Author: Jim McLennan

Injun

  By

★½
“I Spit on Your Movie.”

I never thought I’d find a film which would leave me yearning for the subtle and understated pleasures of the original I Spit on Your Grave, but here we are. 35 years on, and this cringeworthy copy was made, transplanting events to the old West. A further decade later: with a couple of re-titlings which jostle each other for inappropriateness, it’s out on a number of free movie streaming platforms. I’m here to tell you, not to bother. Even in the low-rent neighbourhood which is rape-revenge movies, you could close your eyes, pick a random entry, and be almost guaranteed to find something with a better script and general execution.

It begins on a bizarrely integrated farm, I’m guessing at some point after the end of the Civil War. Comanche adopted white girl Ana (Sawyer) lives there with her native American husband and their son, plus a Hispanic woman, a black guy and a geezer in glasses. Their names are not important. For onto the ranch ride six escaped convicts, led by former Confederate officer Jeb (Herrick). After some ominous banter with geezer in glasses, they kill everyone – told you their names weren’t important – except for Ana who is merely gang-raped, staked out and left for dead. Fortunately for her, she’s rescued by a conveniently passing man called Barfly (Neff). Nursed back to health over what must be a period of several hours, she sets out for revenge against the six escapees, who inexplicably decided to hang around the ranch.

You know me: I’m not exactly one to complain about questionable stereotypes. But even I had to wince on a number of occasions. It might have been Jeb’s Mexican sidekick, Chico (Venture), who sports an F-sized sombrero and droopy mustache. It might have been Ana’s squaw cosplay and whooping war-dance. It might have been the original title, with its even more dubious poster and tagline: “Payback’s an Indian bitch!” I’m all in favour of political incorrectness in order to make a point, or even simply to trigger certain folk. I get the feeling though, that everything here was done out of sheer ignorance. As such, this is no fun at all.

If you’re going to knock off I Spit on Your Grave so blatantly (down to there being a mentally-challenged member among the rapists), then you really need to put more effort into it. The rape here is a scoop of vanilla ice-cream compared to the intensity of the original. The revenge has almost no impact either, with third-rate special effects: the “scalping” is particularly unimpressive. Oh, hey: rather than cutting someone’s genitals off, she sets fire to them. That’s what passes for imagination and innovation here. The performances just about pass muster: indeed, there’s likely too much of them, especially with the gang sitting around the farmhouse and jawing, as their numbers steadily shrink. Your interest and attention will likely suffer a similar fate.

Dir: Bob Cook
Star: Amanda Elizabeth Sawyer, Robert Herrick, Tony Venture, Greg Neff
a.k.a. Scalped! or I Spit on Your Tombstone

Hit and Run, by Andy Maslen

  By

Literary rating: ★★★
Kick-butt quotient: ☆☆

Detective Inspector Stella Cole has her life turned upside down when her lawyer husband is killed in a hit-and-run accident, leaving her to bring up daughter Lola on her own, and struggling with an addiction to both booze and painkillers – anything to numb the pain of everyday existence. Though the driver in question is arrested, he receives a paltry sentence of only three years, and Stella begins to plot taking her own revenge. This is brought up short when the perpetrator is killed in prison, and evidence begins to accumulate that her husband’s death may not have been accidental.

The more DI Cole investigates, the murkier things get, as she discovers evidence of a vigilante group, Pro Patria Mori, operating at the highest levels. They’re not exactly happy to have Cole circling them, and decide she needs to be dealt with. However, Stella has been preparing to deliver the most brutal payback she can imagine, when she finds the man responsible, and is no longer a soft target, but prepared for whatever – and whoever – PPM might throw at her. Despite Britain’s strict gun-controls, her job helps her obtain access to everything she needs, before she sets off to the Highlands of Scotland to carry out her vengeance, with absolutely no regard for what the personal cost might be.

