Cleansing the lens of cinematic perception, for your aghast befuddlement

Tuesday, February 26, 2019

Post-Futuristic Gang Violence on Prime, Italian-style: 5 Badass Trips from the early 80s


Sergio Martino's 2019: AFTER THE FALL OF NEW YORK--filmed in 1983, a post-nuclear Manhattan serves as ground zero for a stealthy battle between mutants, ape men acrobats, robots, and a Catholic-style death cult presided over by a whip-snapping hottie all in leather (Anna Kanakis). The 2019 RENT broadcast on FOX, meanwhile, shows NYC in the early-90s as a fantasia of his squalor, where everyone knows your name and the landlord actually apologizes for trying to get you to pay rent... ever. Each stars a hunky smoldering-eyed boy in black for whom self-deprecation is anathema. But that's just the tip!

top to bottom: 2019: AFTER THE FALL OF NEW YORK; RENT  (on Fox, 2019)

Which is the bigger fantasy depends on perspective.

At the time 2019 was made, ESCAPE FROM NEW YORK (1981) was a big influence on Italian sci-fi. It itself was influenced by  THE WARRIORS (1978). We kids rented them and imagined NYC must be one dangerous place to be.  Then came CONAN, THE ROAD WARRIOR, helping us learn to drive, and hear da lamentations of der women. We could rent all four them all in one night, swirl them together with all the care of an LSD-soaked spider. If we were 13-15 year-olds, we could make super-8mm versions (ours had titles like SIMBA, SLAYER; ATOMIC NINJA and JOE NIGHTMARE DESCENDS.) If we were Italian filmmakers, we could make films with key words like "Warriors" and "Escape" and "New York" (or its boroughs) sewn into their titles.

Taken chronologically, deep in hindsight, you can feel how their influences were once influenced themselves: THE WARRIORS came out of a late-70s yen for 'Brooklyn street gang movies' which were ignited by the Fonze, and Travolta's Vinnie Barbarino/Saturday Night Fever/Grease hat trick, merged with the waning late 60s biker gang subgenre (via THE WILD ANGELS) and the urban revenge film of the early 70s, (via DEATH WISH, TAXI DRIVER). The street gang archetype became more and more became a fantasy about the cesspool that was 70s NYC--so crime-ridden and filthy they just put a wall around it and make the city itself the prison--on the other. ESCAPE FROM NEW YORK and THE WARRIORS swirled together in our collective mind, and films with the key words "warriors," "escape" and "New York" (or its boroughs) came rushing across the Atlantic.

Meanwhile, in the Australian Outback, on the open road, biker gangs still roamed on wheels; now the apocalypse had come and the cops were gone, as were gas stations. SEARCHERS-style space western elements circled back, like that crafty Comanche buck Scar after leading the men off on a posse.

Actually 'the apocalypse' hadn't come in the Escape/Warriors movies, it was just that law and order had eroded to the point it barely functioned. MAD MAX came out, but in America we couldn't tell, having never seen the Outback and so not realizing this already was a real place, a vast interior where the nearest cop might well be an hour away, and no cell phone to reach him. Turn off the pumps and the cop paychecks and the roving gangs simply took over. After THE ROAD WARRIOR, you didn't even need show a mushroom cloud in the prologue. Just show us dirt-covered vehicles manned by dudes in crazy punk rock eyeliner--the same wacky new wave punk monsters from the Escape/Warriors movies, and we knew the score. Maybe you will too. At any rate, you won't doze.



PS (3/1/19)- For Some reason, these first two seem to be no longer available on Prime! Either I jinxed it, or else the license ran out March 1st. Bummer, bro. Of course things have a habit on Prime of winking in and out of availability. But hey, either way, I'd recommend the Blue Underground Post-Apocalyptic Collection, which has the top three on this list, and is packed with extras and their usual high quality, from which the Prime streams were likely sourced. 
1. 1990: THE BRONX WARRIORS
(1982) Dir. Enzo G. Castellari
*** / Amazon Image - A

The Bronx in 1990 is, as envisioned by an Italian in 1982, a war zone. As the haves hustle around like normal in Manhattan, the have-nots either drink and stagger in the rubble or rumble in gangs over their little piece of ground, their "turf." All is in a kind of uneasy balance between Bronx turfs, no-man's lands, and the cops monitoring the outskirts; but then Ann (Stefania Girolami), a rich heiress (to the "Manhattan Corporation") escapes her bodyguards to find out what life is like outside of 24/7 micro-managing. Now the Corps. sends troops and cops, armed with flame throwers, come in to find her. She's soon shacked up with the Che-esque pretty boy gang leader named Trash (Mark Gregory). If you've seen JC's 1995's Escape From LA, it's more or less the same plot, with the sympathies reversed! (The Plissken is played by Vic Morrow here - and named Hammer! while Fred Williamson is the Ogre, Trash's opposite number in the farther uptown gang. Hammer tries to trick Trash and the Ogre into fighting by killing their members and leaving gang signs on the bodies, but they're both too sly to fall for that! Alas, there's a traitor in Trash's midst determined to fan the flames...

 (miss you, Joe Walsh)
If you lived in Manhattan in that era, you know, in real life, there were parts--dwindling like Savannah watering holes in summer--that were still like this.  Turn the wrong corner downtown and you could wind up in a pimp-and-crack-whore war zone. Then you'd go to find it again to show your friends, and it would be gone. Suddenly, circa 1991-92, you'd start to see people being forced to pour out their beers at every corner.  The strip around the West Village where tricked-out cars would slowly drive, showing off and scoping drugs and booty, was closed to all traffic. It was all over. If we'd have seen 1990: The Bronx Warriors maybe we'd have known to fight back. The mix of The Warriors / Escape from NY iconography and anti-corporate nihilism seems to smell Giuliani in the breeze like some cheap knock-off cologne.



One of the leading lights of the neighborhood (with a great walk, like a Harryhausen cyclops), Trash is really a memorable character: tall and muscular but lithe with a great walk, like a Harryhausen cyclops (I imagine horrified spit takes from Miss J. at a ANTM catwalk tutorial.) No doubt cast for a passing resemblance to both Warriors' Michael Beck and Kotter's Vinnie Barbarino, and maybe the wandering wolf-boy from the 1977-78 TV series Lucan., his lithe youthful beauty contrasts with growly Bronx-accented voice he's been dubbed in (Italian film fans will recognize the dubbing guy right off - he does all the 'gruff' Bud Spencer parts). It's a great combination, this deep manly voice and this pretty face, because it's not an unrealistic pairing at all. Go to Coney Island over summer and you'll know what I mean: you see some ethereal young girl wafting down the beach in her red bathing suit and flowing black hair, flawless skin and youthful innocence, and she suddenly turn and yells up the beach to her "ma" so loud and abrasive with such a thick middle age booming accent, it chills you with sociological frisson.

