Dollman vs. Demonic Toys

After glimpsing but a taste of the Sci-Fi Channel's Puppet Master vs. Demonic Toys, I must say that I have so much more respect for older Full Moon Pictures. Seeing as how I took their slowly deteriorating style for granted, I never realized how bad it could actually be. I just wanted my old favorites back and this is a much wanted breath of air, although entire stale and recycled.



Like most mash-ups, this is made almost entirely of stock footage. The plot has been watered down a bit and Brick Bardo's as corny as ever. Take Bad Channels, Demonic Toys, and Dollman. Mix them together in a blender and what you are given is Dollman vs. Demonic Toys. The product is messy, unhealthy, and full of MSG. The only new elements are several misplaced scenes of battling and several new demonic toys - one being a memorable Soldier figure that predates Small Soldiers by 5 years. Chip Hazard's early incarnation was a bit more violent, eh?


The heroine from the previous film returns to enlist the help of Dollman after the rest of her staff at Police HQ thinks she is insane. She's almost positive that the evil demonic toys are going to return and with the help of a hairy dwarf, she's right. The rest of the film really just revolves around lame subplots and embarrassing set pieces to make the average appliance look mammoth next to Tim Thomerson. To call this a B-grade film would be a bit of a compliment, but at least it doesn't stoop as low as to butcher the entire lore of the Toulon-related universe.


Dollman vs. Demonic Toys is a horrific film by standards and the standards are deep. If you take a step back and reapply all judgments to the film, your cynicism might fade just a bit. Much like Puppet Master: The Legacy, all the "good" footage was edited in so what you get is a Full Moon greatest hits compilation. You at least have to be thankful for the lack of a slide show commentary. It's nice to see the Demonic Toys back for another round, even more so that a proper Demonic Toys sequel was announced not too long ago. Lets hope the future is bright!

-mAQ

Naked

Johnny's a dead man walking. You wouldn't guess that he's the ripe, young age of 27 at first glance. Hell, even I thought 40 was a generous guess. Similar to the philosophy of Into the Wild, only deliriously intellectualized, the carefree and often risqué charisma of Johnny is a savage tool for him to abuse most females he encounters, but no, Johnny's not a misogynist. Like most of us, he's a misanthropist. Unlike most of us, the complexity of which his mind unravels allows us for the perfect specimen for documentation of sorts.


His form of sincere narcissism is one that is most unexplored. He doesn't represent himself as a human being in most aspects, that is, unless he just got the hell kicked out of him. He wanders around the scenes quoting philosophers, raping women, chain-smoking, and discussing high society values in an establishment that is crumbling underneath of him. The character of Johnny has reached a demigod level thanks to Mike Leigh's British masterpiece.


There are many adjectives that can be used to accentuate the thoughts this film provokes. Searing is an audacious example that springs to mind. I'd owed it to Derek to watch this film for little over a year now. Collecting dust on my shelf; Had I known this film would have been so invasive of my every thought, I would have picked this up a lot sooner. I had always jested about viewing this film under the sole condition that I, in fact, would be Naked as the film puts it. But be as it would, Naked is a metaphor for humanity slowly unsheathing itself after a precisely paced film has just burned its many images into your retinas.


Soon after the climactic opening in which our anti-human lead is having passionate sex, the moans of delight turn into a forceful scream. We realize that like most women, the very thought of a domineering male can prove to be the ultimate fantasy and the most accessible fetish. Escaping Manchester as to not get beaten up by the family of the rape victim, Johnny pops in on his ex-girlfriend at her flat, which leads to many awkward situations and raw characteristics clashing, almost flammable to the touch.

"Well, basically, there was this little dot, right? And the dot went bang and the bang expanded. Energy formed into matter, matter cooled, matter lived, the amoeba to fish, to fish to fowl, to fowl to frog, to frog to mammal, the mammal to monkey, to monkey to man, amo amas amat, quid pro quo, memento mori, ad infinitum, sprinkle on a little bit of grated cheese and leave under the grill till Doomsday."

