell grub! … All kinds of vittles!”

Beyond the Poseidon Adventure harbors a bad reputation, and while it’s not up to the excitement of the original, it’s not a waterlogged failure if judged on sheer spectacle. If Beyond is guilty of one thing above all else, it’s being late to the game; audiences were simply tired of the disaster movie by 1979, whereas seven years before, the first Poseidon Adventure garnered eight Oscar nominations. It’s not like Allen veered creatively from his bread-and-butter formula in this follow-up, sticking with the kablooey effects, obstacle-course sets and teeter-totter acting as the camera turns to and fro. Nevertheless, this sunk his career as director. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

In the realm of Christploitation flicks, David A.R. White is, arguably, the cinematic king of kings in this straight-to-video subgenre. From racial comedies to post-apocalyptic road movies — and let’s not forget the immortal God’s Not Dead trilogy — White manages to take a popular film of the day, give it a Christian message and, believe it or not, make it incredibly entertaining.

And now, with John Wick being so well-liked among the secular tribes of America, in Beckman, he crafts quite possibly the world’s first Christian action flick two-fisting audiences with well-choreographed martial arts, downright bloody head shots and a whole lot of the Word of God.

A hitman is looking for a way out of his murderous life after an explosive opening. The contract killer is the titular Beckman (White), who wanders into a church run by former Vietnam doc Phillip (Jeff Fahey). Given grace by the embittered preacher, Beckman apparently earns a pastoral degree in a year’s time and becomes the rightful heir to the house of worship when Phillip dies.

As Beckman faces a crisis of conscience and a failing of faith, in comes Phillip’s teenage niece, Tabitha (Brighton Sharbino), looking for a port in the storm herself. Almost immediately, he starts calling her his “daughter” and asks nothing about her shady past until a gang of thugs bust into the church and kidnaps her, taking her to be sacrificed by cult leader William Baldwin.

Rightfully so, Beckman goes on a rage-fueled rampage across L.A. to find her, with some of the city’s hottest killers going on a tear to find him.

Beckman is, praise be, loaded with biblical messages and other righteous truths, but a devilish amount of it is gunplay and blood spray that, I’m presuming, might have some sort of spiritual credence to it as well. While your grandmother may not approve of it, it’s an inventive way to spread the message, with White never turning Beckman in a religious parody to be nailed to any cross.

Baldwin, on the other hand, is written as such a devious tool of Satan — mostly in a NXIVM mode, mind you — that, it might be somewhat unholy to say, you just can’t wait to see him get his in the end and, boy, does he. No cheek is left unturned and unkicked-in here, with every moment a ballistic blessing to watch. Amen. —Louis Fowler

Get it at Amazon.

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.

At the risk of earning a Motor City-style ass-kicking from the assorted toughs who make up the cast and crew of the independent film Strong Arm, I have to publicly admit that, to me, the movie is not very good.

While the plot regarding a woman found raped and murdered — only to have her brother track down the three random gang members and their porn ring — should be enough to fill a 70-minute movie, I was surprised how much of the running time is actually filled with scenes of the street whizzing by outside a car window as a D-level group plays on the soundtrack.

What story there is revolves around war vet Jake Ramsey, a guy with apparent PTSD and constant heavy breathing when moving around, often grunting “shit” under his breath. From what I could gather, his sister is found raped and possibly murdered on the mean streets. His Detroit PD buddy fills him in on the possible perps: three gang members who stand around talking in badly recorded conversations.

There’s a bloody final battle that is a real downer, but I feel that was kind of the point of the flick. From grindhouse upstart Independent American Pictures, the film is given a faux-’70s look, with computer-generated film scratches and a plot full of violence, but with a very first-day-of-film-school need for a decent script or, at the very least, one where something actually happens.

That being said, I do applaud these guys for getting the movie done and look forward to seeing what B-movie madness they come up with next, hopefully improving on their formula. So please don’t beat me up. —Louis Fowler

Get it at StrongArm.com.

To my knowledge, The Prey is Cambodia’s first update of The Most Dangerous Game, arguably the most recycled of all cinematic premises. Either way, it assuredly is the only one in which the bad guy with a bullet-ridden torso pulls a final hit off his vape pen, only for smoke to waft from numerous bloody holes.

So that’s new.

While working undercover in Phnom Penh to bust a mafia scam, mild-mannered police inspector Xin (a debuting Gu Shangwei) is among the most unfortunate men swept from the streets and thrown into a most unforgiving prison. Its warden (Vithaya Pansringarm, Only God Forgives) is — as prison movies dictate — even more corrupt than he is corpulent, but the good news is he occasionally takes his captives for a field trip. The bad news is, it’s to the jungle, where they’re given a hair of a head start before being hunted like animals by rich guys looking for cheap thrills at an expensive price.

Putting Xin through his paces from behind the camera is director and co-writer Jimmy Henderson (Jailbreak), whose hands prove more skilled than those pulling the strings of most American action films these days. That said, The Prey is not different enough where it really matters — the story — to make it worth watching; after all, you’ve seen this before, just not with these performers.

Fleet of foot, Gu certainly has the moves to merit the lead role right out of the gate, but he lacks the personality and charm of martial-arts stars Jackie Chan, Jet Li and the lesser-wattage Tony Jaa, whom he most resembles. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.