***Deathstalker II ***: So-called sequel to a really lousy Conan ripoff, but totally different in tone from its predecessor. What it lacks in terms of a budget or statement it more than compensates for with hamminess. The sets, costumes, and effects are all leftover from somebody’s Halloween party. The muscle-bound lunk in the Boris Vallejo painting used to promote the film bears not an iota of resemblence to the weasly little guy who plays the lead. The acting is about on the level of a grade school play. But Jesus-Christ-on-a-pogo-stick, the dialog is hilarious. In places. Setup: Deathstalker has just interrupted three soldiers who were in the process of tearing the clothes off of an unwilling (but comely) waif.
DEATHSTALKER: Ordinarily I don’t mind seeing a woman get a good beating, if she deserves it, but this doesn’t look like much of a contest to me.
GUARD: Just who do you think we are, anyway?
DEATHSTALKER: I don’t know…the village idiot and the two runners-up?
DEATHSTALKER: You have to get up pretty early in the morning to catch up with the prince of thieves. A thrown axe suddenly sticks in a tree right next to his head
COMELY WAIF: It is early in the morning!
Undercover Heat: You know that the movie’s going to be a classic when the very first shot is a closeup of the female lead’s bare breasts (and spectacular breasts they are). It’s a predictable tale of a young policewoman going undercover in a swanky Beverly Hills brothel to track down a killer. All her carefully-laid (sorry) plans for avoiding actual physical encounters with brothel customers go awry and, as one might expect, once she actually has to pony up and put out she starts getting “into” her new role. For the most part, it’s standard Skinamax late night fare…but it’s rescued from oblivion by two factors. First, the aforementioned breasts (firmly affixed to the torso of one Athena Massey) really are first rate, and on frequent display. Secondly, there are a number of lines of dialogue that display a wit seldom found in sock drawer cinema. A couple of examples (both are approximate because it’s been a long time since I’ve seen it): Setup: Our intrepid agent’s boss, Sgt Gold, has arranged for phony johns to show up at the brothel and ask for her. Naturally she’s nervous that something will go wrong and she might end up alone with an actual john who wants her to put out. So once behind closed doors with her first “customer”, she assumes he’s a fellow cop and relaxes a bit.
LADY COP: So how’s Gold?
JOHN: Oh, it’s up $3 an ounce.
SOME GUY: I feel like the guest of honor at a gelding.
fate certainly weaves a tangled tapestry
—slave girls from beyond infinity
the horror of being on that show (letterman)
—dr kurtz, cannibal women in the avocado jungle of death
Masters of the Universe is a quality film. Frank Langella’s Skeletor is a masterpiece of traditional thespianism, and I’ll beat anyone to death who says otherwise, by the Sorceress!
1987’s The Running Man was a terrible depiction of the Richard Bachman novel, but it did have these memorable exchanges.
Damon Killian: You bastard! Drop dead!
Ben Richards: I don’t do requests.
Damon Killian: There are still two stalkers out there. Dynamo and Fireball. Who do you think will make the next kill?
Elderly Lady: Oh my. That’s a tough one.
Damon Killian: Come on, Angus. You can do it. Who do you think?
Elderly Lady: Alright, I think the next kill will be made by… Ben Richards.
Damon Killian: No, no. Angus, Richards is a runner. You have to pick a stalker.
Elderly Lady: I can pick anyone I choose. And I choose… Ben Richards. That boy is one mean motherfucker.
And the best exchange in the movie…
Ben Richards: Killian! I’ll be back!
Damon Killian: Only in a rerun.
Among Giants is a fairly crappy film, despite starring Rachel Griffiths and Pete Postlethwaite. But at one point a depressed character named Frank says, “Don’t go having a good time. You’ll only brood about it in years to come.”
That reminds me of Police Academy. Bubba Smith wakes up Steve Gutenberg in the middle of the night, and then apologixes for doing so. Now, I don’t approve gay-bashing, but his response, “That’s okay. Sleep is for fags” made me laugh. It still does, a little.
To each his own, but I didn’t think so at all. I thought Carpentar was the thinking man’s horror director (as opposed to Dean Cunningham, who I also like).
