Part of Ground Zero Entertainment’s gray-market Black Belt Theatre budget-DVD line, Labyrinth of Death (aka Chess Boxing Matrix) is one of those logic-free, crazy Asian — or “crAsian,” as I now like to call them — movies where you understand so little (even with subtitles) that you can barely remember anything scene to scene.
Here’s what I remember:
• A hopping vampire kid.
• DragonBall-style special effects.
• Guys with painted faces.
• Jack and Mark Long presumably doing “chess boxing.”
• The hopping vampire kid peeing in one of the Long brothers’ mouths.
• The hopping vampire kid farting in the face of the other one.
• Some freaky, runty dragon monster.
• Absolutely no labyrinth, of death or of otherwise.
• Being thankful when it was over. —Rod Lott
FLICK ATTACK: Last February, I won a bottle of J&B at a screening of your ex-husband’s remake of The Thing for knowing you played the voice of the chess computer that beats Kurt Russell. Is this impressive, sad or a little of both?
BARBEAU: I think it’s impressive. Might tend to categorize you, though. Maybe you shouldn’t go public with your knowledge.
FLICK ATTACK: Speaking of John Carpenter, the two of you first worked together on the 1978 TV movie Someone’s Watching Me. How different do you think that movie would have been if he had been able to cast you in the lead instead of Lauren Hutton? And did anyone advise you against taking the then-controversial role of an out-of-the-closet lesbian?
BARBEAU: Well, I was shorter than Lauren, that’s one difference. As for playing one of the first lesbian women on television, I don’t think anyone noticed. It didn’t seem controversial at all, certainly no one ever commented on it. Probably because we dealt with it in such a matter-of-fact way.
FLICK ATTACK: You mention in your memoir that, despite earning a Tony nomination for originating the role of Rizzo on Broadway, you’ve never seen the film adaptation of Grease. Considering its ubiquity and annoying tendency to be “rediscovered” every five years or so, this strikes me as being a lot harder than it sounds. Has there ever been an instance where you’ve had to take deliberate action to avoid seeing it or have you somehow organically managed to remain blissfully untouched by it? And would you ever consider watching Grease II? It’s pretty awesome and Maxwell Caul — er, I mean, Michelle Pfeiffer is really dreamy in it.
BARBEAU: I did see part of Grease II on television once. I don’t remember it at all, except for thinking Michelle Pfeiffer was absolutely beautiful and should have a great career ahead of her. And as for never seeing Grease, I think the answer is organically managed to remain blissfully oblivious. That, and changing channels a couple of times on purpose.
FLICK ATTACK: There’s a terrible fire, and both The Love Boat and Fantasy Island are in equal amounts of danger. You guest-starred on both, but only have enough time to save one. What do you do?
BARBEAU: I’ve got to go with Fantasy Island. I mean, where else could I get the opportunity to play a 200-lb. woman opposite Tim Thomerson? Or get rescued by Ricardo Montalban? Besides, I got seasick on The Love Boat and couldn’t wait to disembark.
FLICK ATTACK: You finally got to play the “Kurt Russell” part in the cult horror/comedy The Convent. How fun was it being an action-movie badass?
BARBEAU: I loved it. As soon as Mike Mendez described the role as “a female Snake Plissken,” I said “yes.” Now if only the motorcycle really worked.
FLICK ATTACK: In a review for the 1987 slasher movie Open House, I suggested it was a film “so poorly made, you can even tell that the catering sucked.” Since you were one of the stars, I thought you might let me know if this critical analysis was correct or if I’m just a huge asshole.
BARBEAU: I’ll have to go with your judgment, since I never saw the film. And I’m damned if I can remember the food.
FLICK ATTACK: About your time spent working on The Cannonball Run, you wrote, “My character was simply the crux of a running tit joke: stupid male becomes blithering idiot when faced with exposed mammaries,” and, “All the talent I needed was attached to my breastbone.” Have I already mentioned how much I loved your memoir?
BARBEAU: Wanna be friends on Facebook? —Allan Mott
Looking like Dexter‘s little brother, Nick Stahl plays Max, still grieving over the car-crash death of his fiancé. His dad (William Katt) hires him to be the night watchman of his soon-to-open upscale department store. He’ll be replacing the one whose mirror image happily chewed broken glass, causing his own face and mouth to be cut up.
And so it goes that upper management get killed as they watch their mirror images do gruesome things, such as slicing their own tendons. The best death scene comes when Christy Romano (formerly Disney’s squeaky-clean Kim Possible) meets a really bloody death in the shower after soaping up her new, ugly fake boobs.
