CHUCK'S ROUNDHOUSE: Forest Warrior (1996)

As a fan of low budget filmmaking – especially when it spotlights new voices or contains a subversive message – I do not believe there is any shame in going "direct-to-video." ("Direct-to-VOD" or "Direct-to-Tubi" being the modern equivalent.) It is a totally valid release strategy for a number of worthwhile movies. However, especially during the Blockbuster Video peak years of the nineties, the bias against films foregoing a theatrical run wasn't entirely unwarranted. Many lazy cash-in sequels, unambitious action flicks, horror films of debatable merit, and exceedingly lame kids movies were released in this manner. You'd think, with a steady TV gig on “Walker, Texas Ranger,” Chuck Norris wouldn't need to do any of that stuff circa 1995. I guess not, as the former karate champ starred in “Forest Warrior,” his first direct-to-video release, around that time. To add to that indignity, this latest collab with his brother Aaron was strictly within the kiddie camp. The resulting film is widely regarded as a low point for a star whose work rarely attracted critical praise in the first place. 

Near the Tanglewood forest, a group of children composed of Austene, Justin, Lewis, and brothers Logan and Brian gather around a camp fire. An old man named Clovis relates a local legend to them. The story goes that, back in the frontier days, a man named Jebediah McKenna lived in the woods. His wife, a Native American woman, grew sick and he rushed off to retrieve some medicine for her. This is when he was attacked by bandits in the woods, physically beating them back but still being gravely injured. Rolling into the river and near death, the forest spirits revived McKenna. They gave him the ability to change into animals and made him the ghostly protector of the forest. The kids think its only a story. The next day, the youths discover a fort in the woods and make it their new club house. At the same time, a logging company owned by the greedy Travis Thorne intends to cut the forest down, much to the protest of the locals. It's not long before the loggers and the kids come into conflict. Luckily for the children, the spirit of Jebediah McKenna is there to protect them and defend the forest. 

For most of its runtime, “Forest Warrior” is an almost insufferably mawkish presentation. The kids are all wide-eyed moffats, their actions and dialogue calculated for maximum adorableness. They spent much of the movie interacting with a bear cub they name Rags, who seems to rarely share actual screen-time with the child actors. Every facet of their lives and existence seem tied to this forest and their club house. Only Austene's life gets any additional depth. She has an often absent, usually intoxicated father. This subplot crops up for a few scene, an attempt to add even more syrupy emotion to the story, before the business in the woods is returned to. The villains are all two-dimensional bad guys, cartoonishly dumb and wicked who never pause at the thought of attacking or blowing up kids. Travis Thorne makes sure to announce that he doesn't intend to hire locals for his mill, because he cares so little about the near-by town. The bone-deep corniness of this writing peaks during the climatic montage of the youths sabotaging the baddies' vehicles, sticking potatoes in their tail pipes and boards with nails under their tires.

That hokey quality penetrates into every aspect of “Forest Warrior.” The musical score by Bill Elliot is composed of a few melodies that are repeated throughout. Every time the villains or the mill are introduced, a thumping Dr. Robotnik-esque theme plays. Every time Chuck kicks into action, a hard rock theme picks up for a few minutes. Most of Elliot's prior credits are Disney Channel Originals, which is what this music sounds made for. The film is often broken up by reaction shots of various animals or repetitive montages of the inner workings of the mill, all evident attempts to pad the run time out. The writing is preachy and awkward, with the opening prologue going on for ten whole minutes. The lameness of the film seems to suck down the talent of everyone involved. João Fernandes has long since proven himself a talented cinematographer, doing good and sometimes great work on past Chuck Norris gigs. However, even his skills seem half-hearted here, “Forest Warrior” often looking flat in its imagery with blanket lighting.

That is what ninety percent of the experience of watching “Forest Warrior” is like, overly cutesy kids movie antics supported by writing and production values that can best be described as workmanlike and worst as tedious. The remaining ten percent, however, is composed of moments so preposterous, that they can't help but be amusing. This largely means the action scenes. A red tail hawk swoops towards some logging company stooges only to turn into Chuck Norris delivering a flying kick. The film then immediately launches into a fast-paced action sequence, scored to that corny rock riff, and suddenly feels injected with caffeine. Other highlights include Chuck stopping a chainsaw blade with his bare hand and turning into bear via some underwhelming digital matting. He also grabs a bad guy and stares intensely into his eyes, until the film inverts, in what I can only compare to Ghost Rider's Penance Stare. The only non-Chuck related moment of goofy awesomeness in “Forest Warrior” is when an extremely underwhelming rock song on the soundtracks prompts all the lumberjacks to play their tools of deforestation like instruments. The fight scenes aren't great or anything. As in “Top Dog,” we are thoroughly in the era where Chuck's kicks, spins, and leaps mostly seem to be shot in long shots, close-ups on feet or fists, or with his back otherwise turned to the camera. However, these brief flashes of absurd actions still represent the few times “Forest Warrior” awakens from its sleepy, listless ambiance. 

There's only one other mildly interesting thing about “Forest Warrior.” Much like “Top Dog,” the film represents a now bygone time when even right-wing types like Chuck Norris could agree with the libs on certain topics. After fighting racists and Nazis, Chuck is now here to defend the environment. It's a natural extension of the star's ongoing Native American mysticism gag, which “Forest Warrior” is unsurprisingly heavy on. He's protecting the woods and animals here, like some kind of gosh darn tree-huggin' hippy. He goes so far as to theatrically snap a rifle in half, something I think would get you ex-communicated from the Republican party in 2026. Not that “Forest Warrior's” environmental message is especially well thought-out. When your loggers are cartoonishly evil buffoons, it doesn't leave room for any genuine insight. I think “FernGully” is a deeper reflection on the deforestation issue. Still, the film does represents a more innocent time. When macho ass-kickers were also rugged, salt-of-the-earth, cowboy, forest hermit types that acknowledged you shouldn't cut down every tree or slaughter every animal, before internet con-men completely took over that corner of the American psyche. 

Not that Chuck seems all that invested in “Forest Warrior.” For much of the film, he looms in the distance, watching over the children and trees, like some sort of fur-wearing, high-kicking Jesus. When called upon to speak any dialogue, Chuck's delivery is of a stiffness not seen since the “Way of the Dragon” days. A random moment when he teaches a kid how to kick someone in the head represents the sole time he has any spark in his eyes here. Maybe he did this one as a favor to Aaron? There are some notable names in the cast. Roscoe Lee Brown is the storytelling old man, his sagacious voice managing to make this stupid bullshit sound half-way believable. Terry Kiser plays the main villain, mugging and hamming up to such a degree as to make his performance in “Friday the 13th Part VII” seem subtle in comparison. Michael Beck is the main kid's alcoholic dad, Loretta Swit shows up as someone's mom, George Buck Flower is briefly here. It all suggest that “Forest Warrior” had enough money behind it to not look and feel so drab and boring for most of its runtime. 