A special word about Fred Williamson as the Ogre: doing his own dubbing and dazzling us with wild smiles and raw flashy charisma, he seems to be savoring his own sexiness as much as we are. The man moves and acts like a king. Sometimes his easy going attitude suggests he thinks a little too good for the film he's in, but he makes that work by being larger than life - he proves he's too good for it, proves it to himself. He stops worrying about trying to prove it to us through some burlesque of manliness, and then a marvelous thing happens, he relaxes and becomes delightful, like a black Cary Grant. He also has a cool right hand woman, the Witch (Betty Dessy), who rocks Krueger/Wolverine claws and snaps a whip. Together with Trash and Ann, they bop their way through the sewers to round up the gangs and fight the man, leading to tons of wild stunts of people on fire, people falling from holes in second story windows or down into sewers. The flame throwers explode real good and Castellari's camera frolics in the ruins with lots of great comic book panel-style compositions, strikingly posed shots and swooping crane movements going up and down between exposed floors from the outside of a blasted out building. You can tell he's having a good time, the crane shots duck and swoop without ever losing focus on the action, it's all way better than one would think it needs to be, at times it's almost Hawksian.



Castellari used a lot of real bikers (supposedly Hell's Angels) as extras, giving the shots of Trash and Ann zipping around in front of a vast parade of bikers under an overpass extra oomph (top). As a kind of catch-all indication of the crazy colorful-dressed gangs. Of the scattered gangs, the best is a bunch of Bob Fosse style fey dancers in steel bowler hats and metal rod canes. Their leader (Carla Brait, below) let's Trash pass because she's kind of turned on by his tight jeans. And I'm a fan of the gruff bond that forms between Trash and the Ogre. When it couldn't get any better? The Ogre and his mob throw Ann a birthday party with a big NYC skyline cake!


Walter Rizzati's score is a bunch rockin' synths, drums and a thudding electric bass, with appropriate moody washes. Man what a crime that those kind of old school electric bass lines are so gone from movies. Give me a badass electric bass over an orchestra anyday. Morricone whipped together his first truly great score with just whistling, an electric guitar, a clanging on a horseshoe and people chant-whispering "we can fight! As cool as Clint may be, if Leone had money for a typical orchestral score, it would just be another western. Think about it, and the next time your sad-eyed oboe player hits you up for a part in your score, say "sorry dude, it's all bass, drums, and electric guitars going TWANNGGGG!

Trash and the Ogre team up to fight Vic Morrow!
Mark Gregory as Trash - center - walking to the left, straight as a streetpole
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2. ESCAPE FROM THE BRONX
(1983) Dir. Enzo G. Castellari
*** / Amazon Image - A

Mark Gregory returns as the stiff-postured Swann/Vinnie-esque gang leader Trash, in this napalm-drenched sequel. Picking up where 1990: The Bronx Warriors left off (see them on a lazy Saturday double feature for maximum yield), the 'Manhattan Corporation' now has the green light to raze the Bronx and evict its denizens. Cops in flame-thrower gear slowly 'cleanse' the area, burning out the resistance. Trash ain't leaving and he ain't hiding of course, and whe the cop incinerate his parents as reprisal, you better believe he's going to get even. While his long black hair still flutters as a banner of freedom, most everyone from the last film are dead. The remaining gang members who survived last film's massacre are now hiding out underground under the rule of earring-wearing relatively-easygoing Diablone (Antonio Sabato), who's cool and fun but no Fred Williamson. Luckily, scene-stealing Carla Brait, the Iron Man leader from the previous film, is still standing as refreshingly coy as ever.


Meanwhile, an  intrepid journalist named Moon Grey (Valeria D'abici) gets ejected from Manhattan Corp. conferences about the 'new' Bronx. She sneaks up there and tells Trash that if he wants to really get anyone to listen to the truth and save the current Bronx in its ruined form, he'll need to kidnap the president of Manhattan Corp and force the world to listen (ain't that typical). Enter master thief Strike (Giancarlo Prete) and his young son Alessandro, whose innocent glee planting the demolition charges evokes Brigitte Bardot in Viva Maria (1965). As they work their kidnapping plan, a ruthless efficiency expert (Henry Silva) is sent in to kill Trash. Like Morrow in the lasst film, Silva achieves that rare balance between menace and fun, giving the sense that--as in the previous film--hunter and prey don't mind changing roles as long as they get to kill each other.

Whatever one thinks of Italian trash cinema, there's no denying Castellari gets interesting performances from his actors. I haven't read any interviews about what it was like on set, but the vibe on the screen is wryly jacked-up without ever tumbling into camp. The dubbing is flawless, the vibe of the music is propulsive. The climax is an all-out bloodbath of massive explosions (Strike shotguns escaping cars and they just instantly burst into fireballs) and lots of guys in hazmat suits with flamethrowers die in cool falls and crashes through windows. Probably the same five (masked) stuntmen dying over and over but so what? Great stuff! There's also exploding hostages, lots of other explosions, and bang bang! Shit getting blown up.

Still, after the first 100 people die, it gets almost monotonous (I said almost.)

3. WARRIORS OF THE WASTELAND
(aka 'The New Barbarians')
(1983 Dir. Enzo G. Castellari
*** / Amazon Image - B+

The Old Testament gets rewritten in high Road Warrior style: Helping the straggling religious pilgrims travel the wasteland are Nadir (Fred Williamson-- wearing outrageous black leather and gold trim armor) as the biblical wanderer type, and 'Scorpion' (Giancarlo Prete, below left) i.e. Strike from Escape from the Bronx ) as the Max Max type, with a ridiculous green dome for a roof to his car. They roam around trying to mind their own business but this world must be awfully small as they keep crossing paths and bailing each other out of jams. If you've seen a lot of Italian westerns you know these kind of strange male friendships occur frequently, perhaps because of Clint and Lee in A Few Dollars More. Or maybe it's just a thing Italian guys do for/to each other...

Aside from the silly tubes and futuristic gizoms welded onto the wacky vehicles. the craziest aspect of this crazy film is that the bad guys are a gang of nihilistic zealots called the Templars and dressed in white armor with big shoulder pads that from far off give a subliminal impression of folded angel wings. Multi-colored punk rock mohawks, samurai pony tails, storm trooper armor and other punk touches complete their runway ready look. Their mission with all this killing is to cleanse the planet of all human life (their leader, "One" played by a very hammy and wondrous George Eastman, blames the apocalypse on "books"). There's something to be said for the purity of their mission, even if it is rather nihilistic. (They also seem to be gay, for we're spared the usual sexual assaults.) Apparently Scorpion was a Templar once, and left after winning a duel with "One" and sparing his life, so One needs to be cajoled into going after him to 'reclaim his manhood.' If the guy in the ponytail doing the cajoling seems familiar, he was the president in the previous entry on this list, Escape from The Bronx (Ennio Girolami, i.e. the Italian B-list Burt Lancaster). Small world indeed.


