Stephen King’s Sleepwalkers (1992)

sleepwalkersWhere, oh, where would Mick Garris be without Stephen King? The unemployment line? (I’m asking for a friend.) The number could change between the time I hit the “publish” button and this sentence hits your eyes, but Garris has directed seven movies scripted by and/or adapted from the superstar horror author’s work. Although Garris already had achieved mild acclaim with his two first features, 1988’s Critters 2 and 1990’s Psycho IV: The Beginning, once he brought King’s first original screenplay to theaters in 1992, it’s as if he never looked back.

He should, because sorry to say, he’s just not very good at it. The slumber-inducing Stephen King’s Sleepwalkers is stunningly awful, in part because it exudes that bush-league feel of made-for-television pictures, but mostly because Garris clearly enables King’s worst inclinations as a screenwriter, including a reliance on jukebox rock, cringe-worthy quips (“Cop kabob!”) and King’s own cameos.

sleepwalkers1High schooler Charles Brady (Brian Krause, Naked Souls) moves with his mother (Alice Krige, Ghost Story) to a small town in Indiana, where he immediately sets his hormonal sights on a classmate who happens to be a virgin (Mädchen Amick, TV’s Twin Peaks, forever biting her bottom lip). Her inexperience is A-OK with him, because his mom loves virgins. In fact, she feeds upon them.

See, the Bradys are vampiric shape-shifters — half-human, half-feline and all-silly — and Charles’ job is to procure fresh meat for Mama … when he’s not serving up some of his own. (Translation: Incest. We mean incest. These two cannot keep their paws off one another.)

If scares were top among Garris and King’s goals — and they were — the hokey effects ensure that goal would go unreached. The catchpenny-CGI morphs from human form to were-kitties or whatever are wretched enough; Krause and Krige are forced to don makeup appliances that look like ThunderCats characters short a single chromosome. As a viewer, you can’t help but laugh at it — all of it — and if Garris and King intended chuckles, too, they don’t let you know they are in on their own joke. And Stephen King’s Sleepwalkers is nothing if not a joke. —Rod Lott

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The Loft (2014)

loftThere must be something to the story of The Loft to justify three screen versions: the 2008 Belgian original, followed by a Dutch remake two years later, and now an all-American take, because this country is the land of the free, home of the brave and ground zero for the lecherous. Whatever that “it” is that merits cinematic Xeroxing is not present in this ol’ Hollywood try, despite importing the first film’s director, Erik Van Looy.

Its icky premise: At the behest of bad-boy architect Vincent (Karl Urban, Dredd), his four best buds — all married — join him in sharing a swanky, high-rise apartment where they may philander to their dicks’ content. One dubs it a “fuck pad,” which is a dead-on description and would make for a better title. Their cheating ways come to a halt when Luke (Wentworth Miller, TV’s Prison Break) enters to find a lifeless woman’s body — nude, bloodied and handcuffed to the bed.

loft1If not for all the flashbacks, The Loft practically could pass for a stage play, as the bros reassemble at Chez Syphilis to argue at length over which one of them snapped and stabbed her. (They seem less concerned with the why.) Was it the stray-reluctant Chris (James Marsden, X-Men: Days of Future Past)? Perhaps his cokehead, hothead half-sib, Phil (Matthias Schoenaerts, Bullhead)? Or maybe the ever-sloshed, overweight Marty (Eric Stonestreet, TV’s Modern Family)?

To the movie’s credit, the answer is not immediately apparent, because Van Looy and screenwriter Wesley Strick (1991’s Cape Fear) have packed their Loft with more twists than Chubby Checker’s discography. Of course, that also means the mystery-thriller of rampant infidelity hits new heights of preposterousness, making it fun for the viewer to watch credibility dig its own grave. Even when it’s bad, the movie looks good; Van Looy has shot it to resemble virtually every dark-hued, full-page fashion ad in the September issue of Vogue. All you’re missing are the tipped-in subscription cards, because if you concentrate hard enough, you’ll swear you can smell the perfume strips. —Rod Lott

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Jurassic World (2015)

jurassicworldYou cannot trust an old and filthy-rich white guy. After being responsible for the deaths of several people in his employ — and quite nearly his two adorable grandchildren — John Hammond sure had learned his DNA-manipulating lesson by the end of 1993’s Jurassic Park.

Said lesson just didn’t stick, because now, while Hammond is dead (R.I.P. Richard Attenborough), his reanimated dream of a live-dinosaur theme park is very much alive — and predictably fatal — with Jurassic World, the belated third sequel in the series, seemingly extinct since 2001.

Nary a Sam Neill nor a Jeff Goldblum can be found in this fine, flashy edition. In their place is Guardians of the Galaxy star Chris Pratt as Owen, a stoic raptor whisperer; serving as the imitation Laura Dern is Bryce Dallas Howard (Spider-Man 3) as Claire, the park’s harried, workaholic Jill of all trades. Her character also functions as stand-in of sorts for Hammond, in that her nephews (Insidious’ Ty Simpkins and The Kings of Summer’s Nick Robinson) happen to be enjoying a VIP day at Jurassic World when its latest genetically modified attraction decides to free herself from her pen.

jurassicworld1Jurassic Park was a phenomenon because audiences enjoyed seeing phenomenally lifelike dinosaurs on a rampage. The anemic 1997 The Lost World: Jurassic Park and 2001’s underrated Jurassic Park III also delivered the still-novel spectacle of the prehistoric creatures putting humans in their place on the food chain, which is to say putting them six feet under … provided any identifiable scraps were left behind for proper burial. New not just to the franchise, but big-budget studio films, Jurassic World director Colin Trevorrow more than understands this, thus keeping the core of Steven Spielberg’s (and novelist Michael Crichton’s) original concept intact — you don’t muck with 65 million years of history, you know — but makes it just different enough to avoid a brainless retread.

