In this nudie cutie, elderly burlesque comedian Charlie Robinson more or less plays himself: pickled, wrinkled and luckily fully clothed. As a sewer worker, henpecked husband, functioning alcoholic and DJ Qualls prototype, Charlie could use some time away from it all. Opportunity knocks when his trailer-park neighbor converts a Checker cab into a time machine.
With the trip depicted footage of water circling a drain superimposed over a Matchbox car, Charlie and his Abe Lincoln hat are whipped back to the prehistoric era — 50,000 B.C. (Before Clothing), to be exact. The title lies, as men and women don Flintstones-style pelts, although the Knob Hill Nudist Colony is nearby. So is a giant (Eddie Carmel, The Brain That Wouldn’t Die) whom Charlie swiftly defeats by whistling “Dixie,” because why the fuck not.
From the usually mightier pen of Doom Patrol creator Arnold Drake, this hour of udder nonsense comes with a black-and-white courtroom scene, a snake dance (credited to one “Sexcra”), the gorgeous Gigi Darlene from Doris Wishman’s Bad Girls Go to Hell and an alternative title of Nudes on the Rocks. What it doesn’t have is a legitimate joke — lest it counts when a drunken tailor gives Charlie a pair of pants so large, his face is at zipper level. I don’t think that qualifies. —Rod Lott
No, Riz Ahmed is not playing deaf again, although the Sound of Metal star doesn’t speak for the first half of Relay. The title even refers to the phone service that facilitates conversations for the hearing-impaired, which Ahmed’s Ash uses to keep his identity secret, being a fixer in the world of corporate espionage and all.
His newest client is Sarah (Lily James, Baby Driver), a genetic scientist in possession of an incriminating document from her former employer. A week before that company goes publicly traded, she wants to broker a deal to give the study back in exchange for the escalating harassment by corporate goons (led by Avatar’s Sam Worthington) to cease.
Attribute Ash’s success in this dangerous business to his adherence to rules regarding his clients — namely, communicating only via relay and never meeting them. But with Sarah looking like Lily James … oops!
Relay starts like crime-pic catnip: at night in New York City, complete with ambient traffic noise, a color palette that pops in gunmetal blue and chewable-children’s-aspirin orange, and the words “directed by David Mackenzie.” He made Hell or High Water, my favorite film of 2016. That pic was bottled lightning, so I wasn’t expecting Relay to reach its level. And it doesn’t.
Yet it’s a solid B. That witnessing multiple instances of Ash’s lightspeed keystrokes — and various relay operators reading to Sarah what he types — isn’t monotonous speaks to the strength of Mackenzie’s direction and Justin Piasecki’s screenplay. Their collaboration operates neatly and quietly in the shadows of 1970s conspiracy-driven thrillers. Even the relay machine Ash lugs around looks appropriately analogue.
Immensely talented, Ahmed seems to enjoy digging into what is essentially a spy film, including the opportunity to be a master of disguise. Relay marks as close as he’s come to leading an action vehicle, because in massive movies like Venom and Rogue One: A Star Wars Story, he’s either the villain or the sidekick. Enjoy this while it lasts. —Rod Lott
Zach Cregger’s Weaponstaps into the same suburban fear that gave his 2022 surprise hit, Barbarian, staying power. What’s more, while Weapons includes a similarly rewarding and refreshing twist, the film doesn’t depend on it. Instead, it uses it to create a tonal anomaly of a flick that — at least for now — solidifies the former Whitest Kids U’ Know member as a must-watch horror director on the level of Jordan Peele and Ari Aster.
At 2:17 a.m. in the middle of a week, 17 third-grade classmates mysteriously vanish, save Alex (Cary Christopher). Their teacher, Justine (Julia Garner, The Fantastic Four: First Steps), shoulders the blame as the town demands a culprit. Archer (Josh Brolin, No Country for Old Men), the father of one of the missing kids, begins his own investigation of the disappearances while school principal Marcus (Benedict Wong, Doctor Strange) struggles to quell the town’s spiraling rage.
Like Barbarian, Cregger opts for a split narrative across six characters. While this helps Weapons comfortably outpace its two-hour runtime, it does feel somewhat needlessly inflated and could’ve benefited from a narrower focus. That said, it doesn’t significantly detract from the film; it just causes it to tread water for a decent chunk of the third act.
Minor criticisms aside, Weapons shines with exceptional cinematography, snappy dialogue and an expectation-subverting meld of heartwarming storytelling and unflinching brutality. Multiple tracking shots cleverly capture the self-destructive drinking and “eating” habits of three prominent characters. (This aspect of the film culminates with an especially wild scene that feels like it borrows from 2000’s Snow Dayas much as it does 1980’s Cannibal Holocaust.)
While the film’s central figures feel a bit one-note, they’re leveraged by excellent performances from Garner, Brolin and a returning Amy Madigan (Uncle Buck). And while Austin Abrams’ (Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark) character is ultimately overexposed, his future collaboration leading Cregger’s Resident Evil movie carries a lot of promise.
