Kung Fu Elliot (2014)

kungfuelliotAt the start of Kung Fu Elliot, the outstanding and crazy-entertaining documentary that bears his name, Elliot “White Lightning” Scott expresses his life’s purpose: to “make Canadians go, ‘Wow, we can have an action hero.’” He wants to be Halifax’s answer to Jackie Chan.

Not so fast, Elliot. You’re not even Halifax’s answer to Jackée Harry.

As co-directors Matthew Bauckman and Jaret Belliveau inform us, their subject’s first and second steps toward that lofty goal are the homemade feature films They Killed My Cat and Stalker and the Hero. Both exist to showcase the martial-arts skills of their — how you say? — unconventional (and unemployed) leading man. Both were directed by his longtime, live-in girlfriend, Linda Lum, who appears to be operating the digital point-and-shoot camera under emotional duress and with a saint’s patience. Both are hocked to unimpressed shoppers on the sidewalk outside CD Heaven. (You know CD Heaven, right? Dude, it’s right next door to The Curling Store!)

kungfuelliot1In theory, Bauckman and Belliveau were tagging along to document the making of Elliot’s latest no-budget bid toward superstardom, Blood Fight. However, shooting of the schlump’s would-be epic is erratic at best. He spends more time trying to convince strangers of his MOD DVD greatness and bragging to them about his championship trophies in kickboxing, sport of the future. If he can trick the more gullible into an autograph and/or a photograph they didn’t ask for, all the better for his unjustifiably enormous ego!

With Kung Fu Elliot, the obvious point of comparison is Chris Smith’s perfect American Movie, also following a regular guy with big-screen aspirations and little talent to back them up. Whereas the delusional underdog Mark Borchardt was someone you wanted to root for — and did — Elliot Scott is merely delusional, and that takes the documentary into dark territory viewers will not expect. Don’t let anyone tell you what that is; be highly unsettled for yourself. —Rod Lott

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Jekyll and Hyde … Together Again (1982)

jekyllhydeTAWhile watching, I had planned to write that Jekyll and Hyde … Together Again must have made Robert Louis Stevenson turn over in his grave, but Jerry Belson’s goof on the 19th-century author’s arguably most famous tale takes care of that in its final scene. It’s one of many unashamedly dopey gags in this unheralded R-rated gem.

Bug-eyed Mark Blankfield (Dracula: Dead and Loving It) is Dr. Daniel Jekyll, resident superstar surgeon at Our Lady of Pain & Suffering. Despite having it all, including an engagement to the hospital boss’ conceited daughter (Bess Armstrong, Jaws 3-D), Jekyll announces his retirement from surgery to dedicate his brilliant mind to drug research. This being the early ’80s, that includes the recreational kind — namely, cocaine … and lots of it.

jekyllhydeTA1Falling asleep with a straw up his nose, Jekyll accidentally snorts a sparkling white powder in the lab that transforms him into a spastic sex maniac, an unleashed id with disco duds, animal instincts and a lone gold tooth. While in this unruly state of Hyde, he couples with a prostitute named Ivy (Krista Errickson, Mortal Passions) and snorts more lines than can be found in a geometry textbook. Such hedonistic activities threaten to derail his professional and personal lives — all three of them.

To my off-guard surprise, Jekyll and Hyde … Together Again is very funny — often laugh-out-loud hilarious, such as Jekyll’s meet-and-treat cute with Ivy, who checks into the emergency room due to a “foreign object” lodged in her vagina. (Trust me.) Working as a broad parody, Jekyll bears more of the National Lampoon stamp than the humor magazine’s official movie that same year, Class Reunion. (The Lampoon staff had to be envious of Jekyll‘s breast-enlargement scene in particular. Speaking of, Elvira alter ego Cassandra Peterson and her right “gazonga” have supporting roles as a surgical nurse and her right “gazonga,” respectively.)

Belson (vet of many a classic sitcom, most notably The Odd Couple) and his three co-writers deserve credit for putting laughs on the page, especially in the tricky realm of drug humor. They realize — as so few of today’s filmmakers do (*cough* Seth Rogen *cough*) — that getting high can’t be the beginning and the end of the joke; something more has to be done with it, and they do. But Blankfield is the largest reason the movie works as well as it does. He’s a terrific physical comedian, and his dual performance here can’t be experienced without seeing a lot of Jim Carrey at the peak of his Ace Ventura/The Mask commercial ascent. Based on this film alone, Blankfield should have been every bit the star. —Rod Lott

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Hillbilly Horror Show: Vol. 1 (2014)

hillbillyhorrorBilling itself as “Nuttier than a Squirrel Fart,” Hillbilly Horror Show makes one long for the subtlety of Elvira. The mixed-mailbag showcase of horror shorts takes a comedic approach to its very brief host segments, although the four featured films are serious on the whole. The Hillbilly clan’s Hee Haw sensibility hardly meshes well with the contents it purports to champion.

