Western

The Five Man Army (1969)

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At the time of The Five Man Army’s release, Peter Graves was roughly midway through his run on TV’s Mission: Impossible. As with that classic series, this Western finds him assembling a group of experts to complete a mission, but director Don Taylor (Damien: Omen II) trades high-tech wows for a lot of dirt and dust.

Graves’ character, The Dutchman, assembles a crack team of rebels to help steal half a million dollars in Mexican Army gold from a train that’s not only moving, but heavily armed. In on the plan are a level-headed buddy (James Daly, 1968’s Planet of the Apes), a cocky local who aims a mean slingshot (Nino Castelnuovo, Strip Nude for Your Killer), a brutish circus acrobat (genre staple Bud Spencer, They Call Me Trinity) and a silent swordsman named, um, Samurai (Tetsurô Tanba, You Only Live Twice).

Memorably, the Dutchman uses burritos to explain his master plan to his amigos. Once that plan is put into practice later, Army becomes a winning effort. Before then, the film is light on action and heavy on conversation (with a script co-written by Dario Argento, one year shy of switching career gears to the giallo), but all that talk serves a purpose in setting up the bickering ways among the quintet. This Army ends shy of being great, but its spy-esque exploits make it a good contender for converting the Western-averse. —Rod Lott

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Kitchen Sink

Fight Club: Members Only (2006)

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WTFFor me, at least, Fight Club is a wholly overrated movie. On the other hand, the Bollywood remake (reimagining?) Fight Club: Members Only, is a woefully underrated flick.

Definitely my preferred vision of Chuck Palahniuk’s novel, mostly because it has little to nothing to do with Chuck Palahniuk’s novel, Members Only starts off with a group of chill dudes hanging out at a college student union or possibly a mall food court, getting sudden inspiration to start an underground fight club after seeing a rather mild argument on campus.

Additionally, one of the guys tries to sing “Happy Birthday” to his dad, but dad rejects him in favor of his high-powered corporate work, which I completely understand — he’s right in the middle of a meeting, kid. To deal with this deserved rejection, his buddies take him to get down at a nightclub where the DJ plays them their own smartly choreographed theme song, conveniently preserved on scratchable wax for such occasions.

After staging a couple of these smartly choreographed fights, at different empty warehouses and abandoned pools around town — where they charge a hefty fee, mind you — they get busted by the cops, much to the dismay of various relatives, including the old uncle who runs a nightclub that’s being bullied by the local gangsters.

The guys suddenly decide to open up a Western-themed club in the middle of nowhere — still within the first 45 minutes or so of a 147 minute film — the movie buoyantly goes from Fight Club: Members Only to Road House: Members Only, which I’m still very good with, probably more than I should be.

In addition to all the catchy songs and infectious dance moves by the gang and the assorted starlets they have romantic subplots with — so many subplots — there are other great scenes that the original Fight Club could’ve deftly used, like when the guys are setting up their new nightclub to a hilarious montage of wacky behavior; I know that I didn’t see Tyler Durden accidentally spilling a can of paint on Robert Paulson’s head, and let’s be honest, it sure could’ve used it. —Louis Fowler

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Thriller

The Swinging Barmaids (1975)

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After nearly 15 years of steady work as a character actor, Bruce Watson (This Property Is Condemned) finally landed a starring role in The Swinging Barmaids. His villainous performance as Tom was so good, so convincing, I wonder if he inadvertently doomed his job prospects as a leading man. Although he racked up credits for another half-decade and then some, he never appeared in a movie again.

Look, I’m no Lee Strasberg, but the lesson for tomorrow’s thespians? If you’re hired to play an exceptionally odious serial killer of seriously sexy cocktail waitresses, maybe you should half-ass it.

Director Gus Trikonis (Moonshine County Express) wastes little time in setting up the bar. Tom takes offense to a casually demeaning remark by a waitress named Boo-Boo (Dyanne Thorne, a few months shy of Ilsa: She Wolf of the SS), so he does what any sexually frustrated woman-hater would do: Follow her home, tear off her clothes, commit rape and murder. Because Boo-Boo’s fellow Barmaids (including Supervan’s super-cute Katie Saylor) may have caught a glimpse of him at her apartment, Tom decides they’ve gotta go as well — not then and there, but soon.

