Kitchen Sink

Pawn Shop Chronicles (2013)

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WTF

General Lee’s Pawn Shop inconspicuously stands beneath an overpass — an appropriate site for such an off-the-radar film. Since its quiet release direct to video, I’d paid it no mind because the title and poster led me to expect a reality show. Instead, Wayne Kramer’s Pawn Shop Chronicles is a crime anthology of three crisscrossing stories à la Pulp Fiction. Similarities end there.

Each tale is named after the pawned item in question. The constant? Shop owner Vincent D’Onofrio, of course.

In “The Shotgun,” Paul Walker (Kramer’s Running Scared) and Kevin Rankin (2018’s Skyscraper) play neo-Nazi, meth-smokin’, trailer-park hillbillies who rob a drug dealer. “The Ring” leads a stockbroker (Matt Dillon, The House That Jack Built) to rescue his long-missing, kidnapped wife (Pell James, Zodiac). Finally, a down-on-his-luck Elvis impersonator (Brendan Fraser, The Mummy trilogy) pulls into town to perform at the fair, only to be forced to give up “The Medallion” around his neck.

Kramer’s filmmaking style runs hot and cold with me. Pawn Shop Chronicles showcases both, plus the lukewarm in between, by virtue of its omnibus status noncommittal to a single genre. (Tellingly, this is the only movie the director hasn’t also written.) As a comedy — and not a politically correct one — “The Shotgun” works pretty well, thanks to Walker and Rankin’s tweaker act: “Is that my Styx CD in your pants?” And “The Ring” takes an unexpected turn into horror — Sadako-free, mind you — with Dillon encountering a most extreme example of Stockholm syndrome.

But “The Medallion”? With a burst of magical realism that doesn’t quite jive, it bites off more than it can chew, yet keeps on yapping with its mouth wide open. Its dueling barbershops and all-nude choir overdo the quirk at the sacrifice of a point. It’s not Fraser’s fault, though; God bless him, the big ol’ lovable goofball gives the part everything he can.

Also appearing throughout are Chi McBride, Elijah Wood, Thomas Jane, Norman Reedus, DJ Qualls, Lukas Haas and a bumper sticker reading, “At least Jesus didn’t write Battlefield Earth.” Amen. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Action

Ransomed (2023)

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Loosely based on true events, Ransomed, from director Kim Seong-hun (2016’s Tunnel), sets into motion with the abduction — and presumed death — of a South Korean diplomat by Lebanese terrorists in Beirut.

One year later, however, a telephone call of Morse code to the South Korean government suggests the diplomat is alive. Rather than risk embarrassment, Foreign Affairs officials decide to go around proper channels — like intelligence agencies — and pursue an under-the-radar rescue operation. They send the mild-mannered company man who answered that late-night call: Deputy Lee Min-jun (Ha Jung-woo of Park Chan-wook’s The Handmaiden). 

With a cash ransom of $2.5 million on his person, Min-jun lands in Beirut and gains an partner in slick-talking cabbie Pan-su (Ju Ji-hoon, The Spy Gone North). Pan-su’s an unwitting partner at first, forced into the situation by mere accident.

So begins the formula of every American buddy action-comedy of the 1980s and ’90s, only Ransomed often diverts from that well-laid path. Seong-hun offers no quips, no catchphrases, no “I’m too old for this shit”-type of shenanigans. As “wacky” as the poster sells the film, the film is not interested in being, say, Rush Hour 4.

This makes sense. Although compelling for the screen, the real-ilfe story of Do Chae Sung was too dire and dangerous to play for laughs. Seong-hun respects that while also administering the proper dosage of adrenaline to give the action sequences the punch to which modern audiences are accustomed.

Ransomed isn’t perfect, but Jung-woo and Ji-hoon — individually and in their interplay — often make you believe otherwise, except in an Act 2 lag. Knowledge of Eastern world politics may help you better understand the the plot nuances, but in terms of pure entertainment, the film transcends all barriers. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Comedy

Destroy All Neighbors (2024)

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For lovers of wacky plots, goopy 1980s-inspired practical effects and prog rock, Destroy All Neighbors delivers the goods. The Shudder original film follows William (Jonah Ray, Netflix’s Mystery Science Theater 3000), an aspiring musician toiling away at his magnum opus, a spacey prog album he’s been fine-tuning for years. His girlfriend, Emily (Kiran Deol, Seven Psychopaths), supports William’s endeavors, even as she grows tired of his excuses for not finishing the record. His latest distraction is new neighbor Vlad (Alex Winter, aka Bill from the Bill & Ted films), who plays loud techno music all hours of the day while noisily working out. 

The racket becomes unbearable for William, so he works up the nerve to confront Vlad face to face, but through a series of mishaps ends up accidentally decapitating the man. Rather than go to the police, William first dismembers then disposes of the corpse — or at least he tries.

