InjunNose

Gordon Oas-Heim (credited as Don Joseph) is an emotionally volatile painter who lives on a remote stretch of beach with his girlfriend (Elyn Warner). She and a local art gallery owner (Scott H. Hall) do their best to placate him, but his moods become more and more unpredictable. One afternoon, the girlfriend accidentally cuts her finger and allows the painter to use her blood as pigment on his latest canvas. Predictably, things get worse from there...and the central action of the film revolves around a group of "teens" (led by suspiciously adult-looking Jerome Eden) who wander onto the painter's property.

"Color Me Blood Red," Herschell Gordon Lewis's third gore flick (and his final collaboration with partner Dave Friedman), is one of his lesser efforts. Neither as relentlessly gruesome as "Blood Feast" nor as entertaining as "Two Thousand Maniacs," it struggles to establish a semi-comedic tone and then obliterates it when the painter finally goes nuts and begins to claim his victims. Still, Oas-Heim delivers a good (if somewhat overwrought) performance, and hardcore fans will enjoy the oddball '60s Florida atmosphere that was HGL's trademark. The stock music that Lewis so lamented actually works pretty well, in my opinion.

You'd need to be an obsessive fan of Hong Kong martial arts films to have run across "Twins of Kung Fu" even by accident. I saw it under its alternate title, "Passage of the Dragon," in late 1986 or early '87 (i.e., the golden age of VHS). In his groundbreaking book "Martial Arts Movies: From Bruce Lee to the Ninjas," Richard Meyers reckoned this film to be among the twenty-five best kung fu flicks on videotape and synopsized it thusly: "The twins are a son and daughter team of a martial arts master who must defeat a mountain killer who is filling a village river with poison and the countryside with corpses." Apart from that, virtually nothing has been written about the film.

While I strenuously disagree that "Twins of Kung Fu" is among the best of *any* category, it does contain a couple of interesting moments. The film was co-directed by veteran stuntman Pasan Leung (credited here simply as Pasan), who also stars as the poison-unleashing killer. The twins are played by Liu Hung-yi (credited as Jackie Liu, which should give you some idea of when the movie was made and the tone it was trying to strike) and Michelle Yim. Jason Pai Piao (credited as Pak Piao) appears as the killer's ruthlessly loyal son, and many of the minor roles are performed by familiar Hong Kong character actors. It will come as no surprise to the seasoned viewer that this film is padded with insultingly idiotic slapstick, or that its low production values are often painfully evident. But things get better during the final half-hour, and your patience is finally rewarded with a lengthy, fairly well-choreographed outdoor battle. Long of face and prominent of tooth, Pasan squares off against Liu and Yim in a fight obviously modeled on the finale of Jackie Chan's "The Young Master."

I'm not sure how you'd see "Twins of Kung Fu" today; as far as I can determine, it's never been released on DVD and no one has uploaded it to YouTube. If you've got a functioning VCR, you might track down a copy on videotape (as "Passage of the Dragon," on the Congress Video label)...but you'll have to be a dedicated, semi-fanatical viewer of these films to even bother.

Craig Stevens is still the suave, unflappable title character and he's still spending his nights at Mother's, so there's a comforting sense of continuity in "Gunn." Granted, the supporting cast is different...but there had been two Mothers already, and frankly I was never a big fan of Lola Albright as Pete's steady flame Edie Hart. The only jarring change for me was Ed Asner as Lt. Jacoby. I like Asner, and he's the right general type for a curmudgeonly character like Jacoby, but I missed Herschel Bernardi's unique screen presence. (Was he uninterested in reprising the role, or was it not offered to him?)

There are a few misguided attempts to give Gunn a self-effacing sense of humor, but that was never a part of the original mix and it comes off awkwardly. Other reviewers have noted that the script recycles elements of certain episodes of the TV series, and they're right, but it relies even more heavily on the denouement of Howard Browne's 1949 detective novel "Halo in Brass." I'll offer no spoilers in that regard, but it's obvious that either Blake Edwards or William Peter Blatty was familiar with Browne's book.

