Reviews

From the flower power group Wind In The Willows to Playboy bunnydom to rock icon, Debbie Harry aka Deborah Harry is at her blonde best in this diva of all diva's documentary. A must for harried Harry heart-throbbers! Only the divine Ms. Debbie could deliver pure pop perfection from a bottle of bleach and a can of "hairspray".

Thanks to this fungal film I do NOT want my Maypo, can't stomach the thought of Maltex or Wheatena, and even that granola over there doesn't look so innocent anymore! Why wasn't the song "Slop Time", by the Sherrys, used as the theme?

Passable adaptation of the Desmond Morris novel that child/teen idol star Johnny Crawford would probably rather forget. Brings to light that burning question: why do so many former underage actors/actresses/singers, etc. try to shake their image by doffing their duds?

If you've been naughty and not nice, Santa won't leave you a lump of coal, he'll tie you up and force you to watch "Santa Claus Conquers the Martians"!!! Whatever happened to the proposed sequel: "Jesus Vs. the Christians from Neptune"?

So badly made that a portion of the soundtrack is a nonsensical narration describing the action on the screen! In one scene of dance-hall devastation, you can actually see the person inside this mutated, slithering vacuum-cleaner bag pulling the "helpless", "struggling" (struggling to get inside the "monster") victim into the maw of the amazing whatzit! Check out the nifty folk Hootenanny and sing along with the dorks before they climb into the Dirt Devil from Death Valley and discover that it's really the Kingston Trio taking revenge on the public for their waning career!

Absolutely perfect blend of dreamy romance, eerie, atmospheric ghost-story inuendo, and classic black and white cinematography (save for a brief color shot of the actual "portrait of Jennie"). Jennifer Jones is the quintessentially innocent, star-crossed, troubled soul who finds peace and spiritual salvation by transcending fate and meeting the man she would have spent an entire human life with.

Long ago in the swingin', free-love sixties, before the onset of interpretive sexual harassment, you could abduct your favorite pop idol, strip them nearly naked, tie them to a rotating table under a transparent dome, and force yourself upon them, and lo and behold: THEY LOVE IT!!! Rigggghhhhhhhht!

Ingenious marketing gimmickry a la the Beatles' bizarre plot to dupe dumb fans (planting hundreds of subliminal clues and back-masking material) into believing Paul McCartney had died. "The Blair Witch Project" employs similar salesmanship via the lost documentary crudeness and subsequent staging of an implicit massacre which will undoubtedly result in a "War of the Worlds" fever wherein fans staunchly believe its validity. Art imitating life imitating death? Just remember the words of the old song "The Teddy Bear's Picnic": "If you go out in the woods today..." Finally, a genuine scare for the first time in eons!

Picture-perfect portrayal of a vapid young woman who learns more about life in death after her "car-ma" careens off a bridge and she does the limbo rock with the "near death experience". Did "Night Of The Living Dead" director George Romero take zombie- building lessons from "Carnival" director Herk Harvey? Comfortably corny yet appropriately atmospheric, "Carnival Of Souls" gives any of the old "Twilight Zone" episodes creepily competent competition.

"Native American" (shame! shame! you could have hired Buffy Sainte-Marie) Shelley Morrison kidnaps Texas Ranger William Smith (after he displays his perfect pecs); an arrogant New Hampshire constable tries to teach Lone Star lawmen about "proper law enforcement" (believe me, nothing has changed in that respect!); Albert Salmi plays a jinx-bedeviled cowboy (ironic considering his eventual real-life suicide), and Neville Brand's gravel-voiced grumbling grates in this goofy but gregarious series send-off of the "Laredo" tv show. It ain't no "Wild Wild West", but its wacky and warm western wiles are still engaging.

It ain't "Dances With Wolves"- it's REAL- it's FUNNY- it's an ATTITUDE- it's a HUMAN message of forgiveness for ALL PEOPLE! It dances you outside to the Pow Wow Highway- it's one of the BEST films ever made!

The much-pampered, oedipally-loved son of a neurotic french mother, disappears without a trace (almost) while running a routine errand. Years later, a street-hustler teen, claiming to be the long-lost boy, is brought to live with the family, reuniting the mother and the father but alienating the older sister who remains skeptical of the youth's identity. Not entirely flawless as evidence of the lad's true fate are dropped like Hiroshima bombs upon the viewer. Perhaps if a certain Australian singer/actress had played the mother this film could be retitled "Olivier, Olivier Newton-John".

Andre' Gower is great as the captain of a crew of quivering kids who confront classic creature-feature conceptualizations of Dracula, Frankenstein's Monster, the Wolfman, the Mummy, and the Creature from the Black Lagoon. Simple, sound, slightly silly but nonetheless straightforward saga is cinematically "safer" than director Dekker's somewhat superior "Night Of The Creeps". Junior High jitters a la 1950's sentiment.

Roz Kelly ruined her rep with this revulsive raunch (she had seen happier days playing "Pinky Tuscadero" on tv). "Ten, nine, eight, seven, six...." (where's Dick Clark when you need him?)..."..five, four, three..." (Guy Lombardo is rolling in his grave)..."..two, one!"...happy new year! Is the movie over now?

