On the basis of the low-rent but ridiculously enjoyable Detention, I wish Dolph Lundgren had been allowed to front each and every Die Hard rip-off. Although about a decade and a half too late to capitalize properly on the yippee-ki-yay, this film definitely is that, which its use of Bizet’s “Habanera” from Carmen makes perfectly clear.

One of the most dependable of those Expendables, Lundgren plays Sam Decker, a “soldier … teacher … hero!” (per the poster) who follows up a war stint in Bosnia with a teaching gig at the public, prison-like Hamilton High School. “I’m phys ed … and you’re history,” he tells a thug at the beginning of his last day of work. Decker will end it by supervising after-hours detention (hence the title), which he intends to spend with his nose buried in a rip-snortin’ Clive Cussler adventure novel.

But damn those well-armed bad guys who planned on using the school grounds that night as part of their getaway plan after stealing $300 million of cocaine! Led by the smarmy, swarthy Chester (Alex Karzis, whom I’ve never seen before or since) and his pink-wigged “pussy puss” girlfriend (Kata Dobó, Basic Instinct 2), the foes have no problem shooting at the students, but Decker certainly has a problem with it, quickly moving into action-hero mode for a cat-and-mouse game that plays out all over campus, including the gymnasium that’s already conveniently set up for full-on archery.

Karzis delivers his lines — including “To be or not to be … that’s the bitch!” and “Being a dick is a great job. I fuckin’ love it!” — with the too-big theatricality one would expect from … well, the high school stage. The star of this show, lest we forget, is Lundgren, and Iron Eagle series director Sidney J. Furie wisely just lets Lundgren be Lundgren, the quiet badass. Class dismissed. —Rod Lott

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With Enemy Gold, Andy Sidaris handed the directorial reins over to his longtime stunt coordinator, son Christian Drew Sidaris, who remains true to his father’s cinematic vision. Andy served as executive producer of this lensed-in-Dallas epic, which begins with a Civil War flashback before settling in to its plot of a team of secret agents — two tanned muscle-men and the oft-showering and improbably nippled Suzi Simpson as Becky Midnight — stumbling upon buried treasure.

Also wanting the booty (as in gold, that is – not Simpson) is Santiago (Rodrigo Obregon), a slimy, Spanish strip-club owner. To aid him, he enlists the help of the Amazonian, large-booted Jewel Panther (Julie Strain), as adept at fireside ninja demonstrations as she is at shooting park rangers with flare guns. Alleged Beltway plaything Tai Collins appears as the agents’ boss, although you wouldn’t know it from the first half of the film, in which she either lounges around in the sauna or in bed. It is hard to determine which of the three female leads is the worst actress, but Simpson wins by a nip.

Flowing readily from co-writer Christian’s pen are exchanges such as one in which male lead Chris Cannon (Bruce Penhall) discusses the agents’ newest weapon of defense: crossbow arrows with tips that “explode three seconds following penetration.” Becky replies, “Like old boyfriends.” Rimshot! The best line, however, comes after a naked lady in a shower asks Santiago, “What’s up?” and he says, “I am.” (Get it? He means he totally has a boner.)

Although mindless, Enemy Gold is chock full of those magical Sidaris touches that makes the film well worthwhile; if it’s not the arrow-cam, it’s the scene where one of the baddies gets killed by a tree. —Rod Lott

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Chuck Norris does his best Harrison Ford (which isn’t good enough) in Firewalker, the Cannon Films answer to the Indiana Jones franchise. Give Chuck credit for trying something different, but it doesn’t work. Call it Texas Ranger and the Temple of Dumb.

Norris is adventurer-for-hire Max Donigan, hired by Flash Gordon‘s Melody Anderson (as the ersatz Kate Capshaw) to guide her to a horde of Aztec gold located in a cave supposedly guarded by a cyclops — so says the ancient treasure map which has come into her possession. Iron Eagle‘s Louis Gossett Jr. is Donigan’s minority sidekick, and stepping into John Rhys-Davies’ Raiders of the Lost Ark role is John Rhys-Davies, because what else does the guy have to do but eat?

