JFL

Andy Sidaris was always a visionary of mainstream shallowness. When he was just starting out in the field of television sports broadcasting, which won him an Emmy Award, he came up with the so-called honey shot, which long dominated that format. In Fit to Kill, he definitively codified jacuzzi aesthetics, which were subsequently taken over in the new millennium by reality shows in the style of Big Brother. His effort to continuously expand his own universe unavoidably resulted in a flick overflowing with characters from previous pictures. Besides the necessity of giving each of them a certain amount of space and including a few newcomers, that inevitably led to a frenzied mishmash. Under the weight of so many characters, the original world of centrefold agents and demonic bad guys, recalling the wet dream of an adolescent James Bond, the movie utterly sinks to the level of a soap opera in which the characters only loll around in the jacuzzi or on a yacht. Sidaris always pointed out that when writing characters, he proceeded based on the actors’ real-world skills, which explains why Don Speir pilots a plane in every film, Cynthia Brimhall sings some despondent hit, and Ava Cadell spouts some esoteric nonsense about relationships. The resulting lack of space then puts the newcomers in a dubious light, especially Sandra Wild, whose part is limited to answering telephones while standing topless in the jacuzzi. Fortunately, however, Sidaris again unleashed his laddish self (or rather immediate gratification of his id) so at times Fit to Kill is transformed into a catalogue of remote-control bimbos. In addition to boobs (predominantly silicone this time) and remote-control toys, there is a satisfactory amount of other popular things for adolescent boys, such as huge sunglasses and impractical yet very cool costumes, as well as some swastikas thanks to the plot about a diamond stolen by Nazis (the authenticity of the story is demonstrated by the fact that it is stored to this day in a box with a swastika on the inside of the lid). Julie Strain, who enjoyed her first role as a cunning villain so much that she became Sidaris’s mascot through the rest of their shared filmography, brings the necessary enthusiasm to the boudoir somnolence. The movie’s fun factor rises a lot in the climax, where there is finally some properly silly action when Sidaris artlessly edits together two locations that are obviously miles apart. In addition to that, Fit to Kill most effectively puts the impotence of Sidaris’s flicks on display. The need to get some honeydrippers in the film (which were usually invented and directed by his wife and producer Arlene) is covered in the script by simply having the characters, who are incompatible with the story, fantasise about themselves. That’s not even to mention Sidaris’s strait-laced heterosexuality, which goes against the otherwise overarching porn logic. Any two characters of the opposite sex begin to fool around at the drop of a hat (at least in a dream). But even though the female agents spend a lot of time alone in pairs lolling around or hanging out in the jacuzzi, crossing the lesbian line, which is such a typical feature of porn, is an absolute taboo for Arlene and her husband. _____ In the context of the Sidaris MCU (Mammaries Cinematic Universe), we can refer to this movie as the final title of Phase 2, following the example of categorising Marvel movies. The film was shot concurrently with the preceding Hard Hunted, to which it is connected in terms of plot by the central villain and several references in the dialogue. Unfortunately, due to the confluence of external factors, this second phase was terminated. The main reason for that was the pregnancy of Dona Speir, who quit show business entirely to raise her child. It is also the Sidaris family’s last more narrative-oriented project and the last of their films actually shot in Hawaii (with the exception of a few scenes from the very final conclusion of the Return to Savage Beach series).

