Trailer Trash
Now Playing: DAVE
Before the 7:45pm showing of THE LONGEST YARD at the Beverly Cinemas last night, we were subjected to 19 (!) minutes of commercials. That's right--19! Meaning the 7:45pm show didn't actually begin until 8:04pm. 19 minutes is fucking ridiculous. And, yes, I count trailers as commercials. A trailer is a commercial. It's somebody trying to sell you a product you don't want. And believe me--most of these trailers were for movies nobody wants.

Before I get started...I haven't watched FRIENDS in years. When the hell did Courteney Cox buy her new boobs? Good Christ, I couldn't concentrate on the first ten minutes of the movie, I was so mesmerized by her new cleavage. I think it's too late in her career to help her, but I was glad for the glimpse I got.

Now on to the seven trailers I endured last night:

THE ISLAND--I saw this movie when it was called LOGAN'S RUN. It's directed by Michael Bay, which likely means it will suck. It has lots of quickly cut CGI effects, which likely means it will suck. It has Scarlett Johansson, who is hot as hell, but not an actress I get particularly jazzed about. Something that made me laugh is a line Ewan McGregor says to Scarlett: "Now do you believe me when I say the island doesn't exist?" Well, dammit, the movie is called THE ISLAND, so there had damn well better be an island! It's not titled MAYBE AN ISLAND, MAYBE NOT.

WAR OF THE WORLDS--I saw this movie when it was called INDEPENDENCE DAY. Tom Cruise blah blah stuff blowing up blah blah more noisy CGI blah blah. When is Spielberg going to make another Indiana Jones movie?

INTO THE BLUE--I saw this movie when it was called THE DEEP. Vapid teenagers go diving for buried treasure and fight insipid bad guys. Paul Walker is in it, which likely means it will suck. Jessica Alba wears lots of bikinis in it. Jessica is the new Denise Richards, probably the worst actress on Hollywood's A-list. But she looks great in a bikini. This movie looks bad.

THE HONEYMOONERS--I saw this when it was called, um, THE HONEYMOONERS. I don't know who the audience is for this. The urban crowd, I suppose. It doesn't seem raucous enough to attract that audience, and since nobody under 40 gives a rat's ass about Jackie Gleason, there isn't even a built-in brand recognition. There aren't any funny gags in the trailer either.

LAND OF THE DEAD--The teaser is still running. I don't know what's keeping Universal from promoting this thing better. 28 DAYS LATER was a smash. The DAWN OF THE DEAD remake was a smash. This George Romero sequel will likely be better than both of those movies. Zombies are hot now, so why doesn't Universal pull its head out of its ass? I may see this when it comes out, but I'll more than likely wait for the unrated DVD. Who wants to see R-rated Romero zombies?

WEDDING CRASHERS--Owen Wilson and Vince Vaughn team up for the 49th time. This actually looks funny, and Christopher Walken should be a good foil for the stars.

DARK WATER--This trailer is ridiculous. It's Jennifer Connelly skulking around her apartment, investigating dripping water, puddles of water, water spots on the ceiling. Ooooo...pools of water are sooooo scary! Whoever edited this trailer is a major yutz.

On another subject, I read where the conservative publication HUMAN EVENTS listed the ten Most Harmful Books of the 19th & 20th Century. I find it odd that people with 17th-century attitudes are criticizing books from the 19th and 20th centuries.

Back to movies, since I've been rewatching some of Ivan Reitman's oeuvre, I saw DAVE tonight. It's a very charming little picture about a regular guy (Kevin Kline) who is recruited by the sinister Chief of Staff (Frank Langella) to substitute for the President of the United States after POTUS suffers a debilitating stroke. One of my favorite scenes is the one where Charles Grodin, as Kline's accountant, is summoned by Dave to the White House late at night to balance the budget. Overnight, Dave manages to find an extra $650 million to be used to build homeless shelters. It's a funny scene and a sweet one, but also sort of depressing in that I suspect this really could be done if we had a government that was interested in doing something beyond feeding their own self-interest. Kline has a monologue in which he pledges that the lives of the people should come before his own and that he should be willing to give up everything in order to improve their lives. Obviously, this is not something you would ever hear the current administration say, and I suspect that Langella's portrayal of a selfish, conniving, corrupt senior White House staffer is a more accurate portrayal than Kline's do-gooder. Much to our detriment, of course.

I Wish They Broke His Fucking Neck
Now Playing: The fake LONGEST YARD
Talk about a film almost completely without worth. Not to say that the remake of THE LONGEST YARD, which stars Adam Sandler as Burt Reynolds (snicker), is awful. It's too mediocre to be awful. But if ever a film was unnecessary, it's this one. The problem is that everything that you remember about the original film is re-created here, but not as well.

In 1974, Reynolds starred as Paul Crewe, an ex-NFL quarterback drummed out of the league after a point-shaving scandal and sentenced to a prison term after getting drunk and stealing his girlfriend's car. The same with Crewe in the 2005 version, except now we're expected to buy the diminutive, non-athletic Sandler as a studly womanizing football star who posed for underwear ads. Strangely, Sheldon Turner's screenplay for the new film claims that the allegations against Crewe were never proven, yet he was somehow convicted on federal racketeering charges because of the point-shaving. Either he shaved points or he didn't; Turner tries to have it both ways (we find out for sure later in the film).

