Category: Review

Belle Starr’s Daughter

  By

★★½
“Like mother, like daughter.”

After one of her henchmen kills a local marshal, a posse is sent from Antioch to deal with outlaw Belle Starr, who had previously been in an uneasy truce with the town. However, when they arrive, they find Belle dead, and the gang subsequently scatters. Her daughter, Rose (Roman) mistakenly blames the new marshal, Tom Jackson (Montgomery), for her mother’s death. She apparently takes up honest work as a waitress, and Jackson falls in love with the young woman, initially unaware of her felonious ancestry. But Rose ends up leaving town with Bob Yauntis (Cameron) – he’s a former member of the gang who, unknown to her, was the actual killer of Belle and the previous marshal.

I guess this is something of a follow-up to Belle Starr – or maybe Badman’s Territory, since Isabell Jewell played Belle in both movies. This certainly has a similarly loose approach, taking historical fact as a jumping-off point for fictional adventure. Belle did indeed have a child: however, she was named Pearl Starr. Rather than an outlaw, she became a prostitute and ended up running several bordellos herself, and died in Arizona in 1925 (I’m a little surprised she wasn’t covered in Outlaw Women of Arizona). This appears to be taking another Western wild woman, Cimarron Rose, and making her Belle’s daughter. In reality, that Rose did hang with a criminal nicknamed ‘Bitter Creek’, as Bob is called here. She was supposedly involved in the Battle of Ingalls, an 1893 gunfight between outlaws and law-enforcement. 

Back in the cinematic world, it’s a shame Belle doesn’t survive longer into the movie. Having her, not just be an outlaw, but being the leader of an entire gang, is not something you see much on Westerns, particularly from this era. Obviously, the apple doesn’t fall very far from the tree, but you don’t get the idea Rose is exactly the sharpest tool in the box, letting Bob manipulate her at every step of the way. She refuses to accept the truth, well beyond the point at which any sensible person would be going, “Wait a minute…” While Roman might not be Gene Tierney in Belle Starr, there is something of a resemblance. She passes muster in a “We have Gene Tierney at home” way. 

It is a little disappointing how she ends up sidelined in the middle, in favour of Marshal Jackson hunting after Bitter Creek Yauntis and his gang. Rose just becomes one of the gang, though the way she isn’t treated particularly differently from anyone else, is somewhat refreshing. She does take the lead in trying to help an injured gang member, leaping off her horse to help him when he collapses into a river. Bob’s callous indifference here is what helps turn Rose against him, and she flees (across some very nice scenery), with Bob and his henchmen in pursuit. No prizes for guessing who arrives to save the day: having a woman who could save herself was still a little too advanced for Hollywood.

Dir: Lesley Selander
Star: Ruth Roman, George Montgomery, Rod Cameron, Wallace Ford

The Runner

  By

★★½
“Run Gal Run”

Poor Gal Gadot. Her career since Wonder Woman has basically been one downhill slalom after another. From the disaster which was Wonder Woman 1984, through Heart of Stone, and now this. It feels like everything has been a critical and/or commercial disaster. Even when not the star, she has been catching strays, such as Red Notice and the misconceived (to put it mildly) live-action Snow White remake. It’s at the point where her presence in a project is almost more a warning. The reviews for this could be a new low. Worse than Heart of Stone? Surely not. I was braced though. And while I found this less actively annoying, it still certainly isn’t good.

It’s a script which would barely trouble the back of a beer-mat. On the day prosecutor Maia Marten (Gadot) is scheduled to appear in court for the trial of a crime boss, her son Noah (Wilmot) is kidnapped. Unless she does exactly what she’s told by a voice on the phone (Lewis), Noah will die. The end game is Maia shooting the key witness in the hotel where he is sequestered. But to get there, she must run across London, this being contrived required so that the kidnapper can monitor her. He has also hacked her phone, so she is unable to call for help. There’s also some stuff about Maia’s mother having murdered her father. It doesn’t serve much purpose, and can safely be ignored.

This is the perfect movie, if you’re interested in spending eighty minutes, watching Gadot in motion, slowly getting sweatier and more dishevelled. To be honest… There are probably worse things to look at. Heart of Stone and Wonder Woman 1984, to name but two. As someone who lived in London for more than a decade, I also enjoyed trying to work out exactly where they were. This was challenging, given I left twenty-five years ago, and quite a lot has changed since. Still, I got the lie of the land, and unlike some films (Sherlock Holmes having its hero run from Tower Bridge to the Houses of Parliament in two minutes, requiring a sprint speed of 60+ mph), the geography here seems generally to make sense. 

