9.28.2009

They Call Me MISTER Trash!

I just figured out that you can make a video playlist on YouTube and embed it elsewhere. I'm sure this is old news to everyone else, but, hey.

So, being an exploitation movie trailer fanatic, as well as a big proponent of exploitation movie trailer compilations, I put together a nice batch of 20 fun trailers from the golden years with an ever-flowing theme. The inaugural collection includes bouncing boobs, degenerate despots, fierce futurescapes, kung fu kicks and pervasive paranoia of the ass-whipping sort. Please note that I didn't upload any of these myself, and that at present, I've only seen eight of them. I don't think I need to tell you this is NOT SAFE FOR WORK, but I might as well. Expect this sort of thing to become part of the rotation here at EK, at least until I get sick of it.



1. An intro.

2. "Beneath the Valley of the Ultravixens" (1979): Russ Meyer's final eye-popping melodrama. This ad may seem high-octane, but the hyperbole and heterosexism are as thickly applied throughout the entire movie, ensuring that the breast fetishist and underheralded craftsman went out with a suitably raunchy bang. It is a truly crazy film, extremely personal in that it reflects all of Meyer's red-blooded obsessions, and a lot of fun if you can put up with the legend's unashamedly Neanderthal attitudes - his buxom ladies are always his strongest characters.

3. "Screwballs" (1983): When I was a pre-teen boy, this Canadian-made cable classic (with a cameo by Russ Meyer vet Raven De La Croix) was my favorite of the low-rent teen sex comedies. As with all things '80s, these sorts of flicks are currently cultivating a nostalgic cult following. Now that it's unbelievably out on Blu-Ray, its perverted zeal should finally get its due.

4. "H.O.T.S." (1979): Never seen this one, but it's another jokey jigglefest from the days when T&A was a booming movie genre, set at a college (H.O.T.S. is a sorority) rather than a high school. One of its alternate titles is actually "T&A Academy." Look for a guest appearance by a desperate post-"Partridge Family" actor.

5. "Caligula: The Untold Story" (1982): Director Joe D'Amato and actress Laura Gemser made a crapload of sleazy Eurotrash softcore movies together, most famously the lurid "Black Emanuelle" series. This collab was obviously a knock-off of the Tinto Brass/Bob Guccione "Caligula" and features the director of my favorite movie of the '90s getting his tongue cut out. As with many flicks of its time and genre, XXX versions exist, with hardcore sex scenes clumsily inserted.

6. "SS Experiment Love Camp" (1976): I've seen even fewer Nazisploitation movies than I have "Black Emanuelle" entries... the first "Ilsa" was enough for me. Folks, these are the real "torture porns," unsavory (mostly) Italian jobs that center on fascist regalia, dull wartime drama and a lot of abused white girls. General consensus is that this flick, which includes a romantic subplot(!), is one of the less stomach-turning entries.

7. "The Black Gestapo" (1975): In the '70s drive-in milieu, even black militants could march in line behind the crooked cross to strike terror into the hearts of their enemies. This doozy (from the director of "Love Camp 7," the world's first Nazisploitation flick) stars Mac from "Night Court" as a jackbooted radical who beats the bad whiteys, only to become as bad as they were once absolute power corrupts him.

8. "The Inglorious Bastards" (1978): No, not the new one - Tarantino got the name for his recent triumph from a mislabeled copy of this obscure Italian movie at that famed video store where he once worked. Fred "The Hammer" Williamson, Bo Svenson and pals get embroiled in a plot to steal from the Nazis while avoiding their American countrymen, from whom they escaped on the way to military prison.

9. "1990: The Bronx Warriors" (1982): "Inglorious Bastards" director Enzo G. Castellari is better known for this post-apocalyptic knock-off of "The Warriors," where he once again gave Fred Williamson the chance to grit his teeth and mug like a B-movie champ. I reviewed it in an old post, but for those who don't remember that, suffice it to say that it was the last movie Vic Morrow finished before he was killed on the set of "Twilight Zone: The Movie," and the fey, headbanded hero is literally named Trash.

10. "Hands of Steel" (1986): On my most-wanted list of Italian '80s action flicks, this ranks up there with "Endgame" and "Blastfighter." Taking a few pages from "The Terminator," it's the sensitive tale of a cyborg assassin (played by Woody Harrelson's dad from the beginning of "Kingpin") who arm wrestles his way into the heart of a bar owner while wasting corporate villains in the future. "Bronx Warriors" bad guy George Eastman, the Italotrash hero born Luigi Montefiori, plays a menacing truck driver.

11. "Turkey Shoot" (1982): The future didn't only look bleak in Italy; after all, Australia gave us "Mad Max," as well as this gory dystopian hybrid of prison trashfest and "The Most Dangerous Game." It was released in America as "Escape 2000," which was coincidentally the same title given to Castellari's "Bronx Warriors" sequel. The director was also responsible for the ridiculous-looking cult item "Stunt Rock" and went on to such ignoble efforts as "Leprechaun 4: In Space" and "Megiddo: The Omega Code 2."

