6/12/14 (Part Two): Those Darn Ninjas

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'80s action films, 1980's, action films, action star, Art Hindle, bad films, bad movies, Chuck Norris, cinema, Eric Karson, Ernie Hudson, film reviews, films, Good Guys Wear Black, heiress, Karen Carlson, Kurt Grayson, Larry D. Mann, Lee Van Cleef, Leigh Chapman, martial arts, Movies, ninjas, Scott James, secret agents, so-bad-it's-good, Tadashi Yamashita, terrorism, terrorist training schools, terrorists, The Delta Force, The Octagon, Tracey Walter, Truck Turner, voice-over narration

When last we left Chuck Norris, he was bumbling around the jungles of Vietnam, kicking as many people as possible. As our Chuck Norris double-feature concludes, we jump forward a couple of years into the onset of the ’80s and the glorious mess that is The Octagon (1980). In many ways, The Octagon is a great example of the “so-bad-it’s-good” school of filmmaking: featuring scads of anonymous ninjas, lots of kicking, more stereotypes than an old Disney cartoon and one of the worst voice-over narrations in history, The Octagon could never be considered a good film. That being said, it’s quite a bit of fun (providing one can turn their brain off) and is actually a better made film than Good Guys Wear Black (1978)…which, admittedly, is pretty faint praise. For lovers of bad cinema, however, The Octagon may just be a lost diamond in the rough.

Wasting no time, The Octagon kicks off in truly gonzo form with an introduction to a school that trains terrorists: not just any terrorists, mind you, but one seriously clichéd group of terrorists. Let’s see: we get an Irish terrorist whose brogue is slightly more pronounced than the Lucky Charms leprechaun; a “soul-sister” with a huge afro; a cowboy, complete with 10-gallon hat and denim shirt; an Arab sheikh and a Mexican guy with a headband and flannel shirt (only the top button buttoned, natch). That’s right, folks: the film begins with the visual equivalent of one of those “X, Y and Z walk into a bar” jokes. With the bar set this high, astute viewers will realize something: it can only get goofier from here. And it does. Boy, does it ever.

We first meet our dashing hero, Scott James (Chuck Norris), at the ballet. Chuck at the ballet? The mind boggles! Turns out Scott is there to pick up the lead ballerina, a feat which he handily accomplishes thanks to some simply stellar game: “I liked your performance”…”Thanks.”…”You’re welcome.”…long pause as they stare at each other. In case you couldn’t tell, this is what love feels like. Scott and the dancer head back to her place, which leads to the one development that no guy looking for a one-night stand wants: ninjas. Do you mean those silent, deadly assassins swathed in black from head to toe? Did I stutter? Of course I mean the black-clad killers or, as the film reminds us, “those unholy masters of terror.” The dancer’s place is full of ’em, which means ol’ Scott’s kickin’ foot has to work overtime. By the time he’s kicked at least 300 ninjas into submission, the dancer has already been killed. Bummer. When Scott turns on the light, however, he realizes the full breadth of the horror: the dancer’s family is lying dead, as well. This, of course, means that Scott would have had to meet the parents on the night of the first hook-up: yikes! Scott’s voice-over, however, knows what this really means, as it dramatically whispers, “Oh my God…Ninjas!” The “Ninjas” part even has an echo effect on it because…you know…ninjas!

We then get some flashbacks which establish that Scott and the leader of the terrorist training school, Seikura (Tadashi Yamashita), actually grew up together but were forced to become enemies after their master basically told them to hate each other. Brother against brother for a reason? Sad times. Brother against brother for no reason? Let’s just say that Seikura ain’t cool with that (although poor Scott just seems bemused, most of the time). We also get to meet a few of Scott’s friends, including A.J. (Art Hindle), McCarn (Lee Van Cleef) and Quinine (Ernie Hudson). Lee Van Cleef’s very presence in the film should elevate it several miles above similar dopey fare but, alas, he ends up being fairly misused despite his inherent asskickery. Ernie Hudson actually fares much better, despite his lack of screentime. In fact, Hudson’s few minutes of screentime are actually the highlight of the film (give or take a really nifty car chase) and I really found myself wishing this was a buddy picture instead of a ninja-kicking picture. Maybe in an alternate reality. Of the three, we get saddled with A.J. the most, given that he’s also Scott’s best buddy. Unfortunately, he’s also a fairly uninteresting character, which is kind of a downer. Onwards and upwards, however!

