Film Review: ALLAN QUATERMAIN AND THE LOST CITY OF GOLD (1986, Gary Nelson)

Stars: Hoo Boy of 5.

Running Time: 99 minutes.

Notable Cast or Crew: Richard Chamberlain (THE MUSIC LOVERS, THE LAST WAVE), Sharon Stone (CASINO, BASIC INSTINCT), James Earl Jones (STAR WARS, THE HUNT FOR RED OCTOBER, SNEAKERS), Henry Silva (SHARKY'S MACHINE, BULLETPROOF, GHOST DOG), Cassandra Peterson (ELVIRA MISTRESS OF THE DARK, PEE WEE'S BIG ADVENTURE), Robert Donner (COOL HAND LUKE, HIGH PLAINS DRIFTER). Produced by Menahem Golan and Yoram Globus. Based on the novel by H. Rider Haggard (KING SOLOMON'S MINES, SHE). Screenplay by Gene Quintano (SUDDEN DEATH, OPERATION DUMBO DROP) and Lee Reynolds (WHO AM I, DELTA FORCE 2). Directed by Gary Nelson (FREAKY FRIDAY, THE BLACK HOLE). Music by Michael Linn (AMERICAN NINJA, BREAKIN' 2: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO) and Jerry Goldsmith (TOTAL RECALL, ALIEN, GREMLINS). Second unit directed by Newt Arnold (BLOODSPORT, BLOOD THIRST).

Tag-line: "24 Karat Entertainment!"

Best one-liner: "We're starting to piss off somebody's god!"

I've written before at length about the "Cannon Quatermain Canon"––the two films, KING SOLOMON'S MINES and ALLAN QUATERMAIN AND THE LOST CITY OF GOLD, were made simultaneously in 1985, were based on outworn adventure novels by H. Rider Haggard, and were shamelessly attempting to cash in on the success of the INDIANA JONES series.

These films, even moreso than the average American globetrotting adventure film, are xenophobic, racially insensitive (they actually use brownface on Robert Donner to transform him into the excruciatingly offensive Indian character "Swarma"), and generally spit-take inducing. I honestly can't tell if these films are an elaborate joke on the audience, a spoof of the genre's racist tropes, or a genuine attempt at action-adventure entertainment by woefully out of touch individuals.  [It's also worth noting: Cannon's FIREWALKER (with Chuck Norris) was made in the same period and is definitely cut from the same cloth.]

The plot concerns Allan Quatermain (Richard Chamberlain, who deserves better)

Note how his fedora differs from Indiana Jones' in that it is handsomely garnished with a swatch of leopard print from Jo-Anne Fabrics.

and Willie Scott––er, I mean Jesse Huston (Sharon Stone, who also deserves better)

She doesn't even get to sing.

are searching for... not the Ark of the Covenant nor the Sankara Stones nor the Holy Grail, but, I shit you not... a legendary white African tribe who lives in a lost city of gold. At one point, Sharon Stone is made to exclaim, "The white race does exist!" I cannot overstate how unsettling this is.

James Earl Jones (who also obviously deserves better) shows up in a tailcoat, a plastic bone tooth necklace, a Native American feather headpiece, and no pants.

He is playing the warrior sidekick "Umslopogaas," and he wields a giant axe that is conspicuously lightweight and shiny, almost as if it is a piece of plastic covered in reflective paint (which it is). At one point he is captured by the guards of the white tribe's lost city, who are black men wearing white hoods. Again, these decisions appear to be so plainly tone deaf and misguided that it is better to believe they are not deliberate.

According to James Earl Jones, he only signed up for this picture because it allowed him to piggyback his shoot dates with an African vacation. I hope it was a nice vacation.

Master of crazy-eye Henry Silva rules the Lost City like Jim Jones, wearing community theater biblical robes and a Gene Simmons wig. He is clearly based on "Mola Ram" from INDIANA JONES AND THE TEMPLE OF DOOM (complete with a floor-opening sacrificial chamber and a mine full of slave labor), and the major difference is that he does not rip out his victims' hearts, but rather dips them in gold. He screams things like "Which one of you is going to die for slaying our sacred beast?" and appears to be having something approaching a good time.

And wait a minute, who is that on the left, in the Valkyrie breastplate?

Why, it's none other than Elvira (!) herself (Cassandra Peterson), who mostly lounges around and gives the evil eye, which makes her role in this mess the most enviable, from an actor's standpoint.

