Die Another Day (2002)

dieanotherdayFollowing the terrible The World Is Not Enough, Pierce Brosnan returned as James Bond in the equally bad Die Another Day, his fourth and final turn as 007. I’d like to think that Madonna skank-tainted this one from the start by providing the wretched theme song that makes Bond fans long for the comparative glory days of a-ha.

In the prologue, Bond is captured by Koreans and held prisoner, long enough for Brosnan to grow his hair to its Crusoe lengths of 1997. Then he is traded for a bald-headed Korean named Zao (Rick Yune, The Fast and the Furious), whom the British government held captive — the same guy whose face now is streaked with diamonds, thanks to Bond’s ingenious explosion of a briefcase full of jewels in the aforementioned opening moments.

dieanotherday1Then other stuff happens and Halle Berry shows up as an as assassin named Jinx so Bond can bed a black chick, because too many years have passed since he’s done that. And things explode and there’s a swordfight and Madonna appears in a cameo to bring the film to a stop so those watching can go, “Oh, hey, it’s Madonna.” And it culminates at an ice palace with Bond in an invisible car.

To clarify: an invisible car. With that, the series became all gums, no teeth.

And stupid. Did we really need Berry sassing up the franchise with quips such as “Yo mama!” and “Read this, bitch!” As good as Brosnan was in GoldenEye and Tomorrow Never Dies, his emotional investment appears to have dissipated. Speaking of appearances, in a couple of places during the movie, from certain angles, Brosnan looks just like game show host Chuck Woolery. —Rod Lott

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Reel Evil (2012)

reelevilIt’s surprising it took this long for Full Moon Features to jump aboard the found-footage bandwagon, since the horror subgenre thrives on an element that is the low-budget production company’s specialty: cheapness.

Reel Evil centers on a three-man crew of struggling filmmakers, headed by the practical, beautiful Kennedy (Jessica Morris, Role Models). James (Jeff Adler) runs camera, while sound is handled by Cory (Mega Python vs. Gatoroid‘s Kaiwi Lyman, who looks like a real-life Thor). They’re hired to shoot behind-the-scenes footage for a horror movie being lensed in an abandoned insane asylum in downtown Los Angeles.

reelevil1Connected by tunnels, the sprawling complex makes for built-in ambience for a backstory of a doctor whose mental patients harbored cannibalistic tendencies. Of course, ghosts of these guys pop in and out, strongly echoing 1999’s House on Haunted Hill remake and more effective when practical vs. computer-generated.

In typical Full Moon fashion, director/co-writer Danny Draven (2002’s DeathBed) finds a way to wedge a great deal of wholly gratuitous nudity into the works, yet somehow lucks upon a recipe that’s more fun and fulfilling than the bulk of its Handycam brethren. Being concise sure counts, as the show stops at the 72-minute mark, seguing into a terrific title sequence clearly influenced by Seven. That said, keep expectations low, as you should with each and every found-footage film. —Rod Lott

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Death Nurse (1987)

deathnurseAt once inert and incredible, the shot-on-video Death Nurse is a true test of pain tolerance among movie watchers. The good news is it runs exactly 57 minutes and 15 seconds; the bad news is it runs exactly 57 minutes and 15 seconds.

Fake nurse Edith Mortley (Priscilla Alden) helps her wannabe-MD brother, Gordon (Albert Eskinazi), run the Shady Palms Clinic, which writer/director Nick Philips of both Criminally Insane/Crazy Fat Ethel films (with which this shares cast, crew and mismatching footage) makes no attempt to hide is a hideously decorated condominium. The Mortley sibs perform “surgery” on patients (read: kill them for kicks), either bury them in the backyard or feed them to the rats in the basement; and then bill Medicare for services rendered.

deathnurse1If Gordon isn’t stabbing knives into one patient (whose mouth is shut with mere masking tape), Edith is smothering another with a pillow (and her considerable girth). Shady Palms also houses a female patient who’s battling alcoholism (Irmgard Millard, Philips’ wife), but she’s considerably safer because Gordon is balling her in exchange for sips from Edith’s bottle of sherry.

