Ski Films: A Comprehensive Guide

Commented one skeptical reader on a Facebook post about Ski Films: A Comprehensive Guide, Bryan Senn’s latest book, “Ski films!?! Uhh … I’m not knocking it but I think people are running out of genres to write about??! Just an observation.”

A fair observation, but one that misses the point. The majority of Senn’s bibliography explores the niche of the niche, from voodoo and werewolves to human-hunting and horror/sci-fi double features. Each of those subjects holds tremendous interest for him — more than evident by the passion on each page, even in each review. So naturally, Ski Films finds Senn traversing an equal path of adoration, this one down the slopes!

At a heavy 400-plus pages, the McFarland & Company trade paperback looks at more than 200 titles in depth. The books is neatly sliced into halves: full ski films (for which the sport is “integral”) and semi-ski films (for which it is not). Of course you have your top-of-mind usual skiing suspects, including Downhill Racer, Aspen Extreme, Better Off Dead and, as the action-packed cover colorfully promises, James Bond working On Her Majesty’s Secret Service.

But you also get 005 other 007 adventures, a third of Olympic skater Sonia Henie’s filmography and scads more T&A on the menu beyond Hot Dog … the Movie. Plus, you’ll find several beach parties in snowbound settings, natural disasters, slashers, Bigfoot films, Roger Corman cheapies and Hallmark rom-coms. When Abbott and Costello, Greta Garbo, Jackie Chan, Klaus Kinski, Inspector Clouseau, Pope John Paul II and a pig named Scrapple have popped on planks, it’s clear more movies qualify as “ski films” than one assumes.

Even if you have zero interest in skiing (as I do), Ski Films isn’t alienating. Doling out background info and thoughtful, often humorous criticism, Senn first covers each film as if the entry could be published anywhere, then considers the quality of athleticism — or lack thereof — on display. Speaking as someone who will never shove his feet into the sticks, it’s still highly amusing to read major studio productions called out for using improper equipment.

Because movie guides are ultimately about discoveries, Ski Films can be judged on whether you found any on your way to the finish line. My short answer is “many,” capped by the 1972 heist movie Snow Job and the 1974 thriller The Ultimate Thrill, both featuring some of the best skiing in fictional film, per Senn. (The worst? xXx.) If you haven’t seen Adam Green’s Frozen, the terrifically tense thriller about a three friends stuck on a ski lift overnight in subzero temps, Senn makes a case for its greatness I wholeheartedly second. I’m also eager to see a few of the failures, like former Bond Roger Moore in the misguided Fire, Ice and Dynamite.

Although he’s far more forgiving on lodge-set sex comedies than I, Ski Films: A Comprehensive Guide is yet another solid, illustrated and well-researched effort by the ever-reliable author — one of cult film’s best critics. He clearly knows his crud. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Sewer Gators (2022)

A week before its 50th annual Alligator Festival, the Louisiana town of Thibodeaux is suddenly plagued with gator attacks. Lest more citizens be chomped to chum, Sheriff Mitch pleads with city officials to call off the festivities. They don’t.

If that sounds like Jaws, it’s intentional, as Paul Dale’s Sewer Gators is a gentle, purposely toothless parody. Opening credits like “DON’T WORRY THE FILM WILL START SOON” make that as transparent as Claude Rains.

The reptiles’ raids start in the unlikeliest of places: in the butt, Bob. A redneck is obliterated as his bowels do the same, with all but one very fake foot yanked down the toilet. Over the course of the flick, the gators surface thrice through a porcelain stool, twice through a bathtub drain and once through a washing machine, Jacuzzi and everything including the kitchen sink. Hell, not even a cup of ramen noodles is safe. Is nothing sacred?

Only an attractive zoologist (Manon Pages, Purgatory Road) proves any help to aspirin-guzzling Sheriff Mitch (Kenny Bellau, Dale’s Fast Food & Cigarettes), because Thibodeaux’s good-ol’-boy mayor (Sean Phelan, Dale’s Silent but Deadly) is all about the almighty dollar.