ALLAN QUATERMAIN AND THE LOST CITY OF GOLD is treasure trove of cheap costumes, depressed actors, incompetent matte work, and mind-bogglingly terrible ideas. There are giant maggot attacks, a wild raft ride (that attempts to mirror TEMPLE OF DOOM's mine-car chase),

and a zany bazaar salesman whose wares include bulletproof spandex.

Furthermore, Quatermain solves literally 95% of the problems he faces with trick-shooting (at tomatoes, natives' faces, trap doors, stalactites, etc.) which is a great message for the youth, too, sure.

In the end, the film is troubling, bizarre, baffling, and frankly the whole thing has aged about as well as the Gold Dust Twins. Now you must atone for your sins by watching the entire catalogues of Ousmane Sembéne, Sarah Maldoror, and Gadalla Gubara. Whew.

Only now does it occur to me... THE MANCHURIAN CANDIDATE (1962)

Only now does it occur to me... that THE MANCHURIAN CANDIDATE (1962) has much to offer viewers in 2017, whether it is the perfect metaphorical image of an American flag composed of three types of caviar:

or the "Manchurian Candidate" himself, Senator John Iselin (James Gregory), a blunt, vulgar, and simple-minded instrument of Machiavellian operators (including Angela Lansbury)




who, despite being the most transparent of bullies and liars, is widely regarded as a harmless buffoon with a particular flair for riling up the intelligentsia.

Perhaps, ultimately, it is worth remembering that the Manchurian Candidate––a man who craves the spotlight and the illusion of power, no matter the cost and consequence, no matter the motives of his brutish handlers and willful enablers, a man who reduces every argument to 'us versus them' and appears incapable of deep and critical thought––this is a man who disgusts even those who regard him as a useful fool or a muscle to be flexed. In some ways, he is a tragic figure, tragic like the termite who chews through the support beam that destroys his nest, tragic like the energy magnate who befouls a world his grandchildren must inherit, tragic like the oversized child who douses his steak in ketchup while playing at sophisticate.

Television Review: HAPPY (1983, Lee Philips)

Stars: 4.1 of 5.
Running Time: 96 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Dom DeLuise, Henry Silva, Dee Wallace, Jack Gilford, David DeLuise, Carol Arthur DeLuise, Peter DeLuise, Michael DeLuise. Executive Producer Dom DeLuise.
Tag-line: "A suspense thriller!"
Best one-liner: "This is me– I'm a clown called Happy."

"Who's gonna make ya smile?" -"Happy!" "Who's gonna make ya laugh?" -"Happy!" "What's my name?" HAPPY. Give Dom Deluise's tender paunch a big 'ole bear hug and hold on tight as you're transported into a world of endless, lighthearted delights, courtesy of Executive Producer Dom (and it's a family affair- his wife and three kids are all involved). Dom plays 'Happy,' the eponymous, washed-up clown who once had a TV show, but now entertains children for sometimes four hours at a time at shoe store openings ("We were only booked for 2!").


The autograph hounds want Happy to sign everything from a tamborine (center) to a Bible (right)! Not sure why there's so many autograph seekers given that his show's been off the air for five years. And I think it was a local show, too.

A holdover from an older, more versatile performer's era (song, dance, puppetry, magic, vaudeville etc.), Dom's natural buoyancy is infectious, and he never turns it off- he NEVER turns it off! His life is one big euphoric stream of consciousness and we're just along for the ride. Also, I gotta say that I've never seen so much confetti in my life. Dom's even flingin' it in patron's drinks!

What do you suppose the odds are that this is the freeze frame that ends the movie? Well the odds are very high, because this IS the freeze frame that ends the movie.

We get to see Dom dressed up in his Chef duds (but he spends 90% of the film, inexplicably at times, in his clown suit);

Jack Gilford doing his impersonation of pea soup coming to a boil (with croutons!);

Jack Gilford- Happy's manager, partner, and best bud- operates Doofer the Rat and the poor man's Madam.

and an awkward, burgeoning romance with sculptor/waitress Dee Wallace (E.T., CRITTERS).

Everything is fine and dandy– until an opera-luvin' Henry Silva, in BLACKFACE,

blows away half of Happy's audience, his manager, and an unlucky chandelier.


The cops are looking for a black man, and Happy's the only one to contradict them ("I know makeup- I've been doin' it for 20 years!").

As a side note- they even refer to him as Happy in court and on the record:

"Well, Happy, while you haven't quite earned the keys to the city, or even Burt's TransAm, you have earned the right to lean on Sharky's Machine for exactly fifteen minutes."

