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| D'Amato captures a near-Frazetta style color and lighting scheme here. "The dividing line between goodness and stupidity is very, very fine." - Zor (David Brandon), Ator 2: The Blade Master |
I'm getting too old and weird to want 'great' movies that remind me of how racist, sexist, damaged and otherwise screwed up the world is, nor do I want movies to tell me, and the nation, how love, hope, and the movies themselves can transform and effect social change. Moving itself to tears with its own humble self-congratulations, Oscar seems to insist on telling us what to feel: love. Movies cease to be escapist in their eyes, but vehicles for social and personal transformation. Zzzz
Here's an example of how bad it's gotten for me, personally, so you know how bad I need ATOR. As you know, Sword and the Sorcerer finally came to Blu-ray. I got a review copy and I started to watch it and was instantly bored and bummed by the mix of way too much predictable plot elaboration: an innocent naive and unprepared good king overthrown by evil magic-borrowing social climbing Richard Lynch, who's only real competition is a man called Lee Horsely who finds himself recruited in a tavern by an in-disguise princess offering sex in exchange for a hostage rescue. How misogynist! And needlessly complicated. It instantly forgets why we come to a movie with its title: monsters, magic, babes, destruction. Conan knew just how to give us all that in a straightforward mythic narrative. In short, it's a classic. It gets better with every viewing. It's dumb, fun, and full of monsters, magic, babes, and destruction. Roger Corman knew that, so we get Deathstalker and Sorceress in this period.
In Italy, of course, they're famous for that, and those films endure too. But there's also sometimes a kind Ed Wood-ish childlike simplicity that's totally endearing. The result: a Conan-clone so cracked it crumbles into dust with the strike of a gong and the gleaming golden skeleton of true myth is revealed beneath its B-movie bones. That's ATOR! (It's pronounced "Ahh-tor." AHHHH-tor).
Save me Ator.... the pool of escape is shrinking under the global warming summer sun. Social change is irreversible. But hey, weed is legal, and shrooms not far behind, though made much milder than before. Is the psilocybin spirit changing itself with the times, too?
ATOR, THE FIGHTING EAGLE
(1982) Dir. Joe D'Amato
****
Maybe it's his languid sexually uninhibited postures, the dreamy look in his eyes, the tastefully provocative fur loincloth, his golden toned skin and flowing 70s metal hair and copper/gold chest plate, but whatever, Miles O'Keefe cools the brow as Ator, the Fighting Eagle. As Murray Ballstein says in Zoolander, he's dumb as a stump, but I love him.
That love is important with the bad movies I keep on my emergency 'speed dial.' In order to make that hallowed list, everything must be right and not stir up unpleasant associations. That means no caged or abused animals, no 80s perms, no tacky Roman-style bangs over sweaty oil-based make-up, no complicated courtly treachery, no excessive stooging, no preening narcissistic male leads, fake breasts, tacky colors, realistic screaming or convincing torture. I don't mind intense violence as long as it's poorly rendered. Somehow, the meat-abstraction of the scene enables a healing release of fear. A tough order but Ator delivers, and so much more.
Everything about it hits me just right. I love D'Amato's cinematographic palette of purples, golds, and yellows; the rumbling timpani and Wagnerian brass of Carlo Maria Cordio's ever-present score; the relatively short time frame; the long flowing wigs, golden skin, and cute fur boots and wrist bands on the young leads; the right lack of self awareness or narrative urgency; the endearingly clumsy fights (no stunt men were harmed--or even, apparently, consulted); the clever use of shadows and reflections--it all serves to both tap into my nostalgia (Alan and I made a lot of super-8 Conan-style three-minute epics). Squarely in a bloodless PG camp, somehow its lack of nudity and sex makes everything paradoxically sexier, more alive with a kind of erotic haziness. (1)
After a beginning set to narration over volcano stock footage symbolizing the dawn of time, we go to the happily bucolic village where Ator is raised. We learn he's in love with his adopted sister, Sunya (Ritza Brown). But how can they be married when it is forbidden? Don't worry, you're adopted, Ator! As the son of Torin, you are destined one day to defeat "the Ancient One" -(Dakar). And lo, there he is on horseback, with his Thulsa Doom-esque raiding party, riding in to break up Ator's hippie wedding, slaughter the guest list, making off with cute Sunya, and leaving Ator in the frustrated dust. Quick, Ator, time to harness that sexual angst training with a mysterious stranger named Griba (Edmund Purdom, in a terribly hacked-up Mongol warrior wig), the same one who brought you to your adopted parents, Moses/Hercules-style, oh so long ago! But what of Sunya while this is happening? Don't worry. Dakar is too busy with his tarantula and keeping his single digit army standing around for hours.