The film was produced by Avi Lerner, the Israeli-born and South African-based producer who got his start with Cannon before launching his own production company, Nu Image/Millennium Films. Lerner and his company would basically keep making the kind of action schlock that Cannon had success with into the nineties and 2000s, on considerably lower budgets and without much of the flair. “Forest Warrior” doesn't feature the Nu Image logo, being filmed in Oregon rather than overseas, but it still feels a lot like that kind of production. Presumably, Chuck's commitments to “Walker, Texas Ranger” is what kept him from making more shit for those guys. You can cut together about five minutes of amusing moments from “Forest Warrior” but, as a feature length motion picture, it's difficult to recommend. I won't say yet if this is the nadir of Norris' career, as we've still got some dire looking shit to wade through, but it is a fairly steep fall-off from the heights of his eighties cult classics. [5/10]

[THE CHUCK OF NORRIS: 3 outta 5]
[X] Facial Hair
[] Jumps or Kicks Through a Window or Wall
[X] Performs Spin Kick or Spin Punch to Enemy's Face
[] Shows Off His Hairy Chest
[X] Sports Some Cowboy Getup

CHUCK'S ROUNDHOUSE: Walker, Texas Ranger: One Riot, One Ranger (1993)

Chuck Norris ending up on a TV show was probably inevitable. As the eighties changed into the nineties, the action genre was undergoing some big changes. "Die Hard" became a repeatable formula that popularized a more easily injured hero. The violence was growing more excessive, often to the point of self-parody. "Terminator 2" was the climax of the Schwarzeneggerian era of action, a massive success that pointed towards the future with its CGI effects and polished tone. The video market was increasingly becoming the home for that older breed of kick-punching action. Van Damme, Seagal, and even Sly ended up there by the end of the decade, the ultimate sign a star was washed-up. I suspect Norris was tapped in enough to cinematic trends to see that was the direction his career was headed too. Why not cash in on whatever name recognition his dwindling star power had by moving to another medium and maybe get a few seasons out of it? Or maybe I'm full of shit. Chuck had a TV show before, kind of. What we do know for certain is that "Walker, Texas Ranger" began life as a production of Cannon's short-lived television decision and Chuck Norris surely became involved early on. Especially since the series was clearly inspired by "Lone Wolf McQuade," with the producers of that film eventually suing over the similarities. 

Whatever its origins, "Walker, Texas Ranger" could probably be described as the biggest success of Norris' career, at least in terms of getting eyeballs on his rugged features. The show ran on CBS for nine seasons and regularly saw high ratings, despite often facing mockery from critics and audiences. It certainly kept a star, that probably would've otherwise faded quickly into lower budgeted action schlock, somewhat relevant for another decade. The initial season was composed of only four pilot episodes, owing to Cannon's financial woes at the time. The first episode was the feature length "One Riot, One Ranger," which was soon afterwards released on VHS as a standalone movie of sorts. This is how I can justify including what would otherwise just be a TV show in my journey through the cinema of Mr. Norris. After all, you can't truly talk about his whole career without at least mentioning "Walker."
 

Cordell Walker is a Sergeant in the Texas Rangers, based out of the Dallas/Fort Worth area. His mastery of karate kicks, propensity for taking down crooks personally, and tendency to skirt rules if they get in the way of justice often sees him coming face-to-face with the criminal element and receiving stern lectures from his superior. His cowboy cop ways sees him assigned a partner, in the form of the more technologically inclined James Trivette. He also gets help on cases from attorney Alexandra Cahill and a retired ranger named C.D., whose bar and grill functions as a base of operation of sorts. “One Riot, One Ranger” sees a group of bandits robbing a bank, their leader posing as a blind man to catch security off-guard. One of Walker's old friends is killed in the resulting shoot-outs. Now teamed with Trivette, Walker attempts to hunt down this team of crooks, their sunglasses wearing and nut chomping leader, and the explosive specialist they recruit. Meanwhile, a family of circus entertainers are terrorized by some yahoos, seeking shelter at the home of Walker's Native American uncle, Ray Firewalker.

For whatever merits the idea may have, the pilot of “Walker, Texas Ranger” does a good job of squeezing the Chuck Norris style into the scope and standards of prime time television. The parallels to “Lone Wolf McQuade” are set up early, as the very first scene has Walker crossing the Mexican border to beat up some thieves in a bar. It's a moment that recalls multiple bar room brawls for Chuck before, him decimating the bad guys with spin-punches and roundhouse kicks while croaking cheesy one-liners. There's a surprising amount of shoot-outs in the back half. Also recalling “McQuade” is Walker's fondness for his pick-up truck, which naturally leads to a car chase. There are some explosions too, though of a much more modest level than the pyrotechnics from Norris' Cannon days. While the scope is much smaller, the plot and politics of this would also fit in with Chuck's eighties work. He runs rough-shod over the law to track down some scary brown people. A would-be bomber mentions a connection to Libya, which is treated as sinister. When he's captured, Cordell and his partner have no problem physically intimidating the guy. While the villains are lawless, anti-government types with black tattoos and blacker sunglasses. Clearly, threats such as these necessitate a roundhouse kicking cop who makes the right to remain silent into a sarcastic joke.

 

The “Walker” pilot can't afford the massive fireballs nor allow the bloody squibs of “Lone Wolf McQuade” but this episode shockingly outpaces its inspiration in one regard. As in “McQuade” and a hundred other buddy cop narratives, the loose cannon cop and his by-the-book partner do not get along at first. Unlike most examples, Walker first meets Trevitt as the latter steps out of a swimming pool in nothing but a speedo. The moment is filmed from a low angle, as if to emphasize certain dimensions, and Trevitt wears only this throughout the rest of the scene. During which Walker glares at him skeptically but intently. The moment ends with Cordell sarcastically declaring “I love him,” which can only read as an admission of attraction in the context of what we're actually seeing. A few scenes later, Trevitt chases down and tackles a perp. After which Walker pulls up in his truck and asks – I swear to god, this is real – “Why are you pumping so hard?” Is that really the most heterosexual way he could have asked that question? The two eventually bond over cowboy partnerships of the past, while Trevitt seductively slurps on his juice bottle. The pilot ends with the men leaping into the air together, Trevitt in garish clown make-up. What a pair of queens! I really didn't expect the pilot movie for his long-running cop show to be the queerest thing Norris ever put his brawny, hairy pecs in. 

I doubt Mr. Norris would appreciate the suggestion that any of his characters were acting in a less than strictly heterosexual manner. Walker has belligerent sexual tension with the district attorney lady, who became a series regular, alongside a fairly gratuitous scene of a bank teller asking if he's single or not. That's because, much like “Sidekicks” and the general tone of Norris' work as he took over more control of the writing and production, “Walker, Texas Ranger” is partially an ode to its star's ego. The pilot depicts its title character as always a morally upright and ultimately reasonable man. If he beats the shit out of some guys or shoots somebody, or even momentarily gives into his anger while viciously fighting the episode's main villain, it is always justified. Cordell Walker is not only a bad-ass and a good guy but he's a pillar of the community. The B-plot about Walker providing a place to stay for the traumatized circus performers never connects with the main story about the bank robbers. It seems to be in the film mostly to give Chuck Norris a dramatic monologue about his own childhood trauma, an Emmy moment for the action star if I've ever seen one. Further into the pilot is a C-plot about Walker getting talked into performing at a rodeo for the benefit of some orphaned kids or something. He's such a stand-up guy!

