Welcome to the film-related musings, complaints, and comments of Zack Clopton, an amateur film-critic, scholar, and screenwriter. Featured here are Director's Report Cards, essays, and other reviews. Enjoy!
Last of the Monster Kids
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1948 would see the release of “The Naked City.” While it seems unlikely to me that this was the first movie to feature two mismatched cops investigating a crime together, influential filmmakers like Akira Kurosawa, Norman Jewison, and Walter Hill have all cited it as an inspiration. Hill's 1982 hit “48 Hrs." would prove that the premise could be a major box office winner. The producer of that film later made the similar “Lethal Weapon,” which was an even bigger success. After that, the buddy cop formula became inescapable in the eighties and nineties. To the point that increasingly higher concept variations arose. Such as: What if one of the cops was a dog? That seemingly improbable premise powered two separate movies in 1989. “Turner & Hooch” and “K-9" were mostly distinguished by whether the human or the dog were the straight-laced one or the wild card. “Turner & Hooch” was co-written by Michael Blodgett, who wrote the novel that became the Chuck Norris vehicle, “Hero and the Terror.” In what surely must be a coincidence, Chuck Norris would also headline a film with a nearly identical premise to Blodgett's cop dog movie five years later. “Top Dog” represented the action star's extremely late entry into this sub-sub-genre.
Sgt. Swanson and his loyal mutt, Reno, are on the trail of a white supremacist sect that has been planting bombs around their city. Swanson tracks down the group responsible, both him and Reno getting a bullet for their troubles. Reno pulls through but his person does not. Later, loose cannon cop Jake Wilder is assigned the same case. Which means he is also paired up with Reno. The cop and the dog do not get along at first, the man bothered by the canine's seemingly smart-ass attitude. However, they soon close in on the Neo-Nazi terrorists behind the bombings. They quickly come into possession of a notebook that contains the list of targets the racist sect intends to explode next. Such as the upcoming Coalition for Racial Unity, a high profile gathering attended by several prominent public figures. Cop and cop dog race against time to save the day.
While by no means a master thespian, Chuck Norris had proven to have a little bit of range by 1995. “Firewalker” didn't impress me much but Chuck was likable in it. He could sell a funny one-liner from time to time. "Walker, Texas Ranger" had turned him into a reliable TV presence. Unfortunately, “Top Dog” sticks Norris in the role of straight man against a rascally pup. Meaning he's mostly hammering the note of being annoyed or grumpy for the majority of the movie. Norris can't seem to perform this emotion in any way besides scowling and grumbling. Considering Chuck's charm actually lies in his down-home approachability, having him play a jerk takes away most of what makes likable. That a scene occurs where Wilder threatens to shoot the dog in the head, going so far as to unholster his gun, shows a major miscalculation happened somewhere. Norris seems genuinely angry and mildly unhinged, not comically bemused.
That Chuck's bluster is extra blustery here stands in contrast to "Top Dog" basically being a family movie. Film producers figured out a long time ago that putting a cute animal in your movie all but guarantees an audience, no matter how underwhelming the rest of the antics might be. The role of Reno is essayed by two shaggy canines, Digby and Betty. Affable enough dogs, I've no doubt, but the amusement factor they provide on-screen is not that memorable. The biggest laugh in the movie might've been unintentional, when the dog performs Chuck's trademark slow motion dive through a window. Otherwise, Reno eating his partner's rotisserie chicken, dropping a box on a bad guy's head, or running off with a scarf that seemingly belongs to the Pope are lame slapstick set up in a belabored manner. There's a kid in the movie too, of course. Future "So Weird" cast member Erik von Detton is the kid in question, a subplot designed to tug at the heart strings without serving the story much otherwise. This is standard sad kid/cute dog content and similar scenes could be found in a number of underachieving family film slop in the nineties. The montage of the mutt getting into adorable shenanigans and trying on different outfits at a county fair is especially generic.
That "Top Dog" is so indistinguishable from Disney Channel fair makes the seriousness with which it approaches the antagonists surprising. Nineties action movies could no longer invoke the Soviet Union as an easily booed bad guy and Middle Eastern radicals would not emerge as the primary cultural boogeyman until the next decade. The 1992 stand-off at Ruby Ridge and subsequent militia movement in America made right-wingin', bitter-clingin', proud gun clingers an acceptable target for action films that couldn't afford to shoot in Ireland. "Top Dog" features a group of White Supremacists who target homes in black neighborhoods or synagogues. Key scene has Kai Wulff as the organization's leader Sieg Heiling or delivering a speech about planning to unite real life Neo-Nazi organizations like Church of the Creator and the Aryan Nation. The climatic terrorist attack takes place on 4/20, because it's Hitler's birthday and not because Nazis hate pot smokers. All of this points towards "Top Dog's" actually doing some research into white supremacy. The fact that this is dropped into the middle of what is basically a kids' movie is unexpected and tonally baffling. You'd expect the villain in a movie like this to be evil dog catchers, not realistic depictions of active militant hate groups. Despite depicting the racist bad guys as sincerely dangerous, they are also buffoonish clowns at times, literally in one scene. (Which I guess is realistic, the buffoon part, not the clown part.)