Wherever Ator goes on his odyssey to free Sunya, hot girls want to sleep with him. Poor Ator! He's caught by amazons en route to the Ancient One's abode and forced to breed with the winner of a battle royale (with Ator as the prize) to decide who will birth their next leader. The winner is O'Keefe's co-star, Sabrina Siani --who is in nearly every early-80s Italian post-Conan sword and sorcery film, including Throne of Fire and Conquest) who decides to forego the mating and sneak out with him in search of the Ancient One's gold loot stash. A few scenes later and Ator is seduced by a foxy witch (Laura Gemser) after she leads Roon away in the disguise of a bounding deer. Poor Ator! But O'Keefe's sleepy gorgeous vacancy is hard to dislike or even resist. Made semi-famous playing the title character in the massively overhyped Bo Derek Tarzan, O'Keefe seems to regard every woman like he's just too sexually exhausted for yet another roundelay.
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| Stabbing, the easy way. |
Take the stab above (upper left), for example -- you can tell O'Keefe is stabbing behind the guy rather than through him, but the guy acts like he's been run through, and somehow that makes it ceremonial, mythic, and adorable. Another example: though it's implied a long journey through the wilderness is underway the travelers never seem to need to get anywhere, and indeed double back over some stretches of where they've been (it looks like a relatively well-manicured park, replete with stone walkways and artificial waterfalls and mayne D'Amato's back yard).
But even all that doesn't totally begin to explain the appeal, the pull of Ator. Maybe it can be summed up in the way O'Keefe rests a goblet on or near his genitals (above), splaying his legs out, when sitting in his would-be seducer's lair, as if trying to get some cool air flow to his balls in between 'obligations.' It could subliminally smack of loathsome frat boy/date rapey entitlement in the wrong hands (I'm looking at you, Lee Horsely) but O'Keefe seems like a very laid but still cool kind of guy. Each seduction is instigated by a very strong woman, ala a Howard Hawks or Jack Hill heroine. What would be unconscious sexual predation in lesser mortals is benevolent casual laidness with O'Keefe. Rumor has it that D'Amato was routinely frustrated with O'Keefe's continued listlessness during the shoot, but he was probably just sexually exhausted! There's no blood flow getting to his brain, if you know what I mean.
In sum, O'Keefe is set at the perfect "low" setting for this kind of affair, and he even has a good (familiar-voiced) actor doing his dubbing, who manages to inject just the right note of deadpan knowingness to every cliche'd line ("First I must complete... what I was born to do.") without crossing over into camp.
Again and again, sex never happens but always almost happens --with Ator fought over as an object and too languid and reposed to resist, preferring to just rest his flagon near his pelted crotch as if a grail light for wandering maidens.
Lastly, there's something about the look and feel of the film that reminds me the smell of 1980s Grateful Dead tour, in a good way, that sublime mix of patchouli, unwashed bodies, hashish, incense, car exhaust, and above all, the sizzling meat over charcoal. To my acid-sharpened senses, that smell was almost visible, audible, tactile. It was the smell of the burning ember in the center of my forehead, burning the wax blockage between consciousness and some ancient inner cave system, the sound of the sizzling of a tailgate grill cracking open the kundalini serpent egg so it crawls up the serpent spine. It's all there, too, in Ator, in the dusty purplish cave walls; the big googly eyes of the giant black fur covered spider hiding in the columns on the hill; the shadow Ator convincingly sword fights with; the shiny mirror flashes of his magic shield; the long dark hair of the Ramones-evoking blind blacksmiths; Cordio's grounding timpani and Wagnerian crescendos; the gorgeous but unfussy cinematography (by D'Amato himself, a master), the fog-enshrouded zombie scene that goes nowhere; the Zeppelin wigs, the nicely small cast, the endearingly clunky violence, the cute black fur boots on Ritza Brown, the golden smooth limbs of Sunya, Roon and Ator; the manicured park setting, the horned crown of Gemser, and every strand of oversized clothesline web. Paradise - on a slow chilled fire - forever, sizzling and comfortable.