But the fact that I was more interested in tourist landmarks, than the plot or the characters, is significant. You may even spend more of the film thinking of easier, less complex ways, for the voice on the phone to achieve the same end goal. For this is very much an example of an Amazon Prime streaming movie. You don’t need to think about the plot, or even pay attention to it. Everything is clear inside ten minutes, and the last five tidies everything up nicely, with a twist you will likely see coming – at least, it shouldn’t come as much of a surprise. In the middle? Running, taunting of Maia by the voice on the phone, and problem-solution on repeat. As Saturday night entertainment, it was… okay, I guess? Never going to watch it again though. 

Dir: Kevin Macdonald
Star: Gal Gadot, Damian Lewis, Alfred Enoch, Rory Wilmot

Two Undercover Angels

  By

★★
“Poster 1, Movie 0.”

I have some friends – people whose opinions I typically respect – who swear by Jesus (Jess) Franco. For example, Tony, who used to run Psychotronic Video in London, and whose all-time favourite movie is Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! This is clearly a man of taste. But he also likes Franco movies. Me? God knows, I’ve tried. On multiple occasions. Sober and drunk. But the vast majority of the ones I’ve seen seem mediocre hack jobs, showing no directorial talent at all. The one I might give a pass to is Faceless, which is lurid enough to be fun. But otherwise? Plodding and dull, despite the typical presence of some undeniably attractive lead actresses. This does not break that mould. 

It was just in a number of films featuring the two lead characters, a pair of female detectives called the Red Lips. There’s the blonde Regina (Vanni) and the redheaded Diana (Renaud). Here, they are hired by businessmen Mr. Radek for $50,000, to investigate the disappearance of Lita Regnier, a model who is the latest in a series of mysteriously abducted beautiful women. The trail eventually leads the due to enigmatic, reclusive painter and sculptor Karl Tiller (Hoven), for whom Lita had previously modelled. Turns out he’s a bit mad. Along with his werewolf-like assistant Morpho (Lemoine), who does the actual abductions, Tiller photographs the women as they’re being terrorized and murdered by Morpho, and turns the corpses into statues. 

If this sounds vaguely familiar, it’s because Franco is ripping off ideas from previous, much better, movies, such as Peeping Tom and House of Wax. Of course, there are a lot of other influences too, from the Bond films through to Danger: Diabolik and the other Euro-crime movies popular in the decade. Franco’s inability to stage scenes in ways that generate the slightest excitement, more than counterbalance the fact that he has lovely eye-candy in the shapely shapes of his two leads. The problem is, far too many scenes which are only of tangential relation to the main story, such as the go-go dancing, or romantic dalliances for one of the Red Lips, more or less unnecessary to the plot.

Initially, it seemed as if this might be a parody along the lines of Our Man Flint. Virtually the first time we see Regina, she is naked under the sheets in bed and breaks the fourth wall to proclaim to the viewer that she can’t possibly get up unless we look elsewhere – the camera duly obliges by staying on her face in medium close-up. But consistency would be too much to expect from Franco, and there’s nothing like it the rest of the way. Nor, despite that genuinely impressive poster, is there much in the way of action. Even when a bomb in a bouquet is delivered, our heroines don’t open a window and toss it out. No, they run through the house with it, down the stairs and over next to the swimming pool before tossing it away. I do not find such idiocy endearing or amusing.

Dir: Jesus Franco
Star: Janine Reynaud, Rosanna Yanni, Adrian Hoven, Michel Lemoine
a.k.a. Sadisterotica

Demon Hunter: Time 2 Kill

  By

★★★½
“KPop sold very separately.”

This falls into the category of unexpected surprise. It was over eight years ago that I reviewed Demon Hunter, and concluded “I’m looking forward to seeing where [Zoe Kavanagh] and Niamh Hogan might go from here.” After such a long lay-off, I’d largely given up hope. But, wait! For there is indeed more! The titular heroine, Taryn Barker (Hogan) is back: a little older, a little more weary of the world, but still as snarky and enthusiastically violent as ever. By this point, she’s like Lady Macbeth: “I am in blood stepped in so far that, should I wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o’er.” Only, y’know, with swearing in place of the iambic pentameter. 

