DAMAGED Reading: BRONSON'S LOOSE: THE MAKING OF THE DEATH WISH FILMS and MONDO MANDINGO: THE FALCONHURST BOOKS AND FILMS

BRONSON'S LOOSE: THE MAKING OF THE DEATH WISH FILMS and MONDO MANDINGO: THE FALCONHURST BOOKS AND FILMS
both by Paul Talbot
iUniverse
Review by Louis Fowler

It’s hard to believe there was a time when a guy like Charles Bronson could be a headlining, name-above-the-title box-office draw — an action hero to the men and a heartthrob to the ladies. With his salt-and-pepper hair, weathered face and perpetual pissed-off squint, Bronson was the ultimate silent bad-ass, relying on pure brute force to take out anyone who done him or his loved ones wrong. In other words: he was no pussy.

Action films today are, for the most part, a sad, dismal affair. Peppered with pretty boys like Paul Walker who look like they just came fresh off the set of the latest Falcon Studios twink fuck-fest flick and mince around, barely able to carry a gun, you gotta sit back and ask yourself: What happened to actors of the Bronson mold? Where are the men?

Like everything else that exudes alpha-male fortitude in this society, these guys — these action heroes — have been relegated to the barbaric past, with history constantly being rewritten and retold so that these dinosaurs and their films are the products of a bygone era of brawn-over-brains, above-the-law, shoot-first-ask-questions-later cinema that was only enjoyed by the most stupid of fly-over country Neanderthals, the most unenlightened of misogynistic assholes.

And just look where that thinking has gotten men today: They can’t change a tire. They eat tempeh burgers. They go to the doctor when get a little cough. They cry after sex. They vote Democrat.

All. Thanks. To. Fucking. Paul. Walker.

Paul Talbot knows this is all bullshit. Paul Talbot knows that a steady diet of ultraviolent Bronson flicks are important for a well-regulated, well-maintained masculine movie diet, so much so that he has written a bible of sorts on the subject, the insanely seminal BRONSON’S LOOSE!: THE MAKING OF THE DEATH WISH FILMS.

Loosely based on the novels by Brian Garfield — who apparently disavowed the movie adaptations for their violence — DEATH WISH is the story of Paul Kersey, a pacifist liberal architect who goes shithouse when his wife is raped and murdered, and his daughter just plain raped. Does he sit back and let the cops try to solve the case? Does he try to track down the criminals to have a discussion with them about their abusive childhoods? Fuck, no! He grabs some firearms and makes like a human street-sweeper, clearing them of criminals and thugs, one bullet at a time. And he gets away with it.

Talbot thoroughly recounts how the movie got made, from the numerous script rewrites to how it was written with Jack Lemmon (!) and Dustin Hoffman (!!) in mind as Kersey, to its runaway blockbuster success, public wish-fulfillment and media backlash from all the typical watchdog culprits. Talbot goes just as in-depth — if not more — in chapters based around each of the sequels. He treats each one with authoritative respect, never belying it as lesser or with fewer words because it’s not as well-known or didn’t do as well, money-wise. He’s got a real love and admiration for these movies and it shows. (But it’s a manly, tough love, natch.)

In his newest book, Talbot brings that same authoritative respect to an even slipperier slope than vigilantism: pre-Civil War-era slave/interracial-sex fantasies that are filled with grotesque brutal violence for fun. MONDO MANDINGO: THE FALCONHURST BOOKS AND FILMS delves even deeper into the most outre of pop-culture recesses than BRONSON’S LOOSE; the touchy ground that MONDO treads on truly awards Talbot with being a pop-culture documentarian where no sacred cow is left unboiled alive in oil.

We all know about the notorious 1975 potboiler MANDINGO and, to a lesser extent, its scummier sequel, DRUM, but apparently, they were based on a series of novels — 14 “official” titles, plus numerous rip-offs. I had no idea about any of this, but, as Talbot goes through each and every book with critical detail worthy of a Chaucer dissertation, they becoming tempting reads that I would wholly invest in if they weren’t so damn hard to track down. Just think how down and dirty the movies were; the books amp up the masturbatory sleaze not seen since the comedic works of de Sade. Who do I gotta horsewhip to get an omnibus of this junk put out?

Granted, both of these books are extremely niche in their appeal, but to those who find the subjects of Bronson revenge thrillers or lusty tales of overseer debauchery dreadfully undertaught by today’s school system, here are your new textbooks, fully approved by the state of Texas.

BIG LOTS, BIGGER DEALS: My Big Lots Closeout DVD Purchases for 08.01.10, PART TWO!!!