Phelan and Dale himself (as obnoxious TV reporter Brock Peterson, whose “mustache reeks of corn chips”) are often hysterical. As Sheriff Mitch’s right-hand woman, Gladyis, Sophia Brazda shines in a droll cluelessness, not unlike Aubrey Plaza. Consider her delivering the news on the first victim:

Gladyis: “Reggie says he got ate.”
Sheriff: “Ate what?”
Gladyis (after long pause): “Up?”

Gleefully stupid and nearly as amiable, Sewer Gators is smart enough to know to scram before it’s asked to leave. The fun concludes at the 52-minute mark, followed by nearly 10 minutes of the slowest end-credits crawl you’ll ever see, with each name’s rise from bottom to top taking a good 120 seconds. Not even the most desperate Lake Placid sequel would dare pull that time-stuffing trick; however, since Sewer Gators is scads more entertaining than any Lake Placid sequel, who cares?

When it hits, ketchup-packet effects and all, Dale’s goof of a spoof is reminiscent of the $6K wonder Bad CGI Sharks. And when it doesn’t, I’m reminded of my own bored, preteen days of camcorder buffoonery. But I can sanction that. —Rod Lott

Get it at By the Horns.

Busted (1997)

Words you never wanted to see grouped in such an order, “directed by Corey Feldman,” adorn Busted, the thankfully lone such endeavor from the former Goonie. It aims — repeat: aims — to be a Naked Gun-style parody of cop movies, but comes off as being made by people who have never seen a comedy and know the genre only through eavesdropping. Perhaps Feldman himself sensed this, which explains Busted‘s double-barreled categorization as a spoof and a Skinemax entry. Jokes and boobs: Only one requires skill — well, post-scalpel.

Police Academy: Mission to Moscow, I hereby rescind every negative word I’ve sent your way.

Not content with calling the shots, Feldman also stars as a zany cop in a precinct of nothing but. Even zanier, to bring crime off the streets, his crew brings it into the station; pantyhose-faced purse snatchers roam the halls freely, while one jail cell is transformed into a bordello. The strategy is not unlike the “Hamsterdam” season of TV’s brilliant The Wire, and let that be the only time the two shall be tied. (Let this serve as my proactive public apology to David Simon.)

Story stops at setup: With a Peeping Tom on the loose — not to mention bank robbers and a bikini-clad woman crossing streets while holding a giant letter “J” (ugh) — the mayor (Rance Howard, Ticks) assigns a stern lady captain (Mariana Morgan, Exit to Eden) to keep the cops under control or else. Her hair bun is wound so tightly, you just know it’s going to be unfurled toward the end, revealing her as Total Hottie. (However, Feldman does not telegraph he then will violently remove all fabric in order to expose her breasts.)

With a reason to exist out of the way, it’s one unfunny joke after another, each increasing in flatness. They’re so poorly written, you can predict the punchline immediately upon hearing idioms like “show her the ropes” and “by the book.” To be fair, such gags come straight from the Zucker/Abrahams/Zucker style, but it really is all in the delivery. For example, a police sketch of a stick figure can be funny under the proper circumstances, like as a quick cutaway; you don’t pass it around to every other character in a crowded shot to individually display and comment upon further. Your movie may be dirt-stupid, but viewers are not. (Okay, most viewers.)

In an extended boxing match, Feldman referees; for some reason, that requires him to pop one eye, turn his mouth diagonal and talk out one side of it, in an accent approximating … I dunno, Burgess Meredith? He does this not just for a line, which might be acceptable, but the entire scene. It’s painful viewing — more painful than a looped, slow-motion clip of Gage getting an up-close look at a semi in 1989’s Pet Sematary.

Another set piece finds Feldman wrestling a live gun from porn star Ron Jeremy. Who knows, that could be based on something the two did at a party in the Valley, and Feldman thought it’d be a hoot to throw in. If so, that’s more effort than he expended on masking the rag covering his genitals in a shower threesome (none) or where the top of the precinct’s set ends (also none).