This is not the only weird tonal shift in the movie. Chuck Norris co-headlining a movie with a rambunctious dog shows that we are clearly in the more undignified chapter of his career. Despite that, the action in "Top Dog" is still shockingly good. The opening scene features a massive explosion, during a time when you really had to blow shit up to get an effect like that. There are two car chases of note, one of which ends in a fiery crash. While he's not piling up corpses like James Braddock, Chuck still seemingly fatally wounds several enemies during the climatic shoot-out. The dog gets a kill too, playfully pushing a Nazi from a rooftop, which is more bizarre. You can tell Norris' age was starting to catch up to him, as the fight scenes feature more moments where his back is turned away from the camera or shot from a distance, to disguise stuntmen. However, the fighting is still decent, especially when Norris beats down the main villain at the end. That features one of his trademark moves that we haven't seen in a while, snapping an opponent's bludgeon in two and taking the splintered wood for himself. It's truly unexpected that this features some of the better fight choreography of his nineties era.
The above-average quality of those pyrotechnics and fisticuffs plus the contrast between the plausible bad guys and otherwise comedic approach almost makes "Top Dog" an intriguing curiosity. Unfortunately, that first half is uniformly dull. The pooch provided pratfalls do not amuse. Chuck genuinely seems unhappy to do the film. At least we can be assured that, no matter how shitty Chuck's politics got in real life, at least he agreed that Nazis are bad. The film had the misfortune of coming out nine days after the Oklahoma City bombing, making its choice in villains especially out-of-step with its cutesy touches. That emphasizes the weirdness of "Top Dog," a movie that is otherwise too lame to defend. [5/10]
[THE CHUCK OF NORRIS: 4 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 [] Sports Some Cowboy Getup
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 Norris' previous feature film for Orion Pictures was “Lone Wolf McQuade,” a modernized homage to the spaghetti westerns that first made Clint Eastwood a global superstar. His next Orion production would essentially see Norris stepping into a role not dissimilar from Eastwood's other most iconic reoccurring character. Screenwriters Michael Butler and Dennis Shryack, previously of “The Car” and “The Gauntlet,” originally wrote “Code of Silence” as the fourth “Dirty Harry” movie. Eastwood passed on the script – Butler and Shryack ended up writing “Pale Rider” for him next instead – but the writers continued to shop it around as an original project. Orion eventually picked it up and eyed it as a starring role for Kris Kristofferson. When he and half-a-dozen other tough guy actors passed, it ended up in Chuck Norris' lap. The film won the star the best reviews of his entire career and he would later cite it his favorite of his projects.
Eddie Cusack is a cop on the rougher side of Chicago. Along with his partner Dorato and a whole group of cops, he's part of a sting operation to bust a dealer working for Colombian drug lord, Luis Comacho. Instead, the set-up descends into chaos when killers in the employ of rival mobster, Tony Luna, open fire on the building. During the shoot-out, Dorato is shot, several crooks are killed, and another cop on the force named Craigie shoots an unarmed teenager. He then plants a gun on the dead kid. Cusack refuses to exonerate Craigie and ends up working with his inexperienced partner, Kopalas. As revenge, Comacho targets Luca's family, killing all of them except his teenage daughter, Diana. Seeking to protect the innocent girl, Eddie Cusack soon finds himself in a fight between mob families and with no fellow cops on his side.
Here in America, most major city's police forces are less concerned with protecting and serving the public trust than they are with protecting the rich and powerful, extorting citizens for money, operating as enforcers of the prison industrial slavery complex, murdering and harassing racial minorities, and bleeding billions of dollars from local taxpayers so they can buy themselves tanks and body armor. In fact, they have no legal obligation to protect people and have gone to court several times to prove this. However, if you're only encounters with American police are through our popular culture, you would think the cops are constantly under siege from organized crime, small time crooks, and damn regulators trying to get in the way of them doing their job. So-called “copaganda” is unavoidable in this culture. I love me a good action flick, as this series should make clear, and likely the overwhelming majority of that genre is more-or-less about how police officers should have the right to do whatever they want and kill whoever they please. Because, damn it, they get results. You really have to totally disconnect fictional cops from real ones if you want to enjoy ninety percent of American action flicks.
“Code of Silence” is notable for being one of the few eighties action flicks I've seen that actively acknowledges how cops are terrible. Honestly, I was shocked by the film unambiguously depicting a cop killing a black teenager as an impulsive choice and then planting evidence to make the murder look justified. You hear about this happening all the time now and I guess it's always been that way. Despite this set-up, “Code of Silence” is not an A.C.A.B. classic. Ralph Foody plays Detective Cragie as a despicable jack-ass who never feels any remorse at all for killing an innocent. Most of the cops around him believe it is their duty to protect their co-worker and stand-up for him. Eddie Cusack is the exception. He's the One Good Cop on the force that prevents all of them from being bastards. His testimony proves that the system works. His example gives at least one other officer the strength to also do the right thing. The film is not saying that the entire police system in America is fundamentally rotten but merely that it needs more “good” cops than bad ones.
I almost think “Code of Silence” is aware of the obvious contradictions in this statement. After the rest of the precinct basically cuts him off, Cusack goes outside of the law to do what is right. He is heading into bars and picking fights, clinging to the outside of moving trains, getting into car chases. The climax of the film involves him stealing heavy artillery from the police station and using it on his own. All of this is obviously illegal, the “good” cop ending up breaking the law just as much as the dirty ones. “Code of Silence” can't step outside of its eighties action movie viewpoint. Cusack's cowboy cop ways save the day. He faces no consequences for it. He continues to be a cop, when the obvious moral of the story would be him leaving the force at the very least. The movie comes dangerously close to realizing that any system where such wanton destruction is the “best” ending is hopelessly broken. But it's still an action flick so it can't go that far.