I know, I know. Many of you may think you're "too good" for discount store Big Lots. I was once like you, until one day a year or two ago I wandered in and found so many great DVDeals. And while they always had great stuff, for some reason in the past six months, Big Lots' acquisitions have gone from great to insane in the membrane. Insane in the brain, if you will. They are getting real DVDs from real studios and, best of all, all for only three bucks! Here's my haul from this week--feel free to post yours in the comments!



TO READ PART ONE, CLICK HERE...

* FAIR GAME - Remember when Cindy Crawford used to be considered the hottest chick in America? I vaguely do, but then again, around that time I was listening to a lot of Amy Grant so my hormones were elsewhere. Thusly, I completely missed out on FAIR GAME, widely considered one of the best-worst movies of the 90s. Luckily, Big Lots has rectified that for me, and at about the same price of a first-run ticket back then.

* THE COWBOYS - John Wayne died with twelve pounds of undigested beef in his colon. And he had cancer. And he was punching a McGovern supporter in the jaw. And he made an insanely necessary western about a grizzled rancher who adopts eleven kids and puts them immediately to work on a 400 mile cattle-drive. It's like the BAD NEWS BEARS if the ragtag baseball team grabbed pistols and gunned down the dude who murdered Buttermaker. Which would've been a helluva better movie, if you ask me.

* COBRA - The Stallone franchise that never was but should've been. One of his top five movies, disagree with me all you want. Sly is Lt. Marion "Cobra" Cobretti--that's a lucky coincidence--who, according to the back of the DVD, is a "one-man assault force whose laser-mount submachine gun and pearl-handled Colt .45 spit pure crimestopping venom". Hell yeah. I want that chiseled on my tombstone: "Here lies Louis Fowler. While he was alive, he spit pure crimestopping venom."

* UP THE ACADEMY - Mad Magazine's attempt to copy the success of STRIPES and MEATBALLS, adding one necessary element: COMPLETELY SUCKING.

* ELVIS: THAT'S THE WAY IT IS - One of my favorite SNL skits of all-time was when Nick Cage hosted and they did something called "Tiny Elvis". In "Tiny Elvis", when driving though a nuclear testing facility, Elvis is accidentally exposed to radiation and is shrunk to about two or three inches tall. It mostly consisted of him saying "Hey man, lookit that there steerin' wheel! That's huuuuuge, man!" and his cronies agreeing with "That's why they call you 'the man', Tiny E!". This documentary is a lot like that, only with a full-size Elvis.

* THE SHEPHERD: BORDER PATROL - My Big Lots partner-in-crime John G. swears that Isaac Florentine is the best-yet-wholly-unheralded American martial arts director working today. I haven't watched this yet, so I can't confirm. But, you know, even if the fighting ain't all that great, how bad can a movie that stars Jean-Claude Van Damme as a border patrol agent named Jack Robideaux be all that bad? Don't answer that.

* SPIES LIKE US - Here's one of those movies that, whenever it comes on TV--even regular network TV--I'll stop what I'm doing and watch it to the end. Why did I never pick it up on DVD? As far as I can remember, it has always been a cheap DVD, usually around five bucks, still in that cheap Warner Bros. cardboard flip-case. What's really messed up is that now, and I'm pretty sure of this, WB is going to release a super-special edition with the Paul McCartney title-song video as a special feature. Sons-a-bitches.

FISTS OF VENGEANCE: 16 FILM MARTIAL ARTS COLLECTION - Yeah, this is one of those cheap Mill Creek box-sets, often with sub-par prints and public domain titles. But so what? Get the eff over it. You really gonna complain for $3? Seriously? I mean, you get 16 movies here. Really? Still? You, sir, are a scumbag.

THE ESSENTIALS DIRECTOR SERIES: JEAN-LUC GODARD - I'm not gonna lie to you: I'm not the world's biggest fan of Godard. (I am, however, the world's biggest Yakov Smirnoff fan, but I'll save that for another day.) I tend to like his more surreal flicks: WEEK END, ALPHAVILLE, HAIL MARY--you know, no big deal, I can name-drop his shit when I have to--but this set contains his more accessible works: BREATHLESS, LE PETIT SOLDAT, LES CARABINIERS and NOTRE MUSIQUE. Which I'm sure are good. Right? Even if I find any of these totally boring, when I see a Jean-Luc Godard box-set at a Big Lots for $5, I feel like I kinda have to pick it up, completely without question. I would have to be a serious piece of illiterate human waste if I left a Jean-Luc Godard box-set sitting there next to copies of NATIONAL LAMPOON'S REPLI-KATE and THE GUMBALL RALLY. Even if those movies are far more entertaining.