The title of Trevorrow’s previous work, the oddball dramedy Safety Not Guaranteed, could double as Jurassic World’s tagline; for instance, when the pterodactyls escape the aviary to make snacks of the tourists, the movie plays for keeps as Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds — an obvious visual influence — did in ’63. (Translation: Innocents die!) I love that Universal Pictures has entrusted a guy from the indie ranks to take on this behemoth tale of anything-for-a-billion-bucks corporate greed; Trevorrow rises to the challenge with an injection of subversion that lurks one hair below the surface. Both sides will be laughing their way to the bank for decades to come.

That the fourth Jurassic adventure doesn’t suck would be good enough; that it’s admittedly kinda great is — apologies in advance, kids — dino-mite. —Rod Lott

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Trailer War (2012)

trailerwarWTFNo war is to be fought with Trailer War. We all win.

After all, it begins with “a death wish at 120 decibels” and ends with a woman’s disembodied head being chased by a fleet of radio-controlled helicopters. Anyone who chalks up such cathode-ray shenanigans as a loss shouldn’t be watching anyway.

Curated by Lars Nilsen and Zack Carlson of the venerable Alamo Drafthouse (and Carlson of the seminal yet criminally out-of-print Destroy All Movies!!! tome), Trailer War could be nothing more than a feature-length assemblage/assault of vintage coming attractions, if “nothing more” didn’t carry a connotation of being substandard. Containing zero overlap with 2009’s Drafthouse-branded fifth volume in Synapse Films’ 42nd Street Forever trailer-compilation series, this War is waged only against the same ol’ clips you’ve seen dozens of times before. More often than not, if the films represented aren’t obscurities, their previews are. Who else is going to run the promo for Maniac Cop 2 … in French?

trailerwar1Among the goods are such bads and uglies as:
• “that big man” Joe Don Baker, sweating through the kung-fu adventure of 1974’s Golden Needles;
Argoman the Fantastic Superman, a 1967 superhero acid trip more slam-bang entertaining than any entry in the so-called Marvel Cinematic Universe;
• 1976’s Shoot, a killer-hunter thriller presented per the narrator as being “in the great tradition of American violence”;
Mr. No Legs, a 1979 fight flick that looks kind of like Walking Tall if the hero couldn’t, y’know, walk tall, small or at all.
• 1973’s The Mad Adventures of “Rabbi” Jacob, apparently a Jewsploitation slice of slapstick from France;
• 1972’s giallo-esque Amuck, for which sapphic sex becomes the not-MPAA-approved selling point; and
• Ryan O’Neal and John Hurt as Partners, Paramount Pictures’ homophobic mainstream comedy from 1982. The trailer even uses the F-word, and I don’t mean “fuck.”

From Voyage of the Rock Aliens to Nudes on Tiger Reef, this party-ready Trailer War is a start-to-finish victory for aficionados of drive-in, grindhouse, outré and/or VHS fare — in other words, you, prized Flick Attack reader. I could watch such hyperbolic treasures for hours upon hours; here, we have to “settle” for two. —Rod Lott

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Blackout (1978)

blackoutTime and time again, the movies prove that drivers for any given state’s Department of Corrections are the worst. Fifteen years before the best example of this — The Fugitive’s “bus, meet train” incident — Blackout boasted an utterly avoidable crash of the DoC’s prisoner-transport wagon, thereby loosing a few hardened criminals onto the Big Apple’s darkened streets.

Inspired by NYC’s real-life citywide blackout of July 13, 1977, this Canadian-made thriller largely confines itself to an apartment high rise, in which the felons — led by a deceptively clean-cut Robert Carradine (Revenge of the Nerds) — go floor to floor, robbing, raping and setting fire to priceless Picassos during the 12-hour electricity outage. And only an out-of-shape, off-duty cop played by Jim Mitchum (Monstroid) can stop them!

blackout1Even before the crime spree begins, a lot is going on within the building: for starters, a Greek wedding, an African-American birth, a man on life support and Ray Milland gritting his teeth in yet another of his late-career Angry Old Man roles (see: Frogs). Meanwhile, over at utilities provider Con Edison, cigar-chomping technicians scream at a primitive, wall-sized city grid as if they are jammed in the friggin’ middle of The Taking of Pelham One Two Three.

They’re not — and I’m being kind by including the ’98 made-for-TV version starring Edward James Olmos in that apples-to-crabapples comparison. The dormant Blackout is not unwatchable; it’s just a wasted opportunity, as director Eddy Matalon (Cathy’s Curse) overall fails to take advantage of the possibilities offered by his unique setting. The exception is the parking-garage chase between Mitchum and Carradine, but that’s the film’s next-to-last scene — a little too late to start figuring things out. —Rod Lott

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