Enter Jeffrey, a bourgeois playboy who has it all but continues to take more. This archetype is one to loathe and Jeffrey (or Sebastien) creates such an intimidating and daunting character that you realize that Johnny is just a drifter who looks good by comparison with a true sort of evil. With the film slowly reeling forwards, one must make the connection that these two characters would meet but who knew when? Their long awaited encounter explodes into what might be the first example of making an anti-climax into art.


Never has a film had such raw monologues that prove the unscripted genius of that which is a lost form of theater known as improvisation. The mark of the beast is near us all. Naked is a bold sexual politic in a long list of cinema masterpieces. While not being entirely linear around a set plot point, this allows Mike Leigh to focus on much more important matters at hand. Each interaction is priceless. Naked is a film that is so cleverly cultured that it baffles me still, days after viewing.

-mAQ

Mockingbird Don't Sing

The value of a tragedy on film can be somewhat redundant at times. When a film is made to showcase an incident "based on" some event that shocked a small number of people, the result is normally a soulless exercise in directing minimalism. To create an independent "tear-jerker" is a sucker punch for film festivals as most fans of drama love to cry. I don't blame them. Sadness is a much more poetic and poignant emotion than happiness. Happiness is generally hollow.

As Robert Downey Jr. so succinctly put it in Tropic Thunder - "Never go full retard"

For those who haven't heard of Genie; the modern Feral child, Mockingbird Don't Sing follows the true story of a child raised from near birth strapped to a chair/toilet hybrid. This fabulous piece of carpentry is where Genie (Katie in the film) spent all her time during the day, up until she was rescued months before her 14th birthday. What better way to bring a story of a divine innocence than the director of all three Xtro films - Harry Bromley Davenport.


Maybe I'm of a cold heart but this film didn't quite form the visceral assault that it promised. Rather than accepting this as a whole-blooded film, this seemed more like a dignified Lifetime reenactment. To watch a child actress play dumb and pretend like she lacks linguistic capabilities doesn't constitute awards and praise. In news of more postmodern feral children, thanks to the discovery of Josef "Dungeon Keeper" Fritzl's Pink Flamingos-esque cellar, many more of the "Pepsi generation" have begun to catch on to how cruel life is.


I could catch up on some of the case details, but this is a film review highlighting the highs and the lows of this film, which there are many. My convictions allow me to digress the fact that my thoughts may be deemed unhealthy towards the lower class or handicapped, but I just really loathe pointless cinematic excursions in telling a story that has been told time and time again with no new visions in directing.


If you've ever read A Child Called It, you already know the procedure. There's both rhyme and reason for the fear of feminization depicted by Katie's father. Before he commits suicide, he leaves a note saying "The world will never understand". In many ways, he is correct. The world will never understand why this film was made. While it resonates some emotional distress in some scenes, the rest proves to be entirely inaccurate and too provoked. It would be best to skip this crowd pleaser and just pick up the book. Call me heartless but I got a grip on humanity.

-mAQ

Split Second

Akin to 80s bio-horror film The Kindred, Split Second is another blast from the past for me. The picture perfect video box art still resonates fresh within the corridors of my mind. After my maturity, I hit a memory peak where I had begun to forget the titles of the films that were most dear to me. Thanks to the IMDB plot search and Netflix, I began to track down such titles with vigor. Split Second is one of the few lucky ones that survived in my memory, ironically enough.

With a few details still fresh in my mind like I'd seen it yesterday, I began to brainstorm what exactly I remembered. A heartbeat in a distant flooded metropolis. A monolithic, though rotund man wielding incredible futuristic weaponry. Did I mention a 10 foot tall sentient alien creature armed with razor nails that give the fear of blades a whole new meaning? With a being of this magnitude, plus its adaptability towards souls and weapons, Split Second turns B-grade sci-fi horror into something of a treasure.


Created in 1992, Split Second was one of the earlier films theatrically released to endorse the idea of global warming, soon followed by the much maligned Waterworld. The running commentary depicted in Split Second focuses on London as it rests several feet under water. The critical controversy wouldn't really reach a peak until the inception of Al Gore's An Inconvenient Truth. But between the two films, Split Second is far more invigorating, horrifying, and judgmental on the human species thanks to the Blade Runner inspired set pieces and the ambient bar scenes.