Sinister scientist Simond Trent (Jeff Alexander) steals a slumbering surveyor (Bill Thurman) from the sack, surgically savaging the sorry sap who then becomes a silly, scaly salamander! Oops! I just gave it away! That's it! That's the whole plot! Cinematic slop is swamped in (unintentional) second-rate satire.

Son of Hercules vs. sun-sensitive subterranean Sicilians in this anti-"Beach Blanket Bingo" bunko beneath the bowels of Italy! The most "dramatic" scene depicts a guard (punished for allowing the hero to escape) stripped, strapped to a slab, and subjected to sunlight (which causes him to disintegrate). The viewer realizes that it is NOT the words to the 1966 hit "Sunny" ("Sunny, thank you for the sunshine you gave...") the tortured titan is singing as he screams "No! No! Not the sun! Aieee!!" This flick never should have seen the light of day. I say "No! No! Not "Mole Men Vs. The Son of Hercules"! Aieee!!"

Relentless, riveting hostage horror revoltingly redefines "family fare" as preppy perverts play gruesome games with mom, pop, junior, and the family dog. The nuclear family is "nuked" by supremely sinister, sadistic sociopaths who craft the cruelest cat and mouse capers conjured since "A Clockwork Orange". Ascerbic, arrogant asides (directly delivered to the camera) accent the antagonists' awfulness.

Those halcyon "Happy Days" weren't all happy! Ken Wahl and Karen Allen give gritty, gutsy gusto and pre-Beatles gestalt to this uncompromising teen tale from the doo wop era.

Director Joe Sherlock's at home with horror in this garage gore-fest! Remember the late Frank Zappa's lp "Joe's Garage"? Well, it isn't Moon Unit and Dweezil hiding behind that dumpster!

"Fist of Judo?" Former "Flash Gordon", Sam J. Jones, mixed-up mobster mayhem, and menacing, muscular "maidens" in the tepid tale of a vengeful vixen vying to vindicate her framed father. Radical anti-male feminists will revel in the scene wherein a beautiful bodybuilder babe beats up, bashes, and breaks the neck of a bawdy bad guy brazenly expecting amorous affection! Blend of Black Belt blandness and predictable police pap needs to pound its fist and demand more depth!

David Duchovny and Mimi Rogers give enraptured performances as swingers who swop sexscapades for salvation in this end of-the-world Michael Tolkin tale of temptation and transcendence. Incisive, ironic eye-view of religious paradox and human free will that is largely uncategorizable. Rogers soars as the saved sinner who must choose between blind faith and allegiance to God and the love of her only child.

Scaly scares from beneath Chicago's swampy sewers as signature (John) Sayles saga slithers onto the silver screen. Toothsome, titan tale re. urban legend of what happens when you flush your petstore alligator down the toilet. With perennial character actor Robert Forster, and a cameo by "Lolita" (Sue Lyon) herself! Check out "Knot's Landing's" Pat Petersen as a terrified-yet-take-charge tyke who tries to tank the gargantuan gator (long before he himself was flushed by femme fatale Nicolette Sheridan). But where is the immortal Beverly Garland? After all, the casting director could have at least given her a walk-on as homage to her role in "Alligator's" grade "B" 60's predecessor "The Alligator People" (no one can scream like Beverly Garland, not even Janet Leigh!). On a "scale" of 1 to 10, this one slithers slickly to a slimy nine!

Anitra Ford proves there's more sting in the tail of an ex-"Price Is Right" showcase model than suing Bob Barker! Hunky hero William Smith leaves his usual biker hive to hunt heinous, hormone-happy harpies hyped on he-man "honey". Buzzing with bug-eyed babes dealing death to dronish dudes, "Invasion of the Bee Girls" is a real hummer that swarms above the ranks of the usual grade "Bee" movie!

Suck on your Slippery Elm Throat Lozenges, slop syrup on your snack of strawberry shortcake, and prepare to be stuck to your sofa in shock as this slimy celluloid silliness slides onto the tv screen! Robert Hutton battles the bubblegum beasts bursting from the bowels of L.A., but neither he nor bubblebrained blonde Judee Morton (the only other actual acting talent) can beat the grad "B" badness of this boring box-office bilge! Still, some of the nonsensical newscasts are a hoot and a holler! "Stick" to a lot of booze if you choose to watch this ooze!

Would it be splitting hairs to point out that the Emanuelle in question is not "black" but Indonesian? I suppose it's no more silly or abstract than LL Cool J being Robin Williams' full-blood brother ("Toys"). Sumptuous cinematography, creative carnality, and the gorgeous (Laura) Gemser, pre-empt all political incorrectness. Pedophiliac permutations "pop up" (when a 12-year-old native boy eagerly presents Emanuelle with a phallic "good luck" icon and says "I give it to you!") and are "purged" and pacified when, a short time later, she drinks a strange potion at a ceremony, copulates on the ground with an anonymous, young tribal dancer (in full view of villagers and friends), and realizes she has had meaningless sex (well, duh!). Whatever happened to Laura Gemser's brief foray into straight cinema when she starred with Michael Landon in a 1983 made-for-tv movie? I give this sex-seared safari seven sharp spears, six shrunken skulls, five fat ferrets, and a porn queen in a pear tree!