Warden Hazen (James Cromwell), who has political intentions, blackmails Crewe (we don't really know why) into putting together a team of convicts to play a practice game against his semipro squad of prison guards. Act II is pretty much THE DIRTY DOZEN, as Sandler assembles his squad of misfits and trains them to be football players. Act III is the big game, and you don't have to have seen the 1974 film to figure out what's going to happen.

Crewe coerced into sleeping with the warden's secretary? Yep, it's here, except it's an embarassing turn by elderly Cloris Leachman as an old perv.

Crewe nailing a referee in the nuts with a pass? Twice? Yep, that's here.

Remember when Richard Kiel clotheslined an opponent, leading to the memorable line, "I think I broke his fucking neck!"? That's here too, except the line is now, "I think he shit himself." Ha. Ha.

Caretaker (Chris Rock in James Hampton's role) getting killed? Yep. The memorable conclusion with the warden shouting at the head guard to kill Crewe? That's here too. Thankfully, the studio gave Tracy Keenan Wynn and Albert S. Ruddy, the original film's writers, a screen credit on the remake, because they certainly did most of the heavy lifting on it.

Other updates include the climactic game being broadcast on ESPN2, as if a national cable network would be interested in a sandlot game, especially one with such great potential for serious violence. Also, the players are too good. The warden sets this up a bit by explaining how he has recruited former college players to work for him as guards, but the level of play on the field is NFL-quality.

Perhaps the new film plays better if you're unfamiliar with the original, which also starred the late Eddie Albert, who coincidentally died the day before the remake opened, as the warden. It's a wonderful performance, made all the meaner by the fact that Albert had not played many heavies up to that point, whereas Cromwell has.

It's kind of surreal to see Reynolds with a major role in the remake; I wonder what it was like for him on the set, watching Sandler go through the same motions he did 30 years earlier. Ed Lauter, who portrayed the violent head guard, Knauer, in the Reynolds film, has a welcome cameo. Rob Schneider, the only major film comedian who's less funny than Adam Sandler, has an unwelcome one.

An Ancient Horror Slept Beneath The Old Haunted Mansion... Nothing Could Stop Its Escape!
Now Playing: THE EVIL

Someone should interview Gus Trikonis one of these days. Not only is he a former actor and dancer (WEST SIDE STORY) who once was married to Goldie Hawn, but he also made a mark of sorts in the 1970’s as a director of solid exploitation movies in a variety of genres. MYSTERY SCIENCE THEATER 3000 fans may recognize Gus as the director of THE SIDEHACKERS. I haven’t seen SUPERCOCK (!), his reunion with SIDEHACKERS star Ross Hagen as a cockfighter in the Philippines, but I have seen the rest of his theatrical oeuvre:

* THE SWINGING BARMAIDS with cop William Smith chasing an impotent serial killer who’s knocking off the sexy waitresses of a dumpy bar.
* NASHVILLE GIRL, a sexy soap about young farm girl Monica Gayle’s efforts at becoming a country-western star.
* THE STUDENT BODY, as college professor Warren Stevens performs sexual experiments on hot college girls.
* MOONSHINE COUNTY EXPRESS, a fast-drivin’ good-ol’-boy car-chase flick with a classic trash cast including John Saxon, William Conrad (CANNON), Claudia Jennings, Maureen McCormick (THE BRADY BUNCH), Susan Howard (DALLAS) and Candice Rialson (CHATTERBOX).

And now 1978's THE EVIL, one of Trikonis’ last feature films before entering a busy career in television. Released by Roger Corman’s New World Pictures in 1978 with an R rating, THE EVIL is a somewhat hokey haunted-house movie with ethereal spirits, floating people and objects, a thunderstorm, shutters that rattle in the night, a demonic dog, an invisible rapist and other tried-and-true ghost-story gimmicks. It also piles up a decent body count using a cast of performers who should be quite familiar to fans of Crappy Movies.

The late Richard Crenna, a dependable journeyman leading man who moved back and forth between television and features with aplomb and who starred in the laugh-tastic DEVIL DOG: THE HOUND OF HELL the same year, toplines as C.J. Arnold, a professor of psychology who rents a spooky old mansion as the site for his new drug rehabilitation center. In reality, Trikonis and producer Ed Carlin secured as their prime location a gorgeous 19th-century structure near Las Vegas, New Mexico called Montezuma Castle. It’s gigantic, dark and creepy, giving Trikonis plenty of atmosphere to work with.

The place needs to be cleaned up, so C.J., along with his gorgeous wife Caroline (Joanna Pettet), recruits a small group of friends and students to spend the summer getting the place ready for business: physicist Raymond Guy (Andrew Prine, recently in the C.S.I. episode directed by Quentin Tarantino) and his student/girlfriend Laurie (Mary Louise Weller, ANIMAL HOUSE); ex-junkie Felicia (Lynne Moody, one of the innocents sent to Robert Reed’s corrupt prison in NIGHTMARE IN BADHAM COUNTY); pet lover Mary (Cassie Yates, THE OSTERMAN WEEKEND), joker Pete (George O’Hanlon Jr., whose father was the voice of George Jetson); and handyman Dwight (Robert Viharo, star of BARE KNUCKLES).

