Only now does it occur to me... TWILIGHT'S LAST GLEAMING (1977)

Only now does it occur to me... that TWILIGHT'S LAST GLEAMING (1977)––a film I hadn't even heard of until a few weeks ago––is one of the finest political thrillers of its generation. Directed by master craftsman Robert Aldrich (KISS ME DEADLY, THE DIRTY DOZEN, WHAT EVER HAPPENED TO BABY JANE, EMPEROR OF THE NORTH), it's a chamber drama of the highest order (and with the highest stakes possible), and the only contemporary film of its kind I can think of that explores the disillusionment of post-Nixon America with such magnified audacity.

The set-up is this: an Air Force General (Burt Lancaster) has threatened to spill a few inconvenient truths about the Vietnam War to the American public––and winds up in prison for his trouble.

After befriending some fellow convicts (Paul Winfield and Burt Young, in sympathetic performances),


he busts out of jail and hijacks a nuclear missile silo (!), threatening to begin WWIII unless the sitting President, who had nothing to do with Vietnam (Charles Durning, sort of standing in for Carter), publicly releases the incriminating documents. To modern audiences, it may encourage comparisons to THE ROCK (1996), from its likable, spurned, and volatile General to the ginger handling of green, gel-based chemical weapons (sarin gel) in a particularly suspenseful sequence.


Above all, it's an adult thriller, brilliantly acted and directed, that trusts its audience to understand its labyrinthine politics and moral shades of gray. It could easily be a stage play, with the nuclear bunker on stage left and the Oval Office on stage right.

Charles Durning is particularly remarkable––he's sensitive and firm in his portrayal, the kind of clearheaded President you'd want on the front lines when something heavy goes down, like Henry Fonda in FAIL-SAFE or Martin Sheen on THE WEST WING. He grapples with the idea of the presidency becoming a puppet beholden to a shadow government, wondering if said government does not trust its own people, how can the people trust it? As a Carter-figure operating under the shadow of the presidents who came before, he must determine whether or not executive opacity has already crossed its Rubicon––or does the corrupted infrastructure yet contain an exit strategy for a decent man?

There's also a great moment where a brigadier general steals Durning's scotch

and Durning reprimands him, shouting:

"That's my drink, you make your own fucking drink!"

The supporting cast is a Who's Who of Old Hollywood testosterone, featuring everyone from Melvyn Douglas to Joseph Cotten to Richard Jaeckel to Richard Widmark.
 
And because it's a thriller with so few locations, Aldrich pumps it up with a style best described as "Brian De Palma on steroids," with plenty of two-way, three-way, and four-way split screens. Unlike De Palma, the tone is slightly detached, and consequently you almost feel like you're watching different news feeds of a historical event, rather than different channels jockeying for your attention.


Finally, Jerry Goldmith's wonderful score lends it a real, melancholy, FIRST BLOOD vibe. Like that film, it paints a picture for people who aggressively love America but don't think it's above reproach. (I guess I'm saying not to expect THE GREEN BERETS.) In all, it's an underseen gem with a clear and fervent voice that suceeds both as a white-knuckle thriller and as an investigation of a sadder, wiser American people.





Also, on a more frivolous note––half of the Rebellion from STAR WARS is working for the U.S. government in this movie: Garrick Hagon (Biggs Darklighter in STAR WARS),


William Hootkins (Jek Porkins in STAR WARS),


and John Ratzenberger (Bren Derlin in THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK)


all appear in bit parts as American soldiers.

Television Review: DESPERATION (2006, Mick Garris)

Stars: 2 of 5.

Running Time: 131 minutes.

Notable Cast or Crew:  Tom Skerritt (ALIEN, CHEERS), Ron Perlman (THE NAME OF THE ROSE, QUEST FOR FIRE, HELLBOY), Charles Durning (SHARKY'S MACHINE, HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS), Steven Weber (MICK GARRIS' THE SHINING, WINGS), Henry Thomas (Elliott in E.T., CLOAK & DAGGER), Matt Frewer (MAX HEADROOM, THE STAND), Annabeth Gish (MYSTIC PIZZA, NIXON), and Kelly Overton (THE RING TWO, TRUE BLOOD).  Based on the novel and adapted by Stephen King.  Music by Nicholas Pike (CRITTERS 2, CAPTAIN RON).   Edited by Patrick McMahon (A NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET, WILD PALMS).

