Today, Steven Paul is best known (if at all) as the guy who keeps Jon Voight working in such modern crapsterpieces as Superbabies: Baby Geniuses 2, Karate Dog and Bratz, but back in 1986, he was busy trying to live down the failure of his infamous 1982 Kurt Vonnegut adaptation, Slapstick (of Another Kind), which likely will go down in history as the worst movie ever made based on a book by a modern literary master.

Apparently, Hollywood decided four years was long enough to leave him dangling before allowing him to co-write and produce Never Too Young to Die, a strange attempt to create a new action franchise that tried to fuse the retro campiness of ’60s secret agent movies with the gender-bending campiness of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. Needless to say, it didn’t work.

Future Full House icon John Stamos plays Lance Stargrove the (teenage?) son of American secret agent Drew Stargrove (George Lazenby, who presumably got the part because Roger Moore read it and told Paul and company to go fuck themselves), who’s killed attempting to stop an evil scheme to turn the nation’s drinking water into radioactive sludge by a hermaphroditic maniac named Velvet Von Ragner (Gene Simmons, summoning the collective spirits of John LaZar and Tim Curry). Lance is aided in his mission to avenge his father’s death by his glamorous partner Danja Deering (ex-Prince associate and Tanya’s Island star Vanity, who isn’t quite hot enough to make up for the fact that she’s one of the worst actresses of all time) and his (boarding school/college?) roommate Cliff (Peter Kwong), an Asian gadget genius.

Directed by TV vet Gil Bettman, Never Too Young to Die clearly was meant to stand out from the ’80s action crowd, but its overt attempts at over-the-top campiness only serve to highlight how boring and generally crappy the rest of the film is. Simmons obviously had a fun time playing his version of an Adam West Batman villain, but his giddiness only serves to prove how bland Stamos and Vanity are in comparison. Because of this, the implied sequels never happened and the chances of Stamos ever appearing in an Expendables entry turned to naught. Somehow, however, Paul managed to keep on working, if only to give his friend, Voight — who gets a songwriting credit (!) in this flick — a much-needed paycheck every now and then. —Allan Mott

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Long after the Incredible Hulk television series had ended, NBC revived the Hulk with a string of comparably silly made-for-TV movies, the first of which was, naturally, The Incredible Hulk Returns. Still a lonely soul, Bruce Banner (Bill Bixby) is on the verge of finishing a project that he believes will cure him of his unfortunate Hulk-outs. But just when he’s about to fire up the machine and change his life for the better, he’s interrupted by some curly haired nerd from his past, who tells him of a polar expedition he recently undertook, where he found an ancient hammer that allows him to summon Thor (Eric Kramer). Got that?

Why would this dork think to track down the presumed-dead Banner to tell him all this? Never you mind, because he shows Banner a demo, and sure enough, here comes Thor (looking less like Thor than Vincent D’Onofrio’s car mechanic in Adventures in Babysitting), who proceeds the wreck the shit outta Banner’s anti-Hulk contraption. Oh, the irony!

Thor doesn’t even really act like the Thor of the comics. He acts like Fabio after a week’s training of Hooked on Phonics. Posing and winking like a pro wrestler, he walks around shirtless, downs gallons and gallons of beer, and greets visitors to Banner’s apartment by asking, “Why must you pound on my door with such insolence?” This is where you know director Nicholas Corea wanted to hit the button on the mixing console marked “LAFF TRACK.”

It just sorta ends after the climactic scene of the Hulk (Lou Ferrigno) and Thor working together to pull down a helicopter. Then Banner hits the road again, only to resurface in the following year’s misleadingly titled The Trial of the Incredible Hulk. —Rod Lott

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Bangkok, Oriental city, and the city don’t know what the city is getting: Nicolas Cage with a lifetime supply of the inkiest shades of Just for Men.

In the ridiculous action failure Bangkok Dangerous, the Pang Brothers (The Eye, The Messengers) remake their own supposedly popular 1999 Thai hit of the same name, but to no great effect. So unimaginative, so uninvolving is this routine no-effort that it took me several months of starts and stops just to get through it, and even then, I gave up with about 20 minutes left to go.

Cage is Joe, one of those expert hit men of the movies: He doesn’t miss, but he’s getting too old for this shit. Instead of killing strangers on a freelance basis, he wants to meet someone and settle down. While on assignment in Bangkok, Joe meets Fon (Charlie Yeung, New Police Story), a nice deaf girl who works at the local pharmacy. He teaches her skills she needs to know, like hand-to-hand combat and watermelon shooting; in turn, she teaches him skills he needs to know, like how to feed bananas to an elephant and how to upstage an Academy Award winner without saying a word.

The only reason to watch a film like Bangkok Dangerous in the first place is obvious: potential for cool action sequences. The Pang (Pain?) Brothers deliver a decent boat chase and murder by motorcycle, but no scene is pulled off with a discernible degree of pizazz. It may be the least engaging action vehicle for an A-list actor this decade. If only the sibs had borrowed elements of one of Cage’s other turds of the time, The Wicker Man, they might have something.

I’d suggest the bee helmet. —Rod Lott

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I’d like to think The Black Cobra 2 is the only Fred Williamson movie in which he wears a Members Only jacket and with a preponderance of cowbell on the soundtrack, but since there’s a number in the title, I can’t be too sure.

Fred stars as Malone, a Chicago cop who gets in trouble for exploding a bad guy’s helmet-clad head like a watermelon with a single bullet, just following perhaps the longest opening credits known to man (eight minutes!). So his cantankerous, overweight police chief sends Fred to Manila to hook up with Interpol office Nicholas Hammond (several hills below The Sound of Music and, for that matter, his Spider-Man TV series). To the filmmakers’ credit, it accurately captures enough of the Philippines’ local flavor to make you never ever want to go there.

The Italian-backed actioner almost seems like two movies for the pain of one. In the first part, Fred falls for a buck-toothed, barfy faced girl whose con-man father was found murdered (“I hate to be the barrier of bad news,” Fred says; couldn’t they have dubbed that over?) and then rescues her after she’s kidnapped by slimy terrorists looking for $10,000.

Then she’s out of the picture and part two begins, with said slimy terrorists holding 350 schoolchildren hostage. Since one of them is Hammond’s short-pantsed son, Nick and Fred rub black greasepaint on their faces (well, okay, just Nick) and get all Die Hard-y as only a film like Black Cobra 2 can’t. I’d like to think they don’t show a single one of the 350 kids because of budgetary reasons, but since they didn’t bother to overdub Fred’s gaffe earlier, I can’t be too sure. —Rod Lott

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Writer/producer Roger Corman’s original The Fast and the Furious should be called The Relaxed and the Rear-Projected. In pure old-school AIP fashion, it’s quick, painless and efficient. And a better movie than the loose Vin Diesel remake from 2001.

Also pulling double duty as director, John Ireland stars as a man wanted for murder, and is given the cold-blooded killer name of Frank Webster. While on the run to Mexico, he stops at a diner and is accosted by a porky cop, so he grabs the nearest hostage he can — dish o’ ice cream Dorothy Malone — and they hightail it in her Jaguar.

She’s headed for the “international” car races, so he thinks that’d be a good place to lay low until they can get across the border. Perhaps — just perhaps — captor and captive will fall in love before 75 minutes is up.

For a delinquent type, Ireland sure does look to be in his 40s. The race sequences are antiquated, of course, but that’s what lends this drive-in movie its charm. It’s hard not to have a good time when it flies by so quickly. Bonus: No Paul Walker saying “bro.” —Rod Lott

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