Most Road Warrior knock-offs are shit, but Castellari has no interest in wasting our time with a lot of static talk and/or driving scenes; he just wants to keep the fireballs coming, the heads lobbing, and the screen buzzing with tricked-out futuristic vehicles. In fact all the vehicles here look like normal, dinged-up, dirty 'normal wear and tear' cars with a few (suspiciously clean) sci-fi additions affixed, evoking Death Race 2000 as much as they do The Road Warrior and helping us wonder just how much of this Castellari intended as sociological deadpan satire. Either way, it's awesome.

Highlights include: a (!!) surprise version of the gauntlet people pass through when exiting a gang. It comes as such a blazing shock I can't go into detail, let's just say way the editing and camera and lights and cutting goes all Suspiria nuts right as it's hitting us what's about to happen and well, damn... Castellari you are a dawg! 


And as with Fred's other work for Castellari, he seems to enjoy himself immensely here, especially when he hooks up with a very colorful, beguiling-eyed creature named Vinya (Iris Peynado - above). Fred's eyes light up when he first catches sight of her, and when they begin to hook up, as he realizes he's got green lights as far as the eye can see, his eyes carry such a complicated range of emotions, from caution to tenderness to tough blaxploitation studliness to shyness, back and forth, that he once again transcends his weird dialogue (he seems to have been written as a kind of Muslim warrior/friend in the Parsifal myth). Their scenes together are worth the price of admission by themselves. If you've lived the joy of an out-of-the-blue hookup with a knock-out girl after a forever on the road you'll feel it all come rushing back, even if it's cloaked in enough weird 'code' to fool the kids and make Joe Breen's head explode. The rest of the time we can't tell if Fred's having a blast, just clowning around because he doesn't give a shit, or is just slowly going insane. Either way, we'll take it.


Wait, there's another girl? Two? The Sean Young/Jennifer Beals-esque Anna Kanakis (she'd play the villainess in the same year's 2019: After the Fall of New York) she plays a big-haired lady in red goggles, no pants, and a capable attitude. The blue-eyed towhead kid from Lucio Fulci's House by the Cemetery (Giovanni Frezza, much better dubbing voice this time) is the mechanic who outfits our two apocalyptic heroes in all sorts of explosive ordinance and automobile souping-up, including a big phallic drill bit. He also comes along to the big climactic battle, noting "there's only one thing that matters, winning!" Hot damn! I don't like kids in movies unless they're badasses and I like him so what's that tell you? Here he's clearly modeled on the pyro son in the same year's Escape from the Bronx, both of whom are surely inspired by the Feral Kid in the Road Warrior, who must have given the Italians some ideas as to how wild a child can be. The sight of this kid zipping around hurling bombs with his slingshot during the finale are pretty fortifying to my old childless/ish heart.

4. RAIDERS OF ATLANTIS
(Aka Atlantis Interceptors)
(1983) Dir. Ruggero Deodato
**** (Amazon Image - B-)

I reviewed this in an earlier Prime round-up, but it's become one of my favorite go-tos when afflicted with that Goblin-scored, aurora grotesk-credit-fonted 70s-80s Italian horror/action/sci-fi hybrid itch, which is very specific and very--if you can find the right salve--rewarding. Raiders is one of the best such salves, right up there with Nightmare City and Contamination as far as recently-discovered Italian psychotronica I can return to again and again when the never-ending film marathon of my life runs dry of viable programming options. I've already seen Raiders at least four times since discovering it in 2017. There are so many reasons it rocks: I love that the central relationship is between two men, Italian cinema mainstay Christopher Connelly and Tony King as a pair of mercs who own a boat together and do all sorts of dangerous work outside the jurisdiction of the US military (?) ala The Expendables. They have great banter/rapport and the film is nonstop cool, with Hawksian attention paid to cigarettes and alcohol, and manly camaraderie (they also have a helicopter pilot buddy played by Ivan Rassimov). Giola Scol is a girl whose skill at deciphering ancient text on a plaque found down on the ocean floor by a sunken Russian submarine triggers the rising of a domed Atlantis. Then there's that strange reaction in a certain percentage of the population, turning them all into marauding savages on a nearby island (maybe the world, who knows?) driving around in their pimped out bikes and rides, decked out like a glam Humongous (Bruce Baron) in a translucent skull bubble helmet (above). Calling his gang 'The Interceptors' and announcing the return of Atlanteans and all others "but one" must die. Time to get the molotov cocktails lined up, and--luckily--find a warehouse full of guns and ammo.

Naturally we wonder if John Carpenter ever saw this film as it bears striking resemblance to his last great film 2001's Ghosts of Mars, within which a strange ancient race is accidentally awakened from its timeless sleep, and possessed citizens dress up like metal mutants, determined to wipe out all human life in preparation for the original inhabitant's return (2). Naturally with the word Raiders in the alternate title one expects a certain amount of loot grabbing (a lot of films in the 1982-3 era had to have ancient treasures laying on altars deep within booby-trap filled tombs and pyramids), but that's towards the end, the big climax, so off-the-chain it's barely necessary (and indeed the one problem I have with the film is the ending is a little unresolved). Mostly there's a lot of molotov cocktails being thrown and great real time stunts, like people jumping out of a helicopter onto a speeding bus, or vice versa. The end feels kind of rushed, and in fact the whole thing leaps around giddily from one scrape to the next, but we can always figure out what's going on and never what's going to happen next, making it 90 minutes of action packed awesomeness that, if ever on a nice Blu-ray or HD upgrade, could be the bridge on a person's rack next to Ghost of Mars, The Expendables 2, and Nightmare City, and there's nothing wrong with that, baby. How good is it? It's on Prime, but if it ever became available for purchase, I'd buy it just to make sure it didn't disappear on me (like, say, Cozzi's 1981 Black Cat did). That said, it may help to have low/no expectations going in. I had never even heard of it when I first saw it, just took a chance... If you love Ghosts of Mars and Nightmare City, I recommend you do the same!

 5. EXTERMINATORS OF THE YEAR 3000
(1983) Dir. Giuliano Carnimeo
**1/2 - (Amazon Image - B-)

Though I shy off films where a kid is in the lead but this one has literal tricks up his sleeve and drinks a beer at one point, so I let it pass. Instead of oil being the number one commodity, this time it's water; there hasn't been any rainfall in forever. The result is terrible curly hair on the lead actor (Robert Ianucci) as Alien, the hunky antihero. Alicia Munroe on the other hand, sports a nice post-Farrah blonde Meg Ryan kind of feathering (above) that puts her far ahead of most action babes of the year 1983. Actually, the coolest character is Fernando Bilbao as the main bad guy (ala Wes in ROAD WARRIOR) eagerly pursuing Alien --who stole his car (it's got a TV camera so you don't have to look through a windshield!)