The combination of the questionable ethical perspective of a wild west sheriff getting things done, corny old fashion moralizing, casual homoeroticism and kicking proves rather amusingly surreal. “One Riot, One Ranger” adds another seemingly unrelated ingredient to this stew: Hokey Native American mysticism. At various times in his career, mostly in “Firewalker” and “The Hitman,” Chuck has referenced his supposed Native American lineage. It is part of the self-built mythology of the man. That thread comes to fruition in “Walker,” where the title character is a white boy with an indigenous uncle. He weaves in and out of the episode to sprinkle some exotic flavor here and there. Most notably in a scene where Walker visits his dad's grave and performs some sort of ritual with a cape and feather. It has little to do with the rest of the story but mostly exists to further flesh out the kind of hero this guy is. He is, simultaneously, a defender of law and order and established authority but also closer to the Earth and the Old Ways than your average white man. It's a natural extension of Chuck's mastery of Eastern martial arts, trading Bushido and ninjatsu for chanting and communing with the Earth spirits. (Further episodes of “Walker” would also reveal the hero was a Vietnam veteran, adding yet another layer of mythic American do-goodery to his origin and also making him basically the right-wing Billy Jack.) 

All of the above is wrapped up in a fairly standard mid-nineties television presentation. Surprisingly, “One Riot, One Ranger” was directed by Virgil M. Vogel, a journeyman filmmaker who was close to wrapping up a sixty year career in Hollywood. Vogel got his start as an editor at Universal in the forties, cutting motion pictures like “The Invisible Woman” and “Abbott and Costello Meet the Invisible Man.” His most prestigious work is probably editing “Touch of Evil.” To me, however, Vogel most intrigues as the director of “The Mole People” and “The Land Unknown.” Rather than stick with cheesy sci-fi/monster movies, he would make the leap to television shortly afterwards and that's what he did for most of the rest of his life. In many ways, “One Riot, One Ranger” looks and feels exactly like every other cop show that aired in 1993. At the same time, some cock-eyed camera angles are employed from time to time, adding to the slightly surreal feel the entire presentation has. 

That zone of utterly average, weirdly personal, and the unintentionally hilarious is where this ninety minute pilot resides. See also: The hilariously awkward “as you know” dialogue, such as when Uncle Ray pauses to tell Walker his own backstory early on. Or the extremely odd decision to hide not one but two bombs inside ash trays that are, as far as I can tell, shaped like giant flies. I can't imagine all of this silly bullshit being stretched out for nine whole seasons. However, the premiere of “Walker, Texas Ranger” is suitably ridiculous enough for me to want to watch more of it. Mission accomplished, I suppose. [7/10]

[THE CHUCK OF NORRIS: 4 outta 5]
[X] Facial Hair
[] Jumps or Kicks Through a Window or Wall
[X] Performs Spin Kick or Spin Punch to Enemy's Face
[X] Shows Off His Hairy Chest
[X] Sports Some Cowboy Getup

 

CHUCK'S ROUNDHOUSE: Lone Wolf McQuade (1983)

When you're watching through every leading role in a movie star's career, you inevitably start to think of the actor as the main driving force behind most of the creative decisions. In a case such as Chuck Norris, where audiences are expecting very specific things from his movies, this is probably more true than with a performer that absorbs themselves more in a character. We are here to watch Chuck Norris do Chuck Norris things, not see the versatility of his acting. Accordingly, Mr. Norris did not work with the same directors that often in his earlier credits, most of the filmmakers not having diverse or memorable filmographies of their own. Steve Carver is the exception. A graduate of the Roger Corman school of independent film making, Carver's name is on notable B-movies like “The Arena” and “Big Bad Mama.” He would graduate to slightly classier studio movies with “Capone” and “Drum” before directing “An Eye for an Eye.” Chuck and Carver must have gotten along because the two teamed up again for 1983's “Lone Wolf McQuade.” Back in 1983, it got slightly better reviews than previous Norris joints and remains a favorite among his fans. 

J.J. McQuade is a Texas Ranger in El Paso, a cowboy hat wearing, karate-kicking former Marine who drives a turbo-charged truck, carries a big gun, and doesn't seem to own a shirt that buttons up all the way. His lone wolf attitude brings in the bad guys – frequently in body bags – but has made him unpopular with his commanding officers. McQuade's boss teams him up with Kayo, a younger and more by-the-book highway patrolman. McQuade's teenage daughter is injured after stumbling upon a criminal syndicate smuggling weapons across the border. He reluctantly teams up with Kayo to get to the bottom of the case. A smug, kung fu fighting weapons dealer named Rawley Wilkes is behind the operations. He is muscling into the territory of local crime lord Falcon, prompting an alliance of sorts. McQuade also ends up romancing Rawley's moll, a horse trainer named Lola, making the inevitable confrontation all the more personal when his daughter is kidnapped by the bad guys and he has to go across the border to get her back.

While Bruce Lee or any other martial artist star might seem like the more obvious inspiration, Chuck Norris was always fairly open about what movie star he wanted to be. In interviews promoting “Good Guys Wear Black,” he directly cited Clint Eastwood as his model. “Lone Wolf McQuade” follows that influence to its logical conclusion. The opening credits feature a font not dissimilar to that seen in Sergio Leone's “Dollars” trilogy. Composer Francesco De Masi does a decent Ennio Morricone impression on the soundtrack. Cinematography Roger Shearman invokes Leone's mythic version of the American West in the opening scene, filming Norris behind the midday sun and among the wide, flat Texas deserts.. The movie is a spaghetti western for the eighties. There are Dodge trucks instead of horses and Uzis instead of Winchester rifles but “Lone Wolf McQuade” is still operating in that same mode. It's a hyper-real story of tough men, with stubble and perpetually sweaty faces, hunting down far more ruthless villains in a south-western landscape so barren and topped with rocky structures as to be a fantasy land. 

“Lone Wolf McQuade” is also an action movie from the era when the genre was starting to get more excessive, the pyrotechnics and machismo reaching such a level that it very quickly crossed over into the realm of self-parody. That actually turns out to be a good fit for the spaghetti western aesthetic, which was already a more exaggerated version of traditional American myth making. While Norris' past films were mostly fight movies with some shoot-outs or explosions added here and there, “McQuade” truly ups the ante. The opening sequence has machine gun fire breaking out across the mesas of the desert. A well done stunt involves the action star being dragged behind a moving truck, a sequence that concludes with a fiery explosion. The last act, meanwhile, is an orgy of bullets, flames, and heavy machinery. Norris' movies before this one very much felt like B-movies, lower budget attempts to compete with the big studio spectacles. “Lone Wolf McQuade” is the first time the star seems to be operating on the same level of gloriously overwrought mega-violence as his peers.

Shortly before his death, Steve Carver would do an interview where he admitted that Chuck Norris wasn't much of an actor. He called his performance “mechanical.” It is true that Norris has not always had the most graceful line readings or emotions up to this point. There are a few exchanges in “Lone Wolf McQuade” that come off as fairly stiff. However, the guy had developed a certain presence, which the film definitely capitalizes on. The film sees Norris bonding with “Friday the 13th Part III's” Dana Kimmell as his daughter, the actor convincingly being paternal towards her. It's an interesting note that McQuade's ex-wife is written as still fond of him, their relationship seeming easy-going and relaxed. A way overqualified Barbara Carrera plays his proper love interest. When she cleans his filthy house out, McQuade is annoyed at first but soon tries to do better. This proceeds a very silly but kind of sexy garden hose assisted make-up session. When out at a date in a saloon, Carrera slaps a handsy barfly. Amazingly, McQuade walks away from the conflict here. All of this points towards the secret appeal of Norris as an action star. Despite his tough guy exterior and powerful punches, he's actually kind of a sweetheart. Men want to be him, sure, but also he could be your dad. Women can actually imagine themselves running their hands over his hairy chest, as opposed to the god-like mega-physiques of Arnold or Stallone. 