Danger erupts almost immediately…well, even before that, as a drunken handyman is incinerated by the furnace during the opening titles. After Crenna’s group arrives, all Hell--literally--breaks loose after C.J. accidentally unlocks a Doorway to Hell (where’s Lin Ye Tang when you need him) hidden in the basement. The doors and shutters lock, the window glass becomes unbreakable, and there’s no way out of the house. While agnostic C.J. tries to figure out a logical explanation for everything, various characters are murdered in creative ways--dog attack, electrocution, power saw, mud. Felicia is stripped to her underwear and battered about by an unseen force. Only Caroline has something resembling a clue, since she’s the only one who can see the ghost of the house’s previous resident as he shambles about.

Eventually, the Arnolds are the only ones left and end up in the fog-filled basement pit, where they encounter none other than Satan himself, dressed in white and sitting atop a white throne in a white room (no black curtains) brimming with dry ice. You might be surprised to learn that the Devil is fat and looks a lot like Victor Buono. Reportedly, some prints of THE EVIL are missing all Buono’s scenes, meaning, I guess, that Crenna and Pettet are able to slam the door to Hell and lock it without much of a hitch. It’s true that the climax is a little silly, with Crenna forced to his knees in pain and Pettet leaping out of the fog to jam a pointy iron cross into the chest of a horned Buono, but, gee, that’s kind of the point, isn’t it?

Who Likes Naked Kickboxing Chicks?
Now Playing: ANGELFIST and ANGEL OF DESTRUCTION
Leave it to Roger Corman to stick with a formula that works. Nearly 20 years after hot naked kickfighter Jeanne Bell sought revenge in the Philippines in TNT JACKSON and more than a decade after Jillian Kesner did the same in FIRECRACKER, executive producer Corman and director Cirio H. Santiago trotted out exotic covergirl Catya Sassoon in 1993’s ANGELFIST, which also includes elements of BLOODFIST and BLOODSPORT. Once you've seen Cat's gleaming wet body opening a can of naked whupass on a trio of Filipino ninja, it's doubtful you'll ever forget it. Armed with strangely masculine features, sofa-pillow lips and a pair of stand-up-straight breasts courtesy of one of Beverly Hills' finest cosmetic surgeons, "world karate champion" (after seeing her in action, I think it's safe to assume that her title is typical Corman B.S.) Sassoon stands front and center in this cheapjack made-in-Manila melodrama.

Cat is Katana Lang, a tough Los Angeles detective first seen storming a cheap motel to mow down some crooks who have just machine-gunned a bunch of cops outside. You'll be amazed at how many Filipino cops and hoods there are in L.A. That night, she gets the word that her kickboxing sister Kristie, who was moonlighting as an undercover FBI agent, snapping photos of a fatal ninja attack upon a prominent American politician, was slashed to death in her hotel room. Kristie was ostensibly in Manila to compete in an all-female martial-arts tournament. When Kat arrives in Manila to investigate her sister's murder and is stonewalled by U.S. embassy officials, she takes Kristie's place in the tournament, unreasonably (but correctly) assuming that the death must be somehow connected to the tournament. She also shacks up with Alcatraz, an annoyingly smug gambler who somehow manages to lure Kat to his bachelor pad and his bed.

ANGELFIST is stupid and crudely made, but it certainly isn't boring. Santiago certainly doesn't believe in shooting many takes (his attempt at using optical zooms to provide instant coverage for a dialogue scene between Alcatraz and Katana is painful), but at least he stages plenty of fight scenes. Sassoon's topless karate scene (in which it appears Kat must have been showering in her panties) is the highlight--how could it not be?--but several other action scenes, usually involving the breakage of cheap wooden furniture, keep the pace moving. And when women martial artists aren't bashing each other in the ring or Filipino ninjas leaping into battle with one of the film's stars, Santiago alleviates the silly plot with plenty of gratuitous nudity, including three different shower scenes, two of which feature statuesque blonde Moore as the kickboxing FBI agent sister's kickboxing FBI agent partner.

Cat Sassoon, the daughter of Vidal Sassoon and ‘60s actress Beverly Adams, died of heart failure the morning of January 1, 2002 at the age of 33. At least she lived long enough to presumably see Maria Ford remake ANGELFIST as ANGEL OF DESTRUCTION, which also manages to ripoff two Roger Corman movies; in addition to ANGELFIST, ANGEL OF DESTRUCTION is a step-by-step remake of a Don “The Dragon” Wilson movie called BLACKBELT, which was a ripoff of THE BODYGUARD. I don’t know how Corman manages to keep all these ripoffs straight. The best way to remember 1994’s ANGEL OF DESTRUCTION is that it’s the one with Maria Ford performing the topless karate fighting.

Ford, a very cute blonde who played strippers in a ton of erotic thrillers during the 1990’s, is stripper-turned-cop (just like Marg Helgenberger on C.S.I.!) Jo Alwood, who takes a job protecting rock star Delilah from a freaky stalker who confuses the sexy singer with his mother, with whom he had an incestuous relationship. Meanwhile, Delilah's mobster backer wants her to re-up her contract, and resorts to violence in an effort to force her. Jo signed on for one job and ends up fighting two baddies simultaneously. What a coincidence.

Originally Charlie Spradling was signed to star in this New Horizons action flick, but when she balked at performing the eagerly anticipated (by me anyway) naked kickboxing fight, Corman reportedly dumped her, sent Ford over to Manila (filling in unconvincingly as Honolulu), and ordered the director to rewrite the script to kill off Charlie's character and introduce Ford as her sister. Some of the dialogue and camera setups are even taken verbatim from BLACKBELT, which, obviously, didn't have the advantage of Maria Ford's amazing naked kickboxing skills, as she bounces around a house wearing nothing but a G-string and rouge on her nipples and beating the crap out of an army of trained hoods. And despite her character's determination to never strip again, this professional law enforcer doesn't hesitate to step out onto a stage and perform an intricately choreographed striptease in order to save the life of a hostage (how and why this happens aren't addressed, but we know it's to provide Ford with yet another nude scene).

