A Force of One (1979)

Hypothetically, say two of your fellow police officers turn up dead, both with their windpipes smashed. Would you theorize the following: “Maybe it’s one of them karate weirdos like in the movies!” The hypothetical is also a rhetorical, because that’s what happens in the Chuck Norris film A Force of One.

Thinking they’re up against a “karate killer,” detective Dunne (Clu Gulager, The Return of the Living Dead) brings in professional sparrer Matt Logan (Norris) to train his narcotics squad, which includes Scanners‘ Jennifer O’Neill, top-billed, yet made to look as manly as her character’s name sounds, Mandy Rust.

After the karate killer strikes again, Dunne orders, “These karate people: Check ’em out!” Even Logan begins to question it, thinking perhaps the murderer is someone he and his punching pals know closely. Without giving away the culprit’s identity, I would like to note that naturally, the final fight occurs in slow-motion and sans shirts.

Made back when Norris was considered a popular entertainer, as opposed to right-wing loon, A Force of One is a decent marriage of his considerable martial-arts skills and the constructs of the action genre. The fun supporting cast includes Super Fly himself, Ron O’Neal; Bill “Superfoot” Wallace (L.A. Streetfighters); Eric Laneuville (TV’s St. Elsewhere) as Logan’s son, so let that sink in, if you know who Laneuville is; Chuck’s brother, Aaron Norris, who co-choreographed all the kicking; Chuck’s son, Michael Norris, as “Pizza Skateboarder”; and Chu Chu Malave. I don’t really know who that is, but I sure enjoy saying his name. —Rod Lott

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The Da Vinci Code (2006)

When Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code hit it big — and “big” really isn’t an accurate word for it — it was inevitable that Hollywood would pounce to make it into a movie. It also was inevitable that the result would mine box-office gold. What I didn’t expect is that said motion picture would be a leaden, crashing bore.

Say what you will about Brown’s book — that means you, offended Catholics and people who now pretend they never liked it when they totally once did — but there’s no denying that sucker had a pace that rivaled a toddler after downing a sippy cup full of Red Bull. By comparison, Ron Howard’s The Da Vinci Code — already overlong at 149 minutes — crawls on the floor, about as speedily as the assassinated character who opens the film, with every scene drawn out past its welcome, overstuffed with interminable speeches. There’s something to be said for brevity – a concept likely eradicated from Opie’s brain once he won the Best Director Oscar.

It makes one colossal mistake: treating the source material as if it were literature. Look, I loved reading Code, but it’s a B-level thriller. Screenwriter Akiva Goldsman treats it as if it were a work of serious art, where every sentence had been constructed with precious care, like a Jenga tower, with designs on a Pulitzer Prize. In doing so, the fun is sucked clean out of it, leaving us with one history lesson (and quasi-history lesson) after another, all of which numb our attention. Although it hews closely to the original story, there’s nothing here that sheds light on why the novel sold 2 bazillion copies and counting.

Things distract us: Tom Hanks’ ill-advised academic mullet, Audrey Tautou’s neck mole, Ian McKellen’s shameless honey-baked ham of a performance. The listless tempo carries with it an unintended side effect: highlighting how entirely preposterous Brown’s puzzle-upon-puzzle plot is. Never mind how an old man with mere minutes to live could plant hidden clue upon hidden clue by the razor-thin chance that the people he intended to follow it would indeed — one wonders why the treasure hunt be so elongated when, honestly, it needs no steps beyond the first one. That’s something easily forgiven in the reading experience (if thought is even given to it at all), but maddeningly apparent in the movies. —Rod Lott

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The Longest Yard (2005)

The original The Longest Yard was a landmark of ’70s-era, anti-establishment sentiment. It was violent, savagely funny, mean and an unapologetic spit in the face of authority. As directed by the gifted Robert Aldrich, The Longest Yard of 1974 was about as cutting-edge as mainstream comedy got at the time.

