Brittany Runs a Marathon (2019)

Since having a stroke over a year ago, I’ve lost close to 200 pounds. And, even though I’m considerably older than the titular Brittany in Brittany Runs a Marathon, how the world’s opinion changes — for good and bad — when you drastically change yourself is so honestly depicted here that, unless you’ve been through it, you’ll probably never understand.

Good-time girl Brittany (Jillian Bell, Rough Night) is an overweight party animal who lives primarily on Adderall, self-deprecation and random hook-ups, which, as you’d imagine, depresses the hell out of her. When a doctor advises her to lose 50 pounds, she attempts to get her shit together and starts running around New York with her recently divorced uppity neighbor and a gay dad trying to earn the respect of his son.

The tribulations that Brittany goes through to get to the marathon, from dealing with random food binges to mysterious leg pains to an Instagram roommate who tells her she be fat again soon, is an earnest account of an unhealthy person trying to change not only her outer self, but her inner self as well. That being said, it is also dramatically funny at times when it doesn’t intrinsically hurt.

Bell does a good job channeling these massive insecurities with a fully acerbic wit, but the whole romantic subplot with slacker dog-sitter Jern (Utkarsh Ambudkar, Freaks of Nature) feels a bit shoehorned in, at times threatening to turn Brittany into a stereotypical rom-com; thankfully, director Paul Downs Colaizzo always pulls back when venturing in that territory and returning the focus to Brittany and her own self-improvement.

Of course, I’ve gone through my own journey alone, so maybe I’m just bitter in that regard. —Louis Fowler

Satan’s Mistress (1982)

From B.J. Creators (!) comes Satan’s Mistress, a tawdry tale “based on the unusual experiences of a Northern California woman. As passion and love, once the cornerstones of her marriage, eroded, this woman became desperately lonely. There is a growing belief that in the world of psychic phenomena, the loneliness of a human being may be our direct link to…..the supernatural.”

Bond girl Britt Ekland (The Man with the Golden Gun) may be top-billed, but top-heavy Bond girl Lana Wood (Diamonds Are Forever) is the true chewy center of this bland possession confection. As Lisa, Wood is a housewife with a loving teen daughter (Sherry Scott, Swim Team) and a cruel husband (Don Galloway, Two Moon Junction) who prefers to insult her (“Pushy bitch!”) than inseminate her. That leaves Lisa high and dry and horny as hell.

Enter stage left: an evil spirit to take care of all that. First appearing as a crudely animated purple blob that looks like it escaped from the druggiest of John and Faith Hubley shorts, it pulls the bedsheets off Lisa’s nude body and goes to town. Strange things soon occur throughout the household, like tchotchkes tumbling to the floor and the family cat turning aggressive, but mostly, the story is about the sex. Once the spirit manifests in human, mustachioed form (Kabir Bedi, Octopussy), even more closed-door fornicating is had, with Lisa brought to orgasm every. Damn. Time.

Satan’s Mistress (alternately known under the name Demon Rage) may have beaten the über-similar The Entity to American theater screens in a sprint, but has lost the marathon of public consciousness. If you felt embarrassed for Barbara Hershey’s naked writhings as she was ghost-raped in that film, prepare to have that multiplied, because Wood was clearly hired here for two reasons: to be exploited. From her opening nightmare running slo-mo in a silky nightgown to a climax that sees a demon tearing said gown off her body, and with every coupling in between, director James Polakof (The Vals) takes care to present his star as boobzapoppin’ as possible, because let’s be honest: She’s quite lovely, and that’s all the movie has going for it. She appears to be okay with the gratuitousness of the proceedings, perhaps because the opportunity was one her superstar sister, Natalie, never would take. Either way, if “degradation” weren’t already spelled with double Ds, Wood’s pulchritudinous presence would merit an edit to the ol’ Funk & Wagnalls. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Momo: The Missouri Monster (2019)

After helming nine documentaries on Bigfoot, Mothman and other cryptids, director Seth Breedlove finds a novel approach to investigate the creature that terrorized the small town of Louisiana, Missouri, in 1971 and ’72. Instead of using recreations of events, he lets footage from a heretofore-lost, low-budget, Boggy Creek-style film dramatizing the sightings carry that workload. The trick is that unearthed B-movie doesn’t exist — at least not until Breedlove and his merry band of co-conspirators made it, as part of the end result, Momo: The Missouri Monster.

Momo was a hairy, smelly, three-toed monster who, as one character in the faux footage relays, “looked like a bear mated with Jerry Garcia.” Subsisting on an all-dog diet, the biped was believed to be from outer space, further straining credibility. Cowboy-hatted host Lyle Blackburn (author of Rue Morgue magazine’s Monstro Bizarro) interviews the townspeople about the history and hubbub surrounding the creature. In between, he cedes the floor to hokey scenes from the supposed Momo movie, which depict encounters had by two picnicking young women, a couple of brothers playing outside and a Pentecostal prayer group interrupted midworship.