ATOR 2: THE BLADE MASTER
(1982) Dir. Joe D'Amato
*
We know we're in trouble from the get-to: the opening stretch is clearly from another movie, perhaps one D'Amato was starting to shoot, called Cave Dewellers (when Italians weren't ripping Conan in the early 80s they were ripping Quest for Fire, a big hit in Europe). To add running time, he keeps the cave men intro anyway (and even the US release is called "Cave Dwellers"), then eats up another reel of footage from the previous film, taking care to omit ALL of the female characters. Oh if only it were that simple, Joe. If only it were that simple.
Gone too is Ator's innocence. He's no longer the once blank barbarian slate who just wanted to marry his comely sister and live a peaceful life in the country. Now Sunya is forgotten and Ator is a combination Lone Ranger / Batman and Obi Wan Kenobi, training alone in his cave with his faithful Asian sidekick Thong. We can only presume the reason Ator lives in a cave, and the king/wizard and his daughter live in a cave, and the bad guys hang out in a cave, is that D'Amato had reserved those caves for Cave Dweller and there was no refunds. So Ator and Thong read giant books and draw each other lifting weights in the mirror, you know, 'guy' stuff. Ator now knows about herbs and how to make explosives from what's lying around in the walls of his cave. And women have no place in his life, even as drinking partners.
Gone too, his glorious Zeppelin hair. Now, as befitting sanctimonious acetic, he has appropriated a Japanese style samurai headband / top knot.
Gone too--unless there's a nice Blu-ray out there somewhere in Asia or Germany or something--D'Amato's usual peerless cinematography. Those original's dusky Frazetta-esque interiors and dappled green park exteriors have been replaced by a scrubland murk, suffused with third generation VHS streakiness.. We also miss a cool pop song to pla over the end credits, and a score as fun and rich as Cordio's from the first film.
So, the pointless cave man intro and 'previously on Ator' scenes over with, the women excised from history (just like in the bible), we now learn that Ator's old mentor is keeping something called the "Geometric Nucleus" and the evil villain Zor wants it, and he's invaded and conquered. so where is it? Mila (Lisa Foster) the mentor's comely daughter, escapes to find Ator, now retreated from the world of men! To find him, he tells her, she must travel until so far "it seems that nature itself declines to follow you on your journey. Then you will have reached the land of Ator." Like nature itself, we may be also thinking of declining her, but for love of the first film, perseverance! Thong, my sandals!With her vaguely nerdy informal accessible vibe; Lisa Foster takes her role as Mila seriously enough that she helps balance out the blandness around her. Her deep black eyeliner makes for a tasteful black VHS-blur smudge outline, so her white eyes seem to bounce right out of the screen. Her black headband, straight shoulder length dark blonde hair and black dress on pale skin makes a nice complimentary contrast that pops against the washed out and muddy analog mise-en-scene. Then again, in real life, she's Canadian, so kind of too balanced and nice to deliver that wild sexy-dangerous edge of someone like Sabrina Siani or Laura Gemser. You can't have everything. At least she's got that popping eyeliner. And though it's nice to see some diversity, Ator's shadowy Asian partner Thong (Kiro Wehara) barely registers as anything more than 'Asian' and the sudden detour into Japanese-ness in Ator's whole deal is odd in the worst of ways. Where the hell are they? Some of the foes they run into look like they just rode off the set of Kurosawa's Ran. Apparently they were working with no script, just kind of coming up with ideas, and it shows. They never really decide if they are in feudal Japan or the dawn of history.
So with Ator a bore, Thong a silent cliche, and Mila merely pleasant, it's a good thing they've got the wondrously fey David Brandon (left) as the bad guy Zor. With his Vlad the Impaler facial hair and a giant Black Swan helmet, he's like a mid-80s fusion of Mick Jagger and Freddy Mercury. I love Brandon as the fey theatrical director in Michele Soavi's Stagefright; I love his black-eyed Ariel in Derek Jarman's Jubilee; and I admire from a distance his alcoholic priest in Claudio Fragasso's Beyond Darkness (not to be confused with D'Amato's Beyond the Darkness); and I love he shows up as a werewolf aesthete in Avi Nesher's She. Too bad in Blade Master his lovely face is hidden behind the oversize black wig and mustache. That's his voice though, and he's serving charm and catlike menace. Enduring his old mentor's put-downs ("Patience is a virtue found only in the strong") with a fey grace ("you do amuse me") he's way more fun and easygoing than the cranky killjoy he's up against.