Some graphic violence, some kitsch, and a reassuringly levelheaded performance by Stevens. (Gorgeous Sherry Jackson makes the most of a relatively small role; her fans will find this film worth seeking out.) "Gunn" is nothing special, but it's a reasonably entertaining attempt to update a quintessentially '50s character for the Groovy Age.

Based on Barré Lyndon's play "The Man in Half Moon Street" and starring Anton Diffring (in a role originally intended for Peter Cushing), "The Man Who Could Cheat Death" is one of my favorite Hammer productions. It lacks the fan base of the studio's Frankenstein and Dracula films, probably because it's a bit more talky and cerebral than the average monster outing, but from a dramatic standpoint it's one of Hammer's finest efforts.

The character of Dr. Bonnet is markedly similar to Cushing's Frankenstein: single-minded of purpose, flawed, capable of cruelty and yet not a full-fledged villain. This would have been a great role for Cushing, but I think it was an even better one for Diffring; he counterbalances Bonnet's frosty Germanic quality with a tragic desperation that's fascinating to watch. Still, Arnold Marlé steals the show as Bonnet's old medical colleague Professor Weiss, who suffers visibly from the effects of age and illness while Bonnet remains handsome, healthy and inexplicably (at first) youthful. Francis de Wolff gives a strong performance as a police inspector sniffing suspiciously around Bonnet's clinic. Oddly enough, horror stalwarts Christopher Lee and Hazel Court serve as the film's placeholders: Lee may have been relieved to play a good guy for once, but the role doesn't give him much to do; Court is the obligatory beautiful-woman-in-peril.

There are a few overtly scary moments (you know something terrible is about to happen whenever Diffring opens that safe and what's inside bathes his face in a ghastly, blue-green glow), but the film's real interest is generated by the conflict between Bonnet and Weiss. Both visually and in director Terence Fisher's restrained approach to the horrific subject matter, "The Man Who Could Cheat Death" is reminiscent of the 1962 version of "The Phantom of the Opera," another unjustly neglected Hammer production. Great stuff for viewers who enjoy spooky period films but are tired of the standard monster fare.

In "Crippled Avengers" (aka "Mortal Combat," aka "Return of the Five Deadly Venoms"), pioneering Hong Kong action director Chang Cheh officially enters the realm of total fantasy. "Five Deadly Venoms" looks crude and tentative next to this absurd concoction of high-kicking, baton-twirling superheroics, and if you liked that film, you'll love this one.

Chen Kuan-tai is a martial arts master whose home is invaded by three rivals; Chen manages to kill them, but not before they murder his wife and chop off his son's hands. The son (Lu Feng) grows up, becoming a hateful bully with prosthetic hands made of iron. He, his father, and the father's chief henchman (Wang Lung-wei) cripple anyone who challenges their appalling behavior: a local blacksmith (Lo Meng) is made deaf and mute; a traveling salesman (Kuo Chui) is blinded; a passerby (Sun Chien) loses his legs after trying to intervene; and a visiting martial artist (Chiang Sheng) is rendered "slow" (does that adjective meet your exacting standards, IMDb?) when the villains put his head in a vise. These men band together, becoming pupils of Chiang Sheng's elderly sifu (Ching Miao) in their quest for revenge.

That synopsis sounds gruesome, but all of the violence in this film has a cartoonish, unreal quality. None of it is even remotely convincing, and that includes the fight scenes themselves: they look more like acrobatic exhibitions than fights. Are the opponents actually trying to hurt each other, or are they just performing tandem somersaults? That's the problem with "Crippled Avengers." It goes without saying that the actors are physically talented, and the acrobatics are fun to watch...up to a point. But the conspicuously flashy choreography, the flowing hair and silly costumes, and the lack of anything resembling human characterization ultimately left me with a feeling of sterility. This is the kind of movie that's generally more appealing to a young audience.

Chinese martial arts cinema as we know it would not exist without Chang Cheh, so it feels unfair to knock him for the stylistic overindulgences of a film like this. Still, I prefer the Chang Cheh of "Trail of the Broken Blade" and "Blood Brothers": the Chang Cheh who staged epic, bloody kung-fu battles *and* made his characters seem like real, three-dimensional people who had things at stake.