Those with acid tongues say Andy Sidaris’s filmography, or rather that of the entire Sidaris family, exhibits only diminishing returns. There is definitely some degree of truth to that statement based on the production values of his movies. His first two films were influenced by other producers and screenwriters, who enriched Sidaris’s centrefold visions with their contributions and thus improved them. But when this eternal prepubescent fantasist struck out on his own, he began to build his own universe, into which he gradually sank and he increasingly focused on its distribution at the expense of superficial attractions and exaggeration. Therefore, Hard Ticket to Hawaii, as the very first of his films linked by characters and setting, still abounds with more than a few viewer-gratifying elements and it is not undermined (in chronological viewing) by the triteness of the maestro’s trademarks. The peak of primitive genius lies in the stylisation of the movie’s world, which can best be characterised as impotent porn. Whereas plot, or rather events other than copulation, was pushed as far aside as possible in the porn of the time, Sidaris offers viewers another side of fairy tales for adults. His world is inhabited exclusively by Playmates and Penthouse Pets, shredded Adonises and cartoonish flunkeys (actually, it’s such an American-style gluttonous and hypertrophied live-action variation on the anime of the day, especially that of Reijo Matsumoto). Women never miss an opportunity to shower or change clothes, but when it comes to honeydrippers, everything remains modest from the waist down. The boudoir aesthetics of Playboy video compilations are combined with the style of tourism commercials, while properly exaggerated twists and burlesque pranks are injected into this surreal world. The protagonists’ clashes with the henchmen, with their unbridled excess and absence of proper choreography, can be compared to boys between the ages of six and ten playing army and the technical gadgets with which the agents and killers are equipped come across as cartoonish grotesques. Therefore, the insane subplot with a mutant snake infected with “toxins from cancer-plagued rats” doesn’t stand out from the rest of the film. Hard Ticket to Hawaii offers a deliberately overwrought and über-spasmodic spectacle that is concurrently guileless as well as healthily exaggerated. _____ In the context of the Sidaris MCU (Mammaries Cinematic Universe), we can refer to this movie as the introductory title of Phase 1, following the example of categorising Marvel movies. The three preceding feature-length films in Andy Sidaris’s directorial filmography comprise Phase 0, which is characterised by forming of the style and lack of links between the worlds of the individual films. Phase 1 is defined by the presence of the agent duo Donna and Taryn (played by Dona Speir and Hope Marie Carlton). Here, Sidaris himself very oddly tries to relate his own origins to the newly constructed world. In one scene, the characters admire posters for his previous films, mentioning that the main character of Malibu Express is their former fellow agent. It is not entirely appropriate to imagine the narratological causality of this apparent meta footnote, because it is as straightforwardly recombined as the rest of the fruits of Sidaris’s imagination.

How the hell is it possible that this magnificent action flick has so drastically sunk into oblivion while every possible piece of dreck from the VHS era, where some desperate people chaotically wave their arms and someone occasional fires a gun, are seen as the heartbeat of a generation. Well, the answer is relatively easy. The reason consists in the fact that the film’s creators put together the best action sequences for their grandiose stunt showreel, but somehow didn’t bother with distribution. The directorial debut of the self-proclaimed stunt legend John Stewart is lightly based on the buddy movies of the day featuring black and white lead actors, but unlike the classics of the genre, such as 48 Hours and Lethal Weapon, it doesn’t bother with developing the characters and their dynamics, because the screenplay is appropriately makeshift and serves only to very vaguely lay the groundwork for the next breakneck action sequence. Fortunately, the movie does not take itself seriously at all, so the characters and individual scenes rather come across as caricatures of genre clichés. Whereas the more recent trend is to incorporate action into drama and to connect it to the characters so that it is not merely an attraction, but also something that draws viewers in, Action U.S.A. glorifies the tradition of spectacular stunts that put the plot on hold and make viewers marvel at what the obviously suicidal stuntmen are going through to get the wow effect. Today, this style is completely out of fashion, but in the 1980s, whole movies such as the showreel Fire, Ice and Dynamite and series like the iconic The Fall Guy were built on it. Stewart and his sidekicks can’t compete with genre legend Hal Needham and his Hooper in terms of either budget or spectacle, but they definitely offset that deficit with the dangers that they face, as well as with the guilelessness with which they make their own self-realisation the priority in the film’s logic. Viewers should not shake their heads at the fact that whatever the car crashes into will explode, but instead should simply accept this fact and admire the outsized explosions and the ambition to risk one’s health and the equipment in the interest of the most effective shots. In this respect, Action U.S.A. offers amazement and rambunctious entertainment like few other films.