12. "Trancers" (1985): A relic from the days when Charles Band still made enjoyable schlock and Helen Hunt wasn't yet known as Paul Reiser's TV bedmate. Stonefaced Tim Thomerson is great here as a hard-boiled future cop searching for a zombiemaster terrorist who is sent back through time to possess his lookalike ancestor in then-present-day Los Angeles. There are five direct-to-video sequels to date; Thomerson was in four of them, while Hunt was in two.

13. "Gymkata" (1986): So, you like flicks about covert martial arts tournaments a la the epochal "Enter the Dragon," but you're also stuck in post-1984 Summer Olympics gymnastics thrall? This celebrated flop, from the director of "Dragon" and starring real-life gymnast Kurt Thomas, was made for you, although the formula sadly did not catch on. Before today, I never realized it was an MGM production. I totally would have guessed Cannon.

14. "The Octagon" (1980): Home gym spokesman Chuck Norris was far more successful as a whitebread martial arts star than Kurt Thomas was. Here's an ad from his youthful heyday, one of his most ludicrous chop-socky epics in which he takes on a consortium of ninjas led by Lee Van Cleef while talking to himself in incessant voice-overs. It's believed to be the first of the American-made ninja flicks, although "Enter the Ninja" made a bigger splash on that front.

15. "Revenge of the Ninja" (1983): Cannon's follow-up to "Enter the Ninja," and the predecessor to the absolutely insane "Ninja III: The Domination." Genre icon Shô Kosugi plays a ninja trying to escape his tragically blood-soaked past by moving to California and selling dolls, but has to contend with a ruthless, heroin-smuggling ninja business partner. I can't wait for Kosugi's long-awaited return to the screen in a couple of months, battling Colbert nemesis Rain as the villain in the mainstream action bonanza "Ninja Assassin."

16. "Vigilante" (1983): It seems that I just can't get away from the great Fred Williamson. Here, he joins Robert Forster and some other dudes to take back the streets from the criminal scum in a gruesome, grimy slice of reactionary '80s action cinema. I wrote about it briefly in a real old post.

17. "Rolling Thunder" (1977): Cinema informs us that ex-POW Vietnam vets are ticking time bombs. Why would you steal from one, grind off his hand in a garbage disposal and kill his family, but not make sure he's dead? He's just gonna put on a sharp hook, grab Tommy Lee Jones and hunt your ass down, as does overlooked character actor William Devane in this neglected thriller from the writer of such downbeat classics as "Taxi Driver" and "Hardcore." Great voiceover work on this ad by the unmistakable Percy Rodriguez.

18. "The Crazies" (1973): George A. Romero's most underrated movie is this awesome portrait of human downfall, similar to his almighty "Dead" series in that it involves the spread of a plague and the authorities' attempts to deal with it. Instead of becoming zombies, though, people turn crazy and turn on each other. Michael Eisner's kid has remade it as an action flick... even with Timothy Olyphant as the lead, I have my doubts.

19. "Blue Sunshine" (1976): Another anxious antique from those paranoid '70s, this one involving former hippies whose previous ingestion of the titular LSD batch causes them to lose their hair and embark on murderous rampages. Cult director Jeff Lieberman brings back the transgressions of the '60s to haunt politician Mark Goddard (Major Don West from "Lost in Space"). The guy who directed "9½ Weeks" is the main star.

20. "God Told Me To" (1976): One last bit of disco-era mass hysteria before we go. Larry Cohen's people-going-bonkers picture revolves around a cop investigating random murders committed by average folks who utter the film's title whenever asked for a motive. The answer to the mystery is pretty nutty, to say the least. It stars Tony Lo Bianco from "The Honeymoon Killers," and Andy Kaufman shows up as a cop who turns the NYC St. Patrick's Day parade into target practice. The trailer's voiceover talent is Ernie Anderson, the voice of ABC in my youth.

9.04.2009

My craw, and what's stuck in it

Remember when I used this blog for something other than extra-long dissertations and infrequently updated musical playlists? Like, when I started it MORE THAN FOUR YEARS AGO? Yeah, me neither, but I'm trying to. Here are some things I'm thinking about.

•First of all, to all Chicago-area summer lovers: I honestly feel bad that you have experienced an unusually temperate season. I understand that "70s and overcast" doesn't make for great pool parties. Still, not having been a big fan of bright, muggy summer weather since I was about 13 or so, I have no complaints myself, and I think it's weird to hear people complain about pleasant temperatures and moderate electricity bills. The economy still blows and everybody's stressed out, but at least we can open the windows without boiling or freezing.