Chuck's more approachable style of bad-assery did not mean that his films were any less campy than the bigger budget fair coming out at the time. In fact, “Lone Wolf McQuade” is hilariously silly in spots. A key sequence involves McQuade being buried alive in his truck. He does not escape this death trap through quick thinking or any applied skill. Instead, he pours a beer all over himself and revs the engine until the truck explodes out of the earth, sheer boneheaded good ol' boy brute force overcoming the laws of physics. That McQuade is a romantic lead is amusing, considering his sloppy, beer-swilling life style – directly compared to the wolf-dog that is his pet – seems irreconcilable with a feminine touch. (That dog, by the way, gets a far more mournful send-off than a later death scene. Carrera is effortlessly charming in her part but the character is never anything more than a pawn to pass between the hero and villain, woman as accessory to brawny guys.)

What I'm saying is this is Chuck's gayest movie since “Breaker! Breaker!” Despite being a lone wolf, McQuade's most important bonds are with the other guys in the movie. He has a mentor relationship with L.Q. Jones as an older cowboy cop. Despite initially being antagonistic towards him, in buddy cop movie fashion, McQuade and Kayo becomes partners before the end. The final scene even sees Kayo pulling the hero's attention away from his ex-wife and daughter, inviting him to leave the women behind and play with the boys. Before his final dual with the bad guy, McQuade removes his belt. Obviously, this is a hero and villain setting their fire arms aside to have a fair fight but it's seemingly deliberately framed as a prelude to a distinctly different type of wrestling. “Lone Wolf” is hilariously adrift with hyper-macho imagery. McQuade is usually seen with an oversized phallic firearm of some sort. A memorable moment has him pushing another vehicle out of a ditch with his Supercharger, after the other drivers besmirch his attitude, as if this is some truck-on-truck alpha wolf domination thing. That's not the only example of mechanical frottage in the film either. The dialogue is also littered with repeated references to the manly posterior. When McQuade's sidekick blasts a bad guy and says he “never forgets an asshole,” I'm sure it's supposed to be a tough one-liner but the implication struck me as slightly different. And it should go without saying that Chuck is topless for most of the film. This cowboy doesn't tuck in his shirt, no sir. 

As all of the above should indicate, this is not a motion picture of any degree of realism. “A Force of One,” “An Eye for an Eye,” and “Silent Rage” would all draw some attention to its protagonist overstepping the boundaries of law enforcement. You'd see Chuck turning in his badge before going full vigilante or attempting to visibly restrain himself before utilizing lethal force. That's not a problem for J.J. McQuade, who is blasting bad guys from the first scene on. A key moment has him capturing a key witness before L.Q. Jones tortures him by nearly shooting him several times. The last act has McQuade deliberately ignoring the laws of the land to cross the border and take on the weapon smugglers personally. He has the approval of the FBI in doing this. While R.G. Armstong as the captain chastises McQuade for his cowboy coppery, he is ultimately only rewarded for his extra-judicial actions. That was another sign we were well and truly in the eighties now. Harry Callahan would make a show of tossing his star away, acknowledging that he had broken the law in his pursuit of fascistic “justice.” J.J. McQuade doesn't give a shit about that and neither would Marion Cobretti, Martin Riggs, John McClane, or Jack Slater. Thus was the ethos of Ronald Reagan's “might makes right” administration. 

 

None of which is meant as a criticism. One must acknowledge the ridiculous perspective of films like this before being able to embrace them as the campy fantasies they are. On that level, “Lone Wolf McQuade” is effortlessly entertaining. The finale is an orgy of destruction, bazooka and bulldozer included, that repeatedly tops itself in terms of destruction. The climax is a showdown between Norris and David Carradine, a title bout between two of the icons of white boy kung-fu. Amusingly, Chuck would supposedly later be quoting as saying, “David Carradine is every bit the martial artist as I am an actor.” This is an astute, self-aware observation but I will say that Carradine can more convincingly throw a kick here than in his Kwai Chang Caine days. Carradine plays Rawley like a slithering snake of a bad guy, all slick self-confidence. His gold chain and polo shirt paints him as a deliberately different type of masculine verve than McQuade's sweaty, rugged cowboy machismo. Another campy touch is Falcon, the story's other gangster, being a dwarf. That too is a touch that feels more Sergio Leone than John Ford. 
 

In other words, “Lone Wolf McQuade” is absolute cinema. It takes all the goofy touches of Norris' earlier films and pairs them with a more self-assured sense of campy artifice. When Chuck does a slow-mo jump kick to a wooden target, it's a deliberate declaration that this shit is as awesome as it is silly. All the varied influences of Norris' self-image come together here, in a miasma of martial arts, western imagery, reactionary politics, and rascally redneck charm. I guess we are missing some New Age Native American mysticism or Born Again Christianity nonsense – two elements that Chuck would add when essentially recycling the film's premise for “Walker, Texas Ranger” – but the film has enough dudesweat and fireballs to make up for that. Take a beer bath yourself and give this one a spin, preferably on an over-rented VHS tape in the back of a shitty trailer, with the A/C howling against the scorching heat of the Texas summer night. [9/10]

[THE CHUCK OF NORRIS: 5 outta 5]
[X] Facial Hair
[X] Jumps or Kicks Through a Window or Wall
[X] Performs Spin Kick or Spin Punch to Enemy's Face
[X] Shows Off His Hairy Chest
[X] Sports Some Cowboy Getup

CHUCK'S ROUNDHOUSE: Breaker! Breaker! (1977)

If you are reading these words, I probably don't have to explain any of the following. Indulge me, please: Rising oil prices in the seventies led to the U.S. government enforcing a national speed limit of 55 miles-per-hour. This was very unpopular with long haul truckers, under strict deadlines to make big deliveries. The drivers would employ citizen band radio to inform each other of where to find the best prices, how to avoid the highway patrol, and other such things truckers would need to know. Rather unexpectedly, this would make truck drivers, of all professions, cool. These blue collar workers were now anti-establishment types, sticking it to the man and fighting the powers that be. Or maybe it was just because of the goofy trucker's slang used over CB air waves, full of baffling jargon specifically designed to confuse authorities, began to penetrate into the wider culture. It then, essentially, became the seventies version of a modern meme. Today, the kids say “Six seven!” Fifty years ago, they said “Ten four!” The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Also much like today, the ever opportunistic entertainment industry figured they could make a little money off the latest stupid fad. The pioneer of this new trucker-sploitation movement was a very silly, very catchy song performed by the mascot from a series of bread commercials. A blockbuster film franchise and a semi-popular TV show would follow in C.W. McCall's exhaust. However, plenty of low budget also-rans and sleazy knock-offs were also there to feed America's newfound appetite for big rigs. Filmmakers already catering to drive-in audiences with B-movies about rednecks and good ol' boys were more than happy to include a truck or two to take advantage of what was hot at the moment. 

Enter: Chuck Norris. The karate pro would claim, years later, that he had been offered other martial arts movies since getting kicked in the face by Bruce Lee. He turned them all down because, quote, he "wanted to do films that had a story and where the action would take place when it is emotionally right." Surely, the directorial debut of the composer of "They Saved Hitler's Brain!" would provide the kind of story-driven, emotionally nuanced film making Chuck was looking for with his star debut. Whatever the reason behind its production, "Breaker! Breaker!" would roll out into theaters two months before "Smokey and the Bandits" went into wide release. It was the right time and place, the low budget flick making a sturdy little profit and proving that Chuck could carry a whole motion picture on his burly, hairy shoulders.