Scott stops to help a sassy rich woman who appears to be having car trouble. When Justine (Karen Carlson) purposefully keeps Scott’s keys, he’s forced to go back to her place to retrieve them, which ends up in a car chase (the aforementioned nifty one, which is hands-down the film’s best action sequence). Turns out Justine’s publishing magnate father was the guy we saw get blown away at the beginning of the film and she wants revenge on the person who trained the killers: Seikura. Scott doesn’t seem to mind acting as executioner for his former blood-brother, so he goes about passing himself off as a mercenary in order to infiltrate the school for assassins. To that end, Scott meets his mercenary contact, the ultra-oily Mr. Beedy (veteran character actor Tracey Walter, the third best thing in the film), at a card table set up in a convention center where a square-dance class is simultaneously meeting. I shit you not. Just like that, Scott is now “undercover.”

Lest we forget about the reason for the season, all of the aforementioned action is intercut with scenes from the school for terrorists which include such heartwarming bits as exercises, battle-training, some sparring and a seriously sinister red-clad ninja asskicker. After the training, Seikura tells the terrorists that they will now be watched for the rest of their lives. If, at any point, they attempt to tell others about the school or reveal its secrets in any way, not only will they be killed, but their entire families and all of their friends will be massacred, as well. After delivering this rather harsh dictate, Seikura and the other trainers then wave happily at the terrorists as they leave: no hard feelings guys, see you next summer and stay totally fresh!

If you guessed that Scott would end up infiltrating the school, give yourself a gold star. If you guessed that Scott would have a romantic scene with a young female revolutionary that begins with the two of them in separate beds before the young lady rises to join him, revealing that she was wearing jeans and a turtleneck the whole time, go ahead and give yourself all of the stars. If you can explain why the comely young revolutionary wore a turtleneck and jeans to bed, however, you might be a slightly clearer thinker than script scribe Leigh Chapman (who also wrote the much better Dirty Mary Crazy Larry (1974), which this resembles not at all). Nonetheless, Scott finds romance, a metric ton of ninjas get kicked to absolute death, the red-clad ninja does lots of kinda cool hissing, Seikura displays the sourest puss since the “Bitter Beer Face” commercials and Lee Van Cleef gets a few more opportunities to look slightly confused. Oh yeah: we also get to finally see the Octagon, which ends up being a sort of ninja obstacle course, looks kinda cool and occupies around five minutes of screen time. Better title for the film? “Ninjas: Unholy Masters of Terror or Misunderstand Mimes?”

Honestly, there’s not much more to say about the film than what’s already been said. The Octagon is goofy, full of plot holes, loaded with silly kung fu scenes and ridiculous dialogue, flagrantly un-PC and severely dated. It’s also fast-paced and surprisingly likeable, although the ridiculous whispered voice-over narration spoils any attempt the film makes to take itself seriously. It’s impossible not to burst out laughing when you hear Chuck Norris whisper, “Oh my God…Ninjas!” The voice-over is everywhere in the film and almost makes it seem like poor Scott is schizo and keeps hearing whispery Chuck Norris in his head. Thanks to this handicap, the film is never any better than an enjoyable, silly kung fu film. Gotta dig Ernie Hudson, though!

After my experiences with Good Guys Wear Black and The Octagon, I might need to delve into the mystique of Chuck just a little deeper, cuz I ain’t seeing much cinematic evidence to back it up. Sure, he was a total bruiser in Bruce Lee’s classic The Way of the Dragon (1972), but he’s almost a non-entity (albeit an exceedingly good-natured one) in both GGWB and The Octagon. I know that I enjoyed both Lone Wolf McQuaid (1983) and The Delta Force (1986) quite a bit when I was growing up but I don’t recall ever seeing the others. Since Delta Force also featured Lee Marvin, who could make tissue paper awesome, I’m not sure that I can give the victory to Chuck on that one, either. Perhaps the future will call for a Chuck Norris movie marathon, in order to settle my internal debate vis-a-vis Chuck’s cultural immortality.  Chuck Norris may be able to cut through a hot knife with butter but he couldn’t do a whole helluva lot for either Good Guys Wear Black or The Octagon.