I wouldn’t worry if you haven’t seen its predecessor. This one is self-contained enough. Still part supernatural action, but it’s also a love letter to eighties cinema – in particular, the decade’s horror movies. If you know my non-GWG tastes, you’ll know I am more than fine with this. The Macguffin for which Taryn is hunting here ia a medallion known as the Necrux, which has been split into two pieces. She needs to stop them from falling into the hands of Elysia Cronika (Wilcox), the CEO of Illumini Industries, who are apparently a subsidiary of EvilCorp, Inc. Taryn’s interference eventually makes Elysia so peeved, she carries out a ritual which sends the huntress, along with a few others as collateral damage, back in time. They all arrive in the year 1986 at Camp Beaver, the site of an infamous bloody massacre.

There is, as a result, a lot going on, between Taryn’s struggle to survive in the decade (complete with a nifty faux-eighties soundtrack), and trusty sidekick Ethan (O’Malley), who is trying to fix things in the present day. I likely preferred the former, simply because the film engaged an extra gear whenever Taryn was on screen – it was faster, funner and feistier. Wilcox plays a fine villain: of course, there’s bonus cultural resonance from her being part of the Nightmare on Elm Street franchise, one of most iconic of horror series. Things build to a battle between Elysia and Taryn, during which our heroine is hurled into different eras, over the last millennium and more. This is rather awesome, having strayed in from a far larger film.

Elsewhere, it’s not quite as universally successful: there are a couple of scenes where the editor from Taken 3 seems to have been in charge, and there’s a palpable gap between the impressive lead performances and some of the supporting ones. But this is the kind of production where you should expect a few rough edges – and I’d argue, they made me root for this scrappy little film a little bit more. Anyone mourning the cancellation of the Buffy reboot, might well find solace in the combination of quips and cracking heads to be found here. Let’s just hope it’s not another eight years before Taryn straps on her weapons and bad attitude once more. 

Dir: Zoe Kavanagh
Star: Niamh Hogan, Lisa Wilcox, Kevin O’Malley, Angel Nichole Bradford

Street Queens

  By

★★
“Respect the hustle.”

This gets an extra half-star, simply for trying to go in some unexpected directions. I’ve seen enough of these urban flicks to know the template from which they are largely stamped. Now and again, this doesn’t so much colour outside the lines, as forget about the lines entirely. It doesn’t always work. God knows, it doesn’t always work. Still, I respect the attempt. It used the word “duplicitous” inside the first minute, and you get a voice-over saying things like, “The crimson stains of her actions seemed to fade momentarily, offering a fleeting illusion of absolution. A fragile attempt to reconcile the duality of her existence.” That’s some fancy-ass, hi-falutin’ language for a film in this sub-genre. 

Unfortunately, it also manages to be an incoherent mess. Perhaps it makes sense to those involved in the production. I note that, on the IMDb, there are six writers. Okay, technically, one “created by”, one writer, a story editor, two story consultants AND a “screenplay by”. It feels as if they were all operating independently, and only met each other at the movie’s premiere. Because I cannot offer much more insight to the plot than the official synopsis. To wit, “Three formidable women, Nia (Lindsay), Bella (Hankerson), and Dragon (Love) rise to power in the male-dominated realm of organized crime.” Even here, I have questions. For it’s not exactly ‘male-dominated’ – the subject of gender barely crops up. 

Indeed, it seems the trio’s biggest threat is also a woman, the very strange Goldie (Rosario J Anglin), who also goes by another name. “I love blood, that’s why they call me the Stallion,” she says. Um, what? I can see that leading to a nickname like the Tiger, or Wolf. But a male herbivore? Though I will say, she might be the best character here, simply because she acts permanently off her face on pharmaceuticals. It’s disconcerting, and if I’m not sure I’d call it good acting, you will remember it. The basic idea is that our heroines decide to get in on the drug trade, after first robbing a high-stakes gambling night. However, the illusion there is rather fragile, given it seems to be taking place in a studio apartment.

Anyway, they use the seed money obtained there to bribe Dr. Martin (Barnhardt) into supplying them with opioids. Lots of opioids. This doesn’t go down well with a number of people, eventually leading to the trio becoming the target of a robbery themselves. Things seem to get sorted, until a “Six months later” caption, further violence, and we are informed that Street Queens 2 will be coming soon. I’m unsure whether this is a threat or a promise. The coolest thing here might be the animated, comic-book style opening credits; it’s certainly the last point at which much of this makes any sense. It did keep me watching – more or less. Just do not ask me probing questions about anything that transpired. 