The Kingdom is a precisely constructed and directed thriller with a generic plot that very much conforms to the American geopolitical agenda of the time, but also attempts to disguise its propagandistic dimension by building kitsch-laden sympathies for some of the characters of other nationalities. In the end, it even allows itself to poke at the supposed moral superiority and unambiguous firm resolve. But, of course, it remains solely at the level of an easily digestible mainstream flick that resolutely does not go against the grain. However, the effectively built team of main characters, each with their own role in the narrative, and especially the action are definitely worthy of praise. Though viewers will have to wait until the end for that, it is the natural culmination of the preceding events and the depicted characters, and above all it is realised with an outstanding symbiosis of dramatic construction, spatial topography, nervous camerawork and quick editing, as well as astonishing physical dynamics.

As the maestro Sidaris himself aptly stated, this is a relatively atypical movie among Malibu Bay Films’ productions. Unfortunately, this means that it is absolutely, arduously boring. The best flicks from Sidaris’s MCU (Mammaries Cinematic Universe) overflow with excessively phantasmagorical action scenes, boudoir titillations, insipid twists and burlesque exaggeration, while providing a lot of campy potential. But when they decide to keep their feet on the ground, the result is a tiresome chain of sequences in which planes are constantly in the air and someone walks back and forth on the beach. And there aren’t even many Hawaiian boobs here. _____ In the context of the Sidaris MCU (Mammaries Cinematic Universe), following the example of categorising Marvel movies, we can refer to this movie as the final title of Phase 1, defined by the presence of the agent duo Donna and Taryn (portrayed by Dona Speir and Hope Marie Carlton).

The flood of emotions together with the cinematic originality and agonisingly gripping themes of young love, adolescence and bullying give me the impression that I find myself taken back nearly two decades. At that time, Asian cinema brought out breathtaking films that provided a spectacle many times more intense, original and progressive in comparison with Western productions. For a long time, however, I had not felt such excitement and enthusiasm from Asian films, either because of my own jadedness or because productions from the Far East had become mired in mundanity and no impressive new talent had emerged that would disrupt the monopoly of established names and their expected standards (of course Parasite, for example, is a work of pure genius, but one doesn’t expect anything else from Pong). Better Days evokes the same enthusiasm and engulfs the viewer in an absolute fountain of emotions like Go by Isa Jukisada and All About Lily Chou-Chou by Shunji Iwai, with which it shares, in addition to the above-mentioned themes, boundless empathy for its characters, pop-formal energy and captivating narration. It is not specifically subject to chronology, but is governed by emotional and dramatic dramaturgy. The film conceals certain information from viewers, but simply only fragile moments from the relationship between the central couple and releases that information only when it has the appropriate emotional impact. Thanks to that, Better Days continuously adds new layers to its characters while bringing elements of a thriller into the formula of a high-school drama and teen romance. ________ The utterly agitprop conclusion and the exceedingly rosy depiction of the police, which make the necessity of appeasing the Chinese censors conspicuously apparent, are drawbacks. On the other hand, however, these aspects do not erase all of the good and emotional tension of the preceding two hours. ________ Derek Tsang Kwok-Cheung grew up in a family of Chinese migrants in Hong Kong, established himself as a character actor and now, with the aid of leading Hong Kong filmmakers in the role of producers, creates great co-productions that impress critics and, mainly, viewers in China and Hong Kong. Such success straddling the border between those two diametrically different markets and audiences is very rare. Tsang thus not only confirms his status as a major emerging talent, but together with, for example, Chinese director Bai Xue, whose social drama The Crossing become a hit in Hong Kong, also fills this long-time fan cinema from that part of the world with hope for the future.

