Across Latin America, you didn’t see kids lining up for the latest adventures of Batman or Superman, be it at the newsstand or, later, the movie theater. Instead, they had a reigning culture of their own superheroes who never really crossed over into North America (not that they had to), with the best example being Kaliman.

With blessed powers such as ESP, astral projection, telekinesis and, quite obviously, the martial arts, the mysterious Kaliman made his claim to superhuman fame by traveling the globe and solving dastardly crimes with aid of former street urchin and current young ward Solin, who is in training to become Kaliman’s successor — if that ever happens, honestly.

With well over 1,300 issues of the comic book and a string of popular radio dramas — not to mention a lawsuit from the assholes at Marvel — he made his motion picture debut in 1972 with Dallas talking head Jeff Cooper taking on the somewhat muscular lead to great success in many Latin-based countries.

Sadly, I have not seen it. What I have seen, however, is the follow-up, Kaliman en el Siniestro Mundo de Humanon and, man alive, is this one fun flick!

Here, Kaliman spends his time leisurely walking the beaches of Rio and driving in a car. But when his apartment is telepathically burgled and the inhabitants become murderously possessed by a cursed necklace, he and Solin somehow end up in the jungle, searching for the lackluster hideout of Humanon.

Additionally, Kaliman helps Solin form a completely NSFW drinking tube when their thirst gets the best of them, and there’s a doped-up monkey doing scared flips and tricks somewhere in there, too, among all the stock footage of dangerous animals for them to point at and laugh from a distance.

That’s nothing when compared to when we meet Humanon, the red-cloaked, pointy-capped villain (who reminds me of a rather sassy Grand Dragon) and his army of what I’m guessing are zombies to hunt our heroes down and kill them.

As expected, Cooper is completely ridiculous as a supposedly Middle Eastern mentalist, but the ludicrousness of it helped the movie move forward in a very schlocky way that seems like a lost art. Granted, as far as comic book movies go, it’s not going to blow the roof off the Avengers Tower anytime soon, but how about a big budget retelling of the Kaliman mythos? —Louis Fowler

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Like many indie science-fiction flicks, Lapsis has a fantastical premise, but takes a lackadaisical way to get to the rushed ending. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about and have been there before.

Quantum computing, I guess, is the best thing going in this alternate present, with scads of people signing up to run cable through state parks. This seems like an easy enough way for Ray (Dean Imperial) to earn a couple of bucks for his brother who has some sort of made-up fatigue syndrome; after obtaining shady papers, Ray’s in the forest, running wire and dealing with the passive-aggressive jerks he encounters.

There are also robots that look like the mechanical spiders from Runaway — I was almost hoping for Gene Simmons to show up, but that’s how I feel about most movies — that compete with the humans as they lay cable as well, with an underground group of cablers trapping and destroying the robots. I didn’t fully understand the ending, as it just kind of showed up.

With Lapsis in a broken-down sheen that many indie flicks have had for about 20 years, its idea of cabling for a new internet source is honestly remarkable, and Ray’s meeting of the many skewed characters, interesting enough. I don’t know why the spiders were introduced and, by the final third, you give up caring.

I guess what I’m trying to say is this movie really needed Gene Simmons. —Louis Fowler

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I am not a fan of Donnie Darko, director Richard Kelly’s debut feature film. When I originally went into his follow-up, Southland Tales, well over a decade ago, I felt mostly the same way about Dwayne Johnson, Sarah Michelle Gellar and Seann William Scott as they ran all over Los Angeles on a drug-fueled It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World low-riding cruise.

I walked out about an hour in.

Flash-forward many years later: Watching with far more of a (now) mature mind, I can see what Kelly — by accident or otherwise — was not only trying to do, but ultimately succeeded in: a near rewrite of the end of the world, with a heavy — and welcomed — emphasis on biblical allusions. Does a lot of it make sense? Not really, but I wouldn’t expect the apocalypse to, anyway.

Taking place in the then-futuristic landscape of 2008, society is much like it is now: a world of consumerism and lust ready to crumble upon itself. Boxer Santaros (Johnson) is an amnesiac who somehow hooks up with porn actress Krysta Now (Gellar) to collaborate on a screenplay entitled The Power.

Meanwhile, after a devastating nuclear attack on Abilene, Texas, a strange German corporation led by strange actor Wallace Shawn invents a new energy source called Fluid Karma that has, for the most part, put the Eastern part of the U.S. under its control, along with a nightmarish form of surveillance called USIdent.

Meanwhile meanwhile, as Shawn and crew plan for the next phase of their literal lower grab, a police officer (Sean William Scott) has apparently been split into two people sharing the same soul, each half looking for the other — a meeting that will cause time to collapse.

Again, does it make much sense? Not at first glance and, really, that’s probably what turned movie audiences off. But, especially with the help of drug-addled (and wholly grating) soldier Justin Timbelake’s biblically-based narrations, it becomes obvious that Kelly is rewriting the Book of Revelation for a crowd who, for the most part, no longer believes in the Bible or, sadly, the end of the world.