Alas, aside from some half-hearted cave-set battles, including a listless attempt at fighting with invisible warriors, most of the lazily-choreographed fights are outdoors in washed-out mist-whitened skies, a lot of time and energy is wasted on a side plot wherein Ator tries to convince villagers to fight back against the cannibal ravagers that demand monthly human sacrifice (the old conveniently decide to sacrifice their young), only to wind up drugged by some wine and tied to a pole, forced to watch as these town elders are (deservedly) massacred anyway by Zor and his goons (shades of Dogville). "Your eagerness for good deeds has betrayed you, Ator!," Zor chides back in yet another cave. If Ator had any brains, he'd side up with this cat immediately.
It's the pits, lacking everything that made the first film so endearing--but if anyone knows of a good Blu-ray import or something give me a shout. I can only find one on Amazon, but it's dubbed in Hungarian with no subtitles. Maybe I'm better off without one, maybe the world just isn't ready. Hungary aside.
ATOR 3: THE IRON WARRIOR
(1987) Dir. Alfonso Brecia
(1987) Dir. Alfonso Brecia
***1/3
"Eternity.... passes... quickly"
Continuity is left miles behind in the third ATOR film, 1987's The Iron Warrior. Alfonso Star Odyssey Brescia has stepped in as director to save the series, almost against its will, from the ambivalence of itself. Actually there is almost no resemblance to D'Amato's Ator films at all, other than snatches of Cordio's score, O'Keefe himself, and the 'ATOR' brand name (which isn't even in the onscreen title). Instead of the usual lunkheaded phallocentric post-Conan odyssey, Brescia gives us something far more high-fashion. It's got the look and vibe or what you'd expect if Vogue magazine took a fairy tale/barbarian hybrid fashion spread on location to the blazing Mediterranean. Haughty cinematography shows off every detail of the beautiful Maltese scenery and stresses the eye-popping contrast of bright red and green haute couture against the azure oceans and milky cliffs. Artsy tableaux take precedence over continuity: people swim across the sea but their clothes are dry when they emerge; the ocean wind allows the women's oversize dresses and Ator's oil rags to flutter evocatively, providing as well a good excuse for scarves over the actor's mouths allowing for easy substitution of stunt doubles, and preventing sand in the actors' teeth. Alas, no flowing hair--Brescia seems as trichophobia as a teenage hikkomori.
Just to add to the challenge of discerning the plot, the editor hit upon the happy idea of running the whole soundtrack through (I think) a flanger: sword swings sound like jets; horse hooves echo like gun shots fired in a cavern; the roar of the ocean wind overflows like a swarm of drunken bees; the opening voiceover narration and any dialogue not shouted is drowned out by the rush of blood in the cochlea shell. Composer Cordio--as opposed to his titanic work in the first film (some of which he lifts here)--has the bad habit of underscoring certain emotional moments with Morricone minor key schmaltz, and bigger battles with unfortunate major key John Williams Raider of the Lost Ark-style pomp.
Luckily not being able to hear dialogue doesn't matter, because it looks marvelous. Every image is framable or ready for its Vogue frame. Witches pose in silhouette against boiling moons (below) issuing whispery directions from beyond ("Ator - you will have to manage on your own.") Princesses and handmaidens frolic like a merry fauns by the colonnade (below). Three color coded witches/fates pose in a black void, chanting the sins of the evil witch Phaedra (they have her imprisoned in a pair of revolving red hula hoops); Ator poses and practices his mighty sword in soaring, swooping helicopter shots atop a white cliff overlooking the sea. Ator, you're needed once again!
Ator, the new men's fragrance by L'Oréal.
Taking motifs from Sleeping Beauty, as well as Macbeth, ancient Greek tragedies, and Clash of the Titans, the story begins with the birth of Ator and his twin brother, stolen as a child by the evil Phaedra (Elizabeth Kaza). She's all wild gleaming eyes, middle-aged badass, flowing long cherry red hair, and mocking gestures, imprisoned in glowing red hula hoops for 18 years after stealing Ator's twin brother, which is just the right amount of time for a child to become Miles O'Keefe. The good witch, Deeva (Iris Peynado, Fred Williamson's pale blue-eyed love interest in Warriors of the Wasteland) activates brave Ator to set off against Phaedra's masked champion, the Iron Warrior (he commands all things iron). And if e'er Ator was "the Son of Torin" (as he was in the first film) or an ascetic student of ancient samurai ways, as he was in the second), now he's neither. He's not unlike Hercules in Cozzi's sequel (Adventures of), waiting in the ether for some immortal god to bring him into time and space to accomplish some daunting task.