Fade in to 2005 and an ill-conceived remake, with Adam Sandler in the Burt Reynolds role of Paul Crewe, a fallen NFL quarterback rotting in a Texas prison when he is tapped to organize a football team of convicts to play the guards. What is deemed cutting-edge a generation later? Hollywood doesn’t have the cojones to focus too much on the sociopathic tendencies of convicts. 

Nope, nowadays cutting-edge means anti-gay. And The Longest Yard of 2005 is chock full o’ backwards, redneck, stereotype-embracing, queer-is-ha-ha-funny gay-bashing:
• We’ve got a prissy fella who develops an instant crush on Sandler because our hero is boorish and has crashed his girlfriend’s Bentley after going on a drunken joyride. (Gay people love brutes, don’cha know).
• We have a gaggle of flamer convicts who make up cheers like, “Gimme a D! Gimme an I! Gimme a C! Gimme …” (Get it? They want, well, you know …)
• We have two inmates caught making out over a surveillance camera.
• We have Rob Schneider in a cameo (reason enough to avoid the picture) as an overzealous convict all aflutter over the possibility of a group hug in the showers.
 
It appears that gay-bashing is the one remaining widely accepted form of bigotry left in America. —Phil Bacharach

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A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984)

I am unconvinced that Wes Craven is a great horror director. I’m not honestly sure he’s even a good one. His filmography is at best spotty; some watchable films, many outright stinkers, one great grindhouse flick (The Hills Have Eyes), and nothing remotely approaching the artistry of his peers John Carpenter and David Cronenberg. And the film that cemented his reputation, A Nightmare on Elm Street, ain’t the classic many people want it to be.

I’ve really tried to enjoy it. Freddy Krueger’s a good villain, but he’s better served in some of the sequels, especially Craven’s return to the series, New Nightmare. There are some good scares here and there, great bloodletting and weirdly effective dream sequences to compliment an intriguing, if half-baked scenario.

Craven’s choice of heroine, however, ruins everything for me. Or rather, her portrayer. Heather Langenkamp delivers one of the most utterly wretched performances I have ever sat through. Not one line reading approaches believability, and it only makes it worse that she is obviously trying her best. It’s like watching a high school play: She’s pretending, not acting. Considering Craven had a fairly talented ’80s staple nearby in Amanda Wyss (as Tina), his casting of Langenkamp is all the more puzzling.

Beyond Nancy (and her equally atrocious mother, Ronee Blakley), Elm Street is only passable horror entertainment, one of the few movies improved upon in some of its sequels (parts 3 and 7). I must admit a fondness for the ending, but only for its utter ridiculousness; watching Nancy somehow morph into MacGyver as she sets up her entire house with sophisticated traps in a few minutes somehow makes a demon pedophile who kills in dreams seem plausible. —Corey Redekop

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Moon Zero Two (1969)

Hammer Film Productions was and is known for horror, but give the group credit for its one and only attempt at a sci-fi Western in Moon Zero Two. In the year 2021, the moon is inhabited; its residents play a circular-shaped board game called Moonopoly; and social life amounts to hanging out at the Lazy B Saloon, where the drink of choice — distilled rocket fuel, of choice — runs $35 a shot.

Our hero is Capt. William H. Kemp (James Olson, The Andromeda Strain), who specializes in retrieval of satellite scrap, and doesn’t want to shuttle interplanetary tourists: “I’m a space pilot, not a mechanically minded wet nurse.” However, when safety violations threaten to ground him, a guy’s gotta look long-term.

For Kemp, that means listening to Hubbard (Warren Mitchell, Jabberwocky), the purple-cloaked, eyepatch-sporting baldie about illegally mining the sapphire from a 6,000-ton asteroid. Total fox Clementine Taplin (Catherina von Schell, On Her Majesty’s Secret Service), searching for her missing brother, shows up to provide much sexual innuendo.

The film’s highlights are a gravity-free bar brawl, however brief, and cartoon opening credits in a loony spirit not exhibited by the mostly serious story that follows. Directed by Roy Ward Baker (Quatermass and the Pit), Moon Zero Two certainly looks cool — and sounds it, with a swingin’ ’60s score — but feels forever set at quarter-speed. Good thing that in space, no one can hear you snore. —Rod Lott

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