Looking back on this, what will stick in my mind is probably a fairly mind-blowing twist at about the one-third point, which quite upends everything I’d believed, and was something I definitely did not see coming. Well played, Mr. Maslen. Well played. I also liked the nicely-detailed way in which Stella obtained her weaponry. Not being au fait with the finer details of police firearms procedure, I can’t comment on its practicality; however, it sounds like it could work, and that’s good enough for me. The action is fairly low-key for the most part, though ends in a rousing finale, with Stella’s assault on her target, who knows she’s coming and has made defensive preparations. Just not nearly enough of them.

There were some other plot aspects that didn’t convince. In the end, the person directly responsible for her husband’s death – as in, actually driving the car – is one of PPM’s top officials, which doesn’t seem to make sense. It’d be more logical to use the person who was actually sent to jail, and they clearly have no issues with throwing low-lives at problems, or access to the same. Similarly, it’d be more logical to have had her work up the chain of command. It still makes for a satisfying and vigorous tale of justice emphatically served, though I’m not certain how there can be six more books in the series. It feels as if Cole has burned an awful lot of bridges, with a return to her job seeming highly problematic. It’s certainly not a light read, yet perhaps is the better for unashamedly embracing the darkness in its topic and heroine.

Author: Andy Maslen
Publisher: Tyton Press, available through Amazon, both as a paperback and an e-book
Book 1 of 7 in the DI Stella Cole Thrillers series.

One Foot Crane

  By

★★½
“As the crane flies.”

We begin with the murder of a family, with the sole (apparent) survivor being a small child, Fung Lin-yi (Li), who is able to escape. Rescued by – and stop me if you’ve heard this one before – a kung-fu master, she is rigourously trained in the titular style of martial arts. It’s fairly nifty, not least for the dagger hidden in the tip of her shoe which she uses to administer the coup de grace, Rosa Klebb style. Fifteen years later, she’s ready to seek revenge on the quartet of outlaws responsible for killing her family, who unlike our heroine, appear not to have aged a day over the decade and a half since they participated in the slaughter. Matters are complicated by a few factors. Her first victim is the father of one of the outlaws, who then starts tracking down the mysterious “One Foot Crane” responsible. There’s also a police official investigating the situation (Sze), and it turns out Lin-yi may not be the only survivor after all (Wei).

Plenty going on here, for sure, though not much of it is particularly of interest. Indeed, from an action heroine point of view, it leads to a dilution of focus, with the movie’s attention being pulled in too many different directions. It ends up doing none of them justice and sidelining Lin-yi, just as things should be getting going. Li isn’t bad, either in performance or with her fists and feet; there’s just nothing particularly special about either facet of her character. It does form an interesting contrast to the recently reviewed Eight Strikes of the Wildcat in one area. That had the heroine taking on three villains for the film’s climax, and this approach makes for a much stronger and more impressive finale than the one here, where she needs the help of two others (using eagle and mantis techniques) in order to take on the final boss. You never saw Bruce Lee or Jackie Chan requiring assistance.

Veteran Hong Kong star Lo Lieh shows up, though despite his high presence in the movie’s opening credits, his contribution should probably be more in the “with…” or “and…” categories, if the makers were being honest. He appears only briefly as a villain, swinging a blade on a chain around. I did appreciate the way the film didn’t subject us to the almost contractually required training montage: one second, Lin-yi is a little girl doing kung-fu, and a cut later, she’s all grown-up and doing kung-fu. However, there is almost nothing else which sticks in my mind, and I finished watching it a scant few hours ago. Still, Li clearly must have had some skills, enjoying a long career in both film and television, appearing as recently as 2020. She was the lead in a 1978 TV series of The Bride with White Hair, and received a “Long-term Service and Outstanding Employee Honour Award” from TVB for thirty years’ service in 2018. This, however, doesn’t merit any further discussion.

Dir: Wu Min-hsiung
Star: Lily Li, Wei Tzu-Yun, Tsai Hung, Sze Ma Lung

The Gentle Touch

  By

★★★★
“Touched by an angel.”

