Comedy

Blazing Stewardesses (1975)

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Al Adamson only made movies like Al Adamson, so why shouldn’t his approach to the almighty sequel be like everyone else’s? Whereas 1974’s The Naughty Stewardesses was a softcore sexcapade, the Blazing Stewardesses follow-up has next to no nudity and, in a veritable 180˚, what little there is doesn’t come from the leading ladies.

In his final film, former B-Western idol Robert Livingston (The Riders of the Whistling Skull) reprises his Naughty part as Ben Brewster, who invites beautiful, blonde flight attendant Debbie (Connie Hoffman, 1977’s The Van) for a two-week vacation at his gambling-themed Lucky Dollar Guest Ranch. Happily accepting, Debbie brings Barbara (Marilyn Joi, Adamson’s Black Samurai) and new Stew Lori (Dracula vs. Frankenstein’s Regina Carrol, aka Mrs. Al Adamson), who appears to be barely functional as a human being. On the plane ride there, the pilot gets his head stuck in a toilet seat.

Story has so little to do with Blazing Stewardesses that its “details” — broad strokes they may be — slide right off the mind. That Brewster’s Lucky Dollar cash cow is targeted by masked bandits on horseback is not as important as Adamson getting to pay tribute to the cheap oaters of yesteryear, especially those Poverty Row efforts of his multihyphenate father, Victor. That the property also boasts The Beehive brothel is not as important as getting to cast an aging TV star (Munsters matriarch Yvonne De Carlo) as its madam.

Even Debbie and her girlfriends seem incidental compared to ranch hands Harry and Jimmy (respectively played by Jimmy and Harry Ritz, the then-surviving 66.6 percent of ye olde Ritz Brothers comedy trio (1939’s The Gorilla). Adamson gives the guys the leeway to trot out multiple slapstick routines that, while out of sync with the winking style of humor already established, nonetheless contribute perfectly to the “anything goes” feel of his movie mélange. Hence, a fried egg sandwich landing on the constantly mugging face of Harry. Or was it Jimmy? Doesn’t matter. —Rod Lott

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Horror

Edge of Sanity (1989)

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Edge of Sanity does not find Anthony Perkins at his sleaziest. That would be Ken Russell’s Crimes of Passion, but if one discounts that 1984 film, then yes, holy crap, Edge of Sanity finds Anthony Perkins at his sleaziest. (Interestingly, both pictures contain scenes that sexualize nuns.)

Like virtually everything he did in the wake of Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho, this Budapest-lensed, Victorian-set production of Harry Alan Towers (H.G. Wells’ The Shape of Things to Come) typecasts Perkins as a maniacally unhinged character. At least it’s one of popular culture’s most enduring: Robert Louis Stevenson’s Mr. Hyde. Of course, Perkins begins the picture playing Dr. Jekyll, the buttoned-down but workaholic ego to Hyde’s rampaging id. The dual personality is gained through pure accident after synthesizing an anesthetic alternative to morphine in his lab; a coked-up monkey kicks over a vial of this into a pile of that, and the resulting cloud Jekyll inhales brings out the beast in him.

With a 19th-century bong ever at the ready for a moment’s-notice smoke, Hyde trolls the streets of London looking for whores to feel up and kill — expressly in that order, because even Hyde has his limits. Director Gérard Kikoïne (the following year’s Edgar Allan Poe adaptation Buried Alive, also for Towers), however, seems not to, even setting Perkins up to deliver a woefully anachronistic James Bond joke as Hyde introduces himself at a party of disrepute: “Hyde … Jack Hyde.” See, Edge merges Stevenson’s literary creation with another UK legend, this one not fictional: serial killer Jack the Ripper.

To honor due credit, Perkins simply could have rested and let his makeup do Hyde (or an emaciated version of MTV personality Kurt Loder) for him, but the man was a true professional, giving his all to a project he had to know was junk. Edge of Sanity is, after all, a strange case in itself — a fairly insane picture in which Hyde masturbates a prostitute with a cane, just because. Although not as enthusiastic as Perkins, the ravishing Glynis Barber (Invaders of the Lost Gold) matches him in talent, playing Jekyll’s all-too-understanding wife. You feel more for Barber than for her character. —Rod Lott

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Reading Material

A Thousand Cuts: The Bizarre Underground World of Collectors and Dealers Who Saved the Movies

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Hands down and no question about it: For me, the entertainment book of 2016 is A Thousand Cuts: The Bizarre Underground World of Collectors and Dealers Who Saved the Movies. Written by Trapped Ashes screenwriter Dennis Bartok and collector extraordinaire Jeff Joseph, the University Press of Mississippi hardcover shines a light on the rarest of film subcultures: one I didn’t know existed!

There’s a whole history of FBI arrests and/or investigations into film obsessives who sold and/or traded actual prints — typically 35mm and often stolen from studios and theaters. They range from Hollywood’s own (Roddy McDowall and Rock Hudson) to two-bit ex-cons, and nearly two dozen of them have their colorful stories told here, run-ins and close calls included.