"Harper" was a straightforward adaptation of "The Moving Target," the debut of Ross Macdonald's long-running series featuring private investigator Lew Archer. Nine years later, Paul Newman reprised the role of Harper (Archer) in "The Drowning Pool," based on the novel of the same name. "Harper" was not a remarkable film by any means, but it did manage to adhere to the source material (a virtue in Hollywood, where screenwriters are always tempted to "fix" the book they're adapting). Unfortunately, "The Drowning Pool" indulges in too many arbitrary departures from the novel, making it a mostly unenjoyable viewing experience.

Let's be honest: Newman was never the right guy for the role. He may have been an A-list star, but he wasn't Archer (just as Humphrey Bogart wasn't the Marlowe of Raymond Chandler's novels). Twinkly amusement registers constantly on Harper's face--in jarring contrast to Macdonald's dour, essentially humorless Archer--and he says things that are completely out of character. ("I'm horny but I'm not stupid," Harper quips after Melanie Griffith's teenaged hellion comes onto him. Archer was no prude, but he would never have offered such crass commentary.) I could tolerate Newman if the rest of the film made up for his deficiencies, but it doesn't. There was absolutely no reason to change the setting from California to Louisiana; the result is nothing but a lot of grating, painfully artificial Southern accents. There's some shooting and some fisticuffs, but not enough to redeem "The Drowning Pool" as an action piece. Murray Hamilton's broadly villainous portrayal of a bayou oil magnate is the movie's only real bright spot.

Ross Macdonald fans may want to see this once, though they'll yearn in vain for the richness and psychological complexity of Macdonald's prose. Casual viewers won't be able to pinpoint what's missing, but will instinctively sense a lack of substance.

A pointless but entertaining medical horror outing, "Brain of Blood" is also a rare example of wholeness in the cinematic oeuvre of Al Adamson. This picture was filmed in one go, not chaotically stitched together like "Dracula vs. Frankenstein" or "Blood of Ghastly Horror." (As such, it may be a good introduction to Adamson's work for the uninitiated.) Fun cast, too: a virtual who's who of Adamson regulars (Kent Taylor, Regina Carrol, Vicki Volante, Angelo Rossitto, Zandor Vorkov, John Bloom, Richard Smedley), as well as Grant Williams ("The Incredible Shrinking Man") and former TV star Reed Hadley.

The intent, of course, was to create a sort of unofficial installment in the Filipino "Blood Island" series directed by Eddie Romero, but from the music cues to the agonizing closeups, this is unmistakably an Al Adamson/Sam Sherman production...which is precisely what I like about it. That the acid scars on the face of misshapen giant Gor (John Bloom) are obviously a combination of flesh-colored gauze and a novelty store bald cap is part of the no-budget charm. (It'll drive you crazy if you're measuring this film against "Citizen Kane," but why would you do that?) Occasionally it seems as if the characters are just performing random actions until the scene is over, so be prepared for a few jarring instances of dead air. Near the end, there's a surprisingly touching conversation between earnest hero Grant Williams and dungeon escapee Vicki Volante; it's somewhat corny yet awkwardly believable, humanizing characters who otherwise were merely cartoonish.

"Brain of Blood" isn't scary, but you won't get bored: there's a lot of movement and violent action, including the obligatory Adamson car crash. It's consistently entertaining and will, to some extent, appeal to viewers who aren't fans of Adamson (or of horror movies in general).

Three films earlier, masterless samurai Kyoshiro Nemuri (Raizo Ichikawa) embarrassed the Shogun's rogue daughter, Princess Kiku (Michiko Ai). Driven mad by the burn scars on her face, Kiku takes out her frustrations on innocent men and women--thereby drawing Nemuri's ire. The princess returns in this seventh film of the series, determined to kill Nemuri in the most painful manner possible. While fending off Kiku's army of assassins, Nemuri also rescues a young girl from a life of prostitution; eventually, the two storylines converge and the girl falls into the clutches of the evil princess.