PREDATORS: Catch a falling Brody, put it in your pocket, save it for a rainy day.

PREDATORS
Starring Adrien Brody, Alice Braga, Topher Grace
Directed by Nimrod Amtal
20th Century Fox
Review by Louis Fowler

I wish I could sit down with the High Council of Predators, or, at the very least, their Parks and Rec representatives, and just let them know that they aren't the best of hunters. Yeah, I'll probably get my spine ripped out for the efforts, but these dreadlocked jokers need to know that they are probably the lamest killers in the universe. With their invisibility, sonic hearing, laser cannons, extending pikes and, when they especially feel like throwing a temper tantrum, a wrist-based nuclear device, where's the skill? Where's the thrill of the hunt? Where's the challenge?

Disagree if you want, but Predators are the galactic equivalent of throwing a stick of dynamite into a lake to catch a couple of fish. They are the interstellar version of shooting wolves from a helicopter. They are the old rich white men of the galaxy, laying down their fat cash to spend a week in a private resort that brings the game to you, making doubly sure that you never once break a sweat as you sit in an air-conditioned watchtower that routinely spits out feed to draw the unknowing deer in for a quick, clean kill.

I'm actually willing to bet that, strip a Predator of all his goodies, leave him with only a somewhat pointed stick and a loin cloth, within minutes he'll be in the fetal position on the jungle floor, crying for daddy to come pick him up and give him a vanilla cone from McDonald's on the way home, slowly pushing the buttons of his atomic wristwatch as the Ecto-Cooler-like tears stream-down his vagina-esque face.

That brings us to PREDATORS, the latest in the franchise and the only one to really reclaim the spinal-cord laced mantle laid neatly before us in the woefully underrated PREDATOR 2, but not by much. Produced by Robert Rodriguez and directed by Nimrod Amtal, PREDATORS opens with Adrien (SOLO) Brody free-falling and panicking, reminding me of many a nightmare I've had, only at least Brody's wearing pants. And not fucking Abraham Lincoln.

Now having a dude free-fall from the very first frame is probably one of the top ten most kick-ass ways to open a movie. So then why is the next thirty or so minutes so damn interminable? You'd think that the thing would hit the ground running—literally—but there is so much needless character and plot development that it brings the movie to a grinding halt. It's thirty minutes of Brody and company wandering around a vaguely familiar landscape, asking repeatedly “Where are we?” while each character—ranging from a Chechnyan mercenary with kids to a well-dressed Yakuza—all give background info on who they are, why they're there and what their special talent for killing is. Apparently the filmmakers were on the hunt for dialogue filler, and found a whole horde of it in this first act. Forget the chopper—get to an editor!

Don't get me wrong: I am all for character development and all that crap. Especially if I am watching, say, EAT PRAY LOVE. (Please, EAT PRAY LOVE, slather on the character development!) But, sadly, I am not watching EAT PRAY LOVE, I am watching PREDATORS and I know all I need to know about this movie and whatever plot it is supposed to have right there in the title. I know that there are going to be some Predators that are going to mow some unlucky fuckers down and...well, that's all I need. Guys, feel free to make the hunted humans as cardboard and two-dimensional as you want. Trust me: you will not, in any way, hurt this film.

After a gulag-like slog for the captives, the Predators—and, by Predators, I mean two or three, thanks, guys—show up and kinda-sorta wreak some havoc, unleashing some wild boar-dogs on the troupe and, you know, walking around all invisible and sneaking up behind people and gutting them, like total pussies are wont to do.

You expect the film to carry itself nicely down this path for the next hour, but, then, the ever-expanding Laurence (OSMOSIS JONES) Fishburne comes out of nowhere with an unnecessary cameo as a crazy feller who lives in an abandoned Predator ship and needs to exfoliate ASAP. We all chuckle heartily as he does his best impersonation of “crazy”, talking to imaginary best-friends while giving little snippets of not really important plot info here and there. And then he blows the Hell up. Hopefully his paycheck didn't get singed on the way out.

By the last act, things pick up and it truly becomes the PREDATOR movie that we all knew it could be—well, should be—and finally does what it is supposed to do. But is it a case of too little, too late? Almost. Should it stop you watching it? Of course not, especially when it's a nice, sunshiny day out and there are so many books to be read. We all fully understand what the filmmakers were trying to do: replicate the feel and pace of the original PREDATOR and give it the ol' sideways flippy-floppy—but c'mon, man: we've already seen that. Hundreds and hundreds of times. Do. Something. New. Was the original this tedious?

