Nobody (2021)

Hutch Mansell leads an unremarkable existence. Married with two kids, his days are a blur of the mundane and the predictable. He works as an accountant for his father-in-law in a small manufacturing firm. The only suspense in his life comes on days he must hustle to get the trash curbside in time for the garbage truck. Hutch is a nobody.

At least that’s what he would have us believe. But the nobody at the heart of Nobody is portrayed by Bob Odenkirk, and as the actor has proved many times over in TV’s Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul, he can be a damned compelling presence.

Hutch’s routine is forever uprooted one night when two masked intruders break into the Mansell home. Hutch arms himself with a golf club, but chooses not to escalate the situation, instead allowing the thieves to get away. That decision doesn’t sit well with his wife (Connie Nielsen, Wonder Woman 1984) and teenaged son (Gage Munroe), who interpret Hutch’s action as cowardice and treat him coldly afterward.

What his family doesn’t know, and we learn soon enough, is that Hutch has a secret past as an ex-military assassin. The home invasion awakens his old habits, however, particularly on a city bus when he sees a group of hoodlums threatening a young woman. In an inspired choreography of ultraviolence, Hutch pulverizes the baddies, including one who turns out to be the younger brother of Yulian Kuznetsov (Aleksey Serebryakov), a psychopathic killer in the Russian mafia.

Screenwriter Derek Kolstad and co-producer David Leitch, both of the John Wick franchise, infuse Nobody with brutally effective violence and a grim sense of humor. If the movie doesn’t quite match Wick-actioner standards, neither does it embarrass itself. Director Ilya Naishuller (Hardcore Henry) breaks no new ground, but helms with the cool efficiency of an acupuncturist who knows what pressure points will satisfy action-flick fans. It works, if perfunctorily, from the contrived plot devices (why exactly does the entire Russian mafia appear to be headquartered in the United States?) to a smattering of pop songs that provide ironic counterpoint to blood-spattered mayhem.

Best of all is Bob Odenkirk. The 58-year-old former sketch comedian turns out to be a credible tough guy. The film offers some other nifty casting choices, particularly Christopher Lloyd (Back to the Future’s Doc Brown) and rapper RZA (The Man with the Iron Fists) as Hutch’s father and brother, but Odenkirk’s rumpled charisma is what ultimately makes Nobody worth knowing. —Phil Bacharach

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Southland Tales (2006)

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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Wake of Death (2004)

Admits Jean-Claude Van Damme’s character several times within the opening minutes of Wake of Death, “I’m tired.” Dude, we’ve noticed.

Van Damme’s Ben Archer is former mob muscle gone legit, now a club bouncer, loving father and devoted husband. His wife, Cynthia (Lisa King, Love N’ Dancing), is a cop who, upon discovering a boat of Asian refugees at the harbor, bring a scared young girl home for the night, as if test-driving a puppy from the pound. Unfortunately, 14-year-old Kim (Valerie Tian, 2012’s 21 Jump Street) is no ordinary refugee; she’s on the run from her father, who unfortunately is Triad crime boss Sun Quan (Simon Yam), who unfortunately slit his wife’s throat post-coitally as Kim unfortunately watched.

“I’m going to get Kim back my way,” says Quan, and boy, does he try, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake — a wake of death, one might say — including Cynthia’s. As you’d expect, that leaves Archer in reluctant but devoted charge of Kim, protecting her from own father. It’s not unlike Boaz Yakin’s Safe, the 2012 movie in which Jason Statham also protects a young Chinese girl from the Triad while also taking revenge on the goons who murdered his spouse. The difference is Safe is far smarter and better made, but it’s not like Wake of Death didn’t have a chance.

Shot in South Africa, the cheap actioner has four credited writers and went through three directors, the first being Hong Kong great Ringo Lam, reuniting with Yam after Full Contact and with Van Damme after three films, including Maximum Risk. Lam walked after a couple of weeks, so who knows which scenes are his; my guess is the film’s best: a motorcycle chase through a shopping mall, including up the escalators and jumping from level to level. A sequence as bravura as that rises above Wake’s other set pieces, which are so poorly staged and edited that the viewer is never given the chance to invest oneself. Since Philippe Martinez (The Chaos Experiment) holds the directorial credit and also produced, we can pin the failure on him.

Van Damme himself is fine. Ironically, the further time removes him from his box-office heyday, the better an actor he becomes. Every now and again, one of his DVD premieres pops with some acclaim — like 2008’s JCVD and 2012’s Universal Soldier: Day of Reckoning — but not enough to fuel a career comeback. Wake of Death isn’t one of those standouts, lumbering with so many slow-motion shots and needless scenes — like watching Yam practicing tai chi for a hot minute — that the running time keeps calling attention to its own padding. —Rod Lott

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The Bermuda Depths (1978)

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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200 Motels (1971)

WTFFrank Zappa was an absolute teetotaler in his life, apparently never once drinking alcohol or taking drugs. After viewing 200 Motels, his surrealist document of life on the road, it’s hard to believe that. Of course, as someone who never does those things either, maybe I would say that?

The portly Theodore Bikel is a mischievous master of ceremonies who narrates the story from inside an obvious sound studio while Ringo Starr, portraying Larry the Dwarf portraying Zappa himself, runs around creating all kinds of irritable mischief for the scraggly band, the Mothers of Invention.

Once the group lands in the fake (as it’s often referred to) town of Centerville, they get beaten up in a redneck bar, become part of an animated dental hygiene films, sexually harass topless groupies (who, honestly, seem to like the attention) and deal with Who drummer Keith Moon as a sexually aroused nun, true to form.

Of course, what’s really remembered about this film — if it is truly remembered — is possibly for the many musical interludes, often performed by Turtles founders Mark Volman and Howard Kaylan. They’re more than happy to take part in the cinematic debauchery, performing tunes like “Mystery Roach,” “Magic Fingers” and “Strictly Genteel,” backed by an obviously embarrassed London Philharmonic Orchestra.

Zappa’s music — and filmmaking, apparently — is a mishmash of genius-level idiocy, perfectly trolling the music world for, mostly, the 1970s. 200 Motels definitely reaches those somewhat lofty ambitions and then artistically smashes them with a mallet, probably for a song about pubic hair or something. —Louis Fowler

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