•My current workplace pipes in music, which is quite a change after more than a decade of toiling under headphones which would only blast whatever clattering black metal, cuss-laden hip-hop or amateurish local punk I felt like hearing. The good news is that we get the oldies channel, which is really the only radio music format I can handle. This was underscored by two hellish days when some joker switched to some adult contemporary station and I had to squirm through a procession of songs I truly hate. I didn't catch their call letters, but those goat-fucking sadists threw everything from Bette Midler and Spin Doctors to Coldplay and Sara Bareilles at me, and I will never forgive them. (And while I'm ranting, let me tell you how much I loathe that new goddamned Jordin Sparks song. My fabulous girlfriend will occasionally leave VH1 or MTV or MTV2 or something on when we fall asleep, and Ms. Sparks' garish holler has now awoken me twice. This happens, of course, in the dead of night, when those channels stoop to playing music videos because no one's awake to watch "Who Wants to Date Someone Who Lost Another Dating Reality Show?" and "Semi-Celebrities Relate Uninformative Memories of Pop Culture Circa 1989.")

Throughout the day, I get to hear songs I actually like... you can never go wrong with The Monkees, The Turtles, The Crystals or The Four Tops. However, I naturally have my grievances with the local oldies FM station's playlist. Never mind that part of their programming is the syndicated "True Oldies Channel," hosted by crusty old Scott Shannon, who sounds like a constipated pirate who has been rudely awoken by the banshee shriek of Jordin Sparks. I can handle that in 2009, "oldies" means less time for Little Richard and more time for Seals & Crofts, and can even accept the inclusion of '80s tracks like Billy Joel's "Uptown Girl," which sounded a few decades old when it came out. However, I am not too pleased by the bleeding over of classic rock staples like Boston or Journey, who truly clash with the rest of the programming, and when they shoehorn Wham! among The Eagles, Elvis Presley and Louis Armstrong, they barely differentiate themselves from the "we'll play whatever" format that took over the former Chicago oldies frequency a few years ago.

Then there's "Margaritaville," which I suppose fits the bill of a "true" oldie. I really don't have a problem with Jimmy Buffett, but I have a hard time believing that even the most dedicated Parrotheads are not as totally burnt out on this song as I am. After all, I'm a huge Iron Maiden fan, but I could go a long time without hearing the overrated, overplayed "The Number of the Beast" again. And even if there are some fun-loving middle-aged types out there who always whistle along with its jolly tropical intro, I cannot fathom who would want to do so at 9 a.m. Yet, it's a rare morning that I don't hear this breezy ode to heartbreak-induced alcoholic benders while I'm hunched in my cubicle, and it never fails to feel wrong.

•I've actually gotten out to the movies a bunch recently. The first selection was "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince," which chopped out a lot of the book's flashback-heavy filling but was still the least exciting film in the series since the first. I knew it would be that way going in, though, and at least appreciated its effectively brooding tone, of which "Order of the Phoenix" could have used more. Then Sassy Frass treated me to a fine birthday film, the Nazi-smashing "Inglourious Basterds," truly the most fun I've had at the movies this year. While packed with knowing film geek references, it's the least pretentious flick Tarantino's made since "Reservoir Dogs." Christoph Waltz is a fantastic villain and like George Clooney in a Coen brothers joint, Pitt is pure gold whenever he's onscreen.

Last weekend was a two-fer. M'lady and I took in Ang Lee's "Taking Woodstock," a straightforward coming-of-age story about a closeted Catskills homebody who naïvely helped facilitate one of the most famous events in rock music history. It's not mind-blowing, in fact it's pretty corny and stereotype-ridden, although supposedly a true story. Still, the cast (especially Demetri Martin, Imelda Staunton, Emile Hirsch and Liev Schreiber) and cinematography make it much more engaging than it would normally be, and the requisite trip sequence is pretty wicked. Finally, I saw "The Final Destination," an enjoyably ridiculous junk food mainstream horror sequel if there ever was one. Despite the wacky 3-D effects, it has the been-there feel you expect from a "part four," but it at least eschews the bullshit happy ending of the second "FD" picture (directed by the guy who made this one), and you're certainly not expected to care about the doomed characters, which is a good thing in this series. I just can't say anything bad about a film in which a televised NASCAR event is treated as an omen of impending calamity.

•I am otherwise awash in playful British humor (The Mighty Boosh: The Complete Radio Series and "Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch," both highly recommended). We're trying to finish the third season of "Heroes" before the fourth one starts. It's bound to be a somewhat happy fall around our crib, since my favorite band's new album drops in November, two months after Sassy Frass' favorite band releases theirs. I'm currently attempting one of those herbal digestive cleaning regimens, so I'm finally getting optimum levels of skullcap, marshmallow, dandelion and slippery elm powders. What are you up to?