Rather than attempt to weave them all into one continuing narrative, Bartok and Joseph wisely divvy them up into their own chapters. Among them are men whose names you may know, like Gremlins director Joe Dante, RoboCop producer Jon Davidson and Something Weird Video founder Mike Vraney (who, as with an alarming number of subject, since has passed).

But outnumbering them are those whose names you do not, like Joseph, who did time behind bars for his cinematic misdeeds; Rik Lueras, who hand-paints poster art onto the cans of films in his collection; and Mike Hyatt, whose life’s work, more or less, has been devoted to rescuing 1962’s The Day of the Triffids from vinegar syndrome and eventual oblivion. Each profile is fascinating, making A Thousand Cuts an essential work, its contents now preserved for generations to come. Highly, highly recommended! —Rod Lott

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Mystery

The Department Q Trilogy (2013-2016)

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Based upon Danish author Jussi Adler-Olsen’s series of crime novels — currently six volumes strong — The Department Q Trilogy collects the three films thus far, all smash hits in their Eastern Hemisphere homeland: 2013’s The Keeper of Lost Causes, 2014’s The Absent One and 2016’s A Conspiracy of Faith.

After an act of questionable judgment that serves as The Keeper of Lost Causes’ holy-crap prologue, police detective Carl Mørck (Nikolaj Lie Kaas, Angels & Demons) finds himself downgraded to the basement’s Department Q, a new initiative in which he is to sort through 20 years of cold cases — essentially, a demeaning desk job that removes him from on-the-street investigation, which is one of the only two things at which he excels. The other is being an alcoholic.

In Assad (Fares Fares, Rogue One: A Star Wars Story), Carl is assigned an assistant against his will, and something about the case of a missing politician (Sonja Richter, When Animals Dream) sparks Carl into actions he’s no longer supposed to pursue.

In The Absent One, Carl and Assad gain a secretary (Johanne Louise Schmidt, in quite a coup for her debut feature) and dig into a double murder presumably carried out by entitled prep-school bullies. Although the heinous crime was committed a generation prior, the fallout continues to spread like cancer in present day, thanks to a callous CEO (Pilou Asbæk, Lucy). Finally, A Conspiracy of Faith, involves a longtime serial killer (Pål Sverre Hagen, 2012’s Kon-Tiki) who preys upon the guileless and gullible followers of religious sects.

While the mysteries at the heart of each film prove full-on riveting, The Department Q Trilogy is more than mere whodunit. Its installments — and, I suspect, Adler-Olsen’s books — are made special by the richness of two lead characters who could not be more different. Carl is a mess of a man (aided by Kaas’ weary, knuckle-sandwich mug) who believes only in the bottle, whereas Assad, an Arab, lives a life so orderly, it’s reflected not just in his thoughts, but in his daily sartorial choices. Part of the joy in binge-viewing the three is witnessing the duo’s relationship evolve: Lost Causes sees Carl barely tolerating anyone, himself included; by the time of Absent, they are more or less equals; and Conspiracy finds the team dynamic flipped, with Assad assuming point duty because Carl barely can function. The filmmakers assume audience members are smart enough to fill in the gaps between stories, rather than spell them out.

With Lost Causes, director Mikkel Nørgaard (Klown) establishes a grounded world followed through with stylishness and consistency for his own follow-up and for Conspiracy, for which Hans Petter Moland (In Order of Disappearance) takes over in a seamless transition. Whether consumed individually or as a whole, these crackling crime procedurals come highly recommended and should fill the void left by the conclusion of the Dragon Tattoo’s own trilogy. Of course, once A Conspiracy of Faith reaches its end frame, your Department Q withdrawal will begin immediately. So B it. —Rod Lott

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Sci-Fi & Fantasy

Bigfoot (1970)

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James Stellar is Bigfoot, “The Eighth Wonder of the World,” as the opening credits of 1970’s Bigfoot state.

Meanwhile, you might state, “Who the hell is James Stellar?” And I already told you: He plays Bigfoot. Oh, you mean what other things might you have seen him in? Gotcha. And the answer is nothing. Per the IMDb, the man never appeared in a single movie or TV show before or since, and while I’m not necessarily saying you should take that as a sign, I’m not not necessarily saying you should take that as a sign, either.

All I took away from this sorry excuse of a sci-fi adventure is what is I already knew: Damn, Joi Lansing was hot! As pilot Joi Landis (lazy naming being a beacon of Bigfoot’s originality), the heaving leading lady of Hillbillys in a Haunted House is forced to evacuate her single-prop plane midair and parachutes her way to safety in a forest. Well, it’s safe until Bigfoot shows up to snag her and bind her to a pole, presumably for purposes of breeding. I can’t say I blame him.

Actually, there are several sasquatch hanging around, maybe even one per cast member. Director Robert F. Slatzer (The Hellcats) packs that cast with no one special, other than John Carradine (House of the Long Shadows) as a traveling store owner named Jasper, Doodles Weaver (Macon County Line) as a forest ranger, and two direct relatives of Robert Mitchum. In this fetid film’s case, more is less. —Rod Lott

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