Can you guess what movie or TV show we’re watching? We’ve turned on subtitles (when available) not to give you a clue, but to enhance that WTF effect! Leave your best guess in the comments to prove your true Flick Attackosity!
Terminal Island (1973)
Lord of the Flies meets Battle of the Network Stars in Terminal Island. The title refers to an isle 40 miles off the coast, where convicted murderers are shipped to fend for themselves ’til death. There are neither walls, nor guards, but escape is impossible. Guess it’s also like Escape from L.A., but instead of Snake Plissken, you get snakes — all in the figurative sense.
New to the prison plot is Carmen (Airport stewardess Ena Hartman, this flick’s de facto Pam Grier). She first meets a junkie doctor (pre-Magnum Tom Selleck), then the 39ish other inmates, including Magnum partner Roger E. Mosley, Lost in Space refugee Marta Kristen and Vega$ showgirl Phyllis Davis. The few women are forced to “entertain” several of the men each night, per the orders of psychotic, self-appointed leader Bobby (Sean Kenney, The Corpse Grinders).
Turns out there’s another gang on the island, led by Don Marshall (TV’s Land of the Giants) and comprised of the “good” bad guys (except for the guy who tries to rape Phyllis, who retaliates by rubbing honey on his penis around a hive of bees). They plot to take down Bobby and his crew with homemade poisoned darts and grenades; the latter gets used on a guy in an outhouse: “That dude just took his last crap.”
War ensues, and you win. Exploitation director/co-writer Stephanie Rothman (The Student Nurses) delivered a career best with this adventure-focused twist on the women-in-prison film. It’s not smart by any means, but it works, and that’s all you’ll ask of it … well, and nudity from the dishy Davis, and you’ll get that, too. —Rod Lott
Super 8 (2011)
In 1997, Jonathan Norman was so enamored of Steven Spielberg that he planned to rape him, and the result was a guilty conviction and a 25-year prison sentence.
In 2011, J.J. Abrams settled for consensual reach-around, and the result was Super 8 and a $127 million domestic gross.
Super 8 is so rooted in such early Spielbergian fare as Close Encounters, E.T. and The Goonies that one almost could take issue with it being credited as Abrams’ first film as director not based on an existing property, following his hits with Mission: Impossible III and the Star Trek reboot. It throws in every element in the Spielberg playbook, from the single-parent family to looking up at the sky in awe, mouth properly agape.
Not that that’s a bad thing, when it’s done this well. A group of kids shooting a zombie epic on Super 8 film witnesses a spectacular midnight train wreck during the summer of 1979. Said wreck unleashes a spider-like alien that proceeds to wreck their tiny town, taking all the microwave ovens and sending all the dogs fleeing to surrounding counties.
With hardly a clear glimpse of the creature from another planet, Super 8 is best when it’s barely concerned with the beast. The film’s “scares” are more feel-good than frightening (think Gremlins). And contrary to the belief of Abrams’ unflinching cultists, there’s no mystery to the picture, except why Ron Eldard agreed to wear the Gérard Depardieu wig the entire time. —Rod Lott
The Munsters’ Revenge (1981)
In The Munsters’ Revenge, the first made-for-TV movie from the beloved 1960s sitcom The Munsters, the Munster family gets its revenge. Aw, shit, I just spoiled it.
Anyhoo, the Munsters have an afternoon outing to the all-new Chamber of Horrors, where the wax figures include the Wolf Man, the Hunchback of Notre Dame, the Creature from the Black Lagoon and the Munsters themselves. However, the figures are actually robots programmed to embark on midnight crime sprees — the brainchild of one appropriately named Dr. Diablo (Sid Caesar, who jabbers and yammers as if members of the Great Depression generation may be watching).
After the city is terrorized, Herman (Fred Gwynne) and Grandpa (Al Lewis) are wrongly accused and thrown in jail. Their cellmate (Airplane! jive talker Al White) has an Afro comb and a bad attitude — he calls Herman “honky.” Post-escape, Herman and Grandpa try to convince the authorities of Dr. Diablo’s master plan to pull a heist of Egyptian artifacts on Halloween. The cops won’t have any of it, except for the young one (Peter Fox, Mother’s Day), but only because he wants in the pants of Marilyn Munster (Jo McDonnell, The Octagon).
Padded with a worthless trip to Transylvania and creating a running gag for in-town Cousin Phantom of the Opera (Bob Hastings), this act of Revenge directed by Don Weis (The Ghost in the Invisible Bikini) is pretty predictable, right down to where the commercials appeared. But it’s not without its amusing bits, such as when Herman destroys the police station because a bee flies up his sleeve. Or when Lily decorates their Halloween tree with bottles of poison. Or when Herman is shocked with 2,000 volts, causing steam to shoot out his ears. Why, yes, I was easily amused. —Rod Lott
Arena (2011)
Grieving over the accidental death of his preggo wife (Nina Dobrev, TV’s The Vampire Diaries), paramedic David Lord (Kellan Lutz, those fucking Twilight movies) is tricked into a motel room by a full-frontal skank (an oft-naked Katia Winter), whereupon he is zapped, caged, tortured and brainwashed into becoming the Death Dealer. As such, he will take part in Death Games, a series of brutal battles broadcast over the Internet. It’s beloved the world over, but particularly by the frat douches of Psi Epsilon who cheer every kill.
These showdowns take place amid graphic overlays sporting samurai, gladiator and apocalyptic themes, and are the brainchild of GQ-dressed Logan (Samuel L. Jackson), the kind of rich guy who has Asian women on a giant swing behind his dining table. He’s so taken by the inexplicable victories of our Death Dealer, Logan agrees to let him take on the games’ hooded, ax-wielding Executioner (Johnny Messner, Running Scared), who beheads each round’s loser.
Lutz’s big emotional scene is hysterical, partly because of the bits of corn hanging out of his overstuffed mouth. Not that I think he can act; he can’t. The guy is all scowl. By contrast, we know Jackson can act; he just chooses not to. He’s clearly in his “whore for a paycheck” mode.
A mix of Death Race, The Condemned and the decade’s dozen other movies centered on televised murder matches, Arena is an unintentionally goofy garbage pail of an action flick. Yet if trash is what you’re hungry for, dive in. Jackson sure did — he chews so much fat in this thing, he could become Samuel XL Jackson. —Rod Lott