"The Mask of the Princess" is self-consciously artsy. Director Akira Inoue favors indirect shots, partially obscuring his performers behind sliding doors; in several instances the camera even follows their feet, rather than their faces, as the events of the film unfold. This sometimes has a deleterious effect on the fight scenes, such as when Nemuri cuts down multiple opponents behind a row of trees, but there's enough action that these occasional obscured shots aren't a deal-breaker. Overall I enjoyed Inoue's approach. He doesn't rush the story (making this film about ten minutes longer than the average entry in the series), and there's a nice mix of indoor and outdoor photography by Yasukazu Takemura. Not a good starting point if you're new to the Sleepy Eyes of Death series, but fun if you've seen the previous films.

Though predictably formulaic like all of Universal's 1940s horror output, "Son of Dracula" isn't a bad way to pass eighty minutes if you enjoy this type of movie. The story (co-written by Curt Siodmak, director Robert's brother) is silly and erratic, but moves quickly and doesn't give you a chance to lose interest. Not a great fit for the Dracula role, Lon Chaney (Jr.) at least seems to have been aware of his limitations, and the events of the film tend to flow *around* him...almost in spite of him at times. There's no shortage of strong performances from the rest of the cast, however: Louise Allbritton as the morbid Southern belle who offers herself up as Dracula's new consort, Robert Paige as Allbritton's increasingly desperate fiancé, and Frank Craven as the shrewd town doctor whose dark suspicions about Dracula are confirmed. Still, the film fails to conjure any real sense of menace; the viewer never feels that the fabric of existence is being threatened (as in the films of Val Lewton, made for Universal's direct rival RKO during this same period), or that the town may not survive Dracula's visit. Fun but insubstantial B-grade monster movie hijinks, designed to be breezily forgotten when the running time is up.

It's not clear what the unnamed Deep Southern location was supposed to contribute to the film's overall appeal; it would have worked just as well minus the swampy backdrop. Still, "Son of Dracula" was handsomely photographed by George Robinson, and is a good-looking film despite its numerous shortcomings. A minor but competent entry in Universal's horror sweepstakes. (By the way, the character that Chaney portrays is definitely Dracula himself and not the count's male offspring. The title "Son of Dracula" presumably was intended to avoid or minimize confusion with Columbia's "The Return of the Vampire," also released in late 1943; in that film, Bela Lugosi plays a distinctly Dracula-like bloodsucker named Armand Tesla.)

As a James Garner fan, I'm frankly mystified by the fact that "Nichols" was his favorite among his various TV series. Apart from Garner himself, it's got none of what made "The Rockford Files" so great: chemistry between the performers, consistent writing and an overall sense of purpose. It's got humor, sort of, or at least humorous intent...but the comedy somehow failed to translate from the scripts to the finished episodes.

Nichols (Garner), a career soldier who's seen enough violence to last him a lifetime, quits the Army in 1914 and returns to his Arizona hometown with the vague but persistent ambition of making a quick fortune. The town has been taken over by the Ketcham ranching family, led by cantankerous Ma Ketcham (Neva Patterson); at the end of the overly complicated pilot episode, Ma presses Nichols into service as the local sheriff. Margot Kidder as a young barmaid makes an awkward companion for Garner. Stuart Margolin plays Nichols' goofball deputy Mitch, but there's little hint in his interplay with Garner of the amazing chemistry they would later enjoy on "Rockford." One episode, 'Ketcham Power' (in which Ma's shiftless son, played by John Beck, temporarily assumes sheriff's duties while Nichols is out of town), makes an interesting and somewhat entertaining point about the abuse of authority. Other episodes ('The Siege,' 'Gulley vs. Hansen') limp along painfully in no particular direction.

The basic concept isn't bad, and series creator Frank Pierson set "Nichols" in what should have been a fascinating time period (the end of the Old West and the beginning of the modern age), but the final result was a combination of elements that just didn't work. For Garner fans who have never seen the show, it's a baffling experience at best. Little wonder that it never found an audience.