 Those Italians... You can call this a piece of shit but you miss the point. The Italians cram quality in art direction, dubbing, and action - making movies like this may be imitative and redundant, but they reek of the joy of on-the-fly creativity and momentum. Just look at that crazy car design up there, that's totally superfluous, that's a free, just a bit of nutty madness zipping by so fast you barely clock it before it's up in flames.  Surely one can forgive the presence of tacky curly hair in the lead and the presence of a child and the scenes of thirsty settlers passively watching their plants die of dehydration? There's also the confusing idea that in the post-apocalyptic wasteland, someone like Alien would sell out the settlers to make a fortune with the purloined water. What kind of fortune even exists in the wasteland? Money is only as good as long as the country that issues it is viable, genius. But you can't think twice about those kind of plot gaps unless you're really obsessive. Just soak up the grit and keep drinking those fluids!


Filipino Bonus: WHEELS OF FIRE
(1985) Dir Crio Santiago
** / Amazon Image - B

OK, so this one ain't Italian. Fuggedabout it, might as well be - these are all international joints anyway, am I right? Shot in the Philippines for New World/Concorde with a pretty impressive large cast (the Army being between rebellions), and many many vehicles, all of which are so dirt-caked you feel the desert grit under your fingernails and on your tongue while watching (best to stay lubricated).  The Mad Max-a-lot (Gary Watkins) is named Trace, as in 'they traced Mel Gibson's outline' - same leather pants and utility belt dragging him to a cocked hip and a disposition that says "no chicks for me, booze or socializing, just give me the wild open road and the suspension of disbelief that its possible to drive for even half a day in a world with no gas stations.

Crio Santiago directed with an international cast and set in an Outback-style wasteland (really a quarry that's the Filipino equivalent of Bronson Canyon). One should point out there are key differences between Trace and Mad Max. The most obvious is his super cool flamethrower. He has one for his car, too. Lots of guys wind up on fire as a result (3). There are lots of guys on fire, actually, in all the movies on this list. And they did name it Wheels of Fire - well, honey that's truth in advertising. As Cool-Ass Cinema notes "WHEELS are constantly spinning; and rarely does the FIRE diminish."


The other key difference: Trace can't wander as freely as the original Max because he has another thing Max hasn't got, a sexually precocious kid sister, Arlie (Playboy playmate Linda Weismeir, above), who is wild, ill-bred and liable to run off with the first pit fighter who flashes his beady eyes her way. And this area of the wasteland is no place to pull over and have a snog. A band of skuzzy outlaws led by Scourge (Joe Mari Avellana - one of the cast's few native Filipino leads) runs around killing, siphoning, and abducting women for much lurid abuse. Naturally, the sister winds up in their hands and eventually her acting tough, spitting and clawing, only gets her so far. Seeing Arlie spread eagled and topless bouncing around on the dirty hood of Scourge's car, etc, that's not fun, or cool. She just seems uncomfortable and awkward. We admire her resilience and toughness, and that her breasts are natural, but then the nights pass and she's stuck with these monsters, and it gets demoralizing.

Alas, they take her along to their base and Santiago rubs our noses in the whole gang bang / punked-out whore thing, as Arlie is thrown to the crew after Scourge is 'finished with her' and winds up housed in a dirty tent and all the dirty ass dudes take their turns, snickering etc. We're spared the seeing of it (we just hear about it, Santiago wants us to know for sure what's going on) but her continued subjugation sits uneasily over the rest of the film. Though she does get a mildly satisfying revenge, it still leaves a skuzzy residue, like the dirt-caked oil that flecks the tanned skin of the cast.


Meanwhile, Trace runs across a girl road warrior named Stinger (Laura Banks, above), who demonstrates that - 1) the Pat Benatar look must have still been big in 1985 at least in the Philippines and 2) now matter how dire things get, a girl can still find cheap 80s eye shadow. Luckily, the rather weather-beaten Stinger has other assets, like a hawk who acts as her eyes and ears and can signal danger (like when Stinger is abducted by underground mutants in the dead of night). They pick uph other Scourge survivors too: an innocent civilian with psychic powers, Spike (Linda Grovenor) whose make-up is way less oily and garish; and a spunky little person general, and they become like the C3PO and R2D2 of the scrappy bunch.

Many stunts, crashes, explosions, big sets (some old guns placements left behind by the Japanese, maybe?), including a vast underground cave system for mutant burning.... The whole thing becomes a war movie at the end, with the late plot addition of a big outfit of 'good guy' civilization proponents that Trace used to be a member of (now he tells us - where have they been all this time?). There are climactic raids, a group of civilians building a rocket out of sheet metal and gumption, and a final battle with Arlie as a kind of hot mess Gunga Din. Mortars and vast arrays of army men blowing shit up. (1) The final shootouts as all the mean jerks from Scourge's outfit die painful deaths is a-very nice.

Other strong points include Christopher Young's sweeping score, which taps into the Brian May-style pumping Road Warrior original, adding orchestral grandeur like what might happen if the Jaws theme was widened and Wagner climbed down in between the notes like a scuba diver on too many Stuka-tabletten. As with most Santiago films, it may be shitty but it's never dull. And the Amazon Print is farily good, not quite at the level of Warriors of the Wastelend, but probably looking as good as it ever did on the drive-in screen.

Cool-Ass also points out that Wheels was one of the films caught in the tussle when Corman sold New World and the new owners betrayed him by ignoring his drive-in fare in favor of their own dumb bigger release crap. So Santiago's film wound up being one of the first releases of Corman's own new distribution company Concorde instead. Alas, just as he gave up directing when he left AIP to form New World, Corman gave up producing, for the most part, when he left New World to form Concorde. It being the dawn of the drive-in's demise in favor of the endless made-for-VHS sloggery-doggery, sexual imbecility began to reign. Until that is, the arrival of DEATH RACE 2050.

And that's about it for part 4 of Acidemic's Drive-in on Prime series. Next time will be the concluding entry, the post-CONAN sword and sorcery kick of the 1981-88 era.That's not to say this amazing and endless series will stop, because someone has to keep track of the wild, never-ending flow of great shit floating amidst the dross that is Prime. In other words, if I don't write about it, don't watch it. For there is crap galore out there and you must be protected. Now that these films are safely preserved, we must preserve the sanity of their future viewers.