Furthering the aesthetic disconnect, there's a post-modern feeling of all eras going on at once. Brescia makes use of nearly all Malta's unique scenery regardless of the modern conveniences visible, so there's classical architecture, even "Sweethaven," the quaintly ramshackle cliffside fishing village build by Robert Altman for the disastrous 1980 musical Popeye, now a still-standing Maltese amusement park.) Seeing Ator hiding behind a dusty Chinese laundry store window makes one feel like he's wandered into the wrong century. We get rope bridge crossings, tunnels, caverns, and cliffs towering above the glowing blue ocean. There's even a brick castle replete with pane windows, sewer gratings, and probably trash cans and souvenir shops just off camera. Compared to the first two films with their timeless BCE ambling, Iron Warrior seems far more modern, willingly strange, rife with demented dream sequences and illusions) and prettier to look at than one might expect for a sequel to what was an impoverished sub-Conan to start with.
He and Jenna--the endangered princess he rescues--have a very sexy low-key chemistry that makes even dialogue like: "Is the king in danger?" / "Yes, Ator," seem like whispery come-ons.
Taken all in all, I love most everything about this beautiful looking movie but with several glaring caveats: the cherry red oversize kaftan princess Jenna (Savina Gersak) wears is fine when it's billowing in the Malta wind, but strikes one as très gauche when worn at midnight dungeon soirees, especially with her hair pulled up tight in that hideous fantail top knot (above) giving her a kind of radis récolté look most at odds with all the flowing garments (and the one magenta eyebrow smacks of teenage poseur desperation). The flowing hair metal locks of "Ah-tor" meanwhile have similarly castrated into a reverse dread center braid (though a big improvement after his greasy samurai top knot in Blade Master). His signature gong-shaped chest plate is now obscured with an array of tattered garage floor oil cloth furs flung over football shoulder pads. Man, if this hot androgynous pair kept their hair long, and unbound, how gamely it would flutter in the wind!
Hmm, did that have something to do with it. Did it get in your pretty, Ator? At one point the Iron Warrior's signature long red scarf blows up over his eyes and Ator has to patiently halt their to-the-death sword fight so he can pull it down. In several scenes the wind compels everyone to wear scarves over their mouths, which makes it easier to sub in a stuntman when needed. Like spinach for Popeye, that scarf makes Ator suddenly coordinated and dangerous, slicing through the slow-mo bad guys so fast they last only a few seconds. Then the scarf comes down so O'Keefe can show off an array of warrior poses.
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check out the hot witch in the middle, eating... something |
Unlike the first two films, magic, dreams, and hallucinations reign supreme here. The Iron Warrior is so named because he can float, disappear, and make spears stick out horizontally from the wall, and even make swords reappear in his hand should he lose them. He can rise to the top of the cliff behind Jenna he's some kind crazy William Castle spook show phantom. And evil Phaedra has the power to assume any form, so can change ages (as young Phaedra she's played by Tiziana Altieri and she looks a bit like Billie Eilish crossed with Natasha Leggero). She can look like anyone, our evil Phaedra, even look like her witch rival, or the princess herself, if she chooses. When she starts eating ribs while gyrating pantsless in front of her captured throne, staring mockingly into the camera, surrounded by revelers in tacky red face scarves and owl skin should pads, you'll know you're in good hands.
Here's a typical progression: Phaedra disguises herself as a young hottie, chased by a bunch of evil horsemen while Ator is posing nearby. He instantly changes armor and hair style and rushes to her rescue. Before you can say don't fall for it, Ator, he's passed naked out in her bed and she's getting dressed turning back into her old witchy self and setting the place on fire on the way out the door. The voice of Deeva the good witch (crystal-eyed Iris Peynado) from beyond wakes Ator up before he's incinerated. So off he goes to one of Cordio's tumbling synth timpani rolls as Jenna lies unconscious atop a stone bed on a cliff overlooking the Mediterranean; a magic sword hangs in mid-air over her neck as a bunch of skull faced jawas bang rocks around her stone altar bed. Ator chases them off! Iron Warrior appears by floating up from below the cliff! An open smoke pot blows in the ocean wind behind them as they duel! The Iron Warrior vanishes and Ator stabs a pile of his clothes. Phaedra laughs from someplace outside of space and time. Now Jenna and Ator are wandering through the woods at magic hour as the setting sun sets.
