Cyber Tracker (1994)

You know, when I watch crappy movies that went straight to video and hear ridiculous lines like “I’ll give you a lead enema!” and “I think table 3 could use some nachos,” I often wonder if the screenwriter had illusions his work was headed for the $100-million-budget treatment instead of one just above your average rental fee.

I thought that a lot during Cyber Tracker, partly because it was so boring, I had to do something to bide the time, and partly because its premise and some scenes reminded me of Steven Spielberg’s Minority Report. As expected, Cyber Tracker’s level of energy doesn’t compare to Minority Report, unless we’re talking about that part in the latter’s end credits where they listed the caterers.

Bloodfist franchise star Don “The Dragon” Wilson kickboxes his way through his role as a Secret Service agent in the near future, when “computerized justice” allows Terminator-like robots to execute the guilty immediately, no questions asked. But when the grieving, widowed Wilson is framed for murder, he has to clear his name in order to stay alive.

After all, he’s in danger of getting a lead enema, and table 3 sure could use some nachos. —Rod Lott

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Two Undercover Angels (1969)

I couldn’t make heads or tails of Jess Franco’s Two Undercover Angels, but I know it’s a bright and bubbly comedic thriller that has something to do with two hot spies (Succubus co-stars Janine Reynaud and Rosanna Yanni) who operate as The Red Lips. They’re great at detection, interior design, sensual massage and lusting for Paul Newman.

The story, so to speak, involves murdered models and white trafficking, but don’t let that get you down! It’s dealt with by way of a basement art gallery of erotic multimedia works by pop artist Ernst Thiller, whose assistant is a werewolf, just because.

Alternately titled Sadist Erotica, this lively mess of a movie offers such incomprehensible delights as a woman running for her life while wearing bridal lingerie, an eyepatched assassin, a female art thief in head-to-toe black, death by blowdart, and lots of go-go dancing.

Taking itself with not one iota of seriousness, the zippy heap of Eurotrash includes a few meta touches like a naked woman refusing to get out from underneath the sheets until the camera zooms in to the point that her chest will be out of frame. Two Undercover Angels is more about enjoying the party vibe than trying to absorb all the convo, and The Red Lips were back that same year to smooch some more in Kiss Me, Monster. —Rod Lott

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Puppet Master X: Axis Rising (2012)

If you don’t count Puppet Master vs. Demonic Toys, which was made outside of Full Moon’s purview, Charles Band’s mad-marionette saga finally hits its 10th
chapter with the World War II-set Puppet Master X: Axis Rising. Whether anyone besides Band cared or was keeping track is beside the point. If you’ve seen any of them, you know exactly what you’re in for: a low-budget exercise that, like a bowel movement, can be slightly pleasurable if you let it.

In this installment, the drill-headed puppet Tunneler falls into the hands of monocled Nazi Commandant Moebius (Scott Anthony King). The current owner of the other killer puppets is bum-legged wannabe soldier Danny Coogan (played dopily by newcomer Kip Canyon, barely able to keep his mouth closed), who vows not only to get him back, but to “get those grimy Krauts.” But first, he and his girlfriend (Jean Louise O’Sullivan, Full Moon’s The Dead Want Women) must convince the U.S. Army that the Nazis and Japanese have infiltrated the streets of Los Angeles.

Meanwhile, in a secret Chinatown lab, Moebius keeps Austrian Dr. Freuhoffer (Oto Brezina of the utterly wretched Nude Nuns with Big Guns) working on a “resurrection device” that would bring the dead back to life … if it worked correctly. What the doc does do correctly is build four new puppets: Bombshell, Blitzkrieg, Weremacht and Kamikaze, the latter being a Japanese character with stereotypical buck teeth and diagonal lines for eyes.

The whole point of Axis Rising is to get those new puppets to fight the old puppets of Blade, Pinhead, Jester, Leech Woman and Six Shooter, and that belatedly happens after Band takes his typical route of slow-story padding. Due to budgetary reasons, the puppets are controlled by rods and wires instead of being rendered in stop-motion animation as some of them were at the series’ start. The most impressively sculpted character is one of the humans: the appropriately named Uschi (Stephanie Sanditz), a bra-busting Nazi. —Rod Lott

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The Music of James Bond

What makes Skyfall, the new James Bond film, all the more terrific is that its theme song is, too. That hasn’t happened in, what, decades?

I’ve long thought that the 007 franchise producers have grown to be behind the times in selecting artists to do the theme, grabbing them well after their flame has burned brightest. As a result, the songs simply don’t chart anymore. This time, with Adele fresh off two arms full of Grammys, the tide will have reversed.

That’s a story I’m sure we’ll see covered in the next edition of Jon Burlingame’s The Music of James Bond. Until then, this does just fine as is.

Coming from Oxford University Press, the handsome hardback tells not only how each and every 007 main theme came to be, but how its overall soundtracks — and accompanying albums — were assembled and shaped. Broken into chapters movie by movie, logically enough, the renowned music critic Burlingame covers the entire canon, both official and not; therefore, the stories behind Michel Legand’s Never Say Never Again score nor Burt Bacharach’s wonderful Casino Royale ’67 melodies don’t go untold.

Who knew there was anything to reveal? While the “true authorship” debate between Monte Norman and John Barry over the series iconic, indelible, immortal main theme has been covered elsewhere, I don’t recall it being done so at this depth, this lively, and with something that at least approaches a modicum of suspense. Same goes for the tale of Barry’s battles in studio with Duran Duran for the A View to a Kill theme, which turned out to be the biggest Billboard hit of all.

While it’s interesting to read how the likes of Paul McCartney and Carly Simon came aboard, Burlingame also reveals stories of the Bond themes that never were. Among others, you’ll learn about Kate Bush almost breathed her way through Moonraker‘s credits, and how Eric Clapton jammed in a Licence to Kill track that was scrapped.

The author also briefly discusses David Arnold’s excellent Shaken and Stirred electronica tribute album of 1997, which helped him become Barry’s heir apparent to the franchise, and notes other 007 collections of interest. Sidebars in each chapter review the score highlights, time-coded to their appearance in the films.

Illustrated with a wealth of archival photos and original album covers, The Music of James Bond is as much fun to look at as it is to read. If that Skyfall isn’t covered is the only negative I can find — OK, second, because I wished Moby’s remix of the 007 main theme for Tomorrow Never Dies merited more than a mention — I can recommend it strongly to the series’ legion of fanatics. Dare I say it? Nobody does it better. —Rod Lott

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