British television was rather late to the policewoman party. The first such American show, Decoy, had aired in 1957, and been followed in the seventies by Get Christie Love! and Police Woman. But the UK had to wait until the eighties for their first home-grown series. The Gentle Touch just beat Juliet Bravo to the title, beginning its five season run four months earlier, in April 1980. It centered on Maggie Forbes (Gascoine), a Detective Inspector who worked out of the Seven Dials station in central London. The show began with the murder of her husband, also a police officer, leaving her to raise teenage son Steve (Rathbone), despite a strong devotion to her career in law enforcement.

To be honest, it’s more character- than action-driven overall, yet that’s its strength, since it does a great job of creating people who feel “real”. Nobody here is perfect: everyone has flaws, and struggles to cope with life’s ups and downs. Maggie is the focus, having to operate in an era when casual disregard for a woman’s talents was the norm. Not least by her Scottish colleague, Bob Croft (Gwaspari), though he eventually came to appreciate her many talents, such as Forbes’s fierce devotion to justice. Fortunately, her boss, Detective Chief Inspector Bill Russell (Marlowe) always had her back, even if his approach means cutting her no slack either. But every episode seemed to have one or more great performance, taking advantage of the vast pool of top-tier British character actors.

If you’re familiar with British films and television of the time (and I basically grew up with them!), you will see a lot of recognizable faces. Josh Ackland, Enn Reitel, Joanne Whalley, Art Malik, David Kelly, Ralph Bates and even Floella Benjamin – now Baroness Benjamin, then playing a high-class call-girl! The show also covered a lot of social topics not often seen on eighties television, from racism to porn, yet generally managed to do so without feeling like it was delivering a lecture. There’s no denying its success at the time. This peaked with the ninth episode of season three, in January 1982, which was the fifth most-watched TV program of the year in the United Kingdom, seen by almost a third of the entire population.

The odd episode does perhaps teeter on the edge of implausibility, such as a largely ineffective cliffhanger at the end of season four, where a woman walks into Seven Dials station, armed with a hand-grenade, and threatening to blow herself up. Such excesses seemed positively… well, American. I felt the show was better when staying safely British: you could have a good drinking game, based off people offering each other a nice cup of tea. Speaking of which, Gascoine must have had a sponsorship deal with artificial sweetener company Hermesetas: Chris noticed the way she inevitably dropped a couple of their little tabs into her cuppa. Yet I was surprised how well it generally stood the test of time. Its age only occasionally shows, and most of its 56 episodes proved highly watchable, thanks to the solid characters and performances.

Creator: Terence Feely
Star: Jill Gascoine, William Marlowe, Brian Gwaspari, Nigel Rathbone

Nowhere Girl

  By

★★½
“Slow, slow, slow-slow, quick…”

For the first hour, you may be forgiven for wondering if there has been some kind of mistake, because the poster bears almost no resemblance to what happens in the film. Oh, it’s the same actress, to be sure, and she is a schoolgirl. But it appears, rather than the war story promised, you have strayed into a teenage drama. In it, Ai (Seino) is a talented but troubled student, who seems to be suffering from some kind of post-traumatic stress disorder. The special treatment she receives at school brings her enmity as a result, both from her class-mates and the er homeroom teacher (Kaneko). Though she finds solace in art, including a mysterious major project on which she is working, housed in the school auditorium.

It’s all very subdued. There’s a lot of scenes of people standing around talking. Or, for variety, sitting around talking. The camera is considerably more mobile than the characters, engaging in stately pans and tracking shots around the dialogue, accompanied by classical music that’s positively soporific. Yet, it’s clear there’s something “off” about the whole situation. The school is frequently shaken by earthquakes, and it’s apparent that Ai has a tendency to outbursts of violence, which is bubbling just below the surface. The staff and other students don’t pay attention to the warning signs, and continue to push Ai’s buttons. You’ll understand where I thought this was potentially going to end up, delivering on the image with her going postal on the school.

Not quite.