Tag-line: "In this town, there are no accidents."

Best one-liner:  "I see you're an organ donor.  Are you sure that's wise?"

A Stephen King adaptation directed for television by Mick Garris– you're probably wondering why I'm even reviewing this at all.  We already know it's bad, right?  Well, sure, Constant Reader, you're right– but let's just say this one's for the love of the game. 

Author's Note:  The following review will be written in a style vaguely resembling Stephen King's.  That means it will be peppered with old-timey patois, sudden and ridiculous jargon, a smattering of rhymes, absurd foreshadowing, head-scratching use of curse words, parenthetical presentation of subliminal thoughts, and maybe a few 1950s bullies.  This is all good-natured ribbing on my part– I love the man and still read a few of his novels each year.  In fact, I read DESPERATION this summer, and while it felt a little bit like an oddly churchy TWILIGHT ZONE episode peppered with elements of IT and THE DARK TOWER, I still enjoyed it and against my better judgment found myself wanting to see the movie.  And so follows this review.  Here goes:

I'm going down, down, down, down
I'm going down, down, down, down
–Bruce Springsteen

Mick Garris– the Grand Wazoo of bad, made-for-television Stephen King adaptations– has struck again with a film that isn't all bad, although it mostly is.  Spinning the tale of a demon-creature named "Tak" who has emerged from a strip mine and begun to terrorize, possess, and murder the citizens and visitors of a small Nevada town, DESPERATION succeeds in building a modicum of atmosphere

DESPERATION'S DEAD DOGS WELCOME YOU


REDRUM DOG MURDER GOD

only to shatter it with bad acting, mawkish piano riffs (from the composer of CAPTAIN RON!), bloated pacing, and a result that feels less than the sum of its parts– the sort of adaptation where afterward you even begin second-guessing your fondness for the source material.

When I read it, I imagined DESPERATION's primary antagonist (Collie Entragian, a possessed, psychotic brute of a local cop) as Gary Busey.  I almost couldn't imagine anyone else doing justice to this fusion of "country boy" and "short-circuiting demonic madman."  Of course, as it turned out, Ron Perlman plays the part– and he does a pretty damn good job, all things considered.  Any movie where Perlman accuses people of being "unisex swingles" can't be all bad. 

He's the kind of character actor who doesn't necessarily require "direction" to deliver a fine performance, though he wages war throughout against the cringe-worthy crazy-person dialogue (adapted by King himself) and, no, he doesn't always win.

 
 
"I mean, how can you sing 'Puff the Magic Dragon' without Peter, Paul, and Mary?" 

But sometimes Ron Perlman doesn't give a tin shit about bad dialogue, and he can rise above it like a bad-gunky yum yum boogersnot mothersmucker bringin' death to all shitters of the world (all of those terms actually come from different King novels –SG), like in this insane moment when he shakes Tom Skerritt's hand LIKE HE CHRISTING MEANS IT.




Wait– Tom Skerritt!?  I wasn't told you'd be joining us, Mr. Skerritt– and dressed a bit like a 50s bully, to boot!  Skerritt plays a popular novelist and 'Nam vet who's passing though Desperation for a
(acting paycheck)
 book he's writing about a cross-country motorcycle journey, a kind of pastiche of Steinbeck's TRAVELS WITH CHARLEY called "TRAVELS WITH HARLEY."  Unaware that he would play Ulysses S. Grant seven years later in 2013's FIELD OF LOST SHOES, Skerritt seems at first enthusiastic, then fatigued, and finally "phoning it in."  And that is your right, Tom Skerritt:  that is your right.  Tak!