Although Corman claims to have retired from filmmaking and has put his massive Concorde/New Horizons library up for sale, I can’t help but hope he’s got one more Naked Karate movie left in him. After all, four isn’t nearly enough.

You Wouldn?t Like Him When He?s Angry
Now Playing: 24 (season finale spoilers ahead)
How many of you heard Joe Harnell’s INCREDIBLE HULK theme tinkling in your brain at the end of last night’s season finale of 24? The thrilling fourth season closed with intrepid agent Jack Bauer (Kiefer Sutherland) enduring another 24-hour period of murder, torture, intrigue, political maneuvering, life-or-death decisions and lots of Ford SUVs. The very end of the show found Jack walking alone into the sunrise, wearing Bill Bixby’s sunglasses and toting a bag over his shoulder, both a fugitive from justice and a dead man. Well, legally dead anyway, after his pals at CTU helped him fake his death to avoid being murdered by a Secret Service agent ordered to prevent Jack from being taken into custody by Chinese nationals who accuse him of breaking into their embassy and kidnapping one of their citizens (which Jack actually did, but that’s neither here nor there…). Cheez, you’d think the U.S. government would be more grateful to their most dedicated agent, considering how often he’s saved their asses in the last four seasons.

It will be interesting to see where 24 goes from here. I just wish I didn’t have to wait eight months to find out. 24 is a horrible addiction, the most consistently suspenseful dramatic series I’ve ever seen on television, a 24-hour thrill ride that, by its very nature, barely gives you time to breathe. Actually, those moments when you did get that chance were handled surprisingly well this year. Normally, the all-too-rare quiet moments on the series come across as forced and clunky, but most of them this year were played by 24’s star-crossed lovers, businesslike boss Michelle Dressler (Reiko Aylesworth) and ex-husband Tony Almeida (Carlos Bernard). I particularly loved Bernard this year, as he quickly redeemed himself, rising in a single day from alcoholic ex-con traitor living with a teenage barkeep to loyal, trustworthy sidekick, contributing mightily to preventing national disaster and winning back the heart of Michelle in the process.

Perhaps next year will find Jack on the run from Chinese and American assassins. Maybe he and President Palmer (Dennis Haysbert) will open up a private detective agency in Tijuana. Nah, Haysbert has a new show premiering in the fall. Hmmm. At any rate, I certainly hope that treacherous tart Mandy makes a return to Bauer’s life. The wicked assassin, dubbed “Naked Mandy” by fans because of her delicious habit of taking her clothes off on-camera and portrayed by the delectable Mia Kirshner (NOT ANOTHER TEEN MOVIE) in a short skirt and a ferocious pair of stripper boots, received a presidential pardon in the finale for all crimes past and present, including her assassination attempt on Palmer (boy, I bet that burned his britches), so I presume she’s out there somewhere, waiting to get hired by a new set of terrorists insistent on wiping out a passel of innocent Amurkens.

Between socializing and network television, I really have not watched many films lately. I did manage to catch a Canadian classic over the weekend, the chilling battle between man and rat. You heard me. And not a giant rat either, or even a wild pack of rats. Just one man and one rat fighting over the same turf: the restored brownstone owned by an attorney named Bart (Peter Weller). In OF UNKNOWN ORIGIN, Bart hopes to use the peace and quiet created by his wife and son’s vacation to whip together an important transaction for his boss at the firm and earn himself a monster promotion. Instead of peace, Bart discovers only obsession as a ferocious rat begins systematically destroying the house. Over the course of 85 minutes, the cool, collected attorney turns into Gene Hackman in THE CONVERSATION, gutting the damn place in his quest to stomp a mudhole in that rat’s ass. Directed by George Pan Cosmatos (RAMBO: FIRST BLOOD PART II) and featuring the film debut of PLAYBOY Playmate and future Cinemax queen Shannon Tweed (who does indeed appear nude under the opening titles), OF UNKNOWN ORIGIN is better than you’d guess from the premise, delivering a marvelously thoughtful performance by Weller and a few genuinely creepy scares. It was filmed in Montreal, which substitutes nicely for Manhattan.