Dir: Jibril Haynes
Star: Madeline Lindsay, Khristee Love, Gloria Hankerson, Malik Barnhardt

Saints, Spies, and Six-Gun Outlaws: Outlaw Women of Arizona, by Mike Gavin

  By

Literary rating: ★★½
Kick-butt quotient: ☆☆☆

This is a slim little book – more of a booklet, really, coming in at only 74 pages in length. But since it combines both our topic of discussion and local interest, because I live in Arizona, it was an easy decision to pick up a copy, after Dieter brought it to my attention. It does use quite a loose definition of “outlaw” – it is something only really discussed in the book’s epilogue, dividing them into three categories. Most obviously, are the ones Gavin calls “The Breakers of Law”, such as stagecoach robber Pearl Hart, whose exploits were dramatized in The Woman Who Robbed the Stagecoach. “Their crimes were against the statutes of the state.” 

As well as Hart, this covers Eva Dugan, the only woman executed in Arizona, who was hung in 1930 [Not-so fun fact: the executioner misjudged the drop, causing Dugan to be decapitated!], and the state’s most notorious killer, Winnie Ruth Judd, “The Trunk Murderess”. Are these latter two what I’d call “outlaws”? Or just criminals? There is a difference, albeit perhaps more so in perception than dictionary definition. Although there is also uncertainty as to whether both Bugan and Judd even committed the murders of which they were convicted. It is kinda disappointing that, in the true sense of the word, one woman who committed one (1) robbery, is about all Gavin could find in the history of the state, and back to when it was a territory.

Nor am I entirely convinced they “stood against power”, as Gavin claims. That feels more like an attempt to force post-feminist ideology onto them, though it might be more applicable to his third category, “The Breakers of Power… Women whose very existence challenged the authority of the state itself.” In this, he puts Apache warrior Lozen (whom I’d first heard of in the Warrior Women series hosted by Lucy Lawless); entrepreneur China Mary of Tombstone; and Teresa Urrea, the “Saint of Cabora.” who became a Joan of Arc-like figure for Mexican freedom fighters, on both sides of the border. But, again: Lozen is the only one whose “challenge of authority” seems like it was a conscious act. 

In between, we find “the Breakers of Convention… women whose primary crime was a refusal to be caged by the rigid expectations of their society.” These might be the most interesting figures, and it’s here where the limited space perhaps hurts most. While it’s laudable Gavin sticks to facts, without engaging in the speculation often seen around the likes of Calamity Jane, the average space allowed here is barely half a dozen pages. It’s enough to sketch only the basic details of a life, when some of them deserve much greater exploration. Pauline Cushman’s life as a Civil War spy, turned de facto sheriff, certainly merits more detail that her Wikipedia page provides. As a pointer towards some topics for further research, this is adequate. Just don’t expect much more. 

Author: Mike Gavin
Publisher: Self-published, available through Amazon, both as a paperback and an e-book
Stand-alone volume.

Barbaric Acts

  By

★★★½
“Revenge has never been so… messy.”

This begins with a caption detailing the horrendous number of gun deaths annually in Brazil, including several thousand per year in police actions. Given the synopsis, I wondered how the film was going to reconcile this with its own subject – would the answer to gun violence be… more gun violence? The answer is, the film doesn’t really bother to try, instead embracing the contradictions in a way that permits no logical conclusion. Indeed, it fails to offer one. The original title translates as Barbaric Times – Act I: Revenge Therapy, hinting at more to come – this explains, if not excuses, the abrupt and unfinished ending.

Carla (Abreu) is a happily married attorney, until her daughter is shot during a botched street robbery. This sends her spiralling down into an increasingly dark place, as it becomes clear there will be no conventional closure, the case simply being one of too many for the authorities. A self-help group doesn’t, and nor does mercenary vigilante justice, the operative in question believing one dead thug is as good as any other. Her husband (Mello) leaves Carla as she won’t let go, and her spiral culminates in an attempt to shoot herself in the same spot as her daughter. Yet this proves a potential turning point, Carla realizing only one person can take revenge for her. But how far up the chain should her quest for vengeance take Carla?

It certainly gets you into the head of its heroine, on her descent into psychological hell. The refusal to take a stance regarding the morality of her position is admirable, and I found myself pulled first one way, then the other. I particularly enjoyed Carla yanking the rug out from under the pacifist proclamations of the self-help group’s leader (Lemmertz), by offering her the murderer of her parents on a plate. I suspect it’s this kind of moral equivalency which led to some of the more sniffy critical opinions in the film’s home country. Me? I acknowledge and respect the position that, yes, sometimes violence is the solution, thank you very much.