And hey, look who else showed up:

Stephen "the less-talented William Fichtner" Weber, who played Jack Torrance in the adaptation of THE SHINING that Stephen King prefers (hint:  it's not the Kubrick).

Stephen Weber does a style of acting that's very distinct
(bad acting)
and I can't really think of any way to describe it
(sitcom acting)
but it's worthy of discussion.  It's almost on the tip of my tongue
(schmacting?)
and if I could remember what it was called
(bad schmacting)
 I'd share it with you.  I really and truly would.

Well, at least DESPERATION finally affords us the opportunity to see Stephen Weber 

regale us with his exceptional shadow puppet abilities.  Kabam, kabam, kabam alama ding dong.

And you didn't really think we were going to see a Mick Garris movie without Matt "MAX HEADROOM" Frewer, did you?

While I've referred to Garris as "a one-man Matt Frewer employment agency," I've really got nothing against Frewer, who's a fine character actor in his own right.  Honestly, I'm still trying to figure out whether Frewer's a poor man's James Rebhorn, or if Rebhorn's a poor man's Frewer.   I suppose it doesn't matter.  Yes, indeedy.

As always, there's an insufferable kid, cut from the mold of, say, MR. BELVEDERE's Rob Stone.

In most King adaptations, there exists the possibility of an insufferable kid, but the non-Garris films have actually had a pretty decent track record (Danny Lloyd in THE SHINING, Drew Barrymore in FIRESTARTER and CAT'S EYE, Corey Haim in SILVER BULLET, the whole crew in STAND BY ME, etc.).  However, in mishandling child actors and embracing the cornier aspects of King's canon, the whole grisly affair begins to slide into Hallmark movie territory– which is why, for example, Kubrick didn't end his SHINING adaptation with Jack Nicholson's ghost cheering on his son at his college graduation (as was the case in Garris' "approved" version).

Speakin' of child actors, we have E.T.'s Henry Thomas!

Not much to say here.  I'm not going to say anything bad about Henry Thomas.  Love CLOAK & DAGGER.  Yes, sirree.

Well now, hold on one goddamned gadoodlin' minute– who's this, hitting the hooch, there?

Why, it's gruff, potbellied, character actor extraordinaire, Charles Durning– professional aficionado of growling the word "goddamned" and part-time member of Sharky's Machine! 

He's not given a whole helluva lot to do, but he gets to fight a mountain lion and pretends to ignore Steven Weber's shadow-puppetry, so let's just give him that, shall we?

Also, I have to give Mr. Garris and his crew credit for some nice practical effects, from face-rippin' gore (on network television, no less!)
 

to tarantulas crawling out of the mouth of a prosthetic Ron Perlman.

NOM NOM NOM

It's pretty refreshing after the CGI atrocities we've witnessed in Garris flicks from the "Hand of God" in THE STAND to the army of killer hands in QUICKSILVER HIGHWAY to the "Killer Topiary" THE SHINING '97.  So... well done on that front!

And to you fans of TV's LOST– a series that borrowed much from a number of King novels, from THE STAND to THE DARK TOWER series– we have a finale that prefigures a number of LOST tropes, with Tom Skerritt facing off in an ancient temple against a shape-shifting, manipulative smoke monster with an aversion to dynamite



and a descent far below the earth to plug up a deadlight-y hole of mystical energy.  I guess we should be thankful it doesn't end with people hugging in a church?  (Though it certainly comes close enough!)

In closing, I think it's simply impossible to manage a great adaptation of one of King's sprawling, spiritual epics– all the best ones are either based on considerably shorter, more focused stories (CARRIE, THE MIST, CHRISTINE, STAND BY ME, THE SHAWSHANK REDEMPTION) or take brilliant or hilariously absurd liberties with the source material (THE SHINING, THE RUNNING MAN).  If only Romero had done his fabled adaptation of THE STAND, back in the day.

Now, if this review really was a Stephen King epic, there'd be a couple of false endings, an epilogue, some old-timey wisdom, and everybody would forget about
(this movie)
all the misadventures that had befallen them.  But it's late, and I think I've said enough.  Two stars, DESPERATION– but ya earned 'em.  Boogedy-boo!

