A remake of the Japanese 2002 film of the same name, Dark Water has its share of spooky elements and is a rather effective creepy thriller — right up until the time you realize that it’s not really Dark Water at all, but rather a liquefied version of The Ring or Ringu or whatever you wanna call it.
That’s not coincidental. Both Dark Water and Ringu are based on novels by Kôji Suzuki. As a result, the film adaptations, like the author, go to the same well once too often.
Checklist the similarities:
• A single mother trying to do the best she can and battling self-doubt as she raises her quasi-psychic child.
• A constant, relentless rain; at least The Ring had the good sense to make the locale Seattle.
• A creepy dead girl, victimized by bad parenting and now in the market for a new mommy figure.
• Oh, and lots of yucky, dark H20 and something involving a well or a water tank or any other water receptacle you can think of.
As the single mom, Jennifer Connelly does a fine job, and the supporting cast — led by Tim Roth and John C. Reilly — is equally terrific. But an awful lot of horror-flick cliches lead to a wholly unsatisfying conclusion here. It’s a bummer, too, because director Walter Salles (The Motorcycle Diaries) does a masterful job with the atmospherics. —Phil Bacharach
Deadly Kick (1976)
Deadly Kick is the greatest Sonny Chiba film Sonny Chiba never made. Five Fingers of Death’s Lo Lieh directs and stars in the over-the-top fight film as an alcoholic loser with a wispy mustache. His name sounds like Marion, so we’ll just call him that. As the movie begins, he’s drowning his sorrows in drink after discovering his wife turning tricks. When he sees her being roughed up by whom I presume are her pimps, he holds up his hands like they’re monster claws and starts doing all sorts of animal-style kung fu, complete with sound effects and quick cuts to the animals — tiger, eagle and snakes — going apeshit on human flesh.
Through a flashback, we learn why Marion is so fucked-up: He fought his rival for the hand of their karate teacher’s daughter in marriage, and lost. Naturally, he responds by raping her … and then poking out her eyes immediately after orgasm! Back in the present day, the violence continues, with a man losing his forearm to a ninja star and another burning to death in a car. A semblance of a plot forms, involving $10 million, a nuclear bomb and a gray-haired kingpin in a gold lamé suit who has an underground headquarters accessible via mine shaft.
Plot schmot — Marion’s too busy making it with his new girlfriend. Sniffing her newly removed panties, he proclaims, “Smells better than whiskey!” One frame-filling sequence has him milking her nipple without using his hands, and he refers himself as “king of the nether regions.”
But they get into trouble, too, finding themselves chained to his-and-her guillotines. They’re saved by Marion’s rival, for reasons not well explained, but not necessary for your enjoyment of the film. In fact, the complete ludicrousness enhances it. To further complicate things, the woman Marion blinded comes back after five years to settle the score. She’s been practicing kung fu with the help of a little girl who jumps around with bells on a string as some sort of code to let her know what’s what and where. Marion doesn’t like getting his ass kicked by a blind chick, so he kills the kid!
Meanwhile, Marion’s true love is tied up naked in the bad guy’s lair, whipped and vagina-sworded all to the laughing delight of a dinner party. Marion busts in, pulls out an adversary’s intestines, throws them in the face of another and then chokes him with it. Then, rather anticlimactically, he pushes the head villain through a wall, which leaves an exact outline of the poor old guy, arms in flailing position and all.
With all the bad guys dead, Marion and his rival have to settle their festering differences, which is where the weirdo supernatural leaf-blowing aspects of the film come into play. Marion learns why the movie is called Deadly Kick. Then they go snow-sledding. —Rod Lott
Do or Die (1991)
Do or Die is another installment in Andy Sidaris’ guilty-pleasure series of T&AK-47 action opuses. This one is chock-full of all the standard elements — former Playboy Playmates, guns, explosions and remote-control aircraft — plus the added fun of one-time Oscar nominee Pat Morita, never-in-danger-of-Academy-honors Erik Estrada and the inexplicably bosomed Stephanie Schick (aka Pandora Peaks).