Vlad, it turns out, can still talk and control his severed limbs, and he continues tormenting William, returning to his apartment after being dumped in the woods. Fortunately, the pair manage to bury the hatchet and become friends. Unfortunately, keeping one murder secret inevitably means William has to kill again. From there, the bodies start piling up. 

Writers Mike Benner, Jared Logan and Charlies A. Pieper, along with director Josh Forbes (Contracted: Phase 2), craft a tale that need not be taken too seriously. The film is deeply silly in the best ways possible. It’s a gorier Bugs Bunny cartoon, a less perverse Re-Animator. Ray particularly shines as the hapless William, while Winter, using a thick Romanian accent and wearing prosthetics so heavy he’s unrecognizable, quite literally disappears into his role. Hollywood veteran Gabe Bartalos designed Winter’s makeup, and his resume includes work on Friday the 13th Part VI: Jason Lives, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre Part 2, Frankenhooker and several Leprechaun films, to name just a few. 

With just under an hour and a half runtime, Destroy All Neighbors is a quick, hilarious and gory good time. Put it on when you want something goofy and gross, but not too heavy. —Christopher Shultz

Get it at Amazon.

Reading Material

Mummy Movies: A Comprehensive Guide

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To, ahem, wrap things up from the outset: With Mummy Movies: A Comprehensive Guide, Bryan Senn does it again!

Fresh from the slopes of 2022’s Ski Films, the prolific author unearths 138 mummy films in total after the applying all his filters: no shorts, no TV episodes, no hardcore porn, no fleeting appearances and no fakes. While that last qualifier smothers my hopes of reading Senn tear into The Mummy Theme Park, what’s left (read: a lot!) is sure to delight any fan of the subgenre. Horror naturally makes up a good chunk of that, but is hardly the stopping point.

After a brief introduction getting into the history of mummies in real life and popular culture (breakfast cereal included), Senn gets into the good stuff: excavating the films one by one. In Senn’s usual immersive style for such guides, the entries provide a proper balance of plot summary, behind-the-scenes information and critical review — explored in such depth and fully researched, each practically inches toward monograph status.

From Boris Karloff and Brendan Fraser to Christopher Lee and, um, Tom Cruise, all the highlights and their sequels are covered, exactly as you’d expect. But anyone could do that. What makes Mummy Movies worth your investment are all the other titles he takes great pains to incorporate, ranging from Mexploitation (Santo!) to animation (Yu-Gi-Oh!?), and from comedy to kung fu. The only thing crazier than the cheap cartoons is the bulging sack of erotica, movies that bring boredom along with a most anachronistic element: silicone.

Noting that a mummy is more than a “zombie wrapped in toilet paper,” Senn holds a lot of love for his subject. As do I. That’s why the book is useful as a reference work, too, because he calls ’em as he sees ’em. For example, should you spend your time with:
• the wrestling spoof Monster Brawl? Yes.
• the collegian-made The University of Illinois vs a Mummy? No.
• the John Carradine paycheck The Mummy and the Curse of the Jackals? Hell, no.

The only piece of Mummy Movies giving me pause is the author’s use of the capital-M “Mummy” when referring to onscreen characters, and lowercase when not. It’s hardly worth bringing up … unlike, say, Ouija Mummy or The Sex Files: Ancient Desires, Senn’s lively entertaining pans of which already have outlived the flicks themselves. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon or McFarland.

Comedy

Discotec fin de Semana (1979)

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It’s Sabado Noche Fever! Aye-aye-ai!

Produced for Mexico’s Agrasánchez Studios, but filmed in my mother’s hometown of Brownsville, Texas, the disco-fied culture of the late 1970s is shot and filtered through the grainy Mexican film industry to create the dance-music-drenched fever dream, Discotec fin de Semana, released one year after dance fever had taken America by storm.

In its aftermath, Discotec has all the best low-budget set pieces, a bumpin’ age-30-for-18 cast and a dance floor-burning soundtrack, with discotheque versions of “Singin’ in the Rain,” “Disco Heat” and “Yes Sir, I Can Boogie.” Out of sight!

It’s a typical high school day, with the dancing b-ball player and the rich chauffeured student trying to win the heart of studious Susana (Silvia Pasquel). This is all well and good, but after the extended scene about the public school bus system, they all set out for a night of (mostly amateurish) disco dancing.

Between all the sex-comedy tropes of horny teens getting it on in a parked car, there is dangerous drag racing, current CB language, mustached scolding teachers, bleeping censored language, a Peter Frampton poster and a stereotypical grandma getting down with her bad self. Superbad!

Of course, it all culminates in a badly choreographed dance contest, but not before a seemingly epic knife fight at the beach!

Truly, more of a South-of-the-Border American Graffiti than a downscale take on Saturday Night Fever, Discotec fin de Semana is a Mexican love letter to the non-New York ritualized dance denizens — with their off-brand shirts and ill-advised moves — waltzing about the Texas moonlight.

Either way, it’s better than John Travolta’s Urban Cowboy. —Louis Fowler

Get it at Amazon.

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