Among other cameos, Julie Strain is on hand long enough to drop her towel; Todd Bridges, to remind you he’s still alive; and Elliott Gould, to embarrass his family and threaten his legacy. Corey Haim is also present, but only for a few random scenes. That’s because he reportedly walked upon learning his “friend” Feldman also had hired Haim’s alleged molester, Dominick Brascia (Friday the 13th Part V: A New Beginning).

Inadvertent or not, the one thing Busted does right is giving 1990s T&A royalty Monique Parent, Ava Fabian and Griffin Drew the rare opportunity to flex muscles beyond just the ones required to unhook their bras. They get to flex comedic muscles, too, even if that means fellating butter-rubbed corn on the cob. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Scare Zone (2009)

So, hypothetically speaking, how many rock-song montages should a movie be allowed to have? Because in Scare Zone, I counted seven, each with its actors and/or extras gesturing wildly for the camera while the likes of Soulguard, Hydrosonic and Orange Avenue rip through all the hitz* on the soundtrack!

Shot largely at Universal Studios Florida, Scare Zone is set at a three-nights-only haunted-house attraction — the Scare Zone Psycho-Splatter Raw-Topsy Slaughter Dungeon, to be specific. Run by Oliver (Simon Needham, Larry the Cable Guy: Health Inspector), the rooms include a mad surgeon’s table, a vat of lye and poopy toilets, all of which are on the tour he gives to his new employees; from the sassy Black guy to the slutty blonde girl, all stereotypes are covered.

It doesn’t take long for writer/director Jon Binkowski (The Visitant) to thin his cast of unknowns, but those scenes have no sense of suspense — a common problem among low-rate slashers. Not so common: cartoon orchestration punctuating so many lines of dialogue and character movements. It’s almost as if Scare Zone is unsure whether it’s a horror movie or a comedy. Supporting that theory are visual throwaway gags, like the celebratory round of “Killer Lite” beer, and lame exchanges on the level of grade-school joke books, like:

“She told me about her family.”
“Yeah, who, the Addams Family?”

Scare Zone’s single grace is that in using the sets from Universal’s actual attraction at the time, it boasts production value for days (or 6.25% of one, if you dislike hyperbole). However, great sets aren’t enough to save a picture. Scare Zone remains, to borrow a phrase from Oliver, “juvenile tomfuckery.” I am looking forward to fall, though. —Rod Lott

*Misspelled on purpose, but appropriate for what sounds like Collective Soul, but watered down, then shrunk in the dryer.

Get it at Amazon.

Row 19 (2021)

Last month, I took an overnight, eight-hour flight with mechanical issues, a significant delay in departure, spine-crunching seating to render sleep impossible, mayonnaise on the turkey sandwich “dinner,” Venom: Let There Be Carnage playing on the screen and a couple of passengers getting a little too mouthy about having to wear masks. All that’s to say today’s airlines make for a stressful, terrifying experience.

Sadly, Row 19 is neither. Unlike my seat, it’s by no means painful. For a supernatural spooker at 30,000 feet, the Russian film is at least more entertaining than America’s own, higher-profile Flight 7500. Its ultimate destination is what sinks it.

Twenty years after emerging as the lone survivor of a catastrophic plane crash, doctor and single mom Katerina (Svetlana Ivanova, Cosmoball) bravely takes off again. With her daughter (fellow Cosmoballer Marta Kessler) in tow and the same age as Katerina was at the time of tragedy, she boards a red eye with only about half a dozen passengers — I mean, unless you count the ghosts, spirits and other phantasmagorical stowaways eventually causing havoc.

What It All Means can be sussed out well before director Alexander Babaev (Bornless Ones, not to be confused with boneless ones at your neighborhood Buffalo Wild Wings) intends. Although Ivanova succeeds in selling the hell out of the concept and Babaev brings it in at a tidy 78 minutes (with credits), Row 19 lands as a rough and routine trip of terror. Barring a different language, the slick flick is nothing you haven’t seen before — especially if Flightplan is stamped in your cinematic passport. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

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