David DeCoteau graduated from the Roger Corman school with an advanced degree in hucksterism. As one of Corman’s most teachable but also least talented students in terms of filmmaking, he did not rank among Hollywood’s distinguished filmmakers, though he did create for himself a stable position in the ranks of ultra-cheap trash that was hopeless with respect to craftmanship. Just as in the case of Sorority Babes in the Slimeball Bowl-O-Rama of the same year, this time he again serves up an exemplary direct-to-VHS fraud, where the perfect cover of the cassette works like a Trojan horse via which viewers let this shitty flick invade their screens. Fortunately, this movie is significantly less boring thanks to the female lead’s ridiculous lack of acting ability. Her strenuously pinched expressions make every scene a bitter spectacle. Unlike his master, DeCoteau did not have sufficient presence of mind or budget to cast in the lead role a physically fit actress whom viewers would believe could stand up to the movie’s gallery of inept bad guys. Peggy McIntaggart is so ineffectual that not even the desperate attempt to stylise her as a hard-ass with a Rambo-esque headband and sunglasses helps (not to mention the fact that it seems they preferred not put her on cassette cover, where it is quite possible a different woman is hiding behind those sunglasses; at the very least, she has a noticeably different costume than that worn during shooting). However, DeCoteau otherwise tries to maintain at least a basic supply of genre attractions, so in addition to regularly placed anti-erotic scenes with bare breasts, he mainly invested in action scenes, which, in line with common practice, were shot by the second crew, while the car chases exhibit a much higher level of craftsmanship than the rest of the film made by DeCoteau himself. That doesn’t exactly mean they are anything to write home about and the chase scenes are interesting rather as evident manifestations of a poor budget, such as shooting in out-of-the-way industrial areas (whereas the movie is otherwise set in an upper-middle-class neighbourhood). But one explosion during a car crash is utterly perfect – it is a euphoric superlative in the case of films bearing David DeCoteau’s signature.

This biographical film about the formative years of the most important Canadian prime minister, William Lyon Mackenzie King, is impressive in how it essentially sets out on a path that is anything but standard. Instead of a credible retro setting and fidelity to facts, it gives viewers an insanely absurd dive into a dreamlike subconsciousness shot in a style inspired by German expressionism and other avant-garde trends from the early days of cinema and beyond, where surreal symbolism is melded with manifested Freudian anxieties. Some domestic conservative viewers may find The Twentieth Century to be a tasteless iconoclastic provocation. Despite its seeming randomness, however, it is a surprisingly conceptual work that, with its deviation from the norm and the crackpot nature of individual scenes, leads viewers to start finding out the facts about the central historic figure and the whole phantasmagorically depicted time for themselves. Not only does this film provide such impetus for self-study that the creators of conventional biographical dramas could only dream about, but it also shows that WLMK was a rather bizarre personality, despite his public image.

This devastating minimalist drama is eloquent in and of itself, but it also coincidentally serves as a complement to the excellent horror film The Invisible Man, not only because both films’ central aggressor is in some way invisible and that both draw attention to people who had been previously overlooked. Whereas The Invisible Man was astonishing and frightening, but in the end offered a properly genre-based pressure valve for the topics of toxic relationships and domestic and sexual violence, The Assistant is paralysing and depressing as it gradually maps the system of abuse of power and harassment as a terrifyingly normalised and unexpectedly extensive swamp.

In its fourth instalment, a gerontic reunion held years later, the iconic buddy-movie series Lethal Weapon set out on the path of a sitcom or television genre show for middle-aged people. With its protagonists a decade older, Bad Boys makes a bee line to the soap-opera genre for seniors. On the one hand, it is fully conscious of that fact, which adds the necessary exaggeration to the film. On the other hand, the exaggerated soap-operatic moments of kitschy melodrama will paradoxically remain in the viewer’s memory longer than the diligently constructed action sequences, which are undermined by the need to digitally insert the aging stars into sequences with physically fit young people.