And don't forget these other Drive-in on Prime Roundups:

Drive-in on Prime 3: New World's Rebel Girls (1971-79): THE BIG DOLL HOUSE, COFFY, DARKTOWN STRUTTERS, THE ARENA,  BIG BAD MAMA, TNT JACKSON, THE LADY IN RED,)

Drive-in on Prime 2: Post-JAWS Gems (1978-80): UP FROM THE DEPTHS, PIRANHA, CREEPERS (AKA Island of the Fishmen) THE GREAT ALLIGATOR, HUMANOIDS FROM THE DEEP, AVALANCHE 

Drive-in on Prime 1: Post-STAR WARS Nugs (1978-87): STARCRASH, BATTLE BEYOND THE STARS, SPACEHUNTER, SPACE BALLS, SATURN 3, GALAXY OF TERROR


NOTES:
1. some sharp-eyed fellow critics have pointed out it's war footage borrowed from another Santiago film, Equalizer 3000)
2. Not accusing JC of plagiarism, if anything it would be a homage, as much as it is to Howard Hawks. 
3. Stuntmen must love to fall off ledges while on fire. Think about it: ultimately guys on fire is not the kind of thing anyone cares about, yet time and again they burn and scream and burn, maybe because they know how to do it without getting hurt, so it's like skydiving or crowdsurfing for them. For us, it's like the cole slaw garnish

Monday, February 11, 2019

New World Rebel Girls on Prime: 7 Must-Sees from the 70s


On my recent New World kick (thanks to so much of it being on Prime), I went too far, and saw the savage self-parodying weirdness of Dante's and Arkush's Hollywood Boulevard, (not on Prime but I have an old copy) which though funny, is a harbinger of the grungier wave to come, and in its crassness, implies New World films are just packages breasts and blood farmed artlessly to drive-in third feature billing. Well, I don't think that's necessarily fair, boys! Or it wasn't, not always, until drive-ins died away and Jim Wynorski and Fred Olen Ray took over like those scuzzy looking runaways Phillip Baker Hall brings to Burt Reynold's 1980 New Year's party in Boogie Nights. Those silicone breasts looked so fake that--even as a 14 year-old hormonal boy-- you'd wish they'd put them away; suddenly ashamed that somehow your own hormones wreaked such sad gaudy damage on a generation of hopeful B-starlets, you felt deep despair over sex as a whole. Switching to videotape made it all so cheap, so artless... and then Porky's ushered in a whole new level of puerile we're still detoxing from even today.

There's still sex and violence in the old drive-in era (70s) New World, but it's subtler, folded in with wry wit, deadpan nonchalance, crazy stunts, social urgency and libsploitation. Corman's habit of hiring young, unproven talent fresh from film school paid off with kids who knew these cheap fast and out-of-control films could be calling cards to major studios, or they could be cement shoes bound to sink your career before it started, or you could just stall out, do cartwheels in the parking lot forever and ever until you were little more than an embarrassing footnote in a corner of imdb.

And either way, it's now Prime (even things like the dull Barbara Peeters-directed Starhops). Here's seven films, all but two of them looking great in remastered HD prints streaming free on Prime, that show these young turks of New World (and AIP) could fill the framework with enduring trash goodness. These seven films may not be Gone with the Wind, but they're way shorter, and still better than a lot of major studio big budgeted balderdash out there, with good pedigrees (John Sayles, Lewis Teague, Angie Dickinson, George Armitage, Jack Hill). Most of all they don't take themselves too seriously nor too lightly. Funny, sure, but not in a hokey, campy way, these films are (mostly) from the pre-Jaws / Star Wars era, the time when the drive-in was aimed at adults. They might be driving around in fur-covered vans, but they were still (relatively) mature. Kids today equate maturity with being boring and responsible, which is the opposite of what it really is. To be an adult in the 70s is to understand the superiority of actual car crashes, and actual, natural curves. When they hear the satisfying crunch of metal, or finally get a grasp on where the nipple naturally occurs on a human breast, even the CGI generation will have to agree there's value to be had in the old ways. In the 70s a man could be laid enough to not wind up a skeevy troll sending dick pics. In the 70s a woman could be the aggressor in sex without it indicating repressed childhood trauma. In the 70s sex wasn't 'problematic' and yes, maybe it turned out to be problematic, but no one knew yet. There's more than bliss in ignorance sometimes, there's virility.  At least here, on Drive-in on Prime, and in the past, there can be machine guns, stunts, and natural beauty. On Prime, the drive-in still lives! And now you don't even have to hide in the trunk to escape paying your bloody and just-dessert dues.

1. THE BIG DOLL HOUSE
(1971) Dir. Jack Hill
*** / Amazon Image - A+

One of the first films made by Corman's new label, New World, and a home run right out of the gate courtesy the great Jack Hill. Filmed it in the Filipino jungles with a brigade of hot American starlets, and Sid Haig as a fruit vendor/smuggler, it's the quintessential Women in Prison movie. Pam Grier in her feature debut sings the title song ("99 Years"), her signature swirl of raw toughness and empathic vulnerability is already in full effect; Brook Mills is her junky squeeze; Pat Woodell is a political prisoner, teaching her cellmates how to shoot machine guns; Roberta Collins is the tough blonde who's only looking out for herself, and advises the newbie (Judy Brown) to do the same. It's Collins who gets the movie's best line ("you'll either get it up or I'll cut it off!") as she's so sexually frustrated she even tries to rape Sid Haig's nervous assistant Fred (Jerry Franks).

Naturally warden Dietrich (Christiane Schmitmer) and her sadistic head guard Kathryn Loder won't tolerate such flagrant breaking of house rules. So while the mysterious figure in a black hood watches from behind some black netting, Loder lets her hair down and goes to work. The new (male) doctor protests all the bruises on the patients but Dietrich dismisses the inmate's complaints as a lot of gossip and imagination. Who's the doctor going to report these abuses to in a country so corrupt? There's no choice but to revolt!

Even if you despise WIP genre, Big Doll House earns its freedom from condemnation. It's filmed largely on cool sets (or at any rate indoors) with great lighting and camerawork and far fewer tedious slogs in showers, mud and torture rooms than the films that came after.  Calling it a WIP film is like calling Corman's Wild Angels (1966) a biker film. There was no such thing as a 'biker film' before Wild Angels. Everything that came after Corman's huge surprise hit was an imitation, i.e. part of the biker movie cycle, including--if you'll forgive me for saying so--Easy Rider.  They poured them into the drive-ins so fast we're still trying to figure out which one is which even today.

It's the same with Doll House, it's not following any markers. The girls are looking at classic Warner Bros. movies like Each Dawn I Die and 20,000 Years in Sing-Sing for their cues, and shrugging off their welts like Cagney or Bogart, see? These chicks are tough!


Highlight include the Collins 'seduction' of Fred; with great pinkish lighting Collins' really sells it-- (below) and in general makes the best use of her full-throated, nearly Meyer-esque lines. I also like Mill's crazy dance around the cell after Grier gets her high (and her anguished derangement when the flow of powder stops); there's a great long tracking shot following the girls as they leave the yard and go into the cane rushes so Grier and Collins can have their big mud fight that's an epitome of tough cool; and I love Woodall's tough performance under torture and later with machine guns in both arms - she underplays so tough you get chills. The girls are all lovingly filmed in their fully brushed long hair, their luxuriant limbs (it's the tropics so they're always in shorts) splayed around their cell in sexy but not prurient medium shots; Loder is genuinely spooky as the torturer head of the guards, with just enough Nurse Ratchet surface warmth to chill the blood all the more when she takes off her cap and lets down her wild long hair (underlit with a green eerie horror movie glow).