The cold spirited show stealer is not the man himself, Rutger Hauer, but rather the alien creature he is in fact chasing. While showing signs of extraterrestrial life, this specimen seems to be sea-borne and thrives off of the old occult myth that eating one's heart will allow you to absorb their soul. This symbiotic life form features a stunning array of costumed effects that could easily be mistaken as the handiwork of the late & great Stan Winston with a dash of H.R. Giger's fantastical alien sexuality.


What Split Second has going for it the most is how fascinating the film pretends to be, but then ever-so-delicately cradles your attention span. Rather than mad libbing the film with filler dialogue and useless violence, Split Second constructs an entirely adaptable fictional universe in which life can sustain in. Futuristic automatic combat shotguns, dreary and damp environments, and post-Cantina citizens; Split Second is a pure breed pedigree of 90s science fiction. I was hooked the instant Hauer stopped an attacking Rottweiler with a badge while muttering "Police, dickhead".

-mAQ

It's a Wonderful Life

It’s a Wonderful Life is a Hollywood classic that actually deserves to be watched by every American family during the Holiday season each year. As much as I feel that most Hollywood “classics” are usually overrated and contrived studio products, It’s a Wonderful Life deserves the special recognition it has. As much as James Stewart has always annoyed me to an extent, his performance in It’s a Wonderful Life is one of his greatest (if not his best). It’s a Wonderful Life is also an essential film to watch this Christmas with the economic crisis that has been plaguing this country and has already resulted in suicides.


Henry F. Potter is the kind of villain that most Americans can feel good about hating this time of the year. Recently, a real life Potter was exposed by the name of Bernard L. Madoff. Madoff, a Zionist “philanthropist,” is easily as despicable as the banker fiend Potter. Just as Christmas never truly leaves us every year, neither do the coldhearted swindlers. One can also expect Madoff to get off fairly leniently just as Henry F. Potter. Sadly, the George Bailey's of the world seem to become less and less.

It’s a Wonderful Life debuted in theaters in 1946 and a lot has changed since then. America had just won its hand in the second World War and things looked good. However, the “small man” still had a hand with the banks and his community. Bankers like Henry F. Potter did not have the majority of people completely financially tied down as virtual serfs. The world of “Potterville” is one of degenerate Jazz, loose women, and disgruntled souls as George Bailey finds out. Drive around most American towns or cities nowadays and you will see that degeneracy has become the norm. It’s a Wonderful Life director Frank Capra was not lying with his portrayal of how bankers like communities and people to be when under their miser wrath of usury.


It’s a Wonderful Life is a film that needs to be seen in it’s original black and white format. Aside from the color version horribly done, the black and white format better compliments the films depiction of an American past. The majority of America has now been enslaved by having to say “Happy Holiday” instead of the classic “Merry Christmas.” Christmas has become just another capitalist Holiday that people like Bernard L. Madoff exploit for financial gain. Thankfully, It’s a Wonderful Life is still a celebrated film that gives the audiences a celebration of more “hopeful” times.

-Ty E

Punisher: War Zone

In 2004, a Punisher film was released starring such A-list star power as Thomas Jane and John Travolta. Leeching onto the realization that the film sucks, a sequel was never produced. Flash forward to the year 2008, someone had a great idea of doing a reboot of a reboot. Just how "communism looks perfect on paper", the idea shouldn't have worked to such a marvelous degree. Boy, I love surprises.


When I first encountered both the trailers to Max Payne and Punisher: War Zone, I found the early opinionated advantage in favor of Max Payne > Punisher: War Zone. When the time came for both to have seen the light of day, the result shockingly became vice versa. Punisher: War Zone perfectly captured the comic art direction and sealed The Punisher as a bad ass vigilante and not some priss with his shirt tucked in. My familiarization with the Punisher character was a journey through various War Journals and film adaptations, ranging from decent to pugnacious.