I also managed to check out on DVD THE LAST SHOT, which fitfully performed in a handful of theaters last fall. I’m not sure why Disney handled this $70 million comedy’s theatrical chances so poorly, although it isn’t likely to have been a big hit anyway. Not that it isn’t entertaining--it is, mostly--but films about filmmaking have historically not been big moneymakers, and without any major stars, THE LAST SHOT’s box-office potential likely wasn’t there. Written and directed by Jeff Nathanson, who penned Steven Spielberg’s hit CATCH ME IF YOU CAN, THE LAST SHOT is a truth-is-stranger-than-fiction tale of an FBI agent (Alec Baldwin) who concocts a sting operation to capture corrupt Teamsters redhanded by luring them into a film production. Since the FBI doesn’t make movies, Baldwin convinces a has-been director (Matthew Broderick) that he’s a producer and wants to make Broderick’s screenplay--ARIZONA, about a cancer-stricken woman’s trek through the deserts--on location…in Rhode Island…with a Providence landfill subbing for the Arizona desert. Broderick is as fooled by Baldwin’s blather as the mobster (Tony Shalhoub) being lured in, which leads to some real friction when Baldwin actually befriends the naive director and regrets pulling the wool over his eyes. Some of Nathanson’s material is funny stuff, particularly the dialogue and Joan Cusack’s hilariously profane cameo as a ballbusting producer (“You wanna eat lunch off of my ass? I thought you were kosher.”). Baldwin is a very good comic actor who doesn’t get a chance to demonstrate it as much as he should. Toni Collette (THE SIXTH SENSE) is terrific as a high-maintenance leading lady, while Buck Henry (Uncle Roy!), Tim Blake Nelson, Ray Liotta, Calista Flockhart, James Rebhorn and Glenn Morshower (also in the 24 finale) provide strong support. As does an unbilled Eric Roberts, bravely being a good sport and allowing himself to be mocked doing what Eric Roberts does best.

Grave Danger
Now Playing: C.S.I.: CRIME SCENE INVESTIGATION
I haven't seen C.S.I. in 3 or 4 years, but I did tune in this week to see the Season Five finale, the two-hour episode directed by Quentin Tarantino. Usually, television directors are treated as merely traffic cops and given little credit for bringing anything creative to the table, but "Grave Danger" is proof that a director can make a difference in television if he has the talent...and the freedom to do so.

It was an interesting blend of the usual C.S.I. puzzle-solving and typical Quentinian pop riffing. Gil Grissom (William Petersen) was pulling arcane factoids out of his rear, and the characters managed a lot of zippy-looking futuristic equipment to piece together the solution to the mystery. Meanwhile, two regulars were playing a DUKES OF HAZZARD board game, Marg Helgenberger made an uncomfortable Jack Handey reference, a Lucio Fulci T-shirt made an appearance, and a story point involved The Turtles' terrific 1966 rocker "Outside Chance" (written by Warren Zevon!), which likely drove nuts CBS programmers who are always burdening their crime shows with boring contemporary pop music.

One crucial Tarantino touch is another that probably gave the network conniption fits: his choice of wonderful, older cult character actors as guest stars. John Saxon and Andrew Prine have appeared in hundreds of films and TV shows and were once quite familiar to TV audiences, if not household names, but TV's obsession with youth have driven them to occasional work in exploitation and direct-to-video movies. Not that this is a recent development in their careers; Saxon and Prine are certainly better known and more beloved today for their work in horror, SF and other drive-in genres than for their starring roles in THE BOLD ONES or THE ROAD WEST or even for their supporting parts in major studio features.

Saxon, a Crappy Movie Night favorite for his performances in BATTLE BEYOND THE STARS, MOONSHINE COUNTY EXPRESS, ENTER THE DRAGON and others, was terrific in his small but pivotal role as a grieving father who gains revenge for the imprisonment of his daughter by kidnapping C.S.I. Nick Stokes (George Eads) and burying him in a plexiglass box, armed with a tape recorder and a pistol. Unbeknownst to Nick, his C.S.I. colleagues are able to view his travails over a live Internet feed, except that the light operated by the streaming works off the same battery as the fan funneling air into him; whenever Nick's friends watch him, they're inadvertently depriving him of oxygen. Prine is solid in his scenes as Nick's judge father, even playing comedy in a bizarre black-and-white dream sequence. Bond girl Lois Chiles (MOONRAKER) appears as Nick's mother, and Scott Wilson (IN COLD BLOOD) has a scene as Catherine Willows' (Helgenberger) wealthy father.

Another Tarantino moment is the brief cameos by Tony Curtis and the late Frank Gorshin, who passed away just two days before the episode aired. They have nothing to do with the plot, as they laugh and reminisce about the old days of Las Vegas, allowing Gorshin to do a few of his famous impressions, like Burt Lancaster and Jack Nicholson (I suspect the Nicholson was thrown in to appease audiences assumed not to know who Burt Lancaster is; I hate to think C.S.I. viewers are that uncultured, but it's likely CBS does).

Gorshin is, of course, best remembered as the Riddler on the 1966-69 BATMAN TV series, a giggling madman in tights who walked off with an Emmy nomination for his performance in the first episode--a sensational pilot that helped get the series on the air. Gorshin appeared as the Riddler three more times in the overwhelming Year of the Bat, 1966 (Adam West even made the cover of LIFE that year), and once again in the dismal Season Three, as well as the 1966 theatrical film. BATMAN (the movie) is where I first saw Gorshin, but I also remember him fondly as Bele, the half-black/half-white alien on the third-season STAR TREK episode "Let This Be Your Last Battlefield". Written by Oliver Crawford from a story by Gene L. Coon and a concept by Barry Trivers, "Battlefield" is a somewhat heavyhanded tale about the stupidity of racial prejudice revolving around the only two survivors of a planet destroyed through the intolerance of its inhabitants: Bele and his hated rival Lokai (Lou Antonio), who is white on his right side and black on his left in contrast to Bele's race. Using extraterrestrial cultures allowed STAR TREK to examine contemporary social issues in a way that other TV dramas of the late 1960's wouldn't or couldn't, and despite "Battlefield"'s heavy touch, it packs an occasional punch, and Frank Gorshin earned another Emmy nomination.