–Sean Gill

Film Review: V.I. WARSHAWSKI (1991, Jeff Kanew)

Stars: 3.8 of 5.
Running Time: 89 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Kathleen Turner (ROMANCING THE STONE, PEGGY SUE GOT MARRIED, SERIAL MOM), Jay O. Sanders (JFK, GLORY), Charles Durning (SHARKY'S MACHINE, HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS), Wayne Knight (Newman on SEINFELD, JURASSIC PARK), Stephen Root (OFFICE SPACE, NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN), Nancy Paul (LIFEFORCE, SHEENA QUEEN OF THE JUNGLE), Angela Goethals (HOME ALONE, JERRY MAGUIRE). Directed by Jeff Kanew (REVENGE OF THE NERDS, TROOP BEVERLY HILLS). Music by Randy Edelman (GHOSTBUSTERS II, KINDERGARTEN COP). Cinematography by Jan Kiesser (FRIGHT NIGHT, SOME KIND OF WONDERFUL).
Tag-line: "V.I. Warshawski: A private detective with a name as tough as she is."
Best one-liner: "Murray, have you ever seen what I can do with a nutcracker?"

The consensus is that V.I. WARSHAWSKI is not a good movie. The consensus hates V.I. WARSHAWSKI. The consensus sees the Hollywood Pictures logo and cries out in despair, "If you see the Sphinx, it stinks!" But the consensus is wrong. The world needs V.I. WARSHAWSKI. It needs Randy Edelman's almost nonstop, wall-to-wall strains of sleazy saxophone. It needs its comforting 80's Chicago trappings, soaked in Old Style and sitting in an apartment with a terrific view of Wrigley Field. It needs its TV-movie style mystery and cornball comedic stylings. It's like RUNNING SCARED meets MURDER, SHE WROTE with a hearty dash of SERIAL MOM. This is a good thing.

V.I. WARSHAWSKI achieves the impossible: a private-eye/buddy-kid flick that doesn't make one's hair stand on end. For a film whose major throughline is the mispronunciation of our heroine's surname, that says quite a lot. Though WARSHAWSKI may occasionally veer into one-liner territory that's a little too clever for its own good, dammit, it's never "precious." And I'm not gonna lie, WARSHAWSKI– that means a lot. Sure, Kathleen Turner spends half the flick teamed up with a scrappy teen (Angela Goethals), but she threatens bodily harm against children on at least a dozen occasions, muttering (drunken?) lines like "Be back by midnight, or I sell the kid!" Ohhh– and that's right– I just said Kathleen Turner.


You didn't know that? Shame on you. Get ready for America's husky-voiced sweetheart to charm the pants offa ya, and then smash yer nuts– quite literally, on more than one occasion. She attempts a Southern accent, partakes in a motorboat chase,

hoses down the bad guys ("Thanks for the use of your hose." –"She can use my hose anytime."), diffuses an office stand-off by threatening to unplug a computer that hasn't saved its files in hours, seduces a hockey player (like Carla on CHEERS?), and gets punched in the face, brutally, by Wayne Knight (famous for being SEINFELD's 'Newwwwwwman!' and JURASSIC PARK's 'Nyut-nyut-uh! You didn't say the magic word').

Kathleen Turner, one-liner at the ready.

But don't worry, ball-crushing aficionados, Kathleen wreaks hideous revenge upon her chubby nemesis with an actual nutcracker.


Wayne Knight, mere nanoseconds away from the business end of a nutcracker.

Yes, friends, this is a great movie.

And all the supporting character archetypes are here, too. We got Jay O. Sanders as a self-described "mild-mannered reporter" and sometime sidekick/love interest, a supporting villain with an (art? metallurgy?) studio, an overreaching villain who may or may not be a land developer, and the legendary Charles Durning as the gruff and fatherly cop-type who invariably urges restraint but ends up helping our private eye in the clutch.