4/30/14: Today Came Yesterday

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'70s films, '70s-era, Bruce Dern, Charles F. Wheeler, cinema, Cliff Potts, Deric Washburn, Dewey and Louie, director-producer, directorial debut, Douglas Trumbull, Earth, environmentalism, film reviews, films, Freeman Lowell, global warming, greenhouse effect, Huey, Jesse Vint, L.A. Law, lost in space, Michael Cimino, Monsanto, Movies, near future, NYPD Blue, outer space, robot helpers, Ron Rifkin, sci-fi, Silent Running, space operas, special effects, Steve Bochco, Steven Bochco, The Deer Hunter, trees, Truck Turner, visual effects pioneer

Sometimes, science fiction can be so fantastic, so out-of-this-world, that it leaves the realm of “science” and puts both feet firmly in the “fiction” camp. Take Douglas Trumbull’s ’70s-era sci-fi film, Silent Running, for example. In this particular movie, we’re led to believe that in the near future, mankind has destroyed Earth’s atmosphere due to unchecked industrialization and pollution, leading to the loss of all flora on the planet. Not only are we asked to buy this utterly outrageous scenario (since when has unchecked industrialization ever led to anything but more money and happiness?) but it’s also compounded by a further bit of foolishness: in order to preserve what trees and plants are remaining, we’ve put them aboard gigantic, spaceship-sized greenhouses and sent them into space, where they can be free from Earth’s noxious atmosphere, serving as a melancholy reminder of what we once enjoyed.

As mentioned, utter hogwash: why in the Sam Hell would we waste money sending the trees into space when we could just let them die, for free, by doing nothing? As long as future generations can read about them, that should be more than sufficient: no self-respecting “person-in-charge” would spend one cent on this foolishness, much less the perceived mega-cost of a fleet of spaceships. After all…they’re just trees, right? What real use do they have, besides the obvious benefit of building resources and mass-producing toothpicks?

Silent Running is concerned with Freeman Lowell (Bruce Dern), an employee of the defunct Forestry Department who has spent the past eight years tending the last remaining forests. These forests have been uprooted from their native terra firme and set to space, orbiting Saturn in massive “greenhouses” in order to protect them from Earth’s now noxious environment. Lowell is the epitome of the tree-hugging peacenik: hanging out in long, flowing, Druid-style robes; growing his own, organic food; petting fluffy bunnies and tenderly planting each new seed, cutting and sapling. His crew members, however, aren’t quite as eco-friendly as ol’ Lowell: Barker (Ron Rifkin), Wolf (Jesse Vint) and Keenan (Cliff Potts) spend their days racing around the spaceship on ATVs (crushing Lowell’s plants in the process), scarfing down the fake, processed “food” that they’ve been provided and bitching about being stuck in space with hippy Lowell, when they’d much rather be back on good ol’ Earth, pollution be damned. When a communique comes in from Earth, Lowell expects the best (the reinstatement of the Forestry Department and his installation as Director) but gets the worst (nuke the forests and bring the ships back to Earth, where they can be re-purposed for commercial usage.

Lowell, of course, is devastated: this is akin to a mass genocide, for him, and synonymous with giving up the rest of our (tenuous) humanity. The others, however, are overjoyed and rush to set the nukes as quickly as they’re able. While the other ships around him begin to glow with the inferno of their “cleansing,” Lowell just can’t let that fate befall the forests under his care. In a moment of terrifying clarity, Lowell takes matters into his own hands and, with the assistance of his faithful robotic helpers, Huey and Dewey, sets out to atone for mankind’s mistakes and preserve the forests, at all costs.