As time marches on, Southland Tales plays far more prescient now than ever before. —Louis Fowler

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Made for television, The Bermuda Depths is one of those siren-o’-the-sea stories, with Connie Sellecca (Captain America II: Death Too Soon) doing the honors as Jennie, who swims like a serpent, apparently lives in the Bermuda Triangle and — as local legend has it — sold her soul to the devil. She’s not a mermaid, but she may as well be.

In fact, The Bermuda Depths may as well be a proto-Splash of sorts. Just shove Fraternity Vacation’s Leigh McCloskey in what would be the Tom Hanks role and extract all humor. And instead of John Candy, we get Burl Ives, looking like a can of Dinty Moore Beef Stew Big Bowl made human.

Adorned with an ever-present puka shell necklace, McCloskey’s Magnus Dens (huh?) is a perennial college dropout who returns to his childhood home of Bermuda, where he romped on the beach with a girl named Jennie and a sea turtle as big as a rocking horse. Orphaned as a child after his scientist father perished in a freak and vaguely supernatural accident, Magnus receives an overly hearty welcome — and a big exposition dump — from his marine biologist pal (Action Jackson himself, Carl Weathers).

Jennie pops up, too; now played by Sellecca, she’s all grown up and, well, weird. How much of that is in the script or Sellecca’s blasé performance has us shrug, but Jennie’s presence raises a lot of questions, like:
• Is this all in Magnus’ head?
• Why does her hair have a sheen?
• Why do eyes glow?
• Hey, what’s up with the now-Gamera-sized turtle?

I’ll address the last one: Because The Bermuda Depths is less a true example of Trianglesploitation and more about kaiju, following in the big footsteps left by The Last Dinosaur. Both were directed by Tsugunobu “Tom” Kotani for Rankin/Bass, the noted purveyor of those creepy yet cherished stop-motion Christmas specials from the late 1960s and early ’70s, so it’s only natural the miniatures and mattes carry some of that brand’s distinctive visual magic. At its best points, Bermuda imparts a narcotic quality; at its worst, it’s narcotized. —Rod Lott

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By title alone, Cosmoball sounds like you’re in for dull science fiction or novelty porn. For the record, the movie in question is sci-fi, but either way, it’s not something you’ll want to admit to watching.

As depicted in the Russian film Cosmoball, the future plays home to one of those sci-fi dichotomies where one environment is all super-high-tech and tricked-out, while the other dresses the populace in pieces of scavenged Tupperware. In the former, elite athletes play Cosmoball; in the latter, our unemployed teen scamp of a protagonist, Anton (Evgeniy Romantsov, free of charisma), waits in line for rationed water amid fellow commoners who appear to be doing Hook cosplay in the lobby of Rainforest Cafe — the one in Gurney Mills, Illinois, at that.

But back to the spectator sport of Cosmoball: Played in an indoor arena, the game is like soccer, except the players must have the power of teleportation. Also, only after five consecutive kicks does the opponent’s goal materialize. Also, it’s broadcast in the sky. Also, exploding balls of fire delight an all-alien audience only a Lucas could love. Also, a Rip Taylor-esque announcer pies himself in the face like a self-loathing clown whenever a goal is scored.

But other than that, just like soccer. Hell, even one player is named Pelé!

Because Anton needs money for his ailing mom’s Rx, because Anton crushes hard on Cosmoball star player Natasha (Viktoriya Agalakova) and because the team has an opening on the roster, it should surprise no one that Anton:
• can kick good!
• can teleport!
• will be recruited to join the team!
• will win Natasha’s heart!
• will be assigned a pet that looks like a tentacled ViewMaster!
• involuntarily teleports whenever he gets an unexpected boner!
• possesses a microscopic particle that the villain Cherno — who looks like a fist mated with Thanos — needs to complete a “protogene” that, once fully assembled, will grant Cherno power over the universe!
• will have his DNA attempt to be, um, “extracted” by a sexy waif (a WILF?) actually working for Cherno!

Okay, so maybe those last four fall under “Wait, wha-huh?” And for good reason: Director Dzhanik Fayziev and his writers’ room — repeat: writers’ room — pile one suffocating element atop another atop another, as if they’re world-building as they go … because they are, continuing the process until enough punishing minutes have passed that they risk using up the world’s entire supply of pixels if they don’t get to the climax. Folks, this isn’t storytelling; it’s rule-sharing.

With a cloying English dub and each frame green-screened into a cartoon artifice, it comes off possibly the most imbecilic family-friendly fantasy since that space-kangaroo movie a quarter-century ago. Somewhere, Soviet SF king Andrei Tarkovsky cries, “The fuck you say?” (Or, per Google Translate, “Какого хрена вы говорите?”) —Rod Lott

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