Durning's first appearance involves him speaking unnecessarily through a megaphone, and at one point he trumps Kathleen Turner's "gut feeling" by proclaiming "my gut is bigger than your gut." I always applaud you, Durning. Always.

In the end, the movie bombed and averted the hoped-for series of V.I. WARSHAWSKI films (apparently there was a whole series of novels which preceded it), and retrospect hasn't been too kind either– it doesn't seem to have developed the cult following which some of its contemporaries have. For me, it's a solid second-tier buddy cop/P.I. type movie, and it can stand tall alongside the likes of ACTION JACKSON, QUIET COOL, RED HEAT, ALIEN NATION, THE ROOKIE, and a whole host of other, occasionally incredible films that are the perfect accompaniment to a profusion of beer and pizza and super-nachos on a Friday night. I bought the Blu-ray (!) of this film for a mere three dollars and fifty-cents, and though the picture quality is probably on-par with a low-to-medium-end DVD, there is a certain satisfaction in being able to say that I own V.I. WARSHAWSKI on fucking Blu-ray. How many of us even are there? How many brave souls who will step forward and admit to owning V.I. WARSHAWSKI at all, much less on the most-advanced, state-of-the-art format, because our passion for and dedication to V.I. WARSHAWSKI is so shockingly vigorous, that anything less would be simply profane! Well, I'm stepping forward, WARSHAWSKI. I'm brave enough. I am your champion. Amen.

-Sean Gill

I can't tell you how happy I am to live in a world where this is not an April Fool's Day Prank...PART 2!

Last year on April Fool's I examined some VHS covers that seemed almost too good to be true– heartfelt TV-movie dramas with Jamie Lee Curtis and Bette Davis, a Boglin hurling a pentagram in the direction of Fred Ward's balls, a film where Powers Boothe and Rutger Hauer battle for Kathleen Turner's love and for endangered birds, etc., etc.

So today in tribute to a bygone era, let us peruse these dusty shelves once more in search of that elusive 49¢ rental that could change your life forever... or at least give you an excuse to order up a couple of pizzas and a sixer of Schlitz.


Is Peter O'Toole supposed to be God? Is he pouring himself a drink or conducting an experiment? And what sort of furry critter has died whilst reclining upon Mariel Hemingway's head?


I like you, BLOODY NEW YEAR Ghoul. I salute your Crypt-Keeper-y sense of fun, your wobbly eyes, and your insistence on purchasing alllll the trimmings from the Party-o-rama outlet store. But above all... I salute your eyebrows.


Co-starring Lillian Gish, Candy Clark, and O.J. Simpson. No, REALLY.


How have I not heard of this? Durning... standing alone? "The story of a real American hero?" Is this a Durning auto-biopic?! Co-starring Pam Grier and Stacey Keach's brother? I don't think that I can go another minute without seeing this film. And finally- does Dom DeLuise make an appearance?


The pros:
•Bruce Glover.
•Skeletons with guns.

The cons:
•I kind of don't like how the skeleton is wearing chaps. It makes it look as if it's got shapely legs and child-bearing hips. That makes everyone uncomfortable.
•The $79.95 price tag.


"It all started out as a joke..." It all started out as a joke... IT ALL ...STARTED OUT...AS A JOKE!...


Did Oliver Reed realize that he was in a movie? Hard to say. Look at his glazed over, rum-soaked stare. Chilling. And on the other end of the spectrum, look at what care they've taken with the captive- making sure her hair has that ultra-conditioned sheen and even loosening her gag so that it doesn't interfere with her carefully positioned, backlit tresses.


Certainly in the running for having the most generic title of all time, DELTA HEAT boldly opines that "sometimes the truth can be murder." But what have we here? Anthony Edwards rocking out a peroxided coiffure and Lance Henriksen creeping up behind him, holding a gun at an unusual angle. Does Edwards know that he's there? Let's check out the IMDb synopsis: "An L.A. cop investigates the death of his partner in the swamps of Louisiana. Enlisting the help of an ex-cop who lost his hand to an alligator many years before." Yes...yes...and YES! Is that the disembodied hand that Henriksen lost, floating behind Edwards' shoulder? I need to see this as soon as possible.