When not practicing meditation, getting into bar room brawls, or perfecting that sweet Laurel canyon sound, J.D. Dawes is a truck driver by trade. He loans his little brother, Billy, his truck and lets him have a go at the family business. Billy is led by a deceptive C.B. broadcast into the obscure town of Texas City, California. Ruled over by the eccentric Judge Trimmings, whose maniacal whims are enforced by an alcoholic town sheriff, the village extorts and harasses any villages that pass through its boundaries. When Billy tries to escape, he's held captive. J.D. heads out in his van with a bitchin' eagle painted on the side in search of his brother. He tracks the trail to Texas City, where a local shoots the tires out of his vehicle. On his quest to rescue his brother, J.D. uncovers the criminal activities the town authorities are running and seeks to free those forced to live under their rule with all the spin punches and high kicks he can muster.

While “Breaker! Breaker!” was obviously trying to capitalize on the seventies trucker fad, the film is actually a weird-ass fusion of several different genres that were prominent in grindhouses and drive-ins. The film is set mostly in California. However, the sweaty faces, greasy overalls, poor dental hygiene, and exaggerated accents of the locals bring the deep south to mind. The antagonistic residents of Texas City – which, aside from the judge and the cop, include a wild-eyed mechanic swinging a tire iron – are clearly cut from the same cloth as the bucktoothed, inbred attackers of “Deliverance” and its many imitators. The narrative, of civilized outsiders stumbling into some savage hick town, brings these kind of killer redneck stories to mind. 

However, these kind of good ol' boys are also the heroes of the story. J.D. also meets an ambiguously mentally disabled younger brother of one of the locals, who also speaks with a stutter and is extremely friendly in that childish manner that typically characterizes patronizing depictions such as these. JD also shacks up with a local single mom. An earlier scene has our hero playfully participating in bar room brawls and getting pointers from his wild-eyed, cowboy hat wearing pal. (Played by none other than Jack Nance!) In its last half-hour, “Breaker! Breaker!” remembers its supposed to be a trucker movie. J.D. calls in his long-haulin' friends to smash their 18-wheelers through the buildings, vehicles, and armaments of Texas City's corrupt authorities. It's a joyful explosion of mayhem, scored to hillbilly banjo music and the inanest of inane C.B. radio chatter. This inexplicably makes “Breaker! Breaker!” both flavors of hicksploitation, in which the simple country folk are both hostile freaks attacking outsiders and underclass anti-heroes striking back at the cops, lawmen, and all other enforcers of the system that oppress them. 

This does not represent the end of “Breaker! Breaker!'s” eccentric mixing of genres. Judge Trimmings dresses like Boss Hogg but behaves almost like a cult leader, enrapturing his followers with his words and shouting condemnation at his enemies. You wouldn't have to change much to turn this into a horror movie, of weirdo backwoods rednecks sacrificing outsiders unlucky enough to stumble into their territory. Obviously, the story of a lone hero wandering into a beleaguered town to clear out the corrupt boss in control recalls “A Fistful of Dollars.” The climax even zooms in on Chuck's eyes, like he's in a Sergio Leone movie. Said climax is also a one-on-one showdown between the hero and villain, with roundhouse kicks and a broken liquor bottle standing in for six-shooters. This also draws attention to how the ramshackle wooden sets look like a western ghost back lot. 

That final fight, by the way, ends with a freeze frame of a horse leaping over a face. It is a melodramatically shot moment, that seemingly has little connection to both this specific scene and the movie around it. Which points towards the most endearing thing about “Breaker, Breaker!” It's fucking goofy. Trimmings is played by experienced character actor George Murdock, who invests the villain with far more sinister intent and diabolic style than the material called for. He also randomly quotes Shakespeare and seems to be having some sort of puppet-based romantic role play with a doll-obsessed woman in town. This plays out against ridiculous images like Chuck's shaggin' wagon, a number of underwhelmingly choreographed vehicle chases, or a random redneck emerging to fight Chuck with a pitch fork. The film somehow manages to repeatedly top itself in terms of silly bullshit and I, for one, welcome that. 

The one thing “Breaker! Breaker!” never quite feels like is a martial arts movie, perhaps solidifying Norris' claim that he chose the project because it wasn't a mindless fight flick. Don't think that means there aren't plenty of high kicks and punches here. The script seems to inject an excuse for Chuck to fight some guys about every fifteen minutes, no matter how out-of-place it might seem. This builds to a joyously silly extended sequence midway through the film, where Norris battles his way through a succession of rednecks after the other. Though this was only his first starring role, J.D. Dawes does seem to be the prototypical Chuck Norris hero in many ways. He's a soft-spoken guy who is seemingly found by violent circumstances, rather than seeking them out. Though Chuck never puts on a cowboy hat or boots, his character undeniably has that kind of rustic, western hero energy. This stands at odds with his embracing of Asian mysticism. In fact, the character seems to be teaching zen yoga techniques to some of the random rednecks he meets at a truck stop before using his meditation skills to, seemingly, heal a wound later in the film. He's a cowboy, a karate master, a mystic and a warrior monk all at once.

He's also, like many heroes played by Norris and others, kind of gay. J.D. gets a female love interest and an implied romantic night with her, sure. At the same time, his need to find his little brother is what motivates the entire plot. To the point that he has traumatic nightmares about losing the boy. When he finally does rescue Billy, he softly caresses the kid's face before pulling him into an embrace I thought for sure was going to turn into a kiss. The bond between the two is also introduced with some on-the-ground, in-the-dirt roughhousing, that ends with both of their blue jean clad asses up in the air. Maybe these two are brothers in more of a communal sense, if you get my meaning. That's when you notice the contrast between muscular, hirsute Norris and the smaller, skinnier, hairless Terry O'Conner as the brother, making me wonder how in on the joke the producers were. Who knows what kind of stuff two strapping bucks might get up to during those long, lonely nights on the road? 

In other words, I went into “Breaker! Breaker!” expecting a standard seventies redneck car chase movie that starred Cordell Walker in the fetal stages of his career. Basically, “Convoy” but with Chuck Norris kicking people intermittently inserted. While that isn't an entirely inaccurate description of the film, it's also much wackier than I expected. This is the kind of fast and loose B-movie the seventies ran on, where the audience never misses the feeling that the filmmakers would randomly make up a new set piece every day. I mean that as a compliment, as it lends the motion picture a giddy, unhinged quality that makes it ridiculously entertaining for its entire runtime. The MST3k boys riffed on it recently for a RiffTrax special but I honestly can't imagine the film being funnier or sillier than it already is. In other words, quality drive-in entertainment. Zack says check it out. [9/10]

 

[THE CHUCK OF NORRIS: 3 outta 5]
[] Facial Hair
[X] Jumps or Kicks Through a Window or Wall
[X] Performs Spin Kick or Spin Punch to Enemy’s Face
[X] Shows Off His Hairy Chest
[] Sports Some Cowboy Getup

 

OSCARS 2026: Train Dreams (2025)

Ah, is there any prize in the literary world more treasured than the Pulitzer? I mean, probably. But is there any literary prize with more name recognition than the Pulitzer? The Newbery Medal might be close but I’m going to say “no.” No Pulitzer for Fiction was not awarded in 2012, presumably on account of the world ending, but among the nominees was Denis Johnson’s novella “Train Dreams.” Being able to slap “Almost won a Pulitzer” on the cover of your book surely improved Johnson’s sales. Now, more than a decade later, the prestige film adaptation of Johnson’s work has arrived. After being nominated for an Oscar for his screenplay for “Sing Sing,” Clint Bentley has both written and directed the cinematic “Train Dreams.” It has also caught the Academy’s attention, earning nods for Best Picture, Adapted Screenplay, and Original Song in this year’s line-up. 