Hats off to C.S.I. this week for not only producing a terrific Quentin Tarantino thriller and stocking it with wonderful but discarded performers, but also for dedicating the season finale to the late Frank Gorshin--1934-2005.

The Devil Is Her Lover
Now Playing: ABBY

You wanna see something funny? Try watching ABBY one of these days. Actually, that‘s not easy. William Girdler, the director of ASYLUM OF SATAN, GRIZZLY and SHEBA, BABY, made it in his hometown of Louisville, Kentucky and released it in 1974, riding the vomit-stained coattails of THE EXORCIST. The reason you can‘t find it easily is because Warner Brothers sued American-International Pictures and had ABBY pulled from theatrical release, claiming it was too similar to THE EXORCIST. It has never been released on home video and is unlikely to show up on DVD anytime soon. Considering the dozens of EXORCIST ripoffs that polluted U.S. theaters during the mid-1970‘s, it‘s a mystery why ABBY was singled out. Obviously, it would never have existed if not for the William Friedkin Oscar-winner, but it‘s not really that close to it.

It’s too unintentionally hilarious to be confused for THE EXORCIST, and a very good example of good actors working their butts off to make rice pudding out of cow pies. Stuck with a very low budget and the inexperienced Girdler's po'-faced approached to essentially absurd material, ABBY is utterly lacking in the horrific atmosphere needed to set the story on its edge.

While exploring some African ruins, holy man/archeologist Garnet Williams (BLACULA’s William Marshall) uncovers a horny evil spirit named Eshu. Somehow (don't ask me) it makes its way to Louisville (!), where it invades the body of Abby (Carol Speed), the sweet newlywed wife of Reverend Emmett Williams (Terry Carter, on MCCLOUD at the time), Garnet's son. Before you can say, "the power of Christ compels you", Abby has transformed into an ugly, cruel, foul-mouthed sex machine, frightening the elderly church organist into a fatal heart attack and cruising singles bars in search of carnal debauchery. For some reason, nobody notices Abby's green makeup or the fact that she speaks in a raspy male voice (provided by Bob Holt) when under Eshu's spell.

The sight of little Carol Speed foaming at the mouth, swearing like a drunken sailor, and tossing grown men around like rag dolls is impossible to take seriously. On one hand, one feels guilty mocking ABBY, since Girdler is nothing if not sincere in his intent to create a work of ghastly horror. Being as he was usually able to get name actors to work for him, there must have been something about his personality that attracted them, because they certainly couldn't have been impressed with his films. And ABBY's cast really does shine, struggling as they do with the silly script by Girdler and Cornell G. Layne. Marshall does his best to anchor the film in some sort of reality, spouting his Eshu expertise as if he really believed it, while Carter and Austin Stoker (the lead in ASSAULT ON PRECINCT 13), who starred in Girdler's PANIC CITY aka THE ZEBRA KILLER aka COMBAT COPS, as Abby's cop brother provide fine support.

On the other hand, Robert O. Ragland's cheesy score, some very cheap sets, and some of the most painfully ugly wardrobe choices this side of Chad Everett on MEDICAL CENTER prevents ABBY's audience from experiencing any emotion except giggly amusement. Let's face it--the sight of an innocent-looking young woman possessed by demonic forces and compelled to spit up green foam, curse, emit a sinister laugh, and latch on to the honkers of total strangers is intrinsically ridiculous. THE EXORCIST managed to pull it off because of the brilliant filmmakers--such as William Friedkin, Max von Sydow, Jason Miller, Dick Smith and William Peter Blatty--involved with that production. Girdler ain't Billy Friedkin, and, as much as I like Marshall, he's not the great von Sydow either.

A Living Bomb Explodes In Madness, Agony, And Death
Now Playing: CSI: MIAMI
To the left I have posted the back cover of the RABID paperback I picked up for a quarter at the flea market yesterday. I had a couple of people ask about it after seeing the front of the book in yesterday’s post. I’m hoping the novel is about a dog running rampant around a populated area, spreading a deadly virus among the populace. What an absurd idea, and I can’t wait to read about it.

I watched CSI: MIAMI tonight for the simple reason that Eric Roberts was guest-starring. If you’ve seen as many direct-to-video thrillers as I have, you’re aware of Eric’s peculiar acting style. Surprisingly, he was rather subdued in this episode, playing a convicted murderer on Death Row commonly called the “Axeman” by the crime scene investigators working his case.

I’ve watched CSI: MIAMI a handful of times and have concluded that it’s simply awful. The writing--more specifically, the dialogue--is frequently laughable; for instance, I once saw an episode where the ludicrously lip-glossed CSI played ineptly by Emily Procter announced during a ballistics test that she had found the “bullet that killed the victim fatally!” Tonight’s episode began with a man carrying a crime file down a prison corridor with the words “Convicted: 1st Degree Murder--Axe” written in bold type across the top of it. Do these files really have the murder weapon prominently displayed across the front? What about when Bruce Dern hijacked the Goodyear Blimp in BLACK SUNDAY? “Convicted: 1st Degree Murder--Dirigible?”

Something else that struck me about the Eric Roberts episode is how violent it was, something I’ve noticed in other viewings. I’m convinced that if the MPAA were to give this show a rating, it might pull an R. It featured several gory crime-scene photos (in color), a bludgeoning, a hit-and-run, as well as two strangulations and two axe murders shown repeatedly in flashbacks from different angles and viewpoints.

