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In the rush to capitalize on "reality" TV, we will soon have unscripted dramas playing out on the big screen, with the upcoming Spring Break: The Movie, along with many more which are no doubt on their way. But why? When reality TV becomes a movie, thus losing the thrill of following a contest from week to week, doesn't that just make it a big, contrived documentary? Why would you want to watch that? If you're in the mood for "reality" style fun in movie form, why not just watch an an actual documentary, but about something lighthearted and fun? In short, why don't producers, instead of contriving more horrible things for people to do, simply find more documentaries like "Bang the Machine"?

Bang the Machine combines all the things that people love about reality TV--competition, watching real people behave in unconsciously ridiculous ways, and laughing at them while gradually, and secretly starting to sympathize with them. (Incidentally, "American Movie" has a similar effect, but is not as energetic as this film.) Apparently "documentary" is a dirty word, with boring connotations, but "Bang the Machine" proves it doesn't have to be. Documentaries can be light and fluffy and fun, yet more interesting than Reality shows because they actually show us how certain people are really living--not how they've been made to live for six weeks in some made-up situation. Maybe we need a new word for documentaries like this. Fun-u-mentary, or something. You'd come out for that, right, America?

If "reality movies" must exist, *this* is what they should be like. "Bang the Machine" is a lot of fun, especially for anyone who's loved a video game, and even more especially for anyone who was caught up in the Street Fighter II craze for any length of time.

Despite the title, Kung Phooey! is really not so much a spoof targeting kung-fu movies as it is a spoof on cultural stereotypes of Asian Americans, particularly Asian-American males. It does take shots at the kung-fu film genre, but it is limited by its budget, and the action scenes, while well-executed considering the limitations, are few and far between. While Kung Phooey! hits a few of the obvious bases in its parodies of martial-arts films, it mostly spoofs them in ways that purposefully examine how they inform popular conceptions of Asians. While the film seeks to hide its social satire within its media/pop culture parodies, its social satire is far too unsubtle to stay below the surface. That's not necessarily a bad thing, since spoofs like this aren't about subtlety anyway, and this cultural perspective is the strongest thing Kung Phooey! has going for it. Besides, it's nice to see a film that has a message of ethnic pride but doesn't use it as an excuse to get overly serious and self-important--and parody is the perfect genre for achieving this. The message is made quite clear, but it never hits you over the head in that obnoxious, self-righteous kind of way.

As a kung-fu spoof, the film is a bit lacking, but taken as a satirical response to media portrayals of Asian Americans, it's much stronger. Some jokes play better than others, but overall, it's a satisfying ride--especially for Asian-American audiences who have been thinking these things for a long time, and can now see them acknowledged on screen.

Some reviews I've seen claim that this awful film is only fit for people who are big Batman fans, but I find the opposite is true. If you really have any affection for the character of Batman, watching this film's total disregard for the characters' integrity is like watching a good friend get savagely beaten with a crowbar.

Still, as horrible as it is, a savage beating can be pretty funny if you can manage to ignore the fact that the victim is your friend. The same is true if you try to forget that this is supposed to be any kind of depiction of Batman and just accept the overwhelming idiocy for what it is. However, that doesn't mean you have to turn your brain off and sink to its shameful level. This movie is actually the most fun when viewed from a position of superiority, where you can crack wise and marvel at the fact that anything this awful could have been committed to film on purpose.

What if things really do have an inner life? What if the machines we take for granted as being under our control have an essence, a life force, a soul that needs only to be cultivated to be brought out into the open?

Mystic-minded hippie-type Tennessee Steinmetz (Buddy Hackett) argues that this is the case when his roommate, down-on-his-luck race driver Jim Douglas (Dean Jones) acquires a Volkswagen Beetle that frequently refuses to comply with its driver's demands. Tennessee claims that the car is alive, and names it Herbie. Jim doesn't believe this for a second, but that doesn't stop him from using the car's unusual speed to bring success to his previously undistinguished racing career. Meanwhile, Peter Thorndyke (David Tomlinson), the snobbish and hot-tempered owner of the dealership where Douglas bought the car, is having fits over Douglas' inexplicable winning streak. A race driver himself, Thorndyke becomes Jim's (and Herbie's) primary rival, resorting to increasingly sneaky tactics to prevail on the racetrack. Jim believes his own driving skill deserves the credit for his newfound success, but finally comes to believe the truth about Herbie in time for the final climactic race.

By far the funniest and best of Disney's Herbie series, The Love Bug is silly fun that's still smartly written enough to be fun for all ages. The special effects are somewhat dated and primitive, but they suffice. It's not easy to make a car show emotion, but here it's done with surprising effectiveness. It also doesn't hurt that as a car, the VW Bug has a lot of personality to start with. The human actors do well too; Dean Jones makes for a likeable hero, and Michele Lee the love interest. However, the real comic gold comes from Buddy Hackett as the offbeat Tennessee, who in Jim's words is `just in off a flying saucer,' and David Tomlinson as British rival Thorndyke, whose angry outbursts are deliciously over-the-top without crossing the fine line into obnoxious overacting.