On the down side: Sid Haig delivers a hammy southern accent. He's playing it way too jokey rather than following the deadpan approach of all his comely co-stars.

The new HD transfer on Prime makes the Philippines, finally, look livable. Color grading has been done with such loving care (take close notes of the rose hues in Collins' skin hues vs. the pink prison uniform above -poetry) that it seems like a cool, breezy paradise rather than the sweaty, waxy humid hell it always looked like on VHS.

2. BIG BAD MAMA
(1973) Dir. Steve Carver
*** / Amazon Image - A-

A big rollicking hit for New World, this stars Angie Dickinson stars as a good-hearted, sexually voracious backwater woman who takes her two nubile daughters into crime during the Depression, hooking up with various outlaw lovers and sexy hostages. The sisters are played by Switchblade SistersRobbie Lee and Candy Snatchers' Susan Sennett (she was buried alive in that film, made the year before this, so it's nice to see her up and breathing freely). Dick Miller (RIP you game OG hipster) is the increasingly frustrated FBI man in dogged pursuit. but this is still the era before interstate highways so it's not easy to catch up with Mama, especially when the girls hook up with machine gun-waving desperado Tom Skerritt, who falls for Angie, but winds up bedding both the sisters instead when gentlemanly sharpie William Shatner (with an unconvincing antebellum accent) joins up, and helps Angie move into high society, i.e crashing tony social events and robbing everyone at machine gun point.

A big hit, Corman followed this up with a slew of imitations, none of which measure up (with one exception, Lady in Red -below). Unlike Demme's dated Crazy Mama, this doesn't confuse 'rollicking' with goofy - there's no sped-up car chases with cartoon sound effects and ragtime music--something AIP for example relied on all too often. Here the characters may be having a blast but the movie never forgets they're playing for keeps --people die- in fact nearly everyone. The cars might be old Model-Ts, but that just means they flip over easier- they just don't explode as fast as the ones in the 70s. But it's still cool!

Good as that all sounds, what made this huge hit for New World was Angie Dickinson doing nude scenes --in an R-rated movie! Shhh! This was back when things like that were big news: Playboy used to offer celebrities a million dollars. Angie was neither a prude nor a fool; she worked for a percentage, smart enough to get rich on her assets, and everyone made out like interstate bandits. This was when girls could be sexy into their forties and all their body parts were real and therefore all the sexier. In fact her sex scenes here but most to shame. We totally get why both Shat and Skerritt would be gaga over her, and surly if she beds the other.

Most sex on TV and movies now is either rapey (HBO) or this kind of joyless 'smash cut rut' (my term for this habit of cutting from some innocuous greeting right to the middle of some joyless mutually demeaning rutting). But what made sex under Corman's watch so fun is its naturalism, there's goofy laughter and awkward jumping around. Lee and Sennett jump around on the bed and leap ontop of Skerritt like he's a big bean bag chair; they're innocents following their bliss without phony bourgeois limitations. I think a lot of patriarchal studio heads would be threatened by that. kind of uninhibited female enjoyment. there's no violence or tired soft focus close-up shots of random body parts - we always know who's in the bed, and who's sulking outside it. Not only are they tasteful they're important to the narrative. Sex is how Mama keeps both men under her spell, and these things have consequences, as when Robbie Lee gets pregnant the first time out losing her virginity.


I'd never really heard of Steve Carver before watching this recently for this post, and then I noticed he also did the The Arena (below) and that Cannon-lover's fave Lone Wolf McQuade! In other words, he's the type of journeyman that somehow never stuck out for notice the way, say, Arthur Marks and John Flynn have recently during our post-Tarantino crime revivalist age. Shall his time too, not come? Ask anyone and they'll agree, Big Bad Mama is one of the quintessential New World pictures-- it has all its good parts and none of its bad, and the same goes for the lovely Amazon Streaming Image quality (the colors seem a little faded but it's possible it was intended that way to lend an old timey sepia tinge).
--
On the downside, Shatner's southern gentleman accent is awful. And PS - Jim Wynorski's sequel BIG BAD MAMA 2 is also on Prime, albeit in full frame VHS dupe style, which is clearly all it deserves. Angie is in that one too, and--ever the trouper--she still gives it a good god-damn go, even though the care and love that went into the original is replaced by a kind of bachelor party costume theme tawdriness (the boys have that terrible mousse-sculpted hair of 80s porn stars). AVOID AVOID

3. COFFY
(1973) - Dir Jack Hill
**** / Amazon Image - A+

Grier rocketed to deserved exploitation stardom as the queen of blaxploitation films with this big cult hit-- capably stepping out from her ensemble work in the Philippine prisons and into the starring roles at AIP, which had then gone full blaxploitation (I thought this was New World which is why it made this list, but I wouldn't dare disrespect her by taking it out). Here she stars as a hardworking nurse out to avenge her smack-addicted 11-year-old sister by waging a one-woman war on LA's drug/prostitution racket. First she poses as a strung-out junky willing to do "anything" to get a fix (then blows the dealer away with a shotgun); she threatens to carve up the face of a strung-out call girl ( Carol Locatell: watch the subtle ways she comes slowly alive after taking some sniffs from her stash) finally setting up upscale pimp King George (Robert Doqui) for a great fall. Then shit gets pretty hairy, but she works it out and... well. In between all this, keeps her job as a nurse at the night shift of a downtown hospital.

What makes Grier's performance here so indelible is the unique mixture of raw anger, sensitivity, cool, towering strength and the obvious emotional toll her double life is taking on her as she screws and shoots her way up the pusher food chain. Her towering strength always coming with back-end weariness, the kind that needs no man's aid, just maybe a cup of coffee or a Sunday drive. Her "why not?" when Carter tells her she can't just run around killing people, is priceless. It's clear Tarantino was trying to capture that mellow openness, the weary but kittenish honesty, during her early scenes with Robert Forster in Jackie Brown. 