Finding the cave is simple; getting the gold is another matter. Chuck sums up the plot as best as anyone: “OK, you’ve got gold, human sacrifice, a dagger and the sun.” He and his cohorts get into all sorts of wacky, Central American pickles, from puttering around the jungle in a camo-painted VW Bug to hopping aboard a train disguised as Catholic clergy members.

Firewalker begins in a semisolid state, as old-fashioned serial fun. It ends that way, too, but dumber. The problem is its meandering, near-torturous midsection, made worse by Norris and company’s inability to handle the script’s reliance on comedy. The movie might have worked better in the less-wrinkled hands of a younger, livelier director, whereas J. Lee Thompson (The Guns of Navarone) was nearing the close of his long career. Besides, didn’t he receive his first Social Security check somewhere between chapters six and seven of Radar Men from the Moon?

Our heroes take so many photographs during their journeys that you’d expect to see the shots during the end credits, but Cannon budgets didn’t allow a line item for Fotomat developing. Also, no one walks on fire. —Rod Lott

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Following the terrible The World Is Not Enough, Pierce Brosnan returned as James Bond in the equally bad Die Another Day, his fourth and final turn as 007. I’d like to think that Madonna skank-tainted this one from the start by providing the wretched theme song that makes Bond fans long for the comparative glory days of a-ha.

In the prologue, Bond is captured by Koreans and held prisoner, long enough for Brosnan to grow his hair to its Crusoe lengths of 1997. Then he is traded for a bald-headed Korean named Zao (Rick Yune, The Fast and the Furious), whom the British government held captive — the same guy whose face now is streaked with diamonds, thanks to Bond’s ingenious explosion of a briefcase full of jewels in the aforementioned opening moments.

Then other stuff happens and Halle Berry shows up as an as assassin named Jinx so Bond can bed a black chick, because too many years have passed since he’s done that. And things explode and there’s a swordfight and Madonna appears in a cameo to bring the film to a stop so those watching can go, “Oh, hey, it’s Madonna.” And it culminates at an ice palace with Bond in an invisible car.

To clarify: an invisible car. With that, the series became all gums, no teeth.

And stupid. Did we really need Berry sassing up the franchise with quips such as “Yo mama!” and “Read this, bitch!” As good as Brosnan was in GoldenEye and Tomorrow Never Dies, his emotional investment appears to have dissipated. Speaking of appearances, in a couple of places during the movie, from certain angles, Brosnan looks just like game show host Chuck Woolery. —Rod Lott

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Fifteen years after being raped as a child (and mute ever since), farm girl Frigga (Swedish sexploitation star Christina Lindberg, Maid in Sweden) rather naïvely accepts a ride from a stranger (Heinz Hopf, Exposed). Instead of delivering her to her doctor’s appointment, Tony takes her out for a steak dinner, then back to his rape pad, where he proceeds to drug her drink and get her hooked on high-grade smack.

Tony’s intent is to get her so addicted that she’ll be forced to work for him as a prostitute. Frigga takes this news so not well that when her first would-be client arrives, she claws the guy’s face. Ever the businessman, Tony’s response is to cut out her left eye with a scalpel. (On the bright side, this allows Frigga to don a variety of colorful eye patches for the bulk of the film, not to mention sparks her to learn martial arts.)

Whoever decreed this rape-revenge with the name of Thriller: A Cruel Picture, truer words never were spoken. The point of viewers being subjected to witness Frigga’s debasement is to make her eventual doling out of comeuppance to her abusers that much more cathartic, even near-patriotic. Writer/director Bo Arne Vibenius, a protégé of Ingmar Bergman, wants us to revel in her acts of vengeance that he slows down the shots so we see every explosion of the squibs, every kick to the balls, every trail of blood bursting forth like the tail end of a cracked whip.

Shrewdly, Vibenius denies us the money shot of top tormentor Tony, but we are not spared the drawn-out demises of any johns, including the guy who dared sport tight, bright-red briefs with a tiger pattern. (Speaking of “money shot,” an alternate version includes hardcore inserts, entirely unnecessary.) Artier than you’d expect, this Cruel Picture plays the rape-revenge game more aggressively than Abel Ferrara’s silent victim of Ms. 45 would eight years later. —Rod Lott

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