In the early years of the 20th century, Robert Grainier arrives in Bonners Ferry, Idaho. He grows up into a quiet, average man. In time, he meets a woman named Gladys, believing he’s finally found his purpose in life with her. They marry, build a cabin, and have a daughter named Kate. Robert is often away from Gladys and Kate for long stretches of time, at his job clearing the forest for the in-coming railway lines. He meets many interesting and odd men in this time, including the observant eccentric Arn Peeples, and witnesses the changing tide of history. Like when a Chinese rail worker is thrown from a bridge by racist coworkers, an incident that haunts Robert. After the end of the economic boom period of World War I, Robert and Gladys attempt to restart before a wild fire destroys the cabin and seemingly takes the man’s wife and daughter from him. He persists in the woods, often living as a hermit, wrestling with his ever-present grief and continuing to watch the natural world and the changing society around it.

Bentley – whose work also includes an overlooked indie drama about the decadent and depraved lifestyles of jockeys – has sighted Terrence Malick as an influence on “Train Dreams.” Which is about as obvious a connection as can be noted. Much like Malick’s most well known work, “Train Dreams” is a quiet story about observing human life amid a vast and beautiful but pitiless natural world. The sprawling woods of Idaho in the early 1900s is made of towering trees that seemingly stretch on in all direction. Robert and his family, friends, and co-workers often appear as small figures amid these colossuses. Sometimes, a random tree limb falling from above or some other accident will take a man’s life. Because work must always continue, nothing but a quick burial, a short sermon, and a pair of boots nailed to a tree can follow. While the natural world is seemingly indifferent to the lives of those who come and go from this place, small signs of their existence remain. Such as Robert’s memories of them. This depicts “Train Dreams’” quiet but hard-to-resist insistence on one of the great contradictions of being but a frail mortal human. Our little lives do not matter, in the massive stretch of history, and yet they are also somehow the most important things to exist. 

I honestly think “Train Dreams” invokes this idea a little better than the last few Malick movies I’ve seen. Primarily because it never forgets the little insignificant bug at the center of the story, who contains a universe within. “Train Dreams’” story stretches on for a period of eighty years, tracking its protagonist’s entire life. You wouldn’t expect a hermit living out in the woods to have much of a perspective on history. Despite that, “Train Dreams” does quietly track the way industrial development completely altered human life. After the death of his wife and daughter, Robert attempts to return to logging, only to see that rougher men with chainsaws have taken over the job. During the climatic montage, he observes an airplane, a movie theater, and a televised report on the man going into outer space. A key line has one of Robert’s elders, the kind of role he ages into in time, point out that the logging industry will eventually run out of trees to cut down if they keep up at this pace. Others dismiss this observation but it is, of course, inevitably true. 

Robert’s position as a simple man in a rapidly changing time gives him perspectives on other things too. Early on in the film, he recalls the incident of a Chinese worker being seemingly murdered by a group of his coworkers. (In the book, he participates in this act, making his guilt over it much more understandable.) This is a symptom of the anti-Asian sentiment common in the decades after the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882. Robert doesn’t even know if the man who was probably killed was Chinese exactly. During his time in the woods, he also sees a fellow logger shot to death by a black man, avenging the murder of his brother but the same white worker. All of this seems to suggest that racism was still very much a part of the American landscape despite all the technological progress being made during this time. A potent and sad fact about this country. 

While you can argue about how important or thoughtful any of the things “Train Dreams” is doing exactly are, I was wrapped up in the film for possibly a far more shallow reason. There’s something very irresistibly cozy about this motion picture. Robert’s life is one full of hardship and sorrow, especially once those he loves are taken from him. However, those years with Gladys and Kate are joyous ones, of peaceful understanding that only comes around once in a life time. Later, Robert adopts a stray wolf-dog that wanders into his cabin. There is something to be said for the experience of being a forest hermit, hanging out in the middle of nowhere with your love or your dogs. “Train Dreams” goes out of its way to make this as absorbing an experience as possible. Adolpho Veloso’s cinematography is gorgeous, sweeping and large and also as intimate and candle-lit as the material demands. Will Patton’s quiet narration, some of which taken directly from the page, lulls you into a peaceful state of mind. Joel Edgerton’s performance is one of interiority, a man who holds his stormy emotions within. And, hey, here’s William H. Macy as a folksy, wisdom spewing logger who wanders into the story briefly. Excellent use of Mr. Macy. 

In fact, “Train Dreams” had me asking some interesting questions about myself. Such as what I would have ended up doing if I was alive during this point in time. Maybe I liked the movie so much primarily because I saw something of myself in Robert Grainier, an unassuming fella with a lot of thoughts in his head. If born into the same time and place as him, I suspect I would have ended up as a naturalist too, cataloging all the different types of mushrooms or caterpillars or some such thing within the woods. That’s the kind of thing a dork like me would’ve done before computers or comic books were invented. Anyway, I liked this one. Needed more of the wolf man imagery from the book, of howling in defiance against the shadows consuming everything, which is weirdly sidelined for the most part. It remains an expertly made film that worms its way into your mind. [8/10]

Halloween 2024: September 10th

Infested (2023)

Vermines

I've been in the online horror fandom long enough to see Bloody Disgusting survive a few controversies, maintaining its status as the biggest horror news site on the internet. I still check it a couple times a week. I recall, about a year ago, hearing about an upcoming French film that would derive its terror from using real spiders as much as possible. Immediately, I was intrigued. "Vermines" – good title – would win strong reviews in its native France, quickly getting picked up for U.S. distribution by Shudder. Retitled "Infested" – mediocre title – the film hit the streaming service back in April. Say what you will about the internet-based nature of companies like Bloody Disgusting or Shudder. At least they publicize and release films like these, which otherwise might go unnoticed in the U.S. 

The film follows Kaleb, a young man living in the slums of Paris. He resides in a rundown apartment, his sister attempting to repair it while Kaleb does his best to make a living selling sneakers. He also collects reptiles and exotic insects. Kaleb buys a rare spider and brings it back home, unaware that the species is extremely venomous. This species also burrows inside living flesh to lay its eggs, each rapidly born new generation of arachnids growing bigger in response to the threats around them. Soon, the eight-legged predators have taken over the entire building. The police respond by locking the doors, trapping the tenets inside. Now, Kaleb, his friends and family must fight to survive like never before. 

I don't know how much "Vermines'" early promise that it would use real spiders held true. A lot of the creepy crawlers looked CGI to me. Nevertheless, the film still has an acute understanding of why so many people are arachnophobes. A key moment in the film has a horde of web weavers exploding out of a shower drain, while an even bigger example dangles outside the glass door. Another notable moment pans inside a ventilation shaft, showing it absolutely filled with the bugs. I try not to squish spiders, usually scooping them up in a cup and setting them free. (A ritual characters in this film attempt several times.) But when one randomly scampers down on a thread into my face... It's a disquieting experience. "Vermines" manages to blow that anxiety up as big as possible, forcing its heroes to slip through a web-entombed hallway, the spindle-legged beasties near inches from their face. The fear of sticking your foot in a shoe, only to feel a painful sting and see a brown recluse or black widow crawl out, is apparently a universal fear. "Infested" truly didn't have to make its deadly arthropods Xenomorph-like parasites or have them grow to the size of a Dobermans to make them scary. The sensation of wandering into an undetected web face first, knowing a venomous creeper might be near-by, is uncomfortable enough. 