This is not so much a criticism as an observation. That a movie starring Chuck Norris manages to address these ideas with any sort of depth at all is surprising. “Code of Silence” benefits greatly from having a far grittier tone than most of the star's previous movies. The dialogue is hard-boiled, with quite a lot of colorful profanity. A strong supporting cast takes further advantage of this, with Dennis Farina as Dorato especially getting to dig into his part. The cinematography is from Frank Tidy, previously of “The Duelists,” and he gives the film a properly gritty, lived-in look. Director Andrew Davis, coming off atmospheric slasher “The Final Terror,” helpfully captures a sense of circumstances spiraling out of control for its hero. By the time he's getting wailed on in a bar, the feeling that he has no one to turn to and that the walls are closing in is clear.
By this point in his career, Norris has indeed developed into a decent actor. He's not Oliver or anything but he's become adapt at summoning up a certain degree of emotion. The scenes he shares here with an old friend are a highlight. “Code of Silence's” great weakness is that its primary villain isn't in more of the film. Henry Silva, owner of one of cinema's all time greatest psycho faces, gets to sleaze it up gloriously as a Colombian drug lord while still feeling strangely absent for most of the film. I also wish we got a little more interaction between Chuck and Molly Hagan as the distressed damsel, who he shares a distinctly fatherly energy with. Oh yeah, the movie is also set at Halloween, as if I needed another reason to like it. Contradictions at all, “Code of Silence” is some well engineered pulp and easily Norris' classiest flick. And Andrew Davis would go on to become the only filmmaker to direct two Steven Seagal filmsanda Best Picture nominee... [8/10] [THE CHUCK OF NORRIS: 4 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 [] Sports Some Cowboy Getup
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
You can never be sure what horror films will emerge as the decade's most influential until it is all thoroughly in the rear view mirror. I don't think anyone anticipated "Halloween" completely changing the face of horror in 1978, for example. If I was a betting man, however, I'd say "Get Out's" effect has been sizable, at least within the industry. By winning an Oscar, it made "elevated horror" an identifiable trend. It also totally redirected Jordan Peele's career, taking him from a beloved comedy star to the hottest horror director in Hollywood. You can tell other funny men were curious if they could similarly reinvent themselves. John Krasinski, David Gordon Green and Zach Cregger all seem to have made the leap. Another example that wasn't so popular was Chris Rock. Did you know Chris Rock is a horror fan? Did you know he likes the "Saw" movies? A chance meeting with the vice chairman of Liongates had Rock expressing his interest in the series. Eventually, a pitch from "Jigsaw's" Josh Stolberg and Peter Goldfinger would be fused with Rock's ideas. The resulting script was described more as a spin-off than a direct sequel, the connection being solidified with the somewhat ungainly title of "Spiral: From the Book of Saw." Rock managed to convince Darren Lynn Bousman to return to the franchise he swore he had retired from. The addition of Samuel L. Jackson to the cast further built up what was promised to be a complete reinvention of the long-running franchise.
All throughout the city, dirty cops are awakening in elaborate traps that force themselves to self-mutilate in order to survive. A copycat of the infamous Jigsaw Killer claims responsibility, confronting their victims in a familiar pig mask and marking the crime scenes with the spiral symbol last seen on Billy the Puppet's cheeks. Detective Zeke Banks – son of retired police chief Marcus Banks – is assigned to the case with a new partner, William Schenk. The games continue, more bodies piling up in further vicious traps. Each time, the killer who has quickly earned the nickname Spiral sends mocking messages and clues to the cops. As Banks and Schenk dig deeper into the new Spiral killer, they discover personal connections that become increasingly difficult for Zeke to shake.
"Spiral" – which is not to be confused with any of the adaptations of "Uzumaki," the 2019 horror indie, Adam Green's 2007 thriller or any of the other movies of the same name – is definitely a horror movie. It's definitely a "Saw" movie too. Within the opening scene, a lying detective is prompted to rip his own tongue out or get splattered by an on-coming subway. He doesn't make it and the resulting bloodshed is theatrical. As the trap scene plays out, cinematographer Jordan Oram and editor Dev Singh replicate the spasmodic visuals of the first "Saw" and its 2000s era sequels. The camera spins around the victim as they freak out. This same approach is repeated for most of the other self-mutilation games throughout the film. The spin-off doesn't lack the gore and terrifying situations that have always defined this franchise. However, "Spiral" seeks out a totally different tone than what we might expect. This is thoroughly a detective story, focused more on the cops trying to stop the killer before they kill again over the victims trapped in sadistic scenarios designed by a fanatic who believes they have the moral ground.
In other words, the strand of "Seven" DNA that has always been a part of "Saw" is much more prevalent than in the other sequels. Much like Fincher's gritty nineties classic, "Spiral" is also a buddy cop movie. Like a hundred partner films before it, Zeke is the hardened and cynical veteran while Schenk is the inexperienced newbie who is still learning the ropes. Not that the interplay between the two men make up that much of the movie. Max Minghella's Schenk exits the film about halfway through, robbing the apparent buddy cop movie of its buddy. Minghella is fine, as the somewhat nervous sidekick, but he barely gets a chance to play off Rock as the lead. The new partner subplot of "Spiral" is, without a doubt, it's most half-assed element. Inserting that idea into a "Saw" sequel could've been fun but the material simply doesn't support it.