Meanwhile, as a detective (William Smith, Terror in Beverly Hills) investigates Boo-Boo’s bye-bye, the wiry and wily Tom puts his plan in action by getting a job. At the bar. As its bouncer.

Hey, you’ve gotta fill 90 minutes somehow, and screenwriter Charles B. Griffith knows just how to do it. As the man who wrote several of Roger Corman’s most beloved productions, including A Bucket of Blood, Death Race 2000 and The Little Shop of Horrors, he has experience balancing the unpleasant exploitation with admirable economy and actual entertainment. It’s as if one of the segments of The Centerfold Girls had enough meat on its bones to merit extension to feature length, and hell to the yes that’s a compliment. —Rod Lott

Sci-Fi & Fantasy

Jules Verne’s Mysterious Island (2010)

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Two years before Journey 2: The Mysterious Island made a box-office splash, Jules Verne’s Mysterious Island did not. That’s the rosiest way to put it. While both films are very loose adaptations of Verne’s 1874 novel, this is the one nobody wanted or wants to see because it’s in the other one where The Rock bounces berries off his pecs — in 3-D!

In 1865, a Civil War unit led by Capt. Cyrus Harding (Lochlyn Munro, Freddy vs. Jason) hops into a hot-air balloon, hits a ripple in time, and crash-lands in today’s times on the title isle, which is now located in the Bermuda Triangle. The befuddled crew runs across the modern-day, resourceful beauty Julia Fogg (Gina Holden, Saw 3D: The Final Chapter) and her injured, airheaded sister, Abby (Susie Abromeit, Battle: Los Angeles).

Eventually, the girls tell the boys that, hey, they’re not in 19th-century Virginia anymore! Dialogue like this ensues:
• “What the heck’s a aeroplane?”
• “Colonel, you can’t seriously be listenin’ to a girl and a colored. They cain’t vote!”
• “What’s on yer face? It looks like you got Indian warpaint!”

There’s also a song that begins “‘Course I love yer biscuits / And your gravy, too,” but that’s beside the point.

Anyway, as these folks just wander about sandy beaches, the Syfy movie is kind of like the TV series Lost, but without the critical acclaim and massive fandom. In its place are invading pirates, killer bushes that growl like dogs, an active volcano and, as Capt. Harding puts it, “An octopus. A giant octopus.”

A turd. A giant turd. —Rod Lott

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Comedy

The Puppet Monster Massacre (2010)

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Mad Nazi scientist Dr. Wolfgang Wagner invites a handful of people to participate in a most interesting experiment for a chance at $1 million: Survive a night in the infamous Wagner Mansion, which will prove more problematic than they ever could guess, what with the ferocious creature he’s created and whatnot.

Among the game players are our protagonist, young Charlie Hawkins, who’s so scared he once peed his pants in a corn maze; a crude, drunken Irish hooligan and his slutty Goth girlfriend, who are introduced to us mid-copulation; and, best of all, a know-it-all horror nerd/virgin with a face full of zits and a pronounced lisp. As Sesame Street-friendly as Charlie and the gang look, this one’s not for the kids.

The story structure of The Puppet Monster Massacre allows for a maximum amount of gags in 70 minutes, including funny bits on parasite incubation, the occult arts, flatulent rabbits and digs at The Shining, Psycho and Alien. Thankfully, not all of the humor depends upon the scatological for easy laughs; however, some of the raunchy stuff is inspired just enough to work: “Did I ever tell you about the time I punched Adolf Hitler in his ding-ding?”

With what I presume is a tiny budget, writer/director Dustin Mills (Theatre of the Deranged II) makes the most of what little it has, relying on good ol’ fashioned imagination to get the job done. I love the fact that something like this exists, even if the stretches between the amusing moments elongate as it goes. —Rod Lott

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