Trust Oshii to make something which confounds expectations, while still somehow managing to disappoint. See  Avalon or Assault Girls, both films with massive potential, that fall short of realizing it. Here, you have a film which would potentially be a classic, if it started at the hour mark, then built on what follows, for another hour after the credits actually roll. Because what kicks off – at the 67-minute mark if you’re interested in fast-forwarding to that point – is beautifully staged. There’s a spectacular sequence of kung- and gun-fu, whose highlight for me was Ai taking the term “human shield” to a whole new level. Then a revelation to set up a whole new scenario, one that looks very interesting, and… The End.

I do have to mark this down for the film trying to pull off the most clichéd of clichéd twists which, to a significant degree, renders everything previous to that point a waste of everybody’s time. You need to be a supremely confident film-maker to pull it off; while it’s clear Oshii doesn’t lack in confidence, pulling the carpet out from under the viewer really needs to have happened 10-15 minutes in. The longer the conceit is sustained, the more likely the audience’s reaction will be “You’ve got to be kidding me” – and there might well be an epithet dropped in before “kidding”, too. Some day Oshii will deliver on his undeniable talent and imagination. Just not today.

Dir: Mamoru Oshii
Star: Nana Seino, Nobuaki Kaneko, Lily, Hirotaro Honda

Run Sweetheart Run

  By

★★★
“/snorts in Lola”

If I were Ella Balinska, I’d be having a word with my agent. After seeing her major Hollywood career begin with the embarrassing failure of the Charlie’s Angels reboot, she then followed up with an even more dismal flop, the attempted reboot by Netflix of Resident Evil. Now there’s this, which eventually seeped out on Amazon Prime, in a re-cut form, almost three years after premiering at Sundance. This either doubles down on the loony feminist claptrap of Angels, or is a deadpan parody of that kind of nonsense. For the sake of my sanity, and for humanity in general  I’m going to presume it’s the latter, and the grade above reflects this. If it was intended as serious social commentary, slice the grade in half, and God help us all.

Cherie (Balinska) is a wannabe lawyer, toiling away in a Los Angeles legal firm, and suffering all the slings and arrows the patriarchy can hurl at a single black mother. In particular, her boss (Gregg) asks her to stand in for him and take a client, Ethan (Asbæk). out to dinner. He’s handsome, charming… and a demonic entity of some kind, who then proceeds to hunt Cherie through the LA night, after telling her, she’ll be free if she can last till dawn. Turns out she’s far from his first victim, and Cherie’s only hope of help is a mysterious woman called the First Lady (an effortlessly movie-stealing Aghdashloo), who knows a thing or two…

It’s a perfectly fine premise, and as well as Aghdashloo, Asbæk also seems to be in on the joke, over-acting enthusiastically and to good effect. There are moments when this is supremely self-aware, such as when Ethan follows Cassie into his house, then turns and gestures to stop the camera from following. Or the 72-point font exhortations to “RUN!” splattered on the screen at appropriate moments. Yet it feels as if Feste doesn’t understand the genre in which she’s operating. Horror is about confronting fears head-on (albeit in a safe environment), not avoiding them. By pointing the camera away, she’s missing the point. For instance, when Ethan reveals his true form, all we see is Cassie’s reaction, and Balinaka’s pulling of faces is nowhere near a good enough performance to sell it. 

Despite what I said above, unfortunately, it does appear the film intends its feminist message to be taken seriously, and at times this drowns the entertaining elements in cringe. Peak levels are reached after Cherie is rescued from an obnoxious alpha male at a party by three sisters, who unironically spout nonsense like, “We desperately need the female brain.” The whole movie is spattered with badly-written dialogue and action along similar lines, rather than letting its meaning flow naturally from events as they happen. Such moments derail what was a promising B-movie. Indeed, if it had been more Ethan vs. First Lady, with Cassie reduced to the annoying footnote she deserves to be, it could potentially have been a classic.

Dir: Shana Feste
Star: Ella Balinska, Pilou Asbæk, Clark Gregg, Shohreh Aghdashloo

The Glorious Asuka Gang!