I know I've written on this before (see Jills of Jack Hill) but that viewing was over Xmas in AZ, when I was in bad shape, hallucinating, junk sick, twitchy, and seeing triple (so it looked like Pam had seven heads) Now, on Prime's excellent HD transfer (nicer than the waxy Blue-ray from Olive), it looks totally different; it breathes and glows and you can feel the slight chill in the salty Pacific coast air. Instead of looking like a moldy set slowly collapsing on its sweaty inhabitants, the opening bar setting now glows and breathes and evokes clubs in earlier AIP freak-out films like Psych-Out and The Trip. In this new air it's clear this is the best of all the Hill-Grier collaborations, and maybe the best blaxploitation film, maybe the best Hill film too. The writing and acting are superb in their innocuous subtlety: consider scenes like the post-coital vacation plan-making by Coffy and politician boyfriend (Booker Bradshaw) up at his swanky pad by the fireplace. Their discussion is filmed with her leaning back on him as they both stare into the fire, both are naked, comfortable around each other, the colors of the apartment and the flames of the fire all perfectly complimenting their black skin; they both look into the fire as they talk, in low real person voices - it's such a simple little scene. Hill Grier and Bradshaw have made a real moment that enchants in its simplicity. We all remember the catfight at King George's loft party, but there's so much more to savor, so many little bits, the great use Sid Haig makes of an ordinary thug/henchman role, his chilling sadistic laugh as he drags King George around a junkyard tied to the back of his own car, and his warm regret --he wants her to know it's nothing personal--while driving Coffy to her death.

But the main takeaway is the power a woman might yield when she uses her sex appeal rather than letting it use her. The men Coffy messes with may be bad in think they're 'in charge' they're all constantly in danger of losing themselves to desire for her; her body gives her power over them. It's mind control. And yet, the kind of sex we see in Coffy is practically foreplay compared to the demeaning rutting on TV these days. Maybe in a way that's why Coffy is almost more adult. For Hill's film postulates that maybe casual sex can be mutually rewarding, even on an emotional level, even between mortal enemies.

On the downside Pam's Jamaican accent is awful, mon.

4. THE ARENA 
(1974) Dir. Steve Carver
**1/2 / Amazon Image - A+

Beautifully shot at Cinecittà Studios Studios in Rome, there's enough vivid tactile detail in this saga of female slaves forced to fight each other as gladiators that you can practically feel the roughness of the catacomb floor underneath your sandals. The fantastic cinematography is, believe it or not, by Joe D'Amato (under the alias Aristide Massaccesi) and it's produced, clearly with great care, by Mark Damon (the hero in Corman's Fall of the House of Usher). Though the mood is ultimately downbeat, one can't argue with the fury of Pam Grier and her cool chemistry with dynamic Margaret Markov as the two best fighters, and partners in an ultimate revolt. Markov and Grier were by now a proven fighting team, having been in The Hot Box and Black Mama White Mama before this. It must have seemed they were forever enduring abuse in Filipino prisons and gladiator pens before wreaking cathartic vengeance in their violent dashes to freedom. (This would be Markov's last, as she married Damon and went over to the business side). Though the whole thing is a bit rote in its round the 'debauched ancient Roman bend' (a mincing gay character, a gluttonous arena owner, the innocence of their pre-abduction/genocide ritual ceremonies, slave auctions, light shaft-lit steam room, food fight, etc) we get what pleasures we may such as Grier getting to do her funky dance, twice! Familiar faces like Marie Louise and Rosalba Neri help us feel like we're in familiar country.



I don't want to go into detail of plot but will tell you that their climactic catacomb escape is tense, violent (the ladies know how to fight), and riveting with the final outcome always questionable; there are dogs, there are jumps, there are deaths. The survivors could easily both die or get sent back. Besides, where does one go when the whole civilized world is run by Rome? The answer may be nowhere, but at least the survivors if any are still free at the moment of 'The End,' heading towards a boat and maybe freedom in the New World. And before then, though they may be slaves, at least the girls are still eating well, have access to wine (Lucretia Love plays a slave who develops into quite a lush - now that's an escape I'd totally try!), and no one goes to sleep sexually frustrated or forced to tame their wild lovely 70s hair -- this ain't goddamned Handmaid's Tale. The Roman audiences may be too close in their violence cheering viewing habits to modern TV watchers for comfort--but hey, deal with it.

The main reason I include it this in this list however is what it doesn't have: the terrible bangs and the stilted 'Roman' speech patterns that equate pontification and leather sandals with importance. What it does have: action! thrills! Pre-Christian morality! Grier and Markov together again and sticking it to the patriarchy! Brevity! And with Prime's HD upgrade, the blackness of those catacombs is so deep it's like the screen becomes 3D (at least on my groovy Sony Bravia, the best TV ever made!)

On the downside: is Markov dubbed by a different actress? 

5. TNT JACKSON
(1974) Dir. Cirio H. Santiago
**1/2 / Amazon Image - A

Filipino actor/director/producer Cirio Santiago was a great find for Corman's New World: he could be both producer and director when needed and he knew the New World secret like only a handful of others: if you can't make it good, make it fast. That's certainly true with TNT Jackson - it may not be much good but damned if it doesn't lag. If you can get past the first few 'missed-him-by-a-mile but still pulled your punch and he fell anyway' fights, this gets pretty slam-bang, and the quality of the image on Prime is terrific. If you've tried to watch this on past VHS versions and given up after five minutes (guilty, your honor), you'll swear it's not even the same movie!

Fresh off the plane, American girl TNT (Jamie Bell) cabs it over to Manilla's drug section to find her fiancee (or brother? I forget) who sent her a strange letter. Within minutes of crossing into this bad area, Jackson gets into about 80 fights.  Her lack of karate skills are forgotten due to her cute nose and clear love of wild kung fu hand gestures. We know she's enjoying herself with these crazy, fluid, Bruce Lee-ish hand movements because, frankly, she's not a good enough actor to hide it. Luckily she doesn't enjoy herself to the point she cracks an actual smile, instead rarely departubg from her one-note little frown, refusing all help or to even be cordial to the big drug kingpin of the neighborhood, even though there's no immediate evidence he killed her brother, or fiancee. There's also a mysterious white lady (sultry Pat Anderson) who also seems to have an agenda concerning all the recently hijacked heroin shipments; it almost becomes her film as much as Jackson's as they fight each other and fight with each other as the shit goes down, which is awesome.


The real scene stealer though is Stan Shaw (left) as the sartorially splendid kung fu heavy, who Jackson beds, bothers, and then beats to a pulp. Stan is simply put, terrific. Even if he refuses to believe Jackson will be causing any trouble since she's such a fine sister in a place where there are almost no other black people. But why is she in Manila anyway, really? His thinking is cloudy, but who can blame him? Jackson uses his desire against him as smoothly as Coffy did the year before (above).

Little clues let you know Enter the Dragon had come out the year before, too, and was probably still in theaters. But Bruce Lee has nothing on Bell once she does her famous topless kung fu fight. Zipping around her bedroom, flipping off the light to run to and fro around her hotel rooms and the outer hallway, her assailants ever-dwindling in number and fighting stamina as she slowly gets dressed, this tiny little lady earns our loving respect for being both sexy and playful (with all the 'around and on beds' battling it reminds me of my brother and friends and I chasing each other around the upstairs beds as kids - our kung fu almost as gloriously bad).