Massive story problems aside, PREDATORS still has a lot going for it. For example, after two spin-off sequels completely bereft of any type of lighting or camera operator whatsoever, the filmmakers not only invested in some lights, but a tripod. Go team. It was nice to actually be able to see a PREDATOR movie again, what with me dropping all that skrilla on a ticket and all.

Also, let's hear it for the casting, especially Brody. When Nicolas Cage entered the “Nicolas Cage”-era of his career, it kinda happened overnight and took everyone by surprise. We didn't know how to react because we, as a country, were fully unprepared. However, between this, SPLICE and GIALLO, we are the witnesses to history, seeing the building blocks to Brody's own “Nicolas Cage”-era. It is unfolding right before our eyes! Don't you dare turn away, either! I look forward to each and every thing Brody does from here on out and treating it with a slack-jawed respect and eye-popping aplomb that is worthy of such critic-deriding and culture-creating choices.

With all that being said though, it doesn't change the fact that the PREDATORS series needs something new, something formidable. The Predators need a human force of nature that can actually present a real challenge...

OK.: I was going to save this as pitch to whoever does those mass-market PREDATOR novelizations—Dark Horse, I think—but, like my dad used to say, “if nobody else can do it right, do it your damn self”. So, Mr. Rodriguez and Mr. Amtal, please take the time to hear my brilliant pitch:

For as long as man can remember, they've come from the skies, landing and hiding, hunting and killing, using us as wasteful sport. But, when a Predator ship crash-lands on a ranch in rural Texas, this time...we're prepared. HE'S prepared. The Predators are gonna find out they've fucked with the wrong man. The wrong madman. The Motor City Madman. Ted Nugent.

PREDATORS: FREE-FOR-ALL. Coming Summer 2012.

Mull it over, fellas. I'll wait for your call.

DAMAGED Reading: PAUL IS UNDEAD: THE BRITISH ZOMBIE INVASION!

PAUL IS UNDEAD: THE BRITISH ZOMBIE INVASION
By Alan Goldsher
Gallery Books

Paperback Zombies! (Paperback Zombies!)

Dear sir or madam, will you read this book?
It took me a week to finish, will you take a look?
It's a zombie novel by a guy named Goldsher,
It stars the Beatles and he does a good job for a non-horror writer...

Non-horror writer!

It's the bloody story of a zombie band,
And a zombie plague nobody understands...
Led by John Lennon, they want to raise Hell,
With a steady supply of fresh brains loaded into their concert rider...

Their concert rider!

It's 300 pages, give or take a few,
Ringo Starr is a ninja and so is Yoko too...
Mick Jagger shows up as a zombie slayer,
And my favorite part is the shooting of the infamous butcher cover...

Infamous butcher cover!

Yeah, I really liked it, it's very clever and tight,
I'm pretty sure Goldsher's sold off the movie rights...
It's very cinematic and should be worth a few laughs,
So c'mon give it a break and please hire a decent screenwriter...

A decent screenwriter!

Paperback Zombies! (Paperback Zombies!)
Paperback Zombies! (Paperback Zombies!)
Paperback Zombies! (Paperback Zombies!)

BIG LOTS, BIGGER DEALS: My Big Lots Closeout DVD Purchases for 08.01.10, PART ONE!!!

I know, I know. Many of you may think you're "too good" for discount store Big Lots. I was once like you, until one day a year or two ago I wandered in and found so many great DVDeals. And while they always had great stuff, for some reason in the past six months, Big Lots' acquisitions have gone from great to insane in the membrane. Insane in the brain, if you will. They are getting real DVDs from real studios and, best of all, all for only three bucks! Here's my haul from this week--feel free to post yours in the comments!



I used to think nothing about buying stacks and stacks of $3 DVDs from Big Lots in one sitting, spending God knows how much inbetween great deals on out of date Capri Suns and Shania Twain cologne, but, recently, I've been leaving with maybe only two or three titles at a time. Not because of financial troubles, mind you, but because the Lots are getting the most mainstream titles possible from Columbia, Paramount and Warner Bros., leaving behind those real cult rarities that made them so awesome to begin with. Gone are the copies of THE HOWLING 3 and LEGEND OF THE CHUPACABRA, replaced with pallets of MUST LOVE DOGS and MONA LISA SMILE. And, while for most people three-buck copies of pseudo-feminist Julia Roberts flicks are a shower-nozzle masturbation fantasy unto itself, but, for me, it's just more money in my pocket to spend elsewhere. Like on tacos. Delicious tacos.