Aside from the abrupt ending, it does feel stretched quite thin, and the pacing is a little weird, with the narrative bouncing around in time. It surges with a pulse-pounding chase sequence through the streets after Carla encounters the criminal responsible. Then it circles with a notable lack of aim or purpose for extended periods, before reeling you back in with a change of direction. The overall impact is positive, and occasionally shocking, such as the discovery that in Brazil, buying a car involves casually deciding the degree of bullet-proofing you want. Bernstein intends it to be the first in a trilogy about violence in Brazilian society. On the strength of this, I hope he gets the chance to make further installments, despite clearly being more interested in asking hard questions than providing difficult answers. 

Dir: Marcos Bernstein
Star: Cláudia Abreu, César Mello, Júlia Lemmertz, Alexandre Borges
a.k.a. Tempos de Barbárie – Ato I: Terapia da Vingança

Abandoned: Angelique’s Isle

  By

★★
“Alone: the 1845 edition.”

This is based on the true story of Angelique Mott. In 1845, she and her husband Charlie were part of a prospecting expedition which landed on Isle Royale, an island in the middle of Lake Superior. The objective was to prospect for copper, and when their search was successful, the Motts were left to guard the claim, in the expectation they’d be there for only a couple of weeks, before being relieved. However, nobody showed up, and the couple were left to fend for themselves through a ferocious mid-Western winter. They ran entirely out of food before Christmas, but Angelique was not rescued until May, after more than ten months as a castaway – by which point, Charlie had passed away.

It’s an impressive story of wilderness survival, in the face of incredible hardship, so what went wrong here? It’s mostly the plotting, which manages to squander almost all the tension inherent in the story. As the tagline above suggests, we’re big fans of survival show Alone [albeit while sitting safely on the couch, munching Doritos and passing critical comment on the contestants’ fire-making skills], and I was hoping for something similar here. I mean, it’s reported that one of the ways she survived was “by pulling out her own hair, plaiting the strands, and creating snares with it, by which she caught rabbits.” That’s hard-core, and is the kind of detail which would have brought the move alive. 

Instead, we get almost nothing about the details of how Angelique survives on a daily level. The film also makes it seem Isle Royale was tiny, but it’s actually over two hundred square miles in size – now, it has become the least visited national park in the continental US. Instead, we get a lot of the couple just sitting around, looking sadder and hungrier by the scene. Dramatic tension is limited to Charlie going a bit mad, which apparently did take place shortly before he died. I did wonder if, after his passing, Angelique was going to go all Uruguayan rugby team on him, but she just closes up the shack and moves into another shelter. [The ground was perhaps too hard for burial]

As something of a saving grace, the film does a good job building its characters. Angelique (Jones) is an interesting character, depicted here as a Christian, but one whose heritage was from the Ojibwe tribe. In particular, she’s shown as close to her grandmother (Young),  giving her a mixed cultural identity. Charlie (Carrick) is less well-defined, though does have a very nice beard. The photography also helps, though it appears Thunder Bay in Ontario, stood in for the real Isle Royale. It still captures the terrible isolation and the ferocious climate, which explains why there has never been a permanent settlement established on the island. But this is not the story I wanted to see, and I don’t feel it does justice to the tenacity displayed by the real character.

Dir: Marie-Hélène Cousineau, Michelle Derosier
Star: Julia Jones, Charlie Carrick, Tantoo Cardinal, Aden Young

Night of the Hunted

  By

★½
“The unspeakable in pursuit of the uneatable”

It has got to the point where ‘A Shudder Original’ has become more a threat than a promise. I was hoping for much more from Khalfoun, who gave us the brilliant Maniac remake. However, here he is hogtied by a terrible script, more interested in providing left-wing political messaging than  entertainment – the very definition of “woke”. At one point, the heroine actually says, “My whole life has been about pleasing men.” Seems like a you problem, honey. But it sums up the tone of this whole misbegotten endeavour. Though to be fair, watching this a week before the Presidential election didn’t help: I reached my annual quota of smug bullshit months ago.