When visual effects pioneer Douglas Trumbull directed Silent Running in 1972, there no way he could have known how prescient the film would become by 2014, a mere 40+ years later. After all, Silent Running is a film that examines not only over-industrialization, pollution, resource management (and waste) and global warming but it also manages to throw haymakers at genetically modified food and our species’ tendency to put the almighty dollar above the needs of the natural order. In a day and age when words like “Monsanto” and “GMO” are hot-button issues and revelations about global warming on shows like Fox’s Cosmos can bring the kind of angry debates that used to be restricted to questions like “Tastes great?” or “Less filling?”, it definitely seems like our world is ready for another look at this chestnut. While there’s plenty of hippy-dippy silliness to be found here (the ’60s weren’t far in the rearview mirror, after all), there’s also a surprisingly somber and moving meditation on what it means to be human, what it means to be a guest and what it means when we’ve lost something as basic as the plants around us. Throw in a powerful, nearly solo performance from Bruce Dern and you’ve got a film that deserves to be given a chance to add its voice to the current debate.

Right off the bat, Silent Running looks absolutely gorgeous, featuring some of the most majestic space shots you’re likely to see from that era (2001: A Space Odyssey, by contrast, came out a mere four years before Silent Running). Trumbull was an award-winning, visionary, special effects pioneer whose work in films like 2001 (1968), The Andromeda Strain (1971), Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977),  Star Trek: The Motion Picture (1979) and, my personal favorite, Blade Runner (1982), pushed the genre (and films, in general) into exiting, new places. His work on Silent Running, perhaps because it was a labor of love, are exemplary: the early shot we get as the camera zooms out of the forest and into outer space, to reveal the greenhouse-ships for the first time, is a true stunner. Words like “awe-inspiring” get thrown around a lot today but I would love to have been able to experience this film in the theater, with other people: I can’t imagine that there was anyone there who didn’t have their mind blown by that initial reveal. Likewise, the scene where Lowell navigates through the rings of Saturn is a Technicolor marvel, reminiscent of the equally impressive space-travel scene in 2001.

Trumbull also used real people, under costuming, for the parts of the robot helpers, which gives them an odd sense of movement that’s strangely realistic: it’s an interesting effect that only speaks to the care and attention put into the production. Truth be told, everything about the visual style of Silent Running works exceptionally well: the sense of world-building in the film is pretty complete, unlike more generic “space operas” that feature anonymous scenery and Spaceship #1, Robot #5 scenarios. By extension, the acting in Silent Running is pretty good, although all other characters become subsidiary to Dern’s, by the end. Although this isn’t a “one-man-show” film like Moon (2009), Wrecked (2010), Gravity (2013) or All is Lost (2013), the focus is squarely on Dern throughout, with the other characters serving only to play up elements of his own personality or to provide him moral/logistic challenges.

Dern has been a helluva career actor, logging time in nearly 150 projects in just over 50 years, with many of them being of the utmost quality. He’s easily one of our most under-rated actors and Silent Running gives a great opportunity to see Dern play a role that’s more low-key than his usual parts but no less passionate. Without Dern’s powerful performance, Silent Running would be a beautiful bit of cotton-candy, big ideas in search of an anchor: Dern is just that anchor, attaching the film’s ideas about ecology and conservationism to a decidedly human ideal. It’s a sad, sympathetic performance and, to be honest, quite haunting: I found myself thinking about Freeman Lowell quite a bit in the days following my screening of the film.

In another nifty hat-trick, Silent Running’s script also featured the early effort of two gentlemen who would go on to full careers: Michael Cimino and Steven Bochco. Ciminio, of course, is best known for the epic failure that was Heaven’s Gate (1980) but he also wrote and directed the award-winning The Deer Hunter (1978), as well as writing the Clint Eastwood vehicles Magnum Force (1973) and Thunderbolt and Lightfoot (1974). Bochco, of course, is the guy synonymous with creating a TV empire, including such iconic shows as Hill Street Blues, Doogie Howser, M.D., L.A. Law and NYPD Blue. Together with Deric Washburn (who also worked on The Deer Hunter screenplay with Cimino), they’ve turned in a really tight script, filled not only with gripping action sequences (the aforementioned Saturn crossing, the race against time with the nukes) but also big emotional beats (Lowell’s inspiring speech to his crew members, the poignant and lovely finale). Silent Running is that rare event movie that is actually about something, rather than being a mindless excuse to consume popcorn.