Breedlove’s print-the-legend conceit deteriorates from initial draw to tiresome gimmick, mostly because the film within the film’s acting is awful. Because the documentary portions are so earnest and nonjudgmental, I am unable to tell whether the “old” footage — treated to resemble a ropey, real-deal grindhouse print — is intended to be as cringingly amateurish as it plays.

With clips from Curse of Bigfoot, UFO: Target Earth and Snowbeast (a made-for-TV movie incorrectly categorized as a theatrical feature), the doc does a good job of luring in those whose believe in the American drive-in, but Momo: The Missouri Monster is really for those whose love of the cryptozoological courses through their veins at a breakbeat-level BPM. Viewers on that wavelength will want in on this hunt no matter what. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Cuba Crossing (1980)

Reads the opening crawl of the geopolitical goofball Cuba Crossing, “This motion picture is dedicated to all people who desire to live in a free democratic society.” Hey, that’s me! Maybe it’s you, too, but that doesn’t mean we’re obligated to like it.

Through chunks of mismatched stock footage, the opening depicts the United States’ botched Bay of Pigs invasion of 1961. With his fellow soldiers slaughtered, Hudson (Robert Vaughn, Superman III) cries to the heavens, “Damn you, Kennedy!” Then, in present day, Hudson, now in the CIA, travels to Key West, Florida, to get his revenge; one of the film’s alternate titles sums that up succinctly: Assignment: Kill Castro.

To do that, Hudson hires bar owner and charter boat captain Tony (Stuart Whitman, Demonoid) to drop a couple of assassins on the island of Cuba and come back with a box of heroin. Tony agrees and soon after realizing he’s being played, but also enjoys the process — or at least the part of the process that involves being seduced by My Tutor MILF Caren Kaye.

Cuba Crossing unspools with muddled story points that fail to connect, perhaps keeping with the aforementioned crawl referring to the Bay of Pigs event as “confusing and frustrating.” Director Chuck Workman (the guy behind so many time-wasting Academy Awards montages) contributes to this by exhibiting something less than a sure hand; in one scene at Tony’s watering hole, it appears that three movies are being shot at once, what with a Marilyn Monroe impersonator singing “I Wanna Be Loved by You” as a massive bar fight explodes and two significant-sized iguanas crawl on some dumb guy’s head while he just sits there. It’s a mess — both that scene and the movie as a whole.

Co-authoring the screenplay with Workman was The Curious Case of Benjamin Button’s Robin Swicord, who clearly got better. Without much thought into other aspects of the recipe, they throw a lot of ingredients into their soufflé, including cockfighting, black-on-black mortal combat, man-eating sea turtles, the badass Woody Strode (Vigilante) the fine-ass Sybil Danning (Malibu Express) and, as the ultimate villain of the piece says, “that Fourth of July gun bullshit!” —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Itsy Bitsy (2019)

Despite having such a silly title, Itsy Bitsy is one of the better spider movies of this millennium, because it actively avoids the three things that sink most of its peers: making the arachnid the size of skyscrapers, treating it like a comedy, or relying heavily on CGI. If only it had stuck the landing …

A prologue depicting a African tribe literally worshipping a spider demonstrates right away Micha Gallo isn’t wasting his feature directorial debut on Syfy-level schlock. That revered creepy crawler makes it way to America via a stolen jar and into the Midwestern home of an MS-stricken collector (Steel and Lace’s Bruce Davison, classing the place up), who pays handsomely for such fenced artifacts. Of course, he doesn’t know of the eight-legged freak awaiting within, so caveat emptor and all.

Nor does his live-in nurse, Kara (Elizabeth Roberts, Black Knight), a single mom who just moved there from New York with her two kids. The surly Jesse (Arman Darbo, a possible clone of Jonathan Taylor Thomas) is angry at his mother for the sudden upheaval, among other things, while little sis Cambria — apparently named after the font — has more important things on her mind to care: kitty cats and butterfly wings. However, Cambria (Chloe Perrin, The Diabolical) does take notice when a spider the size of a dog invades her bedroom at night!

That Gallo, an effects artist by trade, utilizes working models for the spider for a majority of the film is Itsy Bitsy’s greatest strength. As with the subgenre’s reigning kings — that’d be Kingdom of the Spiders and Arachnophobia, of course — the “realism” elicits a serious case of the shivers. Conversely, Itsy Bitsy’s greatest liability is the decision to go full family-drama mode in the climax. While one can appreciate Kara and clan having more than one dimension to their characters, allowing Roberts and Darbo to deliver true performances, the whiplashed shift from thrills to emotions ruins the vibe and derails the third act. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

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