By focusing so much on police corruption, "Spiral" foregrounds the ACAB subtext that has been apparent throughout "Saw" for a long time. At times, it almost feels like the serial killer-ifed version of "The Departed." This, unfortunately, does not mean "Spiral" is an especially compelling mystery. In a traditional "Saw" movie, we already know who is responsible for these crimes. "Spiral" continues down that path, giving its killer a distinctive pig motif – another reoccurring element given fresh meaning here – and even gifting Spiral with a little puppet pal like Billy before him. When the time comes to unmask the killer's true identity, it happens after all other suspects have been cleaved through. That leaves the reveal without much impact, the audience thoroughly underwhelmed by "Spiral's" last act as it careens towards a weirdly abrupt ending.
That's because "From the Book of Saw" isn't really about uncovering its criminal mastermind's identity and stopping their reign of terror. Instead, this is a dramatic vehicle for Chris Rock. Rock has the chops to carry a gritty crime movie. "New Jack City" proved that and is name-checked here. In the early scenes, when playing a smart-ass and hard boiled cop, Rock almost convinced me this could work. When playing off an equally quick-witted Samuel L. Jackson, the movie does come alive. However, as "Spiral" goes on, it focuses more in the character's dramatic backstory, emphasizes his persecution complex. While that might've been an insightful peek into the mind of a crooked cop, Rock repeatedly hits the wrong note in each dramatic moment. Zeke comes across as righteous, rather than conflicted, petulant rather than rebellious. By the end, I was instead convinced that Chris Rock probably wasn't the right leading man for this particular film. But it was his idea, right? Why does a movie designed to display Rock's ability serve him so badly? That is when it hits you that "Spiral" is less a "Saw" sequel than a misconceived vanity project for a star eager for reinvention.
If "Spiral: From the Book of Saw" fails as a mystery, a buddy cop movie, and a chance for Chris Rock to show off his range, what does the film do right? Suggesting all the attempts at reinvention in the sequel were misplaced, "Spiral" is most successful as, well, a "Saw" movie. While his previous entries in the series were Darren Lynn Bousman's first, second, and third movies, "Spiral" was his twelfth. While I've never heard much of anything good about films like "11-11-11" or "The Barrens," he clearly has gotten a little better in all that time. Rather than the obnoxious shock rock video antics of his earlier sequels, "Spiral" actually looks fairly slick. There's a sun-drenched quality to the visuals that show a clear inspiration not only from David Fincher but from the Michael Bay movies that don't look like complete dog shit. "Spiral" is not quite as timid about the explicit gore as "Jigsaw" was, though it definitely remains tamer than earlier installments. (If a movie with a flayed body in it can truly be thought of as "tamer.") While the Spiral Killer, their pig mask, and little marionette guy undoubtedly lack the style of Jigsaw's classic duds, the film does return a sense of irony to the traps that has felt missing for a while. A liar ripping his tongue out and someone who planted evidence tearing off their own fingers feel thematically fitting. Making a "Saw" movie where most of the victims are dirty cops certainly makes for more coherent social commentary than forcing a guy with depression to crawl through barbwire or what have you.
"Jigsaw" made plenty of money but it failed to reignite a public hunger or fan speculation for these movies. This caused Liongates to present "Spiral: From the Book of Saw" throughout production as the bold reinvention the series needed to catch people's attention. Unfortunately, the world had other plans. The real life horror of the COVID-19 pandemic kept the spin-off on a shelf for over a year. When "Spiral" finally released in October of 2021, movie theaters were still far from a proper recovery. The prospect of a new "Saw" starring Chris Rock was not enough to get people to leave their homes. Subsequently, "Spiral" became the lowest grossing "Saw," only the second to fail to break the 100 million mark at the global box office. Looking back at it several years removed, it's a film with some interesting ideas and a half-way decent execution that is derailed by several key elements. The Chris Rock dramatic vehicle, a buddy cop thriller, and the ninth entry in a notoriously grim horror franchise probably didn't all need to be the same film. [6/10]
Following the surprise success of “The Fast and the Furious,” it was evident that Universal had a new franchise on their hands. It was also extremely evident what fans of the first film wanted. Vin Diesel was the break-out star of the original and audiences were eager to see him zooming around in shiny cars once again. Diesel – either showing some long-term savvy or a superstar ego that would quickly become infamous – declined to return, focusing instead on the “xXx” and “Riddick” series. Producer Neal H. Moritz was not deterred and chose to continue the “Fast” saga with Paul Walker's Brian character instead. Given the instantly meme-able title of “2 Fast 2 Furious,” the sequel would attract a surprisingly high-profile director. Academy Award nominee John Singleton was apparently a fan of the first movie and was eager to direct part two.
Following the fall-out of the first film, O'Connor is no longer a cop. Now, he's a professional street racer in Miami. After getting busted following a race, Brian is reeled back in by the FBI. He's talked into going undercover as a driver for drug lord Carter Verone. Brian invites his former best friend, Roman Pearce, into accompanying him on this mission. Pearce doesn't trust Brian anymore, blaming his once buddy for sending him to prison. The promise of clemency lures in both men, who soon discover how dangerous Verone is. The two men attempt to take down the villain with the help of a local super-mechanic and the sexy undercover agent already embedded with him.