All this happens in about two minutes! Do you love it? I sure do.
Even when you can't hear it, the dialogue, shouted over the wind, is great in a wry meta/post-modern kind of way. Phaedra flubs a line, shouting "you are no--you are no match for me, Ator!" That the whispering oracle statue Ator and Jenna visit proves impossible to hear it over the flangered wind. Every time anything violent or cool happens things slow down to slow mo and the sound gets flanger-modulated. For better and worse and meta-awesome.
Brescia keeps the action and scenery humming. All the boring plot stuff and--after the opening narration which we can't hear anyway-- narration and plot continuity are gleefully stripped away and everything is whittled down a series of stunning tableaux vivant. Every shot is like a fashion spread by someone who didn't want to pay for hair spray. So what if there's no rhyme or reason to who these four masked riders are or why they're riding away with Jenna's splayed limbs tied between them like a flying draw and quarter, or why these spears are set up along the chase route so he can grab and throw them as he goes. It almost seems like some kind of race course set up just for him to practice his riding and spear throwing. Don't think about its Brescia-trademark absurdity. Just endure Coridio's hackneyed majestic action orchestration and try not to roll your eyes. It'll be over soon.
A feminist matriarchal thread runs from text to subtext, making every sin forgivable. For example, at the end, the color-coded witches enclave talk about how Ator belongs to Jenna now. There's never a thought of Jenna belonging to Ator! And not to spoil things but this time Ator isn't running away. In a great penultimate shot we see her face as she embraces Ator (his back to us), looking dead at the camera with an "I got him now" kind of wicked smile. The inference she's actually Phaedra in disguise is instantly put to rest by the witches rhyming away like a Greek chorus in their multimedia black box theater beyond space and time, with Phaedra immobilized once again in her revolving red hula hoop prison. The implication can only be Jenna herself is sort of Phaedra in the making, as all women must be witch-like when ensnaring wandering faux-Ronin to their bosom clutches. Without feminine magic, all the young dudes would slink off into the nuclear sunset, back to showing off their swords in the mirror while sketched by their 'friend' Thong.
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Ator's whole origin would change yet again for a fourth in the series, also knowns as QUEST FOR THE MIGHT SWORD (1988) with D'Amato returning to direct but O'Keefe inexplicably replaced by beefy Meatloaf-meets-Roddy Piper-esque Eric Allen Kramer. This new Ator seems to have drunk seventy thousand beers too many, gaining about six inches of height and a hundred ponds of beef ("like he's ten years out of military service and eating his way through PTSD" notes Cheapsteak). He now has long light blonde hair, and a throne, which he quickly loses through one too many ill-advised trials by combat, much to the horror of wife and son. Ator, that's a terrible idea!
He dies, deservedly, and mom and his child end up on the run as their kingdom is claimed by the challenger (did this film inspre Black Panther?) The pursued mom decides to leave her son with an ugly troll in order to get a magic ring or something like that. The troll, a true douchebag kind of anti-Yoda (in a mask left over from Troll 2) drugs her on her, rapes her, blows her mind with magic, and sends her out as a sex slave, or something while young Ator grows up to, unfortunately, be played by Kramer, too. God, what a pair of parents.
No offense meant to beefy Kramer. I'm sure he'd be fine in his usual role as a bouncer, wrestler, henchman or Meatloaf, but he's all wrong as either young or old Ator. It's nice to see that old Troll 2 mask trotted out again, but yeecch, what an au pair mom has picked for her son! It makes no sense. I could buy Ator gone to seed as an older dad, but not the son. How did this dude even get this part? Did D'Amato see Roddy Piper starring in Carpenter's They Live (from the same year) and think beefy Chicago/Toronto-style guys were 'in' as leading men?
That shitty troll must really know how to pull some magic strings.
And so... after 6+ months, my 12 Days of ED WOOD CONCLUDED! Yer welcome.
See also the Other 11 Nights of Wood, and Wood-esquery:
NOTES:
1. By now, with all the smash-cut rutting on AMC, and HBO ("HBO, where foreplay is forgotten!"), sex onscreen is no longer forbidden, and therefore not spicy. In ATOR it's always about to happen, but something prevents it, just like in dreams.
So glad to see that somebody else appreciates IRON WARRIOR! Ovidio Assonitis was behind this one, which I think is the reason for its strange beauty.
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