If there is any point where the film feels “silly” or dated, it would definitely have to be the awful theme songs, sung by Joan Baez. The songs are both stereotypical hippy twaddle, to be frankly honest, and seem so cliché as to drive the rest of the film down. In one key scene, one of the stupid songs scores a bit where a hawk flies to Lowell’s outstretched: combined with the song, the scene is so ridiculous and treacley as to be laughable. If anyone wants to cast dispersion on Silent Running, let it be for the awful songs, which give the exact mental image that the rest of the film works so hard to contradict. Lowell may be a “hippy” but the songs are the worst kind of pabulum and definitely do the film a disservice.

There’s a point, in the film, where Lowell argues with his ship-mates over the tide of progress that’s brought them to where they are now. As the other men point out, Earth’s policies may have done irreparable damage to the environment and the flora but it also led to no poverty, no disease and a constant temperature of 75 degrees. In short, this has become a “golden age” for mankind, despite the implications for everyone else. This may be true, Lowell grants, but it also means there is no more imagination, no more frontiers to conquer…because we just don’t care anymore. When we turn our backs on the natural world and defy the complex machinery of nature, we’re making a definite statement: we know better than you do, whoever you may be. “You” may be a higher power or it may be a dedicated group of environmental activists. “You” may be a raft of scientists or it may be the board of directors of a mega-corporation. “You” could be a bunch of loud-mouthed “eco-terrorists” or it could be Mother Nature, herself.

In this day and age, “we” are so sure about everything, so confident in our own boundless abilities, that we always know better than “you.” This, of course, is a shame: we can always stand to learn from others, no matter who they are or what they believe. In crafting a bold, new world for humanity we have said, unequivocally, that we know what is best for the planet and, by default, what is best for every living thing on it. This is not only hubris but it’s dangerous. In the business world, sticking to the same unsuccessful strategy would not only be considered pointless but it would also be seen as crazy. We’ve tried to wring every last drop and resource out of our planet for almost 200 years, now: maybe it’s finally time to try something different.

 

2/7/14: One Bad Mother

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'70s films, '70s-era, action films, Alan Weeks, bail bondsmen, blaxploitation films, cinema, Dick MIller, film reviews, films, guns, Isaac Hayes, Jonathan Kaplan, Movies, Nichelle Nichols, Paul Harris, pimps, Scatman Crothers, Shaft, skip tracers, Superfly, Three Tough Guys, Truck Turner, Yaphet Kotto

Slowly but surely, we work our way through the review backlog. This time, we bring you last last Friday’s viewing: Truck Turner.

For a guy who was so instrumental in one of the greatest Blaxploitation films of all time, Isaac Hayes didn’t really have much involvement with the subgenre past that point. He wrote the score for the 1971 action flick (picking up a Grammy, in the process) but would really only return to the fold twice more (three times if you count I’m Gonna Get You Sucka (1988)): he made his acting debut in 1974’s Three Tough Guys and followed that up with Truck Turner the same year, for which he starred and wrote the score.

With his solid build, smooth-as-silk voice and pliable features, Isaac Hayes always seemed like a ready-built movie star: too bad that whole music career thing got in the way, huh? Despite being one of the biggest recording artists of the ’60s and ’70s, Hayes also managed to act in several dozen films and TV shows, including an eight-year on South Park as the iconic Chef: not too shabby for someone who’s also won three Grammys, a Golden Globe and an Oscar.

There’s something about Hayes that always seemed to communicate an unseen wink and nod, even if he was beating the living crap out of someone: he’s such a personable force, such a likable onscreen presence, that you’re liable to forgive him any trespasses. In the dictionary next to “Badass”…well, you get the idea.

In Truck Turner, Hayes portrays the titular hero, a truly badass bail bondsman who’s as fast with a gun as he is with his fists. Just take a look at that glorious poster featuring a shirtless Hayes wielding a gun so large it would make Dirty Harry weep. That’s right, suckers: that’s truth in advertising right there. Truck and his partner Jerry (Alan Weeks) are on the trail of a badass pimp named Gator (Paul Harris). When they waste the scuzz-bucket, Gator’s old lady Dorinda (Nichelle “Uhura” Nichols!!) puts a call out to all the local pimps: if they can take out Truck, she’ll give them half of Gator’s stable of working girls. Only one pimp is bad enough to even try: Harvard Blue, played by non other than Yaphet Kotto. They all hit the streets for a violent whirlwind of sassy backtalk, hard hits, slo-mo kicks, giant guns and lots and lots of sweet outfits (most of the cast are supposed to be pimps, after all). In short: this is blaxploitation heaven, friends and neighbors.