It goes without saying that, on his worst day, John Singleton was a better director than Rob Cohen. He mimics some of Cohen's questionable choices from the first movie here. There's one CGI dive into the bowels of a car's engine and several shots of people pressing the Nos button and making "Wow!" faces. The story still pauses for a totally gratuitous montage of girls in bikinis. The film begins with a hilariously goofy moment, of the Universal logo turning into a spinning rim. Otherwise, Singleton displays much more confident, visually stronger filmmaking. The editing is quick-paced but coherent. The action scenes are smoothly organized. In many obvious ways, "2 Fast 2 Furious" is an improvement over the first film.
However, the sequel is not superior to the original in at least one important way, perhaps the only facet that actually matters in this franchise: The car stunts simply aren't as good. Oh, there's a few decent peel-outs and swerves. The practical effects highlight of the movie is definitely when a muscle car gets dragged under the wheels of a trailer and pancaked. Singleton certainly goes out of his way to include as much car porn as possible, lovingly displaying the shiny chrome bodies and suped-up interiors of all the star vehicles.
Unfortunately, the sequel relies on digital effects far more than the first "Furious." That is its downfall, as the CGI cars look like utter shit. The opening race climaxes with Brian and his rivals boosting their cars over a draw bridge, leading to a truly cartoonish shot of computer-generated cars sailing through the air. This is matched by some ghastly compositing work during the "Dukes of Hazard" inspired finale. There are several shots of the stars awkwardly blue-screened into digital cars that would've looked more at home in a PlayStation 2 game. I know this series eventually becomes, and essentially always has been, live action cartoons. The ostensibly grounded mood of this one, however, is really spoiled by such visually unappealing effects work.
The script here is still strictly of the C+ variety, goofy and uninspired in ways that are rarely charming. Which, once again, leaves the homoerotic posturing of the bro-tastic heroes the primary redeeming quality. Brian and Roman's history often plays like lovers that have fallen out. Roman seems to have an obsession with threading to beat Brian's ass, which suggests a fixation. Later, he says that Brian's weakness for pretty females gets him in trouble, as if to implied he'd be better off with another option. There's a hilarious moment where he whips his shirt off, Tyrese's pecs glistening in the Miami sun, for totally gratuitous reasons. I don't know if Tyrese Gibson is in-on-the-joke but his conceited tough guy performance is funny nevertheless. Paul Walker – who heavily seasons his dialogue with "bros" and "bruhs" – is looser than in the first film, leaning into the ditzy blonde appeal he showed last time. Unsurprisingly, Brian and Roman walk off together at the story's end, all-but-confirming the simmering subtext between them.
If you are willing to dig deep enough, every year is a good year for horror. Thinking more specifically, if you stay in touch with the indie scene and don't judge merely based on what is playing at the multiplexes, you're likely to find lots of fantastic offerings in any given year. However, 2024 has been an especially good year for indie horror at the box office. As I type this, an unrated gore-fest made entirely outside the studio system is hacking up the top ten. NEON and A24 continue to make break-through hits with smart marketing. Most recently, arthouse digital distributor MUBI has proven the power of buzz-worthy genre films at the box office with “The Substance,” which has become a word-of-mouth hit and stuck around in theaters far longer than niche pictures like this usually do. “The Substance” has already been hotly debated but the simple fact remains: People are seeing it and talking about it. I'm a little behind, as usual, but it's my turn to weigh in.
Elizabeth Sparkle was once the toast of Hollywood, with awards and fame to her name. That was a long time ago. Now, she hosts a morning exercise show that is slipping in the ratings. On account of producers desiring a younger star, her show is canceled. Feeling despondent, she receives a tip about a new product called the Substance. She must go to a secluded locker to retrieve the order, a dispassionate voice on the phone informing her of the product's rules. She injects herself and a younger, sexier version emerges from Elizabeth's back. Her original self rendered catatonic, the new and improved model – who takes the name Sue – immediately finds fame and success in Sparkle's old timeslot. The conditions of the Substance dictate that “Sue” must trade places with Elizabeth every other week. Hungry to be loved and adored more, Sue begins to bend the rules... Which immediately has gruesome, horrifying side effects.
“The Substance” comes to us from Coralie Fargeat, previously of “Revenge.” That film aggressively shook up the formula of the rape/revenge premise. Fargeat's latest attacks the systemic issues of youth, vanity, and women being disregarded by the entertainment industry with similar ferocity. The point it makes are not subtle. Shortly after Sparkle's introduction, the grotesque face of a shrieking male exec is shoved into the camera. In a later scene, he's scarfing down on shrimp in the most disgusting manner possible. Later, Fargeat cuts from a close-up of a woman's perfectly shaped buttocks to a less appealing male buttocks. In other words: Women are subjected to beauty standards that men simply don't have to deal with. This ties into other commonly observed points, about how women are judged much more harshly when aging, how women's values are attuned to their appearance, and how Hollywood is obsessed with beauty and abhors ugliness. These points are thrown at us via over-the-top satirical exaggeration.
