Taoism Drunkard (1984)

Taoism Drunkard — one in a short line of magic-themed wirefests from Yuen Woo Ping’s clan — has been called one of the wildest martial-arts movies ever made. And for good reason: It is!

There are bad guys who put their enemies on a boiling-hot slide, a guy who has spikes pop out of his elbows and kneecaps, an old alcoholic who drives around haphazardly in a buck-toothed car, a ruler looking for young boys to pleasure him, a rotund woman who looks to be Asia’s Wendie Jo Sperber with hair drawn up in Shrek ears, gratuitous breakdancing, poison that turns women wrinkly and haggard and, perhaps most famously, an enormous Pac-Man-like bowling ball thing — aka “the Watermelon Monster” — with very sharp teeth who likes to pop out of a box and fight people.

If you’re scratching your head and thinking, “How does all that come together?,” you’ve hit upon Taoism Drunkard’s major flaw: There is no story to it, making it a bit long in the tooth. It makes the Yuens’ similar (and highly recommended) Shaolin Drunkard look positively lucid. Still, it’s nuts-ass-crazy with a lot of anything-goes inventiveness (and not just in the fight scenes), and that has to count for something.

Plus, lotsa mistranslated subtitles!
• “Astronomic bastard, you have no conscience.”
• “With you know what is swollen face & nose.”
• “Want me to rub the arse again.”
• “Let me relax tonight and sleep on your bosom… very afraid of the wake up time.”
• “Remember, I want cherry boys.”
• “I give my face & mouth a wash & to urinate.”
• “Damn it, banana addict again.”
• “Perversive old man, goes back.”
• “They are her bastards? Does it really give birth to them.”
• “I want my virgin chicken.”
• “I am fallen down to death.”
• “Saliva, nose mucus, I am give you 20% discount more.”
• “Don’t beat, don’t beat, I am Mountain Dog.”
• “Don’t hurry, I am using abdominal language to joke with you.”
• “That’s why I need to have a permanent rice coupon.” —Rod Lott

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Ruckus (1981)

A year before Vietnam vet John Rambo took a group of rural lawmen to violent task for failing to leave him alone in First Blood, Kyle Hanson (Dirk “Starbuck” and/or “Faceman” Benedict) did the exact same thing in stuntman-turned-director Max Klevan’s lighthearted actioner Ruckus.

The difference here is that Hanson starts out a lot more fucked up than his more famous peer and he has the good fortune to find his redemption in the embrace of ’80s B-movie icon Linda Blair — which is all the difference in the world.

His sanity eroded by his time spent caged like an animal in a P.O.W. camp, Hanson is a disheveled, mumbling mess of a human being, which causes problems when the local small-town bigwig (Ben Johnson) sends a deputy to ask him some questions about his MIA son. Hanson has no interest in talking to anyone, but the deputy and his gang of redneck yokels refuse to take no for an answer. Unfortunately for them, what the disturbed vet may lack in social graces he more than makes up for in kicking ass!

A much kinder, gentler film than First Blood, Ruckus pleases, thanks to the efforts of its talented cast members who are able to invest dimensions and authenticity into characters that walk along the wrong side of cliché. Richard Farnsworth is typically great as the reasonable sheriff who can’t believe the situation his moronic underling has gotten him into, and Blair is a lovely delight as the lonely wife of Johnson’s missing son. —Allan Mott

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Splitz (1984)

Before I watched it just now, Splitz lingered in my memory as one of those movies every video store in the ’80s seemed to have, but no one ever seemed to rent. It had one of those strange video covers you always noticed on the shelf, but never felt obligated to pick up. I had always assumed it was about a bunch of sexy girls who triumph over the domination of another group of sexy girls via the power of aerobic cheerleading — kind of a combination of H.O.T.S. and Heavenly Bodies.

Turns out my imagination was wrong, and it’s really about how a trio of sexy female musicians join forces with their manager to help a bunch of homely girls triumph over the domination of two groups of other homely girls via the power of intramural college athletics.

What really surprised me about Splitz was how much I was charmed by it. That’s not to say it’s a good movie — it’s far too hamstrung by the competing sensibilities of its four credited screenwriters to work as a successful whole — but I found it full of enough charming characters and worthwhile moments to allow me to patiently get through the scenes that were obviously written by whichever of the four writers was a hack-tastic moron.

I will admit that I’m probably biased by my affection for movies that feature sexy all-girl bands. As a fake band, The Splitz are a surprisingly catchy trio — nowhere near as good as The Carrie Nations, but in the same league as Josie and the Pussycats. Robin Johnson (Times Square) especially stands out as Gina, the group’s lead guitarist who looks like a New Wave goddess, but sounds just like Jo from The Facts of Life (which is really much hotter than it sounds). —Allan Mott

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4bia (2008)

Has Hollywood just completely given up on the horror anthology? Its failure to not give something as awesome as Trick ‘r Treat a theatrical release suggests the answer is “yes.” Look elsewhere to get your ominous omnibus fix — particularly, to Thailand, for the frightening foursome known as 4bia.

Read that as “phobia,” for each segment plays upon a different fear, with directors taking turns at taking the helm, and no wraparound segment to force threading them together. The first and simplest story concerns a lonely young woman who doesn’t realize the mystery man she’s texting on her cell phone is actually dead … until he comes to pay a visit.

Next, a bullied youth takes revenge on his tormenters via that old black magic, followed by a campfire tale that name-drops a slew of scary movies as it pays homage to the more “spirited” ones. The campers experience real terror, but hey, at least they’re not made to “squeal like a pig.” Finally, a female flight attendant finds that transporting a corpse in an otherwise empty jet offers many an opportunity for tummy turbulence.

4bia is slick and sick, with each segment effective because it’s roughly a quarter of the length of the running time into which many Asian films overextend their thin plots. The movie hasn’t had an official U.S. release yet — you’d think Lionsgate would put it paws all over it — but if it did, I’d buy it. The anthology film is alive and well. You just have to cast your eyes overseas for it. —Rod Lott

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