Ultimately, Weapons earns most of its resonance through its unexpected accessibility. No, this isn’t a kids’ movie. Yet it borrows enough elements from early 1990s films like The Witches and Ernest Scared Stupidthat it feels comfortably nostalgic despite its originality. Declaring it an instant classic feels like an overstep, but its undeniable charm paired with its grotesque violence could give it the legs to be timeless. And maybe it will be.
In a year already stacked with heavy-hitting horror movies, Weapons rises to the top of the pack. While it might not be technically “better” than Ryan Coogler’s Sinners, it operates on a different, largely incomparable level. In the end, Weapons is a crowd-pleasing flick that reminds us we should spend less time placing films on hierarchies and more time celebrating them.
See Weapons in a theater, and be sure to order seven hotdogs and a couple cookies. It’ll be more immersive than any RealD Cinema ever could be. —Daniel Bokemper
When her sister mysteriously disappears, Clover (Ella Rubin, Fear Street: Prom Queen) and four Gen Z pals retrace her last known steps to a quaint empty inn in a remote small town of Glore Valley. Seeing as how the inn is chockablock with flyers for missing people of all ages, races, colors and creeds, you know things don’t bode well for them.
Sure enough, 27 minutes into the movie, all five are murdered. Then suddenly, they’re all alive again, finding themselves trapped in a Groundhog Day-style situation, but dispatched in different ways by different threats each go-round. Like Happy Death Day, the key to survival is figuring out how to break that loop. Bet the freaky hourglass clock on the wall stands as a Big Clue.
Based on a PlayStation game I’d not heard of, Until Dawn turns up with a nifty premise, allowing director David F. Sandberg (2016’s Lights Out) to tinker among several horror genres — slashers, witches, zombies, clowns, etc. — one night at a time. Still, even with each switcheroo presenting new situations (“Is anyone else growing new teeth?”), tiring repetition can’t help but set in.
Ultimately, Until Dawn wastes its invention on underwritten, unlikable characters, as you’d expect people named Clover would be. (How are the others not named, like, Chakra, Journey, Justice and Inclusion?) That may explain my enthusiasm for something of its midpoint breather, in which — spoiler alert! — coughing leads to exploding.
It’s not enough. Until Dawn is high-sheen corporate synergy studio horror as aimless as it is needless. —Rod Lott
Comedically prescient as all get out,Eat the Rich is all about class warfare, rampant snobbery, low-class politics and, of course, the most sarcastic form of cannibalistic fine dining.
And I would have known about all these stiff-upper-lipped British themes, discussions and subtle comedy before now, if only my VCR worked the way it was supposed to in the early ’90s. Those were the days, when KOBC Channel 34, Oklahoma City’s UHF television station, broadcast religious programming in the morning, Western reruns in the afternoon and low-rent syndicated shows during prime time. When normal broadcasting went bye-bye around 11 p.m., KOBC became the best non-cable station around.
From Z-grade horror and UK sex comedies to rarely seen campy treasures from all around the world, you never knew what you were in for, and I was here for it … but it was past my bedtime. So I used my parents’ VCR to tape dozens of films off KOBC, with 1-900 sexy singles’ lines ads, Time-Life’s Mysteries of the Unexplained shills and Channel 34’s own sad weather reports.
Eat the Rich was one of those tapes, except the VCR only recorded the first five minutes before skipping to the 6 a.m. farm report. Never were cattle futures so sad! Even in the era of Blu-ray special editions, this British satire was impossible to locate until I found it on Amazon Prime. Even better, it was only $3.99 to rent. God save the Queen and her fascist regime!
Featuring bit-part players of England’s alt-comedy faction the Comic Strip and, even better, music from Motörhead, it’s off to a ripping start, well past the originally allotted five minutes. In the posh restaurant Bastards, the abusive patrons dine on cheetahs, koala and pandas.
After a row with a blowhard patron, put-upon waiter Alex (Lanah Pellay) is having not anymore, shouting, “Oi! Where’s my fuckin’ tip?” He’s thrown out by staff and, through a series of blows to his ego and his superego, becomes a leader of a group of nonmilitary anarchists who want to, undoubtably, eat the rich.
Concurrently, former boxer Nosher Powell is a faux politician, a lager-swilling lout who gets all the racist football fans in his corner because he brokers deals with his ill temper and his uncompromising fists. (Sounds like the politicians in Oklahoma — right, Markwayne?) As you can imagine, all these punked-up parties and fucked-up parts end up riotously dead, with arms dealer Lemmy coming out top. And why wouldn’t he?
Though the film was a massive flop on a grand scale, it’s still a Comic StripPresents movie, giving the well-to-do British society two fingers way up. It’s directed by Peter Richardson, with alternative-comedy regulars such as Nigel Planer, Rik Mayall and Adrian Edmondson in brash cameos. But Eat the Rich is comedian and cabaret singer Pellay’s show as Alex, with every line dripping in sarcastic wherewithal and venomous barbs that made me guffaw in all-knowing titters. Pellay is a true revelation, 30 years too late.
It took me three decades to find, watch and embrace this, but Eat the Rich is a properly digested and classically disposed comedy that needs to be rewatched, reassessed and, true to the movie, regurgitated. —Louis Fowler