No, “The Substance” isn't subtle. However, Fargeat's film isn't merely taking potshots at the obvious inequalities we are all very aware of in Hollywood. Instead, this is a far more personal story about self-hatred. Sparkles – played by a fearless Demi Moore – obsesses over her own image as much as the industry does. She stares at her own body in the mirror. After getting a date with an old high school body, she smears her face with make-up over and over again before staying inside. After Sue – Margauret Qualey, a vision – emerges, Elizabeth begins to judge herself harsher than before. She sinks into self-destruction, resenting her better looking half. This is despite the mysterious voice on the phone assuring her that Sparkles and Sue are one. They are same person. However, Sparkles inability to love herself – an internalizing of Hollywood' brutal beauty standards – is ultimately what pushes her to more extreme actions. “The Substance” is an indictment of Hollywood's treatment of women but it explores that theme through the the more personal lens of self-hatred.
Whatever criticism you can leverage at “The Substance's” lack of subtly, you can't deny that the film embraces it. Benajamin Kracun's cinematography is highly stylized. It switches between extreme close-ups and the characters standing in the distance amid the highly stylized sets. Gliding camerawork carries one scene into another, often paired with Raffertie's aggressive electronic dance score. That lends a propulsive effect to many of the sequences, often centering around Qualley's expertly sculpted gluteus maximus as she writhes and bounces about many scenes. As “The Substance” grows more grotesque, this directorial style begins to feel like a hammer to the head. Every gross-out hits with maximum strength between the carefully constructed editing and often unrelenting visuals. By the blood and pus filled finale, “The Substance” makes you feel properly assaulted, feeling like one hell of an experience.
The fact that “The Substance” has crossed over to some degree of mainstream success is what surprises me the most. This movie is, ya know, pretty fucked-up. It attacks the body horror element with the same over-the-top vigor that is approaches its satire with. This results in one shockingly gross sequence after another. Notably images like multiple eyeballs swishing around inside one socket or a tumor appearing on an ass cheek is the movie only getting started. The emergence of a turkey leg seemed to be the nastiest scene... Until “The Substance” kicks further into gear in its second half, throwing one misshapen body part after another at us. By the finale, the film is reaching levels of spurting fluids and malformed flesh that would put a Troma movie to shame. It's over-the-top, vile, disgusting, and holy shit did I love it. That a movie can still make me wince is a sign that I appreciate it.
Since the Discourse moves so quickly these days, a certain contingency has already decided that “The Substance” is overrated. Or that it's secretly sexist or that it's not feminist in the right ways. All the tiring ways the discussion of cinema has been reduced down to tweets and buzz words these days. That the movie might end up being an awards season contender – improbable as that seems to me, stranger things have happened – means we are only in the beginning of the great debate around “The Substance.” Whatever the consensus ends up being, it's safe to say I loved this one. Gross, endlessly stylized, very European, and a ride from beginning to end, “The Substance” certainly won't be a film I forget any time soon. [9/10]
Fans of action movies owe so much to Menahem Galan and Yoram Globus' Cannon Group. While they produced a number of off-beat films during their glory days, the company will forever be most associated with the hyper-macho icons of eighties action cheese. They introduced Van Damme and Dudikoff to the world. They turned Dolph into He-Man, Sly into Cobra, Sho Kosugi into a ninja, and paired Charles Bronson with Michael Winner or J. Lee Thompson for a series of increasingly sleazier shoot-em-ups. If not any of those guys, there's no action figure more associated with the studio than Chuck Norris, who made his most successful films at Cannon. By the nineties, however, the studio was not what it once was. Golan left in '89 and an endless series of mergers, lawsuits, and buyouts followed. The company would finally collapse into bankruptcy in 1994... But not before putting out one final movie, starring their most faithful star. "Hellbound" is also notable for being, as my best buddy JD always ecstatically calls it, "the movie where Chuck Norris fights the devil." Now, how am I supposed to resist that? I figured I better sneak it in before October comes to a close.
During the crusades, King Richard would lock an emissary of the devil known as Prosatanos in a tomb somewhere in the holy lands. The magical scepter that would allow him to bring about the end of days is shattered and spread across the world. In the fifties, a pair of grave robbers would free Prosatanos, the demon setting out on a quest to find and reassemble the relic. In nineties Chicago, a rabbi and professor of folklore is brutally murdered in a sleazy apartment. Sgt. Frank Shatter and Det. Calvin Jackson investigate, discovering part of an ancient scepter at the crime scene. A link between the killings and the myths of Prosatanos soon emerges. The cops are dispatched to Israel, following a trail of violence that leads them to Professor Malcolm Lockley. Who is, obviously, Prosatanos in human form and is dangerously close to fulfilling the prophecy and bringing about the apocalypse.
By the middle nineties, Chuck Norris was successful enough that he could exert more control over the kinds of characters he played and films he made. The ultra-violent, salacious exploitation movies that made him a star gave way to lighter, more family-friendly fair like "Top Dog," "Forest Warrior," and "Sidekicks." This was, no doubt, a reflection of Norris' far-right Christian beliefs which would find their ultimate expression in his long-running TV show, "Walker, Texas Ranger." "Hellbound" is an R-rated movie that features a demon ripping people's hearts out and a hooker getting tossed out a window. Despite that, this is squarely a product of the "Walker" era of Norris' career. Sgt. Shatter is a light-hearted hero, who tells jokes with his partner and befriends a pair of mischievous street kids while in Israel. The highlights of the film involve Norris kicking the shit out of four random intruders in his hotel room, with the amount of roundhouse kicks, spin-punches, and defenestration that you'd expect. However, Norris' talent for bone-breaking action feels repeatedly restrained. There are no shoot-outs and the evil demon from Hell is the only baddie Chuck kills. He shares an utterly chaste romance with his "Walker" co-star, Sheree J. Wilson. The film seems almost more focused on the action star cracking jokes and being a wholesome hero. This, in turn, forces Norris to emote. Which was not his strong suit, even after being a movie star for twenty years.