Only two more hours of 24 left. This season might be the best so far, although it’s becoming difficult to see how far producers can take the concept in future seasons. This year, Jack Bauer (a remarkable Kiefer Sutherland) has nearly single-handedly rescued the Secretary of Defense (William Devane) and his daughter (Kim Raver) from kidnappers and has killed and/or tortured most of Los Angeles in pursuit of an Arab terrorist played by Arnold Vosloo (HARD TARGET). Tonight’s episode closed on quite a cliffhanger, pulling luscious Naked Mandy (the alluring Mia Kirshner) out of Character Limbo and having her take Jack’s faithful sidekick Tony Almeida (Carlos Bernard) hostage. Mandy appeared in the first episode of the first season, picking up a stranger on a 747, taking him into the growler for some mile-high action, stealing his ID, parachuting from the plane and blowing it up in mid-air. She then glided to the desert surface in the middle of the night, where she stripped nude and motorcycled away with her lesbian lover. She then returned unexpectedly in the last minute of Season Two, shaking the hand of President Palmer (Dennis Haysbert) and infecting him with what appeared to be a deadly virus or something similar that burned his hand and brought the former athlete to his knees. An effective cliffhanger, but one that was never appropriately addressed in following episodes.

Jesse Vint, the earthy star of New World’s 1974 drive-in classic MACON COUNTY LINE, served as producer, writer and star of BLACK OAK CONSPIRACY, which will seem familiar to anyone versed in the ‘70s phenomenon of rural revenge movies. Quite similar to MOONSHINE COUNTY EXPRESS and FIGHTING MAD, BLACK OAK stars Vint as Jingo Johnson, a Hollywood stuntman who returns to his Oklahoma hometown after he receives word that his mother has fallen into ill health. Jingo comes home to find that the family farm is now in the hands of a large mining company owned by the father of his childhood rival (Robert F. Lyons), the same rich scumbag who’s now dating his ex-girlfriend Lucy (Karen Carlson). Turns out his mother’s illness is directly related to the farm’s mineral rights, forcing Jingo to turn to vigilante justice, since the local sheriff (Albert Salmi) may be involved. The final theatrical film directed by Bob Kelljan, a solid action director whose above-average screen work includes the two COUNT YORGA movies, SCREAM, BLACULA, SCREAM and the STARSKY & HUTCH episode that pitted the two cops against a vampire (?) played by John Saxon, BLACK OAK could have used more judicious editing and a few more action beats. Vint looks and feels right, and he has a seasoned supporting cast to back him up, but the film feels longer than 90 minutes, and either the material or the budget kept out another chase or two that could have made this one of the better Southern-fried action movies. It’s still worth a look, if only to be reminded of the kind of low-key non-FX action programmer that isn’t made often these days.

Back Off, Man. I'm A Scientist
Now Playing: BOTTLE ROCKET
I have a feeling I'm going to be tired tomorrow. I had a relatively active weekend. Stayed out with some folks from work until 1:30am Friday night. Saturday night I went out with some Cohens and Kaplans, again 'til about 1:30. This afternoon, I drove up to the flea market and picked up a baker's dozen of paperbacks for about a quarter each. Most of them are old mysteries--Perry Mason, Charlie Chan, Nero Wolfe, Shell Scott--but one looks absolutely hilarious. I have no idea what RABID is about, but the cover copy makes me want to find out.

The damnedest thing happened soon after I got home. I was sitting at the computer scanning a couple of book covers, when my chair snapped right in two. I was leaning to the right a bit, and I tumbled ass over teakettle on top of the bottom sliding drawer where I keep my scanner. It continued scanning because I hit the very end of the drawer and knocked the front of it off. So there I was, lying on my carpet among a broken chair, some broken wood, a little teeny bit of blood from a skinned elbow and a scratched chest, feeling like a complete dumbass. So I had to drive out to Sam's Club and pick up a new chair. I loved my old chair--it was a Christmas present from my folks 7 or 8 years ago and was very comfortable, even though too much eating and drinking in it had left a couple of stains on it. The new one, which was a pain in the ass to assemble, is, eh, okay, I guess. It sticks out too far in my lower back, but I hope I get used to it. Like my old one, it reclines and has a high back, which is nice.

I rented GHOSTBUSTERS from Netflix, the first time I had seen it in ages and the first time I'd seen it in its OAR since its 1984 release. I was 17 and had just graduated high school then, which is the best time to see GHOSTBUSTERS, I think. The generosity of writers Dan Aykroyd and Harold Ramis to give Bill Murray so much terrific dialogue resulted in a timeless comedy with ILM visual effects that seem quaint yet effective today (although one shot, of William Atherton looking up at the Stay-Puft man, is pretty bad). And considering it comes from the creative team behind R-rated classics like ANIMAL HOUSE, CADDYSHACK and STRIPES, it's remarkable how family-friendly GHOSTBUSTERS is, earning its PG rating and managing to interject a few scares into the comedy. Sigourney Weaver is terrifically sexy in it, and Rick Moranis as "the Keymaster" has some very funny moments; he had just come off of STRANGE BREW and STREETS OF FIRE and was quite in demand as a supporting actor.

And you certainly can't forget all the great dialogue from the film:
"Boy, the superintendent is gonna be pissed."
"It's true. This man has no dick."
"Each one of us is carrying an unlicensed nuclear accelerator on his back."
"We came, we saw, we kicked its ass!"