Okay- how could they NOT name the movie 'DIRTY HARRIET?'


"We need a title for this flick?"
–"How about SLITHIS?"
"Surely we can come up with something better than that."
–"What, you've got something better?"
"Well not right now– come on, I'm supposed to just think of something off the top of my head? I haven't even had my coffee yet."
–"You can't come up with anything better than SLITHIS either."
"That's not true."
–"Well, okay. But until you do, let's put SLITHIS on the temp artwork."
"Fine. But only until I come up with something better."
–"Yeah, we'll see about that."


Golan and Globus present: FOUR CREEPY DUDES HIDING IN A BUSH TRYING TO SPY ON THE POOR MAN'S GOLDIE HAWN.


"JOE DON BAKER IS LOOKING FOR TROUBLE." Trouble always seems to find Joe Don Baker, from JOYSTICKS to WACKO to the infamous MITCHELL. Well, count me in, JDB. Count me in.


"Okay are you ready...let me lay somthin' on ya: DETECTIVE SCHOOL."
–"Is that all?"
"...DROP OUTS!"
–"Is that all?"
"...A Golan and Globus production."
–"Alright, I'm not gonna lie– you had me at DETECTIVE SCHOOL. But does it have that guy, the guy with the voice...the guy from the POLICE ACADEMYs...what's his name again? I can't get enough of that guy."


–"Alright, that might be a little too much Goldthwait."


It came...it saw...and it burned...a Rutger Hauer-lookalike.


The title and the font are telling me that this is a movie about an inspirational inner-city basketball coach, and yet I'm seeing an image of Peter O'Toole riding around on a tank.


So rule #1 is, predictably, that there are no rules. Fair enough. But is that a stain or the ghost of a buzz saw? And did I mention that this is Chuck Norris' son?


This might be my favorite title since THUNDERGROUND.


So is the GLOVE wanted dead, not alive? How does one kill the glove? Conversely, how does one take the glove alive? Or is the glove worn by the person who is wanted dead, not alive? Or is the glove worn by the person hunting the person who is wanted dead, not alive? Is this somehow related to ROLLERBALL?


"The race that drove Africa wild." I never expected to see Stockard Channing in hot pants bringing an entire continent to its knees. Even the monkey on her back is getting in on the ogling. Grinning David Carradine is still somehow riding the wave of DEATH RACE 2000. And Christopher Lee fits into this somehow as well?


So that wave subsided at some point- Carradine in old lady drag á la THE UNHOLY THREE? Apparently this flick has a devoted cult following and I hope one day to join its ranks.


Gotta love the Barbarian Brothers. Straddling that big truck with masculine intensity, untied shoes, and a slashed-front tee-shirt? And you know the other brother has got cut-offs on (just outside the frame). And who hasn't wanted to see Martin Mull and Richard Moll in the same flick? Plus, more Carradine! That's thinkin' big indeed!


Combine a Xander Berkeley lookalike, a feathered mane, a power drill, and a supporting role by Robert Davi, and what do you get? ...Nothin' but TRAXX!


I'll say no more beyond the fact that...this is a documentary!


I like to think of myself as a well-informed individual, particularly when Harry Dean Stanton movies are concerned. The fact that this one has slipped through the cracks of my awareness leads me to believe I should probably committ HDS seppuku. But maybe forty Hail Marys and a viewing of WISE BLOOD could atone for my sin.


I mean..what can I say? (Besides "I'd like to buy your album.")


Is this the eponymous "return" depicted here on the VHS cover art? Has the big payoff been ruined? Why even rent it now? "Oh, by the way, the finale is just Jan-Michael Vincent embracing a brown-silk-poncho-wearing Cybill Shepherd. THE END."


There have been some pretty enjoyable MAD MAX rip-offs. Everything from THE NEW BARBARIANS to STEEL DAWN to HELL COMES TO FROGTOWN. So was "OSA" really the best title they could come up with? And the best picture was this possible stock photo of desert bikers?