As it does with Big Doll House, Amazon's recently upgraded streaming print makes the Philippines look far less clammy and claustrophobic than in its countless past editions. So if you've been waiting, now's the time. And what about that badass super intense final fade out? One in a million.

6. LADY IN RED
(1979) Dir. Lewis Teague
*** / Amazon Image - C

I wanted to post some stills from this one which is damned crime it's not the HD anamorphic version Shout put out awhile ago, but the old full frame that Corman's own shitty DVD label put out years before that. But I love Sayle's episode-packed script and Pamela Sue Martin (I was a devotee as a kid back when she was Nancy Drew). Hence, I include this quartet of screenshots, to let you know the full extent of why the other titles on this list are so good. Sugar, everything used to look like that - all cropped and blurry. Lady in Red is good enough to see even in this version, maybe it will inspire you to get the Shout DVD, or petition the manager for better streaming. (full review)


7. DARKTOWN STRUTTERS 
(1975) Dir William Witney
*** / Amazon Image - C-

Produced for New World by Roger Corman's cool brother Gene, directed by old Republic serial journeyman William Witney and written by the great George Armitage (Gas-s-s-s, Miami Blues), here's a real find for the lovers of the weird. If you mesh something like Beach Blanket Bingo with Duck Soup and Shelly Duvall's Mother Goose's Rockin Rhymes, and a Bugs Bunny cartoon if Elmer was a cop (played by Dick Miller, of course, but then made it all uniquely and totally black fantabulous (ala The Wiz, then the rage on Broadway), you'd get--exactly--this urban satire fairy tale set in what I think is supposed to Watts (actually Tennessee, according to imdb) or just of a surreal Monkees-meet-Parliament on Electric Company alterna-reality. Ether way, it's dynamite stuff. The loose plot has Syreena (Trina Parks), member of a superhero-like gang of decked-out 'trikers', trying to find her abortionist mom, Cinderella, who has disappeared, possibly the result of a dastardly white man plot (lots of upstanding young black men are missing too).

Pursued along the way by KKK members on dirt bikes and inept cops with a giant siren on their car (that makes UFO noises), Syreena encounters bizarre characters like the 'Pot-Sicle' man, who sells drug-infused ice cream (I really wanted the 50/50 LSD peyote bar, but couldn't get my money through the screen), and tries to recruit a super cool detective who's feeling left out since no one has abducted him yet. ("Maybe it's like rape," Syreena says with a gyrating movement, "you have to ask for it.") Armitage's script (probably heavily improvised with the cast, knowing his style) is full of wild lines that fly fast you can't even cognize their greatness. And though Roger wasn't involved you know this is from the Corman school of moviemaking: constant movement during dialogue scenes keeps the eye busy. This is a movie where no one ever sits still. If they do, a strolling band of sweet harmony singing brothers materializes out of the park and the whole thing hits another level.


Darktown's far-out vibe, hipster madcap pace and DIY school play-style props takes some adjusting to, but if you can lock onto its goofy kinetic pace, its mix of surreal WTF-ing around and jet black social satire becomes a truly sublime trip. A climactic dirt bike chase between Syreena and the Klan can rivet us, for example, but then we don't get irritated if Syreena stops her foe's evil plantation dungeon escape in order to groove with the soulful band the Dramatics, who serenade her from behind bars with their big number, "Whatcha See is Watcha Get." Musicians are supplied by Stax Records. Uncredited soulful serenaders sing film-specific soul groove greek chorus-style commentary, adding to the homespun but so-sweet madness. 

Commander Cross, aka Sky Hog
(any resemblance to a white devil purely...)
It's more than a single viewing can take in, and it would maybe not be worth it if not for the great comedic timing of Trina Parks. Whether disguising herself as a traffic cop, or a nun to get a inside the evil Colonel Cross's (Norman Bartold) southern-fried plantation mansion, she surfs the madness with a wry shrug and deadpan groove that sets a mighty fine tempo and mood. If she played it too straight it would be as much of a drag as if she did it too campy, instead she finds the exact right tenor and rides it all the way. The rest of the cast jive on her energy and each other and the whole thing seems like a wild, fun party that, by the strength of her performance, never devolves into an incoherent fracas.

Of course one could think to oneself--in today's enlightened times--that hey, it's written by a white dude, produced by a white dude and directed by a white dude, with a big dash of Green Pastures-style hokus in its cardboard iconography, how can it really lampoon racist tropes without being racist? (Armitage notes Richard Pryor crawled out of the test screening). Maybe it can't, but that's no reason not to enjoy it. If you can't laugh in horror as the local police chief---dressed up in drag and blackface to catch a 'white female rapist who targets only "black male queers"--is shot trying to leave the precinct by his skittish officers (who don't recognize him), then man, you'll never survive the decade to come.

Remember when everything looked this bad (i.e. VHS)?
As you might guess, Tarantino is also a fan of Darktown Strutters. I'd never heard of it before last week (or if I did I got it confused with the song "Darktown Strutter's Ball," and then imagined boring biker movie / hustler convention-style documentaries so stayed away) but now I've already seen it twice and can't wait until I see it again. I only hope Shout or Olive release a remastered Blu-ray soon (I'm dubious about the Cohen disc) Meanwhile, who knows what weirdness might bubble up from Prime's fathomless basement next!!

OTHER GEMS OF OFF-THE CUFF DEADPANARCHY
Currently Suffering in No-DVD limbo!
Most of Darktown's crazier sisters and brothers--the ones that cross over any genre they want without losing their deadpan cool or getting too campy- aren't on even DVD. Is this because they're too weird for the powers that be to categorize? Something like the gonzo adventure of the 1984 Sandahl Bergman-starring She for example, is ostensibly based on the H Rider Haggard novel but throws in every trick in the book, including a hilarious guard who looks like a blonde Paul Thomas and runs through a head-spinning gamut of obscure old radio show impressions; then there's 1978's Get Crazy and Shelly Duvall's Mother Goose's Rockin' Rhymes (1990). None are available. So weird and so wondrous. What are they so scared of, Mary Joe? Rockin' Rhymes was a cable kids' movie. Surely it's safe for modern consumption? 

Luckily we can still find these gems on youtube, albeit in worse quality even than the Prime print of Strutters. (There is a DVD-R Strutters version though I'm afraid the quality is the same - anyone seen it?). 

(1982) Dir Avi Nesher
***

(1983) Dir. Allan Arkush
***1/2

MOTHER GOOSE'S ROCK 'N' RHYMES
(1990) Dir. Shelly Duvall
***1/2

RELEASE THEM AT ONCE!!
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See also on avail on Prime in good condition
(but not New World... or even AIP):

BONNIE'S KIDS (1973)
THE ROOMMATES (1973)

Other Recommended 70s New World Hits avail on DVD (but not Prime):
BIG TEXAS DYNAMITE CHASE

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