Still, over the past couple of months, I've been able to, on occasion when no one is looking, sink to the bottom of the neatly-packed stacks like a fat kid in a McDonald's Playplace ball-pit, finding a few real treasures, as few and far between as they are. I've bought enough to make a two-part posting, although I doubt most of them will make you all that jealous, like in the past...

* THE 6TH DAY - A fine-enough latter-day Schwarzenegger effort from 2000, made around the time when you could tell that Arnold just kinda gave up on this whole acting thing. END OF DAYS, people? THE 6TH DAY is entertaining but also instantly forgettable. As a matter of fact, I saw this in the theaters and for ten years, erased its existence from my memory, right until I saw this in the BL stacks, when all those memories came rushing back, causing a slight nosebleed. I'm holding it in my hands right this very minute and am still not sure if this is real.

* THE BRADY BUNCH MOVIE - Surprisingly, I didn't own this comedy classic--and, yes, it really is a comedy classic. Some of it is pretty dated, mostly for all the ill-advised grunge-rock music and fashions, but the massage remains the same: by tattling on your friends, you're really just tattling on yourself. And by tattling on your friends, you're just telling them that you're a tattletale. Now is that the tale you want to tell?

* WATERMELON MAN - I miss the old days when race was dealt with head-on, with real humor that wasn't afraid to offend. Try getting SANFORD AND SON on the air today; the NAACP would probably call it a subversive "Tea Party hate-crime" plot! Someone from the Ministry of Entertainment is gonna get fired for that shit! Aside from Redd Foxx, Godfrey Cambridge did a damn good job at making light of whitey in this tripped-out 60s comedy about a stodgy white businessman who wakes up to find himself a total soul brother. The hypocrisy of liberal attitudes are utterly destroyed here, in a way that seems more important today than then. Of course, if it were to be remade today, it would probably be by Tyler Perry and would star Zac Efron. And instead of a black man, he'd be turned into the Easter Bunny. And it would be brought to you by Disney. Soundtrack by Soulja Boy.

* 48 HRS. - Has Nick Nolte always been 65? And drunk? I feel like I need to buy him a fresh pack of Hanes.

* NICOLAS CAGE TRIPLE FEATURE: FACE/OFF / SNAKE EYES / BRINGING OUT THE DEAD - Three of Nick Cage's best works, although, really, how does one honestly choose the "best"? FACE/OFF is a total action classic, SNAKE EYES is a Brian De Palma curiosity that is pretty good, and BRINGING OUT THE DEAD is Scorsese's hilarious attempt at being Oliver Stone, circa U-TURN. CAGE IS FREAKIN' AND TWEAKIN' BRO!

* HEARTBEEPS - Oh, HEARTBEEPS. So maligned, so forgotten. Andy Kaufman and Bernadette Peters "star" as robots finding love and then building a baby robot. I had not seen this since the glory-days of early 80s HBO, and, you know...it's really not all that bad. I actually teared up at one point towards the end. But, yeah, it's also pretty stupid too. So, whatever. Asshole.

* HALF PAST DEAD - Hard to believe, but there was a time when Steven Seagal was a past-his-prime joke. I know. Then, in the early aughts, he released the back-to-back action hits HALF PAST DEAD and EXIT WOUNDS, both of which I saw with Bookgasm's Rod Lott at half-past-filled premiere screenings in the "urban" part of town and had a blast. No, really: there was a drive-by. (For those keeping count, by the way, this is the tenth Seagal flick I've picked up at Big Lots. It's my own private Seagal Superstore!)

* BLACK SNAKE MOAN - Christina Ricci plays half-naked nympho white trash so good that, when you're masturbating to this, you kinda almost forget that she just got raped. Kinda.

* THE NAKED GUN - I think that Big Lots might have gotten this from Canada. Half of everything on the packaging is in French. For example, "Supplements Non Classes" means "Special Features Not Rated" in French. In other words, USA #1!

* STILL CRAZY - One of the finest, yet totally overlooked, rock movies of the past 25 years, made in the wake of the tedious overload of British underdog comedies like THE FULL MONTY. STILL CRAZY got lost and forgotten over the years, which is a shame because this is a fun, funny and touching look at past-their-prime classic rockers, with a killer soundtrack that I need to track down as well. Most of you would probably hate this though.

TO BE CONTINUED...