Family members and authorities start to get suspicious just before the flick ends, with no movement toward any level of resolution. Imagine a TV show fading to a commercial break and never coming back … well, until the following year’s Death Nurse 2, that is.

This no-budget effort — apologies to the word “effort” — is inept in every aspect imaginable. Philips (aka Nick Millard) includes sequence after sequence of interminable non-action that have nothing to do with anything other than padding the running time to a feature length, and he fails even at that. The blood of victims sometimes is orange, like tomato soup stirred with milk. Such a meal possesses more character. —Rod Lott

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Thriller: A Cruel Picture (1973)

thrillerACPFifteen years after being raped as a child (and mute ever since), farm girl Frigga (Swedish sexploitation star Christina Lindberg, Maid in Sweden) rather naïvely accepts a ride from a stranger (Heinz Hopf, Exposed). Instead of delivering her to her doctor’s appointment, Tony takes her out for a steak dinner, then back to his rape pad, where he proceeds to drug her drink and get her hooked on high-grade smack.

Tony’s intent is to get her so addicted that she’ll be forced to work for him as a prostitute. Frigga takes this news so not well that when her first would-be client arrives, she claws the guy’s face. Ever the businessman, Tony’s response is to cut out her left eye with a scalpel. (On the bright side, this allows Frigga to don a variety of colorful eye patches for the bulk of the film, not to mention sparks her to learn martial arts.)

thrillerACP1Whoever decreed this rape-revenge with the name of Thriller: A Cruel Picture, truer words never were spoken. The point of viewers being subjected to witness Frigga’s debasement is to make her eventual doling out of comeuppance to her abusers that much more cathartic, even near-patriotic. Writer/director Bo Arne Vibenius, a protégé of Ingmar Bergman, wants us to revel in her acts of vengeance that he slows down the shots so we see every explosion of the squibs, every kick to the balls, every trail of blood bursting forth like the tail end of a cracked whip.

Shrewdly, Vibenius denies us the money shot of top tormentor Tony, but we are not spared the drawn-out demises of any johns, including the guy who dared sport tight, bright-red briefs with a tiger pattern. (Speaking of “money shot,” an alternate version includes hardcore inserts, entirely unnecessary.) Artier than you’d expect, this Cruel Picture plays the rape-revenge game more aggressively than Abel Ferrara’s silent victim of Ms. 45 would eight years later. —Rod Lott

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My Dear Killer (1972)

mydearkillerFrom its first scene set at a rock quarry, My Dear Killer certainly knows how to grab your attention: with a decapitation via construction equipment. The prime suspect is, naturally, the crane operator, but he has no prior criminal record and soon is found hanged. The police prepare to close the case, but Inspector Peretti (George Hilton, Blade of the Ripper) has a hunch it’s murder, and proves it.

Taking only a little time out to romance his doctor girlfriend (Marilù Tolo, Marriage Italian Style), Peretti throws himself into his investigation. He finds that the case bears geographic ties to a still-unsolved one involving a little girl who was kidnapped and subsequently found murdered along with her father post-ransom. Peretti believes the cases, while separated by roughly 52 weeks, are linked, and is determined to bring closure to both.

mydearkiller1In the process, a black-gloved killer is busy knocking off virtually everyone Peretti questions. Quips a fellow officer, “Soon, they’ll have enough bodies to make up an ice hockey team.”

Directed by Tonino Valerii (My Name Is Nobody), the Italian-made film is more of a police procedural with a touch of giallo vs. the other way around, title and cover art be damned. Aside from the opening beheading (rather tame, to tell the truth) and one character’s unfortunate encounter with a circular saw, few elements dare take that path. The Ennio Morricone score helps guide viewers through the semisolid, but admittedly minor mystery. —Rod Lott

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