  By

★★★
“Red Nose Day?”

Dir: Yôichi Sai
Star: Miho Tsumiki, Yôko Kikuchi, Kumiko Takeda, Mikari

This is based on a 34-volume manga series by Satosumi Takaguchi, which began publication in 1985. It is far from the only adaptation. There have also been two OVAs, a live-action drama series, a different feature version made in 2009, and even a pair of drama CDs. This feature, however, is the only one available in the West to date with subtitles. It takes place at an indeterminate point in the future – the year is given as 199X – when “the streets are overflowing with drugs and violence”. There’s a battle for control, which conveniently seems to be along gender lines. The unfortunately naned male “Red Nose Gods”, under boss Toki Masamune, are going up against the all-girl Hibari Group. They are named after their leader (Mikari), who speaks only through her lieutenant, or with the aid of an artificial voice-box.

Out heroine, Asuka (Tsumiki), has just peeled off from Hibari, along with her best friend Miko (Kikuchi), seeking to make their own way on the streets. They quickly gain the enmity of the Red Nose Gods, but more troubling, is that Hibari has ordered Yoko (Takeda) to kill them both. For Yoko is Miko’s sister. This is established quite quickly, and the rest of the movie is various shenanigans as the two groups struggle for power, while the local corrupt police run interference on their own agenda. Will there be betrayal, plotting and heavy use of a Rolling Stones song? The answer is yes, to all three elements.

This feels like it ought to be a straight-to-video title, of which there was no shortage around the time this came out (1988). But the production values are considerably better than normally present in that kind of thing. The cost of merely licensing the Stones’s Satisfaction would have exceeded the entire budget of many V-cinema entries. There are also some quite spectacular sets built to represent “New Kabuki Town”, after the apparent near-collapse of normal society, and the photography is positively theatrical in quality. If you’d told me this was a Japanese remake of Streets of Fire, I would have believed you. Elements like Hibari’s voice-box indicate there was a decent amount of thought put into the various elements too.

So why is it… kinda dull? Or at least, it seems like it should be considerably more exciting. While there are occasional upticks in energy, it feels considerably more chatty than I wanted. Yoko, in particular, seems to act in ways that defy any kind of internal logic, yet are necessary to propel the narrative forward. What is her motivation? What, indeed, is anyone trying to accomplish? For a time, it looks as if Asuka is seeking to take over from Hibari, or replace Toki. This all goes away quite quickly, left by the wayside, and leaving a vacuum in terms of character goals. It ends instead in a straightforward duel between Asuka and Yoko, and there’s a definite sense that, once the dust settles, nothing much will have changed. Maybe that’s the point.

Shelter

  By

★★★½
“Never trust the Jews.”

The above is said by an Arab character, passing on advice from her father. By the end of it, despite this being an Israeli-produced movie, you may be inclined to agree with them. Mind you, on the basis of this, you should also never trust, the Arabs, Americans or Germans either. This dive into the world of intelligence, counter-intelligence and realpolitik is so morally murky, it should come with a head-lamp, to assist viewers peering into the darkness. Naomi (Riskin) is a Mossad agent, who has been out of the game for two years, since her husband, a fellow spy, was killed in a terrorist attack. She has now been tasked with what should be a simple job, guarding Hezbollah informant Mona (Farahani).

The latter has just been spirited out of the Middle East, after her cover was blown. Mona had plastic surgery and is recuperating in Hamburg for two weeks, before beginning a new life in Canada. Except, nothing in the world of spydom is ever “simple.” Hezbollah are very keen not to let Mona’s treachery escape unpunished, and Naomi’s nerves are on a knife-edge of perpetual tension, with even a simple wrong number telephone call triggering paranoia. Yet she has every reason to be suspicious. For far above the two women’s heads, wheels are in motion. America want to defeat ISIS, and needs Iran’s help. Iran supports Hezbollah. So if the price of Iran’s co-operation is merely an informant who is no longer of use…