While the first half plays like Final Destination in the creative deaths department, the second finds Max and second-half love interest Emmanuelle Vaugiér attempting to solve the riddle behind these gruesome shenanigans. Maybe it makes more sense if you’ve seen the first Mirrors; I haven’t. As director, DTV vet Victor García (Return to House on Haunted Hill) brings visual class to these proceedings, yielding a satisfying fright flick, even if it’s completely void of frights (Katt’s middle-age ponytail notwithstanding). —Rod Lott
Austin Powers would be proud to see that Heather Graham shags well — and shags often — in Killing Me Softly, the kind of softcore erotic thriller most name actresses aren’t desperate enough to appear in this early in their career. Was she in such a slump that she thought humping Joseph Fiennes on film half a dozen times was her ticket to the A-list?
In Killing Me Softly — not an adaptation of the Roberta Flack song — she plays a designer of corporate CD-ROMs. I’m not convinced that the real-life Graham even knows how to insert a CD-ROM, so the credibility factor goes right out the window from frame one. Plus, every reaction shot of her suggests deer-in-the-headlights stupid (but hey, nice headlights!); nevertheless, they cast her as this happy, well-off, picture-perfect, upwardly mobile gal living in London who, one day, exchanges lustful glances with a mega-creepy Fiennes on a street corner and, within the hour, exchanges sex fluids with him without so much as asking his name.
Heather, thy name is horny! These two do it everywhere, at the drop of a hat, a needle, a thong — you pick the object. And violently! Apparently, she has no problem with vaginal chafing. His character is a mountain climber and he likes to mount her — so clever! Despite a demeanor that suggests Fiennes is a predatory nutball, the sex is so good that Graham dumps her boyfriend for Fiennes, seconds after he smashes a would-be thief’s head to a pulp in a phone booth. Y’know, for her.
You’d think that would be the first sign that her Mr. Mountaineer is an unhinged loony, but nope, Graham needs several more! Not even when, on their honeymoon, he ties a naked Graham up in knots like a freaking Gerry Anderson marionette so he can cut off her breathing while he nails her. Finally, as the clues pile up so high they threaten to topple over on her, she starts to suspect him of murdering an old girlfriend. By then, I was praying she’d become the next victim.
I know that the sex isn’t supposed to be funny, but it is here. And Graham (Acting It Poorly) looks ridiculous feigning passion with her boobs flying every which way (Bouncing Them Madly). Not only am I unsure what her character sees in Fiennes, I’m also unsure what the filmmakers saw in him, either, because with his stoic nature and half-evil smile, he comes off as autistic. Granted, an autistic who’s grrreat in bed, but autistic nonetheless.
Killing Me Softly is a tremendous embarrassment to all parties involved, so be sure to get the unrated cut; I have a sneaking suspicion the R-rated version is far less riotous. —Rod Lott
Back in the ’90s, the direct-to-video market existed because many producers had discovered they could make a lot of money before a single frame of film was shot by pre-selling a generic action plot starring a handful of semi-famous actors to a bunch of unwary foreign distributors.
With their profit ledgers already in the black, there was no incentive then to spend further money on quality filmmaking, publicity or a theatrical release for these films and, as a result, they would just suddenly appear on the “New Releases” shelf of your local video store and stay there until some sucker decided he was tired enough of life to give them 90 minutes of his time.
In it, The Streetfighter plays a Japanese hitman who teams up with Red Sonja to get revenge on the cops who sent him to prison for a hit he performed on two acquitted child-pornographer gangsters. Pockmarked guy is aided in his investigation of these murders by a leggy FBI agent whose nonregulation miniskirts are highly inappropriate for the workplace. Naturally, they’re the only two who make it to the end of the movie alive.
Body Count is one of those movies you forget about while you’re still watching it, so it isn’t exactly worth seeking out, but it does feature enough violence, explosions and gratuitous nudity to sit through if it were to suddenly appear on your television screen. That is, if you’re a sucker who’s really tired of life. —Allan Mott
Part of Ground Zero Entertainment’s gray-market Black Belt Theatre budget-DVD line, Labyrinth of Death (aka Chess Boxing Matrix) is one of those logic-free, crazy Asian — or “crAsian,” as I now like to call them — movies where you understand so little (even with subtitles) that you can barely remember anything scene to scene. 
Horror film icon Adrienne Barbeau starred in 
And so it goes that upper management get killed as they watch their mirror images do gruesome things, such as slicing their own tendons. The best death scene comes when Christy Romano (formerly Disney’s squeaky-clean 
You’d think that would be the first sign that her Mr. Mountaineer is an unhinged loony, but nope, Graham needs several more! Not even when, on their honeymoon, he ties a naked Graham up in knots like a freaking Gerry Anderson marionette so he can cut off her breathing while he nails her. Finally, as the clues pile up so high they threaten to topple over on her, she starts to suspect him of murdering an old girlfriend. By then, I was praying she’d become the next victim.
Starring that pockmarked guy who was in