The missteps begin almost immediately, when we’re introduced to pharmaceutical executive Alice (Rowe), who is about to leave a convention, being clumsily reminded by her husband at home that she has a fertility appointment. Seconds later, we discover she’s having an affair with co-worker John (Scippio). “What a great way to get our empathy!” said no audience, ever. On the way home, they pull into a gas-station only to find it’s the bullseye for a sniper (Stanic), who has already killed the sole overnight employee. He’s operating from a nearby billboard (top) which, in one of the film’s few interesting moments, can be read in two, diametrically opposite ways. Paul is quickly dispatched leaving Alice alone, except for a walkie-talkie through which she communicates with the active shooter.

Turns out, he has a laundry list of grudges, with his lines apparently created by a Twitter-scraping bot, or possibly an AI told to parody right-wing talk radio. I certainly can’t believe it took four human writers to come up with this garbage. It’s exactly the kind of scenario where the killer doesn’t need a reason, and all the efforts to give him one backfire completely. Compare and contrast the more effective Downrange, and you’ll see what I mean. It may have had its flaws, going too far into enigmatic. It’s still preferable to having the killer self-identify as “The right-wing nut, the conspiracy theorist, stop the lie, storm the Capitol,  election fraud, domestic terrorist, anti-vaxxer, anti-this, anti-that.” You’ll be forgiven for mentally tuning out mid-sentence.

Things only get worse thereafter. For naturally, the shooter idiotically ends up leaving his position of strength, and wandering around inside the gas station. This is so he can drop vague hints as to the specific nature of his motivation (which seems curiously focused on Alice), but more importantly, allows the heroine to battle him hand-to-hand. Do not expect either of these aspects to approach remotely satisfying, and my reaction when the end credits rolled was “That’s it? Really?” Of all the reasons I watch genre movies, getting political lectures from Frenchmen is pretty far down the list. This has pissed away all of Khalfoun’s goodwill, and a good chunk of that for producer Alexandre Aja too. As for Shudder? I will not be subscribing.

Dir: Franck Khalfoun
Star: Camille Rowe, Stasa Stanic, Jeremy Scippio, J. John Bieler
[A version of this review previously appeared on Film Blitz]

Big Bad Sis

  By

★★★
“Social soap with some punch.”

Despite this being from Hong Kong, I’m actually tagging this one in the “Pinky” category, because in a lot of ways, it feels closer to a pinky violence movie from Japan, being basically the story of a posse of bad girls. Except, this being Hong Kong in the seventies, where even juvenile delinquents were expected to hold down a responsible job. In the case of Fung Ying (Ping), this is working in a massive garment shop. It feels almost like prison labour, not least because of various predatory types, to whom Fung takes exception, becoming an unofficial shop steward. It helps she’s a bit of a bad girl herself, a former gang member.

She teams up with a couple of colleagues, and starts helping her co-workers solve their problems. For instance, one girl has been forced into prostitution to pay off her brother’s gambling debts, or another who was dumped by her sleazy boyfriend after she got pregnant (once you get past the first five minutes, there’s a theme here that, if not all men are scum, all scum are men). Needless to say, Fung’s past comes back to haunt her. The factory owner, who I guess is fairly decent as sweatshop proprietors go, is subject to a hostile takeover attempt by her old boss Dai Goa (Hsieh). When Fung derails this, he’s none too happy, and kidnaps her with the intention of burning her alive.

The middle of this is rather too much social drama for my tastes: if Ken Loach was to make a martial arts movie, the end result might be something like this. Fung and her allies seem more concerned with social equity, forming a union to fight against the exploitation of the working classes, sexist men, and so on. Not quite what I expected from a Shaw Brothers production in the mid-seventies. It all comes off as a bit earnest, though the copious nudity – all female, naturally – makes it a little difficult to accept fully any messages of feminist empowerment. It does, however, act as a lovely time-capsule of Hong Kong in that era, in every area from hairdressing through to home decoration.

While well-made, it’s a bit dull until the end. Fung’s kidnapping is followed by a rescue attempt, which leads to a massive extended brawl on a building site, that’s as good as I’ve seen from any heroine of the era. This takes full advantage of the environment, Fung swinging a shovel as if born to it. Naturally, violence cannot be seen to prevail, so this ends in the moralistic style you would, with the authorities – notable by their absence to this point – showing up. Fung and her old pal Shing (Chen) take responsibility for their actions, and are led off to the cheers of their workmates. This finale goes a long way to redeem things, though it’s still guilty of putting its message before the mayhem.

Dir: Chung Sun
Star: Ping Chen, Chung Wang, Chen Kuan-Tai, Hsieh Wang