So anyway, Happy begins a one-man crusade to bring the leather-clad Silva to justice, and it all begins with his sculptin' gal Dee making a PUPPET BUST OF SILVA as per Happy's eyewitness account.

I desperately need one of these for my bureau.



AHHHH, SHITTT!

This leads to an enchanting game of cat and mouse (Dom flicks on a flashlight to reveal his clown face in the darkness– "Hey MISTAH KILLLLAH!")

"HEYYYY, MISTAHHH KILLLLL-AHH!"

which leads to a TV studio showdown because Happy got his old show back and there's a piano-playing rabbit who keeps turning around incredulously and a guy in the chicken costume from STROKER ACE and the cops are en route because "The clown was right- I don't believe it!" and the kids are getting impatient and the rest of the cast can only ad-lib for so long and Silva wrestles Happy in an epic backstage brawl and there's a switchblade


and Happy flings confetti into Silva's eyes and a player piano is playing and Happy whaps Silva with an enormous pencil prop and the show must go on and THE SHOW MUST GO ON! and, by God, this is fucking fantastic! Dom– you've done it again. You've gone and made me HAPPY! Even Silva is smiling.

Wait, why is Silva smiling?! And why didn't he blast Happy when he had the chance? Wait a minute... could it be– could this take place in the same universe as CANNONBALL RUN II? Could Silva be playing the same mobster he plays in CANNONBALL RUN II?

Does this mean that his shadowy boss, Don Canneloni (played by DeLuise):

is Happy's twin brother, hence the knowing smile?! Holy shit!

And there ya have it, folks: incontrovertible evidence that watching CANNONBALL RUN II could add an entire new dimension of meaning to your life- or at least your HAPPY experience- and why should the two be mutually exclusive?

-Sean Gill

Film Review: THE TALL T (1957, Budd Boetticher)

Stars: 5 of 5. Running Time: 78 minutes. Notable Cast or Crew: Randolph Scott (RIDE THE HIGH COUNTRY, SEVEN MEN FROM NOW), Richard Boone (HAVE GUN, WILL TRAVEL; THE SHOOTIST), Maureen O' Sullivan (Jane in TARZAN AND HIS MATE), Henry Silva (THE MANCHURIAN CANDIDATE, BULLETPROOF, ALLIGATOR, ESCAPE FROM THE BRONX, GHOST DOG), Arthur Hunnicutt (THE BIG SKY, THE LUSTY MEN, HARRY AND TONTO). Story by Elmore Leonard (52 PICK-UP, LONESOME DOVE, CAT CHASER), screenplay by George Kennedy (SEVEN MEN FROM NOW). Tag-line: "Taut! Torrid! Tremendous! T Is for Terror!" Best one-liner: "Come on, it's going to be a nice day!"

To what does that title refer? "Taut! Torrid! Tremendous! T Is for Terror!," exclaims the tag-line. Well, let's not dwell on it- it was imposed by the studio, and no one involved knew what the hell it meant. But it doesn't matter, because THE TALL T is a masterpiece. Based on an Elmore Leonard story, it begins as a simple, languid tale of pastoral living, gentle slapstick, and formidable landscapes. But when it wants to be, it's lean and mean and absolutely brutal (the film will not hesitate to shoot someone in the face at point-blank range- and this is 1957!). Despite a set-up that involves gunslingers and hostages, the material is never sensationalized: a certain realism emerges, and it becomes something of a 'chamber-piece thriller.' As Pat Brennan, Randolph Scott is our perfect hero- at once weary, cheerful, and rugged, he's somehow the exact median between Jimmy Stewart and John Wayne.
He's a sweet old guy who'll buy a kid stick candy, but he'll put you in a headlock if he needs to, dammit. He's a man who'll admit when he's scared, but, by gum, he'll do something about it.
Randolph Scott helps Maureen O' Sullivan work out some self-esteem issues.

Brennan and some traveling companions (which include Maureen O' Sullivan as a wealthy, recently married, ex-old maid and John Hubbard as her gold-diggin' new husband) become the victims of a trio of brigands (who include a steely Richard Boone and a vicious Henry Silva). [I also have to point out that the gold-diggin' douche is one of the great unsung western stereotypes. You always hear about the "honest rancher," "the old maid," "the hooker with a heart of gold," and "the black hat-wearin' outlaw," but "the gold-diggin', douchey guy" rarely gets his due, despite appearing in more movies and TV episodes than you can shake a stick at.] Anyway, Richard Boone, as "Frank," is fuckin' fantastic. I always enjoyed him (and his high-brow antics) in HAVE GUN, WILL TRAVEL, but I didn't start thinking of him as one of the greats until I saw his performances in THE TALL T and THE SHOOTIST. Frank's actions are villainous, to be sure, but he's not some bloodthirsty, mad-dog killer.