I finally got around to seeing BOTTLE ROCKET, and now that I've seen all four Wes Anderson movies, I must admit he's not a director I've particularly warmed up to. I think ROCKET is his second-best film, just behind THE LIFE AQUATIC and ahead of THE ROYAL TENENBAUMS and RUSHMORE. BOTTLE ROCKET has a neat premise, but pretty much coasts on the chemistry between Owen and Luke Wilson, who unfortunately look too much alike to be believable as friends. It doesn't quite sustain its momentum through the second act at the motel, but when James Caan finally enters the picture, he delivers a nice jolt of energy that keep it moving 'til the end.

Along with the books I bought at the flea market, I picked up Goodtimes' pre-record VHS of GRADUATION DAY for $1. It's a slasher film I had been looking for for several years, and it really isn't worth the effort, now that I've seen it. However, it stars one of my favorite genre actors, rugged Christopher George, the cop from PIECES, and features a topless Linnea Quigley and a clothed Vanna White in a small role. After a high-school track star dies of a blood clot just after breasting the tape in a big meet, the rest of her team gets killed off in various creative and bloody ways just before graduation. Director Herb Freed assembles a handful of red herrings, including the girl's Navy ensign sister, her track coach (George), her boyfriend and the asshole principal (Michael Pataki). What's neat are the comedic moments performed by the veteran cast members, including some well-timed banter between Pataki and his secretary (HELLO, DOLLY!'s E.J. Peaker) and a late-in-the-game turn by Carmen Argenziano ("You look Lebanese.") as a cop. I don't know what's harder to believe: that pretty Peaker would be sleeping with Michael Pataki or that I would spend more time writing about GRADUATION DAY than about BOTTLE ROCKET.

And What's With All The Nicknames, Dimples?
Now Playing: LOST
LOST may be the worst "popular" TV series I have seen in sometime. I'm not understanding its tremendous popularity, except that it has an attractive cast and a refreshing concept that doesn't include cops or lawyers or doctors. It's very poorly written with characters that are neither believable nor sympathetic.

Take this week's episode for instance, which opens with a character we've never seen before suddenly becoming a plot point. Since he's played by a "name", Daniel Roebuck, I assume this character will be returning in future episodes, because I know they didn't fly him all the way to Hawaii to do one scene. One of LOST's weaknesses is that, with several dozen castaways, only about 10 are regulars and get all the camera time. I realize the economics of TV production means you can't have 38 regulars, but I would also bet the "red shirts" are more interesting characters than the ones we're seeing. Characters that include a surgeon, a bank robber, a grifter, a rock star, a multi-millionnaire, a Korean mobster and his wife, an unwed mother-to-be carrying the Anti-Christ in her womb, incestuous step-siblings, an Iraqi soldier...I mean, really, don't normal people travel anymore?

Anyway, Roebuck, playing a science teacher who's no stranger to the castaways, warns the raft builders that the weather conditions are making it unsafe for them to float away and that they should have left "yesterday". What's bad about this scene, beyond the never-before-seen character plopping in from nowhere as a convenient plot point, is the illogic behind the plot point. More specifically, why didn't Roebuck tell them about the dangers, um, yesterday? Or the day before? This is bad writing.

Later, Kate (Evangeline Lilly) is "exposed" as a "criminal", in that the castaways learn, through Sawyer's cruel showboating, that she was a prisoner of a U.S. marshal and was on her way to jail. We know she was involved in murder and bank robbery, but nobody else does, yet the revelation leads to an ineptly directed moment of the other cast members, who include a murderer/con man (Sawyer), a murderer/junkie (Charlie) and an attempted murderer/golddigger (Shannon), giving Kate dirty looks and skulking off like she has leprosy, leaving her standing alone with her head down. Hey, maybe she just wrote some bad checks or pirated DVDs? Why the ostracizing? This is bad writing.

Then there's a ridiculous flashback where Kate returns to her Iowa hometown, on the run from the cops for some reason (the bank robbery we saw in an earlier flashback took place after this flashback). She goes to the hospital to visit her cancer-ridden mother, but her mom freaks out and yells for help. Kate runs out of the hospital, jumps into her friend's car, and tears out of the garage, only to be confronted at the exit by the fastest-responding cop in Iowa, who begins shooting (!) for no reason. I mean, all the cop knows is that a young woman fled from the hospital because a patient became agitated. And that's all. Hardly a reason to use deadly force. But, again, lazy writing needed a deux es machina to kill off Kate's doctor friend.

Characters feud with other characters when it's convenient for them to do so, and then illogically make up. For instance, Locke was persona non grata with Sayid and Jack (Jackass should be his name, the most narcissistic of all the characters on this show) a week ago, yet they're now confidants. No one has yet explored the island (J.J. Abrams mentioned this in a recent article, that next season that issue would be addressed), which is the first thing they should have done; if I was there, I would naturally assume that some sort of civilization must exist there--are there still Pacific islands with absolutely no habitation...military bases, nothing?

There are still the nagging questions of what do the numbers mean, where did the polar bear come from (I think I know this one), what is the monster (and why is no one afraid of it, except, again, when it's convenient for the writers), why did Kate commit murder to obtain a toy airplane... I fear we won't find the answers this season, which means I probably never will, because I'm about to give this series up, the most frustrating, wretched train wreck (or should I say plane crash?) of a TV series since BOSTON PUBLIC.