Vigilante (1983)

vigilanteSmack-dab in the age of AIDS, crack, Bernie Goetz (but one year before the latter inadvertently shot his way to fame), William Lustig’s Vigilante played with and preyed upon (white) Americans’ fear of becoming a victim of violence, especially in the big, bad (and minority-teeming) city. Naturally, no setting embodies that idea of a felonious metropolis more than New York City — if it can happen there, it can happen anywhere — and Vigilante is quick to claim the rotting Apple as its home.

In the precredit scene, the pissed-off Nick (Fred Williamson, Original Gangstas) tells his neighbors — and, by extension, the audience — all we need to know: The neighborhood has gone to shit and they’re not going to take this anymore. The cops have their hands full, so he rallies his fellow man by referencing their situation as “our Waterloo, baby! Take it back, dig it?” If they don’t, they soon will.

vigilante1That’s because the so-called Headhunter gang terrorizing their ’hood hunt the heads of the wife and toddler son of Nick’s pal Eddie Marino (Robert Forster, Jackie Brown). Mrs. Marino (Rutanya Alda, Amityville II: The Possession) survives her brutal attack, but the little tyke is not so lucky, having a shotgun blast tear through his tiny body (thankfully offscreen — perhaps the only time the Maniac Lustig has held back in his directorial career). When an on-the-take judge gives the Headhunter leader (musician Willie Colón) a measly two-year sentence — suspended at that! — Eddie goes loco in the courtroom, ironically landing himself in jail.

As behind-bars Eddie is saved from shower rape and other misdeeds by his prison mentor (Woody Strode, Once Upon a Time in the West), Nick and pals do some hunting of their own. Eventually, these two story halves converge, but Lustig keeps them apart for so long, Forster doesn’t feel like the star of his own film. In all, the movie makes ill use of the actor, who’s more dynamic than allowed, which keeps Vigilante from being as cathartic as one would like, yet appropriately grim. —Rod Lott

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The Last Boy Scout (1991)

lastboyscoutDirected by that action-flick Top Gun we know as Tony Scott, The Last Boy Scout shows remarkable restraint. By that, I mean the word “fuck” and its variations are uttered only 102 times in its 105 minutes. I would’ve expected Scott either to go for a even 1-to-1 ratio or tip it in favor of the F-bomb.

Or, as Damon Wayans’ disgraced-quarterback character spells it, “bom” — a fitting emblem for a movie so stultifyingly stupid. Written by Shane Black in his pure Lethal Weapon mode (except not good), Scout pairs Wayans (I’m Gonna Git You Sucka) with Bruce Willis (Die Hard) as a down-and-out private dick looking to solve the murder of the former footballer’s stripper girlfriend (Halle Berry, X-Men: Days of Future Past).

lastboyscout1Despite seeing release in 1991, Scout is very much of the ’80s, thanks to the meaty mitts of producer Joel Silver, who defined action-movie excess in the decade with the likes of Predator, Commando and the aforementioned Die Hard and Lethal Weapon franchises. His loud-and-proud formula is in full effect here (except not good), as evidenced by all the neon, synth rock, pro football, cigarettes with inch-long ashes, lines of cocaine and chugging aspirin straight from the bottle.

Not to mention the exotic dancers, thongs, car chases, gun-porn shots to the head (in slow motion, even!), ’splosions, Willis’ Squint-’n’-Smirk® acting style, Wayans’ Prince impersonations, Scott’s beloved sepia tone, Pepsi product placement, car phones, a foul-mouthed kid (Halloween 4 and 5’s Danielle Harris, then barely a teenager), not-funny wisecracks (“I’m Fuckface; he’s Asshole”) and — last but definitely least — a credits-to-credits battle between raging homophobia and latent homosexuality. —Rod Lott

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V/H/S: Viral (2014)

vhsviralThird movie, four stories, five or more shades of fucked-up: That’s V/H/S: Viral. And that’s a good thing.

Coming from the filmmakers behind such indie shockers as Timecrimes, Resolution and Deadgirl, this presumably final sequel of the rather divisive and ornery horror-anthology franchise again plays with — and relies upon — the found-footage concept, yet adds a level of subtext bound to sail over the heads of those viewers who could stand to heed its message. We’ll get to that in a sec.

vhsviral1But first, a quick rundown of Viral’s videos:
• An amateur magician graduates from the trailer park to the Vegas stage when he acquires a cloak that derives its considerable powers from human blood.
• A scientist invents a machine that enables him to interact with the parallel-universe versions of himself and his wife.
• Punk-ass skateboarders in search of the next killer curb mess with the wrong drainage ditch in Mexico: one that wakes the dead.
• Finally, serialized as the wraparound tale is the cryptic saga of a young man, his abducted girlfriend and the streets-speeding ice cream truck that just might have her inside.