However, the choice to have the silk-spinning antagonists germinate in living tissue and continuously double in size does make sure "Infested" is always escalating the threat. (It also keeps the film from being merely a dark and gritty remake of "Arachnophobia.") Director Sébastien Vaniček and cinematographer Alexandre Jamin manage to create some tense scenarios. The camera often gets into the tight spaces with the characters, and the spiders, emphasizing how little space is between them. The apartment complex is uniformly dark and dusty, the spiders making an already unwelcoming location more hostile. A frenzied race down a staircase or a struggle over a door is well orchestrated, giving a fitting sense of chaos without ever becoming visually incoherent. The finale, set in the parking garage where the spiders have grown to their biggest size yet, recalls the close-quarters combat of "Aliens." The film also understands the eeriness of bodily invasion, mining chills out of calm shots of spiders creeping out of mouths or under the skin. 

"Infested" is not only a creature feature though. The film takes enough time to grow its characters before pushing them into this life-threatening situation. Theo Christine is really good as Kaleb. He's struggling to establish his independence, in a world that is stacked against him. He's having a hard time but he rarely lets it get him down. Christine manages to create a protagonist that is well aware of his challenging life but still projects a warm, good-natured quality. I also really like how much he genuinely cares for his bugs and lizards, and how much he knows about them, the film casually having its hero be a biology nerd without making it the whole of his personality. Christine also has strong chemistry with Sofia Lesaffre, as his sister Lila, and Jérôme Niel, as his brother Mathys. The film manages to get the viewer invested in whether these characters survive but also in their bond with each other. A key moment in the last third generated a surprising amount of emotion. 

There's a reason why I think the original French title is better than what was chosen for the U.S. release. "Vermines" doesn't refer exclusively to the spiders. The residents of this apartment complex are largely people of color. Kaleb and his family are a mixture of black and Caucasian. Many of their neighbors are immigrants from Africa. One of the first residents we meet is a quiet Chinese woman. This group is already on the outskirts of a society eager to discard and blame them before the spiders attack. They face racism from within, a resident accusing Kaleb of selling drugs or somehow being at fault for the spiders. When the police show up, they surely don't make things better. Their strategy is to quarantine the building and let the problem sort itself out, the low-status residents being treated as totally disposable. Society at large treats both the poor and spiders as vermin that must be stomped out. Like the families in the apartment, the arachnids simply want to survive. Repeated references are made to Darwin and evolution, to this idea that living things must fight to propagate. In the finale, when the spiders go nuts on the police force, it's cathartic as much as it is intense. The white upper-class don't want the poor, immigrants, or ethnic people living in this city. Yet they have a right to survive as much as any other living thing and will defend themselves from extermination, much the same way the spiders do. I'm not French so specific cultural references are lost on me – though the use of words like quarantine and people wearing masks brings the COVID pandemic to mind – but many of these themes are sadly universal. 

In that sense, "Infested" plays a lot like 2019's "Les Miserables," a social drama about racism and class conflict in modern Paris, but with a boatload of killer spiders added. (Lesaffre appeared in both.) Clearly, any Oscar-nominated indie drama can be improved with giant bugs. "Vermines" makes great use of its web-weaving monsters, causing the skin to crawl with more than one fantastically organized sequence. A strong ensemble of actors and a story with a noticeable emotional heart, alongside the grittiness of its setting, makes this a spider thriller of an especially high standard. Vaniček has been hand-picked to direct one of two upcoming new "Evil Dead" movies. While joining such a beloved franchise is a tall order for any young filmmakers, based on the strengths of "Vermines," I think the director has what it takes. [8/10]

Sundown: The Vampires in Retreat (1989)

Low-budget filmmakers have always been attracted to the idea of the vampire. The bloodsucking undead are among the most iconic of all folkloric monsters, well known in every culture and always ripe for reinvention and variation. In no doubt an amazing coincidence, vampires are also among the cheapest of the classic monster archetypes to bring to life. All you really need is some fangs to glue into your actor's mouths and you're ready to go. However, vampires are also generally nocturnal, which presents its own challenge for low budget filmmakers: Night shoots are a pain in the ass. In 1989, filmmaker Anthony Hickox would think of a novel solution to this persistent problem. His off-beat vampire western “Sundown: The Vampire in Retreat” features bloodsuckers in sunscreen, black-tint glasses, and wide-brim hats as they wander around the Utah desert. It is, if nothing else, an idea few other filmmakers have dared to try. 

“Sundown” is set in the desert community of Purgatory, a former mining town that has now become a refuge for vampires. Led by Count Mardulak, the town was founded with the goal of vampires peacefully co-existing alongside humanity. Dr. David Harrison and his family – wife Sarah, daughters Gwen and Juliet – are invited to Purgatory to help work on an artificial blood substitute. Living in the town is Sarah's college ex-boyfriend, Shane, who still harbors an obsession with her. He's also one of the vampires in town who are against Mardulak's goal of integration. Led by Jefferson, they plan to overthrow Mardulak and wage war on humanity. The arrival of Van Helsing's descendent, Robert, pushes the two factions towards an inevitable confrontation.

“Sundown: The Vampire in Retreat” – boy, that's an awkward title, isn't it? – was Anthony Hickox's second feature film. This follows “Waxwork,” a movie I like despite it being little more a loose collection of special effects set-pieces. That film gave the impression of a hyperactive teenager making a movie, throwing every idea he had in without worrying too much about narrative coherence. “Sundown” has a similar feeling, filling its time, not with a gallery of different monsters, but a confluence of subplots. An elderly vamp kills a coked-up passer-by, getting tossed into jail next to two young campers who happen to be there. Way more time than is necessary is devoted to David and Shane's rivalry over Sarah. Van Helsing has a Will-They?/Won't-They? with a blonde vampire waitress. There's more too, scenes making room for a Jamaican sheriff and a pair of German shop owners. Hickox barely bothers to connect most of these plot points, “Sundown” feeling like half a dozen different stories randomly shoved against each other. It's almost impressive how little Van Helsing's subplot, for one example, has to do with the Harrison family drama. Or when the film pauses to introduce two totally new characters, a pair of New Wave swingers, that never appear again. 

This is not to say that “Sundown's” chaotic plotting doesn't lead to some fun sequences. A sequence where Shane turns into a stop-motion bat and flies into Sarah's bedroom, attempting to seduce her, is fun. As is a sequence where some bloodsuckers in a cave transform into giant bat monsters. Any movie that ends with a whole horde of vampires exploding can't not be sort of fun. Much like Hickox's “Waxwork” movies, “Sundown” does end in a massive action sequence. The bad vampires arm themselves with wooden bullets, starting a full-blown revolt against the peaceful vampires. The shoot-outs and horse chases are fun at first but do start to go on a little too long before the end.

Ultimately, what really ends up saving “Sundown” is a colorful cast. Bruce Campbell plays Van Helsing as a constantly frustrated nerd, whose reactions get increasingly oversized as the movie goes on. In other words, it's the kind of hammy goofiness we expect from Bruce. David Carradine plays Mardulak, especially having fun gunslinging at the end or giving an impassionate speech to the village. M. Emmet Walsh steals a few scenes as Mort, the grouchy vampire who runs the gas station, while John Ireland makes for a decent villain as Jefferson. “Twin Peaks'” Dana Ashbrooke, George “Buck” Flower, and Sunshine Parker also appear. It's a good thing the supporting cast is so colorful, as the principal players are extremely bland. Maxwell Caulfield is totally unconvincing as an antagonist, playing Shane as a petulant bully. Jim Metzler isn't much better as David, his bruised masculine ego making him seem especially wimpy. 