Truck Turner may be a lot of things but “boring” and “square” aren’t two of them. Truth be told, this was a wickedly funny, super-fast and impressively paced film, something that can (almost) sit proudly next to Shaft. The cast and the dialogue are what really push this one to the forefront. Hayes is absolutely perfect as Truck, a seamless combination of bemused-nice-guy and badass-tough-guy who has a particular way with a quip: “If anyone asks you what happened, tell ’em you were hit by a truck: Mac Truck Turner” is one of his better ones but really: Hayes doesn’t get much bad dialogue in this. Alan Weeks is a perfect foil as Jerry: his indignant delivery of “They called my old lady a jive-ass broad!” is easily one of the films highlights but everything about his friendship with Turner is spot-on. The two have a habit of sighing off with a “Get it…got it…good” interplay that always provokes a smile: you really buy these guys as best friends, which adds a lot of pathos to the film.

Kotto is completely over-the-top and absolutely outstanding as Blue: he manages to chew even more scenery than he did in the previous year’s Bond film, Live and Let Die (1973), no easy feat considering he was blown up by a shark pellet in that one. Any scene with Kotto in it is gold and he gets a pretty decent amount of screen-time. His death scene, in particular, seems to last about 45 minutes and is a master-class in mugging for the camera. Scatman Crothers makes an appearance as a retired pimp, complete with pink pants and creme de menthe in hand and Corman regular Dick Miller shows up as head of the bail bond office.

Best of all, however, is Nichols as the vicious, venomous Dorinda. From what I can tell, Truck Turner was Nichols’ only blaxploitation film role (and one of only a handful of non-Star Trek film appearances, to be honest), which is a real shame: Nichols is an absolute hoot and I would have killed to see her do a vintage film with Pam Grier. In fact, Nichols is so good that she almost steals the film from Hayes and Kotto, which is no mean feat. When she snarls, “They better learn to sell pussy in Iceland cuz if I ever see them again, I’m gonna slit their fucking throats!” to Gator’s prostitutes, she manages to be both hilarious and terrifying: Nichols seems completely invested in her performance and sells it 150%.

Excellent cast aside, there’s plenty of other great stuff going on here. The score, while not as iconic as Shaft, is certainly no slouch. In particular, Hayes’ “Truck Turner Theme” is a minor masterpiece, featuring such classic lines as, “There’s some dudes in a bar/With busted heads and broken jaws/What hit ’em?/Truck Turner!” The rest of the score is equally hot, featuring plenty of funky rock, rockin’ congas and rude brass. The humor is exceptionally vulgar (one woman tries to pay the bail-bondsmen with food stamps) but genuinely funny, more often than not. There are certain shots, such as the slo-mo bit where a pink Cadillac collides with a massive cart full of bagels or the (also slo-mo) moment where Truck kicks some dude backwards through a phone-booth that function both as great action bits and decent belly laughs. The film even manages to reference other films of the era (“Grow wings, Superfly” quips Truck, as he holds some poor schlub out of a window)

The prolonged chase sequence where Truck and Jerry are hot on Gator’s heels is a thrilling, prolonged highlight involving multiple car chases, a car-jacking, gunfights, a foot chase, an exploding car and a massive bar brawl. The bar brawl, in particular, is a complete classic and should make any devotee of ’70s action movies blush with pride. In fact, the film is pretty much one non-stop fight/chase scene after another, with only momentary breaks taken for such issues like character development or a little romance (the scene where Truck makes love to his woman while an Isaac Hayes slow-jam plays on the soundtrack is so meta that it becomes hilarious).

Essentially, if you have any affinity for blaxploitation movies whatsoever, Truck Turner will be right up your alley. I mean, c’mon: the movie features a white pimp named Desmond who coordinates his eyepatch to his various pastel-and-rhinestone outfits, Nichelle Nichols swearing like a ship full of sailors, Yaphet Kotto using a sick kid as a human shield and Isaac “Mr. Badass” Hayes kicking some dude through a fucking phone-booth!

If you can’t get behind that, turkey, I just can’t help ya.