"STRIKE ONE - there's a killer on the loose... STRIKE TWO - you never know where he'll strike next... STRIKE THREE - too late." Look at how mortified Roy Scheider is. The poor guy is one of the finest actors of his generation, and he's starring in NIGHT GAME. My completely uninformed prediction of what the plot is: a psychopathic 'Nam vet baseball player slices n' dices sports commentators, stuffs their remains inside of baseballs and then plays with them. A player smacks a foul ball into the stands which lands on the lap of washed-up private eye Roy Scheider who discovers that...THE BASEBALL IS BLEEDING!


"An insane Hollywood makeup man kidnaps a woman, keeps her prisoner in his warehouse full of props. " Co-starring Keenan Wynn. I must say that I'm a little unnerved by how much psycho-Rooney resembles the elderly Richard Dreyfuss.


I've actually seen this movie. It has nothing to with a shirtless white man punching you in the face and everything to do with a shabby, middle-aged Leo Fong bopping dudes in the Bazzinis. I feel like your average viewer would be more inclined to see this if it were accurately advertised.


"I don't want to see that new movie, INTERFACE. It just looks like 'another fantasy game movie.'"
–"Ohhhh-ho-ho... that's where you're wrong."
"Whaddya mean?"
–"It's not just another fantasy game. These players are serious... dead serious."
"Well...."
–"Did I mention it's also got Lou Diamond Philips playing Punk #1?"
"Alright...fair enough."


"People are funny– and the 'Big Gag' proves it!" In that case, let's hope that space aliens don't get their hands on this looking for proof that human beings possess some kind of innate, uh, humanity, because I'm willing to bet that not only does the 'Big Gag' NOT prove that people are funny, but in fact proves that we are sickening degenerates, possibly beyond all help. (On the other hand, a New World Picture has never let me down yet.)


MASTER CLASS with Sho Kosugi?! But damn– He was gonna be live in person at the IVE Booth at the VSDA show!? I have no idea what that means, but I'm forced to believe that I've already missed the boat on this one.

But I don't feel too bad, because I now know that the disparate worlds of RETURN OF THE NINJA and WOLFEN once did collide...and the Word was called WOLFEN NINJA, and the Word was good.


In the name of all that is holy– John Huston plays God on judgment day, raining hellfire, brimstone, and wing-flapping slo-mo doves onto the populace, flanked by Mel Ferrer, Glenn Ford, Lance Henriksen, Shelley Winters, and Sam Peckinpah... ...WHAT?!!? "HE CAME TO SAVE THE WORLD FROM THE DEMON CHILD!"


This movie is so uninspired that it names its main character The Rider and his enemy The Omega Force. And he's not even The Rider, he's "The Rider." He's already, pre-emptively been put into scare quotes by the marketing team. That's how little respect they have for "The Rider." Oh, and you know Donald Pleasence? No? Not ringing any bells? How about Donald 'Halloween' Pleasence? Oh, you know that guy, right? What about Persis Khambatta? No? Oh, sorry, what about Persis 'Star Trek' Khambatta? Oh, you still don't know who that is? Fair enough.


I don't know where the Brothers Grimm are buried, but I can pretty much guarantee that they were spinning pretty hard in their graves until they heard that Brad Dourif was gonna be in this. It co-stars James Earl Jones and William Atherton, the full title is actually GRIM PRAIRIE TALES: HIT THE TRAIL TO TERROR, and IMDb reviewer Lee Kelly calls Dourif and Jones "a 'buddy' pairing to rival Riggs and Murtaugh. Give them their own series!" Alright, I'm sold.


Anyway, enjoy your April Fool's, everyone–may all your Brads be Dourifs, all your Lances be Henriksens, all your Ollie Reeds be drunk, all your dogs be named Hambone; and whenever there's a Cannon pointed in your direction, pray that it's operated by a couple of whacky cousins named Golan and Globus, and is easily procurable on Betamax, Laserdisc, and VHS! Amen.

–Sean Gill