Doing those duties from the innards of a mobile home are trailer-trash bumpkin Bo (Bo Keister, The Taking of Deborah Logan); his mumbling cousin, Cephus (Scott Geiter, Midnight Matinee Psycho); and Bo’s “kissing” cousin, Lulu (Maxim model Rachel Faulkner). In a stereotypical thick-hick accent, Bo does most of the talking: “You know whut that means? We gettin’ piss-ant drunk and watchin’ movies!”

hillbillyhorror1Four “movies” play, with Lulu sporting skimpier clothing — star-spangled bikini included — between each one. First up is Franky and the Ant; not only is it questionable to qualify it as horror, but the story struck me as pointless and, worse, its two hit men annoyingly speak as Quentin Tarantino rip-offs. Next is the wordless Doppleganger, a fine, stop-motion animation with two skeletons. Although wonderfully executed visually, it also leaves the viewer wanting in all other departments.

Almost free of dialogue, Amused is another inconsequential bit, this one of a woman fleeing a zombie in a snow-covered rural area. Finally, there’s The Nest, the lengthiest segment of all. Its primary special effect — of killer bees stripping their victims to the bone — is excellent, but wears out its welcome, much like Hillbilly Horror Show itself. —Rod Lott

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Point of Terror (1973)

pointterrorPoint of Terror contains so many songs performed in full, it veers dangerously close to being a musical. That performer is Tony Trelos (star/writer/producer Peter Carpenter, Blood Mania), a groovy-esque nightclub singer who fancies himself quite the Tom Jones. Unfortunately, since he headlines at the Lobster House, he’s far more, say, John C. Reilly.

Tony senses that sweet smell of success when he meets giant-haired/giant-breasted record exec Andrea Hillard (Nazi she-wolf Ilsa herself, Dyanne Thorne) and they begin an affair, much to the gritted-teeth disdain of Andrea’s handicapped hubby (Joel Marston, Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan).

pointterror1Other than an admittedly pretty-hot pool rendezvous between Tony and Andrea, the movie’s best scene finds her throwing a lawn chair at her wheelchair-bound spouse as he confronts her about her vow-busting style of “talent relations.” As she mimics the motions of a matador, director Alex Nicol (The Screaming Skull) puts ambient sounds from a public bullfight on the soundtrack and — kind of a spoiler, but really more a reason to watch — as Mr. Hillard accidentally rolls into the pool to a chlorinated death, Andrea whispers, “Olé.”

Olé indeed. Thorne is quite the delicious femme fatale, and Point of Terror could use more of her camp-flavored spice to liven up its soap-opera script. The film is an R-rated soap opera, mind you — Nicol turns a sex-on-the-beach scene into a onscreen checkerboard — but full of melodramatics nonetheless. (It is, after all, an ego vehicle for Carpenter, who overestimated his value as a leading man and sadly died two years before Point got around to being released.) The “twist” ending intends to shock, yet instead will leave you thinking it copped out. It did. —Rod Lott

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Doctor Death: Seeker of Souls (1973)

doctordeathWracked with guilt and grief over the “fast driving” that caused the death of his wife, businessman Fred Saunders (Barry Coe, Jaws 2) believes his beloved Laura (Jo Morrow, 13 Ghosts) will return to him from her tomb. Eager to speed that process along, he resorts to visiting a séance and a secret society, both of which are revealed to be a sham. Fred’s chances of a spousal reunion seem slim until he meets … Doctor Death: Seeker of Souls!

An amateur magician with G.I. Joe hair, Doctor Death (John Considine, The Thirsty Dead) possesses the power to transfer the soul of a freshly departed body into a corpse, thereby reviving the latter. This trick he demonstrates to a small audience (with elderly former Stooge Moe Howard seated in the front row) by sawing a suicidal woman with hideous facial burns in half: “As she requested, she must — as we call it — ‘die.’ And so we shall gladly fulfill her request, and in so doing, why not be entertaining at the same time?” Ergo, the girl is split in two, and her life force stuck into a busty blonde (Sivi Aberg, The Teacher) who will come to wear flimsy nighties to meet the doc’s desires. Sold!

doctordeath1Fred agrees to pay the $50,000 cash fee in advance. But no matter how many women Doctor Death kills and orders, “I command you! Enter that body!,” he is unsuccessful at fulfilling his end of the deal. Fred, meanwhile, starts dating his pretty secretary (Cheryl Miller, TV’s Daktari), so you know how the lines of that triangle will intersect.

The only film directed by career A.D. Eddie Saeta, Doctor Death is yet another variation on Georges Franju’s Eyes Without a Face, but without any airs of artistry or metaphors; in garish colors, he pumps up the exploitable elements for all they’re worth. The movie is, I think, rife with self-awareness; Considine’s gleeful performance is simply too chewy for this not to be the case, and raises Seeker of Souls above a made-for-TV look to tongue-in-cheek enjoyability. —Rod Lott

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