The Punisher was outfitted as a clown but is back with a vengeance. This film should carry surnames as "This Time it's Personal" or "The Revenge". The appeasement of the audience by way of promotional trailers was most unsavory. A man with slick hair and a Kevlar turtleneck with many slow motion shots condensed in a 2 minute trailer can only do so much without making the whole concept seem as an esoteric shout out to some Hollywood buds.


Ever so fitting to your needs, War Zone accommodates the Punisher fan in you, and if you're not a fan of the Punisher, then the violence will suit you just fine. The depicted brutality rivals the latest Rambo installment on terms of decapitations, explosions, and visceral close-up shotgun fatalities. The comic thematics are insinuated in the last 20 minutes giving the anti-freedom fighter sufficiently more space to maneuver in.


Ray Stevenson perfects the film as the remorseless serial murdering vigilante. Stevenson's performance is the icing on the cake, so to speak. With his actions come a layer of unspoken sorrow and incendiary black humor. The device of his departed family isn't abstrusely forced into some whiny flashback. Rather, we collect our thoughts on his daughter's old musical box. There's no scenes of Stevenson asking the villains to "put the bunny down" or any of that nonsense. On terms of bloodshed, Punisher: War Zone is nearly unmatched by any Hollywood production. This is near as sadistic as action cinema comes. At least until Rambo 5 is released.


If Frank Castle indulged a single craving, it would most certainly be the over-the-top, yet excessive deaths of degenerate filth. We witness the fruitful executions of parkour-wannabe gangsta thugs getting shot in the head and exploded with miniature propelled rockets, senile mothers with their head blown in half, and sleazy Gino's biting the dust. All this, backed with throbbing humor and intense fluorescents. This is just one of few films that can sport a heavy metal soundtrack just right.


It doesn't choose to go into the exploitation zone near as much as the overkill explored in Feast II: Sloppy Seconds (Which featured midget wrestlers with foot-long dicks), but just enough to leave a visual impression rather than heaving felt as you witnessed a sideshow. Perhaps one of the greatest looking films of the year, Punisher: War Zone was made for the theater viewing experience. This film cannot come any more recommended.

-mAQ

Haze

Apologies to mind, Tsukamoto is a man of feverish homoerotic film making tendencies. He has crafted visual art pieces tracing the darkness of homosexuality with such fervor as classic Kenneth Anger and Marian Dora's Cannibal. Be as it may, Tsukamoto will always create an admirable film, no matter how left-field it is from his previous works. From Tetsuo: The Iron Man to A Snake of June, A Snake of June to Nightmare Detective, Tsukamoto has proved his worth while creating cinéma vérité mixed with subversive images that unsettles most everyone.


Somewhere between Tsukamoto's affinity for Western films, Haze is born rather crudely. Seeming more like Cube than anything else, we discover our focus being on a wounded man trapped in a concrete crawlspace. With only a short time to live before he bleeds out, he begins to slowly navigating this claustrophobic labyrinth and discovers a woman. For those who remember the infamous scenes of material & teeth in Tetsuo: The Iron Man, be aware that you will see our hero's teeth grind against pavement for a good couple of minutes which leads to nerves twitching.


If you recall Lynch's transfer to digital video (Inland Empire) and how pretentious it was, Tsukamoto's digital endeavor encompasses the very raw fear that should be filmed with digital. For those who revel in large, open spaces best avoid Haze. I'm not very terrified of small spaces but Haze had me short of breath and unsure if I wanted to continue. What The Descent did with claustrophobic terror, Haze magnifies the similar fear into uncharted levels of contingency.


The near problem with Haze is its conclusion. Being of the surrealist taste, the ending settles with a coup d’état on the senses, leaving various theories that always erupt into polemic ramblings. I like to think of these skirmishes in experimental art as a Rorschach of moving images. Haze dumbfounds me still. The afterthoughts infect like a plague. Tsukamoto has created yet another classic with only 50 minutes of your time and manages to force you on the edge of your seat the entire time. The result is dizzyingly masochistic, uncomfortable beyond any stretch of the imagination, emasculating, and as hyper-horrifying as the homosexual hell depicted within the labyrinth.

-mAQ