Coiled with a devilish sense of humor, Viral is more malleable and freeform than 2012’s V/H/S and 2013’s V/H/S 2; more often than not, unpredictability rules, leaving us to believe that anything can happen. It does, in a glorious parade of mayhem that sends up the utter self-absorption of today’s attention-seeking tweeters, Instagramers and YouTubers who live for “likes” and soak up validation like a sponge to spilled milk. If that plan of attack sacrifices scares — and it does — for knowing winks at the expense of the Me-Me-Me Generation, so be it! #theywouldntgetitanyway —Rod Lott

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The Abductors (1972)

abductorsGinger McAllister — aka 1971’s Ginger — is back and sluttier than ever in The Abductors! The blonde bimbo-cum-superspy (Cheri Caffaro, Too Hot to Handle) cuts short her pool time in the Caribbean to take on another do-or-die case “just for fun” from her paisley-leaning boss (William Grannel, Carnival of Blood).

This mission — slightly more James Bondian because she’s given swallowable “radar disks” — involves finding out who and what are behind the kidnapping of four attractive teenage girls. As viewers, we’re privy to the answer: These cheerleader types (one of whom is played Jeramie Rain, aka Sadie of Wes Craven’s The Last House on the Left) are sold to rich, old, white men willing to pay “up to $100,000” for their services — in other words, sex slaves, but with the classier title of “mistresses in bondage.”

abductors1Ginger’s investigation instantly introduces her to a dapper (by 1972 New Jersey standards) advertising agency owner (Richard Smedley, The Naughty Stewardesses), who assists her endeavors by publicizing an undercover hottie (Laurie Rose, The Suckers) in the market in hopes of luring the abductors to snatch the bait. He also climbs aboard Ginger, because hell, who doesn’t? If she’s not conducting her secret-agent business in a transparent shirt with no bra underneath, she’s conducting her secret-agent business in a macrame top with no bra underneath — either way, those clothes are coming off before long, whether you want them to or not. Action of the sexual kind is more prevalent than that wrought by weapons, vehicles and fisticuffs.

The “ick” factor is thicker with Don Schain’s sequel than with its predecessor. Not only was he obviously cool with shooting then-wife Caffaro being missionaried and manhandled — he wrote and directed the damn thing, after all — but he’s keen on depicting each curvy hostage being milked by villainous hands, and posits that rape will turn a woman into proverbial putty — and that goes double for virgins. Even Ginger herself is party to the misogyny, being gifted with the strange habit of jacking off her male enemies after she’s captured them. No wonder Ms. McAllister’s third and final chapter was titled Girls Are for Loving. —Rod Lott

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Spider Baby (1967)

spiderbabyThe Merrye children of Spider Baby don’t seem like they would have much to be merry about. The poor kids suffer from a rare neurological disorder particular to their bloodline. As a narrator helpfully tells us in the opening, at around the age of 10 or so Merrye family members regress to a “pre-human condition of savagery and cannibalism.”

Incredible, but true.

Okay, so it’s not really true. But try telling that to the slobbery, tongue-wagging Ralph Merrye (Sid Haig, House of 1000 Corpses) or his creepy sister Elizabeth (Beverly Washburn, Pit Stop). And then there’s incorrigible Virginia (Jill Banner, The President’s Analyst), who believes herself to be a spider, trapping victims with a rope before “stinging” them with a flurry of butcher knives to the head.

spiderbaby1The only thing standing between the murderous Merryes and civilization is the kindly figure of Lon Chaney Jr. (The Wolf Man) as the family’s longtime chauffeur and now caretaker for the plum-crazy brood. And when Lon Chaney Jr. is the beacon of normalcy, you’ve got problems, friend.

From an irresistible opening theme song by Chaney Jr. to its could-this-be-the-end-question-mark resolution, Spider Baby spins a web of pure exploitation gold. You should expect nothing less from the debut picture of Jack Hill, the B-movie writer/director of Switchblade Sisters who would help launch the career of Foxy Brown herself, Pam Grier. The film was shot in 12 days in 1964, but languished on the shelf for several years after the producers went bankrupt.

Spider Baby is a cautionary — albeit funny and macabre — tale of inbreeding run amok. Do not miss. —Phil Bacharach

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