“We take care of our people,” is an oft-repeated mantra, particularly by Naomi’s handler, Gad (Ashkenazi). But by the end, you’ll be feeling it’s more a sick joke than genuine commitment. While he may mean well, his hands are largely tied in terms of actual care. The reality is closer to Spock’s line in Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan: “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few”. Naomi is aware of this, though matters aren’t helped by Mona’s fatalistic approach: “This apartment is cursed,” she mutters at one point. They do inevitably bond, mostly over children: Mona had to leave her son behind, Naomi is trying to conceive via a sperm donor. Though there’s also a makeover session, which is a bit cringey, to be honest – albeit, a makeover session which eventually proves  necessary to the plot.

However, when this is simply focusing on screwing up the tension, Riklis does a fine job, creating a world where anyone and everyone is potentially a lethal threat. Hyper-vigilance is an essential trait for survival, since a casual look can be the only warning you get. Yet that way lies inevitable burnout on an overdose of adrenaline. I’m not 100% certain the final twists quite deliver, at least from a logical point of view: I have questions, is all I can say on the topic. Yet they do deliver a satisfactory emotional payoff, and the journey to get there has been fine as well.

Dir: Eran Riklis
Star: Neta Riskin, Golshifteh Farahani, Lior Ashkenazi, Doraid Liddawi

The Bleeding Game

  By

★½
“Bleeding terrible, innit?”

It is possible to do Lovecraft on a low-budget and make it work. Earlier this year, I was introduced to the delightful films of Lars Henriks, who did a whole trilogy of micro-budget movies, loosely in the Lovecraft universe. Taken in the right spirit, they’re quite charming. Then, there’s this… I think I can safely say, it’s neither delightful nor charming, regardless of spirit. The best I can say is there is a non-terrible core concept here.  Mr. Temple (Bolton) wants occult power, and feeds on blood, so summons a trio of Shoggoths, mystical minions who possess a sleazy businessman, a metalhead, and a rent boy. They prey on the women who frequent his bars, bringing their essence back to their master. Arrayed against him are three sisters (one adopted), the Proctors: Aida (Mixter), Flo (Bland) and Lizzy (Alison), who come from a family of white magicians. When the corpses of the Shoggoth’s victims start piling up, they seek to stop first them, then Temple, from continuing their dark harvest.

I should have recognized the director’s name: I’m presuming he’s the brother (or something) of Sean-Michael Argo. That is the Argo who gave us one of the worst ever action-heroine films in Iconoclast. He shows up here as The Grin, an Oracle-like figure to whom the Proctor sisters turn for advice. His relative Ian is, at least, able to tell a coherent story, so that puts him well ahead of his relative. However, there are still way too many problem present for this to be successful, even by the low-standards of incredibly cheap horror. The audio is inconsistent from scene to scene, varying from muffled to incredibly echoey. The pacing is terrible, with scenes that serve no real purpose, and the backstory involving their father is murky, at best. Though I was quite amused by the way that shotguns are basically more effective than any traditional tools, and there is a half-decent impalement.

My biggest complaint, however, was the flat-out terrible British accents sported by the Shoggoths. I’m not sure why being taken over by a demonic entity causes the victims suddenly to channel Dick Van Dyke from Mary Poppins, but here we apparently are. I feel personally attacked by this blatant example of Britwashing, not least since it’s an accent that serves absolutely no purpose whatsoever, any more than the top hat sported by one Shoggoth. The film is at its best least worst when they aren’t speaking on screen, simply because I no longer had a rising desire to put my fist, the living-room table or our cat through the television. Even writing this paragraph is sending my blood pressure spiking. The sisters don’t bother with fake accents, and occasionally border on being interesting characters: looks like two of them have an on/off sexual relationship, though we cut away from ever seeing anything there. Like the rest of the film, that demonstrates its disappointing failure to deliver.

Dir: Ian Argo
Star: Whitney Mixter, Shey Bland, Alison Tussey, C. Jason Bolton