Like Hickox's other movies, “Sundown” also feels like a weird fusion of kid-friendly nonsense and edgier material. One of the daughters is a budding monster kid and the two girls get into some mischievous adventures. This co-exists alongside dialogue about orgasms, an attempted sexual assault, cocaine jokes, and an on-screen decapitation. The result is a movie that probably could've been a lot of fun, in the hands of a director that could focus on one element for more than ten minutes. In the hands of hyperactive Hickox, “The Vampire in Retreat” has a handful of amusing moments packed inside an incredibly uneven mold. In the canon of late eighties/early nineties horror/comedies set in the desert, it ranks far below “Tremors” and “Highway to Hell.” Fans of Campbell and Carradine should, at the very least, watch their scenes. The movie's box office failure is what officially killed Vestron. It surely wasn't worth that but I don't regret watching the whole thing either. [6/10]

One Step Beyond: The Confession

By the second half of the third season of “One Step Beyond,” host/creator John Newland felt like the show was running out of supposedly true stories of the paranormal to dramatize. This prompted a move to England, where the program would recruit a number of faces familiar to genre fans. Such as in “The Confession.” It tells the story of former barrister Harvey Lawrence, who rants everyday in Hyde Park. On the eve of his appointment to judgehood, Lawrence presented evidence that condemned a man to the gallows. The night before, a woman claiming to be the supposedly murdered wife appeared to Lawrence and left her handwriting on a piece of paper. Eager to confirm his judge's robes, Harvey went ahead with the conviction anyway. That is when the paper proving he sentenced an innocent man to death begins to follow him everywhere.

Despite Newland's claim that every episode of “One Step Beyond” was thoroughly researched, the series depicted folk tales and urban legends more often than not. “The Confession” certainly feels like the kind of ghost story that has circulated over the years. A haughty man, in pursuit of advancing his professional standing, dooms an innocent to death. He is then punished for his crime by supernatural intervention, eventually robbed of his high status in life and his sanity. As if “The Confession” could be any more archetypal, it also features Harvey Lawrence's hair going white from the shock of these events. This is a classical structure, of otherworldly forces spreading out justice that the real world so often evades. Like all myths, it brings with it a moral message: Never put your own glory before the truth. 

This makes “The Confession” essentially another variation on “The Tell Tale Heart,” the inescapable letter clinging to the barrister being a manifestation of his own guilt. What really makes this episode worth seeking out is that it stars Donald Pleasence. In his early scenes, Pleasence plays the barrister as a totally reasonable man. When confronted with the facts, he logically burns the evidence. As the note drifts back to him each time, he slowly starts to loose his mind. This climaxes in a wonderfully entertaining scene, where Pleasence wanders the courtroom and is haunted by the echoes of the trial. Few actors were as gifted as depicting a seemingly stately authority figure cracking up into raving madness as well as Pleasence. This episode is as low budget and static as any “One Step Beyond.” By this point in the series' life, at least Newman had finally develop some panache as a host. His final line seals the deal. Still, I wonder if this show might have made a bigger impact on pop culture if something with a real flair for the dramatic, like Pleasence, had been its host... [7/10]

The Addams Family: The Addams Family Goes to School

Over the previous two Halloween marathons, I watched and reviewed the original run of “The Munsters.” Of course, Herman and Lily’s brood were not America’s First Family of Fright. The creators of “The Munsters” would eventually admit that the show was an imitator of “The Addams Family.” Charles Addams’ macabre, grotesque, yet strangely wholesome illustrations had been appearing in The New Yorker since the thirties. In the early sixties, NBC executive David Levy approached Addams about transforming his strips into a television series. Debuting in 1963, this program would give “The Addams Family” their names and further define their personalities. With its insanely catchy theme song, the series would make Gomez and the gang pop culture icons, resurrected in various forms over the decades. I’m very familiar with later iterations of the Addamses, growing up loving Barry Sonnenfeld’s two feature film adaptation. However, I’m ashamed to admit I’ve only seen a little bit of the original show. Well, after conquering the “Munsters,” I think it’s time I take a deep dive into the original morbid sitcom.

The debut episode, “The Addams Family Goes to School,” begins with truant officer Mr. Hiliard visiting the titular family’s home. He informs them that their children, Wednesday and Pugsley, have never attended a single day of school. Hiliard is introduced – and quickly horrified – by the family’s macabre habits. Nevertheless, the visit does encourage Gomez and Morticia to enroll their children at a local school. After her first day there, Wednesday returns home, crying. A story about a knight slaying a dragon upset her… Because the dragon died. Concerned about what their kids are being taught, Gomez and Morticia confront Mr. Hiliard back to their house, where he’s typically terrorized again.

“The Addams Family Goes to School” has a really smart structure for a first episode. By following a quote-unquote “normal” person into the Addams’ household, we get an introduction to every character and their world. Key characteristics for each member of the family are established right away. Gomez loves crashing his toy trains. Morticia is usually in her garden of headless roses and strangling plants. Wednesday carries her headless Marie Antoinette doll around and raises spiders, while Pugsley is fond of his pet octopus. Towering, droning Lurch is always summoned by ringing a thunderous gong. Uncle Fester and Grandmama pass the time by playing “darts” – tossing knives – and other games. Later, we see Fester’s light bulb trick. Upon entering the Addams home, Hiliard gasps at the unorthodox decorations, shown to the audience in quick succession. Basically, from the very first episode, “The Addams Family” had a keen idea of who these characters were. All the trademarks are in place, right from the beginning.

The primary jokes of “The Munsters” were the family of monsters loving spooky, creepy things usually loathed by average people and the normals reacting in shock to the family’s habit. “The Addams Family” has plenty of this too. Any time Gomez or Morticia mentioned something typically thought of as ghastly – spider and lizard cookies or a visit to the rack – it’s soon to be quickly followed by a positive rejoinder. Meanwhile, the episode concludes with a rapid-fire series of gags of Hiliard getting shocked by more morbid assumptions. However, the writing is a little sharper at times too. The trappings of the home are more surreal, such as a painting of a giraffe in a tux or a sweater with three arms. There’s a fantastic gag of Hiliard walking into a closet, when he meant to leave a room. Gomez’ enthusiastic conversation about torture methods with a school secretary shows normal people can relate to the Addams too. It’s not cutting edge humor but it’s a reliable source of comedy nevertheless.

“The Addams Family Goes to School” further establishes its iconic characters by showing off a cast born to play these roles. John Astin’s mischievous grins, unhinged eyes, and way with quick one-liners immediately shows what a manic, eccentric character this is. His wild energy is balanced out by Carolyn Jones as Morticia, whose soft sensuality and maternal warmth contrasts with the character’s gothic trappings. The two have such an immediate chemistry, the obvious love and passion the characters have for one another leaping off the screen. Ted Cassidy’s Lurch is a fabulously stiff straight man. Lisa Loring’s Wednesday is a bright-eyed, adorable little girl who also loves the macabre. It might take me a while to warm up to screechy voiced Jackie Coogan as Uncle Fester, though I do like the scene of him with a pet lizard. In other words, “The Addams Family” gets off to a good start with an amusing debut that packs in the jokes. [7/10]