He's rational, intellectual, and incredibly complex- a huge influence on Sergio Leone's antagonists from Lee van Cleef's "Angel Eyes" to Henry Fonda's "Frank" (and this film as a whole clearly inspired great swaths of ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE WEST).
Frank is drawn to Brennan and yet repulsed by him- he's the sort of man he wishes he could be, which leads to an odd combination of self-loathing and hero worship, followed by general misanthropy. Silva's a deliciously vile punk ("I never shot me a woman before- have I, Frank?") who seems to be- unnervingly- borderline mentally disabled.


Silva. Here, he's kind of a blend of young, vigorous Marlon Brando and young, diabolical Clu Gulager.


Silva struggles to construct a coherent thought as Skip Homeier (as 'Billy Jack') looks on.

His semi-coherent, sluggardly ramblings about his background are juxtaposed with his single-minded, serpentine, six-shooter virtuousity, and the result is downright chilling. In all, THE TALL T is one of the great American Westerns, and Budd Boetticher stands tall alongside Ford, Ray, Hawks, and the like. And it's the kind of Western that clearly helped pave the way for subsequent masterpieces by Peckinpah and Leone. Five stars.

Film Review: NOT QUITE HOLLYWOOD (2009, Mark Hartley)

Stars: 3.9 of 5.
Running Time: 103 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Interviews or archive footage with everyone from Richard Franklin (ROADGAMES), Jamie Lee Curtis, Stacy Keach, Dennis Hopper, George Miller (MAD MAX), Russell Mulcahy (HIGHLANDER), Ted Kotcheff (RAMBO, WEEKEND AT BERNIE'S), George Lazenby (ON HER MAJESTY'S SECRET SERVICE), Steve Railsback, Jeremy Thomas, Quentin Tarantino, Rod Taylor, Bruce Beresford (BREAKER MORANT), Alan Arkin, Henry Silva, Broderick Crawford, David Hemmings, Christopher Lee, Olivia Hussey, James Mason, George Peppard, Donald Pleasence, and Lesley Ann Warren.
Tag-line: "Finally an Aussie film packed full of boobs, pubes, tubes ... and a bit of kung fu."

Grab a "thick, crunchy hamburger," sit back, relax, and enjoy a measured overview of that oft-forgotten, oft-maligned genre: 'Ozploitation.' Now, there's not much depth to this film, the reality-TV style (different, generic, upbeat music cues every 25 seconds; the inability to hold a shot for more than 2 seconds) is frequently obnoxious, and a lot of your enjoyment will hinge on your ability to tolerate Quentin Tarantino, but the absurd clips, psychotic personalities, and colorful anecdotes go a long way.

If you can't even stomach this photograph, you'd do best to stay away.

See the one-armed censor; endless vomit; a Mondo-style film called AUSTRALIA AFTER DARK; Henry Silva dangling 70 feet above the ground without a safety net; clips from Russell Mulcahy's early 'giant warthog' flick RAZORBACK; and endless, marauding biker gangs, scouring the Outback for people to fuck with! You hear about a washed-up David Hemmings' drunken directorial style, Richard Franklin’s big break with the coma-horror flick PATRICK (immediately ripped-off by Italians, and later by KILL BILL), the xenophobia faced by Jamie Lee Curtis and Stacy Keach while starring in Franklin's ROADGAMES, Steve Railsback delivering semi-coherent rants, and Dennis Hopper pronounced dead while filming MAD DOG MORGAN.

Hopper, in fact, survived.

Witness the miracle of marsupial werewolf birth in HOWLING 3:

live ammo fired at Railsback in TURKEY SHOOT (a.k.a. ESCAPE 2000 on DVD):

Railsback shot at FOR REAL.

George Lazenby on fire for real in THE MAN FROM HONG KONG; a possessed game of Chinese Checkers in HARLEQUIN (a.k.a. DARK FORCES on DVD); and majestic, SHINING-style, bone-chilling cinematography in NEXT OF KIN. You’re forced to respect these filmmakers’ ingenuity, their commitment to trash cinema, and their nonchalance about risking life and limb for movies about giant alligators, killer bikers, or naked ladies who take lots of showers. It’s almost like if a dozen quasi-Herzogs were unleashed upon the heyday of American International. So if you can stomach the periodically inane presentation, NOT QUITE HOLLYWOOD is well worth a watch.

-Sean Gill