The result is a tonally inconsistent, often tedious excuse for an action movie. Far too much of "Hellbound" is devoted to the comedy stylings of Calvin Levels, as Shatter's often frustrated and humiliated partner. Levels' japes and one-liners are never anything less than eye-rolling. The low-point of the film's groan-inducing comic relief is a painfully long sequence where an Israeli cab driver leads the heroes on a wacky car chase through Tel Aviv. That, and the equally long-winded scenes devoted to the pickpocketing kids, feel like scenes out of a PG family movie. Aaron Norris – not coincidentally, Chuck's brother who directed most of the movies from this part of the star's career – shoots "Hellbound" like a TV movie. George S. Clinton's score is often light-hearted, featuring a lot of clownish klezmer music. The Zionist subtext inherent in the Israeli setting, the reoccurring presence of a Jesus-like figure lurking in the background of multiple scenes, and the demonic villain irrevocably put the stink of a low-budget Christian movie all over this thing. About the only source of unintentional camp here is the homoerotism present in the cops' partnership. They argue about sleeping arrangements in their hotel room, talk about women without showing any sexual desire for them, and generally spend every scene together. Aaron throws in a few lingering close-ups of men's asses in blue jeans too, as if to confirm what the film unavoidably suggests.
"Hellbound" has so many long, crushingly lame stretches that it's easy to overlook the rare moments that aren't bad. Norris only has two fight scenes but both are decently choreographed, despite Chuck's lack of finesse with a pre-mortem one-liner. "Hellbound" was shot by João Fernandes, Joseph Zito's go-to cinematographer who became part of Norris' crew after "Missing in Action" and "Invasion U.S.A." There are definitely moments in "Hellbound" that recall Fernandes' work on "The Prowler" and "Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter." A backlit shot of the villain standing in a temple, surrounded by mist, is a cool. A sequence where he stalks two Catholic priests on a train isn't bad. Christopher Neame is utterly ridiculous as the villain. His eyes bulge, his skullet haircut flows, his skin glistens with sweat. A cheesy reverb is added to his voice and he wears press-on nails in several scenes. Despite that, the horror stuff in "Hellbound" is competently done. The gore isn't memorable but the Satanic rituals and monster stalking scenes are all passable. If the film wasn't so deathly afraid of its exploitation movie instincts – the late, great Zoë Trilling appears as a hooker who never takes her clothes off – "Hellbound" might have been a decent time-waster. (Funny enough, Fernandes followed Norris into the world of low budget religious flicks, an amusing destination for the photographer of "Deep Throat" and "The Devil in Miss Jones.")
In other words, "Hellbound" in no way, shape, or forms lives up to what its "Chuck Norris versus the devil" premise promises. Especially since the bad guy isn't actually the devil but the devil's errand boy. JD, you fool, you mislead me. If "Hellbound" had been made during the eighties and directed by a splatter expert like Zito, it probably would've been awesome. Being made deep in Chuck's wholesome period, with Aaron Norris' middling talent behind the camera, results in an unfortunately limp experience. Cannon's turbulent late years meant "Hellbound" didn't see general release – straight to video, unsurprisingly – until two years after it was shot, showing the sad final fate of the once-proud exploitation studio. Of the handful of horror mashups Norris appeared in across his career, this one falls far short of "Silent Rage" and "Hero and the Terror." I haven't seen that zombie movie he did since coming out of retirement as an internet meme but I'm going to guess that "Hellbound" is probably marginally better than that, on account of not co-starring Vanilla Ice. [5/10]
"American Horror Story" is a show I have an unearned resentment towards. Everything I've read makes it sound like a series that prioritizes shock value and a kind of self-aware outrageousness over the things that make horror interesting to me. Mostly though, I was annoyed by the program advertising itself as an "anthology." This pedantic nerd feels that label should be reserved for shows that tell a stand alone story every week, instead of devoting a season to one plot line. Yet "American Horror Story" was so popular that it changed the meaning of the phrase for a while, numerous networks debuting "anthologies" following the same one-season, one-story format. Basically, for almost a decade, I'd see the words "anthology" in a press release, get intrigued, only to see the program doing the twelve-hour runtime shit. And it was all "American Horror Story's" fault. By 2021, either real anthologies had regained a foothold in pop culture or somebody finally told Ryan Murphy he's been using the wrong word all this time. That's when a spin-off, "American Horror Stories," debuted. A genuine anthology program telling self-contained narratives, the show hasn't garnered much attention outside the pre-existing "AHS" fandom... But I figured, for the sake of fairness, I should give it a shot.
"Ba'al" follows Liv, a rich heiress, who has been struggling to conceive a child with her actor husband, Matt. When all else fails, she's given a small fertility idol by the secretary at the clinic. She places it under their bed while having sex and, nine months later, they welcome a little boy named Aaron into the world. However, the postpartum depression hits Liv hard, as she becomes fearful that her own baby hates her. That's when she starts to see and hear strange things. Such as a demonic figure looming over Aaron's crib or threatening voices over the baby monitor. She looks up the idol and discovers it is of the demon Ba'al. Becoming increasingly convinced that an evil presence is threatening her baby, Liv slips even further into madness... But is everything as it seems?