As usual, the ever-bouncy Dona Spier and bouncier Roberta Vasquez are on hand (but, alas, not in my hands) as federal agents out to quash the mystical Asian overlord Kane, this time played by Morita. Estrada plays a guy named Rico and refers to his penis as “Little Rico.” (Hey, at least he’s honest.)
Thanks to Peaks, the breasts are bigger than ever. And wetter, as Schick unleashes hers under a waterfall, while Vasquez plays a round of human tequila shots. Blondes and brunettes aren’t you thing? In her third Sidaris go-round, leggy ginger Cynthia Brimhall is here to fulfill that particular fetish — and, boy, does she ever.
The Sidaris glue, whatever its magic formula, isn’t laid on quite as thick here as in his other sexy spysters like Fit to Kill. But still, it’s Sidaris, which means worthy viewing no matter what. —Rod Lott
Jonah Hex (2010)
I am convinced that there is a good movie — or at least a fun one — lurking within the bowels of Jonah Hex. Being unfamiliar with the long-running DC Comics series, I cannot comment on how closely the film hews to the original narrative, but it’s hard to fathom how a story about a viciously scared gunman who talks to the dead and wields steampunk armaments could be boring.
At least, I couldn’t fathom it before Jonah Hex came to be. What should have been a pulpy Western mesh of Blade and Pale Rider is a flat-out disaster, actually making Wild Wild West seem not so bad in retrospect (that armored spider was pretty cool).
Hex has two saving graces. One is star Josh Brolin, scowling and growling with the best of them, lending his scenes an air of gravitas the film never deserves. Two, it’s only 74 mind-numbing minutes long, minus the credits.
Otherwise, this may be one of the most ridiculous movies of the decade, chock-full of actors who should know better. As the villain, John Malkovich yawns his way to another paycheck; Will Arnett is spectacularly miscast as a Civil War soldier; Michael Fassbender capers about, waiting to become famous in Inglourious Basterds; Watchmen‘s Jeffrey Dean Morgan shows up for some reason; and Michael Shannon (Take Shelter) appears in the background. And Transformers object Megan Fox as the town whore Jonah loves? Suffice to say, I’ve seen more sexual heat in a Kirk Cameron church flick.
Here’s the crux of my argument: If, while watching a movie, you suddenly say, “Hey, Tom Wopat! Cool!,” the movie sucks. —Corey Redekop
The Red Queen Kills 7 Times (1972)
In one of those palatial estates that resembles more of an art museum than a residence, an elderly, wheelchair-bound man tells grandchildren Evelyn and Kitty — naughty and nice, respectively — the legend of the spooky painting in his study: That tired of all the pranks and abuse, the Black Queen killed her evil sister, the Red Queen, only for the Red Queen to come back to life for revenge, killing the Black Queen and six others.
That’s basically the entire plot of The Red Queen Kills 7 Times, as Evelyn and Kitty embody the ladies of the legend. In one of their many scuffles started by Evelyn, Kitty accidentally kills her sibling. Older sis Franziska (Marina Malfatti, Seven Blood-Stained Orchids) helps her hide the body and spread the falsehood that Evelyn “went to America.”
Years later, a grown Kitty (Barbara Bouchet, The French Sex Murders) is a fashion photographer, and with the death of her grandfather, it appear as if Evelyn has resurrected herself, as a black-gloved, red-caped, white-masked, VW bug-cruising, dagger-wielding serial killer — all the better to milk the crimson stuff out of this gripping-enough giallo.
While no classic, the final film of director Emilio Miraglia (The Night Evelyn Came Out of the Grave), Red Queen works on all the levels a giallo should: The mystery is intriguing, the killer is creepy, the music (by Bruno Nicolai) is swinging, the fashions are mod, the architecture is modder, the blood is bright red, the title is head-scratching, and the women are drop-dead gorgeous — sometimes literally. The running time is also a bit bloated, but since some of that entails one Sybil Danning at the beginning of her career and donning her birthday suit, I’m letting it slide. —Rod Lott