I've never seen an episode of "American Horror Story," as it sounds like not my kind of thing. But I went into this spin-off with an open mind. "Ba'al," however, features all of the annoying quirks that seem commonplace on its mother series. Namely, an unearned pride over packing a basic cable show with this level of sex, violence, and profanity. Mostly though, I was simply stunned by how bad the writing is for this hour of television. The characters in "Ba'al" speak in exposition alone. The secretary that gifts the Ba'al idol blankly explains its purpose with little prompting. Liv, while in bed with her own husband, explains how she inherited all her wealth. A frightened maid, upon seeing the statue, warns that it's evil. From the opening minutes to the final scene, everyone in "Ba'al" exists simply to fulfil the whims of the story, usually via dropping their function through some painfully tin-eared dialogue.
In general, the narrative is obvious and awkward in its execution. Liv never questions how strange it is that a random woman gifts her a pagan statue. When the idol begins to reappear in her home, taking on a more demonic shape each time, it never occurs to her to simply throw it away. When she belatedly looks up the symbol she's been given, she immediately finds a Wikipedia page explaining exactly what she's dealing with. A second trip to the magic user who gave her the statue has the woman pausing to explain what a grimoire is, among other laden dialogue. When the twist in the tail arrives, everybody involved flatly explains their participation like cartoonish villains. That twist, by the way, seems to be in service towards social commentary about believing women. It's the kind of satirical angle that simply cannot wait to congratulate itself, right down to using the actual word for the phenomenon this episode is about. The fucking exposition doesn't stop there either, literally continuing until the final scene. There is not an atom of wit, subtly, or emotion invested in this story.
"American Horror Stories" clearly wasn't a cheap production, FX investing quite a lot of money into this spin-off of one of their flagship programs. Strong production values can't hide the inability to generate a decent scare. "Ba'al" mostly relies on loud jump scares, through a classical red-skinned devil leering at the heroine suddenly. When that fails, it layers on the gut ripping and implied blowjobs. This combines with acting that struck me as shockingly bad. Billie Lourd plays Liv and has exactly two modes throughout the whole episode: Dull surprise, delivering most of her dialogue monotonely, or shrieking profanity. Ronen Rubenstein is such an exaggerated douchebag that you can never believe he's real. Everything I've seen Ryan Murphy say gave me the distinct impression that he had little respect for the horror genre. "Ba'al," if it's representative of the overall quality of "American Horror Stories," suggests he also has no respect for the audience. Words like "lazy" and "dumb" don't really illustrate the lack of effort and complete contempt for the viewer that radiates from this program. [2/10]
If you're looking for modern horror shorts on YouTube, the options are overwhelming. Once Sturgeon's Law settles in, you realize that the majority are simply not worth your time. This is, presumably, the advantage of curator networks like CryptTV and Alter. They sort through the dross and find the gold, right? Unfortunately, I haven't personally observed this to be true. Alter is a little higher quality than its competition but most of the horror shorts showcased on these channels are formulaic jump-scare delivery machines with little else on their minds. Diamonds in the rough do exist though. Such as "The Sermon," which takes place in an isolated religious community. The pastor delivers his daily sermon, preaching fire and brimstone and decrying the "abominations" in their midst. In flashback, we see an older woman in the village has been discovered to be a lesbian. She is subsequently dragged into the woods by the townsfolks, strung up, and humiliated. Among the crowd is the pastor's daughter who is also the woman's lover. During the service, we see that the younger woman has found a way to deliver revenge against the fanatics of the church with a little help from an otherworldly force.
Stories of cloistered off Christian communities, where the self-proclaimed pious authority figures are given free reign to abuse and manipulate their followers in the name of God, are nothing new. I already wrote about at least one film on that very topic earlier in the month. While "The Sermon" hardly breaks new ground, it is an exercise in economy. We know little of the presumed cults' habits and beliefs. From what we do see, it's easy to assume that everyone lives in fear of sinning, with any non-conformist and women in general being treated badly. "The Sermon" doesn't elaborate on what time it takes place in or most of its characters' names. However, with a handful of scenes and the use of some visual short hand, we learn everything about these people that we need to know. The Holy Word is preached, not in service of brotherhood or community, but as a bludgeon of control. With an ominous electronic score and slow, isolated shots of the empty English countryside, "The Sermon" immediately gives us an idea of what it's like to live in such a judgmental environment.
It's also fairly obvious to guess that this is a classic horror story of comeuppance. The Bible-thumping hypocrites, who use their faith as a mask for their own sadism and a tool to enforce their tyranny, get what's coming to them. The mechanics of this revenge are not hard to predict. The ending lands this one straight in "good for her" territory. However, the presence of a briefly glimpsed supernatural entity – a shrouded figure in black lurking in the background – places this in that canon of stories about the struggle between the olde ways and modern Christian morality. Moreover, the gruesome way this revenge plays out is admittedly well done, a visceral burst of gross-out visuals that were definitely needed to give this one a little extra punch. Director Dean Puckett produces some memorable images, despite his folk horror influences being obvious. His other short, "Satan's Bite," trades in similar themes to equally good effect, so he's talented at this. His narrative feature debut, "The Severed Sun," is currently playing the festival circuit and sounds a bit like an expansion of "The Sermon." I'll have to give that one a look, whenever it arrives to the masses, based on the strength of these ten minutes. [7/10]