This 1983 actioner marks kung fu superstar Gordon Liu's directorial debut. Unfortunately, it also commemorates the moment at which the Shaolin trend in Hong Kong cinema became a schtick. Several of the training sequences from "The Thirty-Sixth Chamber of Shaolin" are re-enacted (Li Hai-sheng even returns as the contentious monk who, with his butterfly swords, challenges Gordon Liu's character), but they're divorced from the emotional impact they had in the earlier film. "Thirty-Sixth Chamber" was a martial arts movie, yes, but also a story about the triumph of the human spirit; "Shaolin and Wu Tang" is just a series of fight scenes woven together by a thin plot. Great fight scenes, certainly, but only that.

Gordon Liu plays the senior pupil of a Shaolin-style master. His best friend, the senior pupil of a master of the Wu Tang sword, is portrayed by Adam Cheng. A treacherous Manchu lord (Wang Lung-wei) pits the young friends against one another: Liu's resolve takes him to Shaolin Temple, where he becomes a monk, trains in the Buddhist fighting arts (first-hand this time) and vows to wipe out the Wu Tang school; Cheng, meanwhile, is detained at a Taoist monastery and learns the finer points of his sword style from the priests there. Will the two friends realize that they have been manipulated by the Manchu lord before they injure or even kill each other?

Characterization is sketchy, the drama almost entirely unconvincing. People die, but no one ever seems particularly distraught about it. Because the tragic events in the film are handled so awkwardly, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was watching mediocre community theatre. Granted, this isn't going to bother most viewers...but, on the basis of its reputation, I expected something more from "Shaolin and Wu Tang." Six stars for the fight scenes, dazzlingly choreographed by Liu Chia-liang.

I expected to loathe this film...but, surprisingly, it wasn't all that bad. The musical performances aren't my cup of tea, and the comedy is so strained as to be embarrassing, but at its core this spooky old house story is fairly entertaining. Marking the only occasion on which Boris Karloff, Bela Lugosi and Peter Lorre shared the screen (and the only time that Lugosi and Lorre appeared together at all), "You'll Find Out" benefits from RKO's high production values and director David Butler's willingness to let the three big-name horror stars play their parts straight despite the buffoonery taking place all around them. Lugosi is a turban-bedecked spiritualist who has attached himself to the eccentric aunt of a young heiress (pretty, personable Helen Parrish); Karloff is a distinguished judge who at least appears to be a friend of the family; Lorre is a phony professor who lurks in corners and is constantly lighting cigarettes. When screwy Kay Kyser and his band arrive at the aunt's creepy-looking Gothic mansion to perform for the heiress's 21st birthday party, shenanigans ensue.

Though it's no masterpiece, "You'll Find Out" is rendered watchable (and occasionally even fun) by the presence of Karloff, Lugosi and Lorre. At 97 minutes the film is a tad too long, but it had to be to make room for all those cringeworthy musical numbers.

In "Mad Monkey Kung Fu," Liu Chia-liang temporarily veered away from his successful Shaolin formula to experiment with the animal-style slapstick that had made Jackie Chan an overnight sensation. It's not a bad film (and it's fun to see Liu taking on a starring role for the first time), but it lacks the gravity of "Executioners from Shaolin" and "The Thirty-Sixth Chamber of Shaolin"...and suffers from script inconsistencies and odd pacing, to boot.

Chen (Liu) is a talented opera performer with a weakness for liquor. Local tycoon and all-around jerk Tuan (Lo Lieh) frames Chen for rape, taking Chen's sister (Kara Hui) as his concubine and breaking Chen's hands so that he no longer poses a threat. Chen becomes a street performer and is befriended by a young man known only as Monkey (Hsiao Ho). Hot-headed and a little simple, Monkey is always getting into trouble with a gang of thugs, so Chen teaches him how to defend himself. It turns out that the thugs work for Tuan, and when Monkey gives them a sound beating, he also incurs Tuan's wrath. Chen is finally obliged to intervene despite his apparently ruined hands.

The production values are top-notch (they always were in Shaw Brothers films), and the martial arts choreography is of course flawless, but Ni Kuang's script is noticeably disjointed. Chen's whole existence is upended in one overly busy fifteen-minute scene, after which Tuan's character disappears from the film for an extended period. Implausibly, Chen does not attempt to remain in contact with his sister and seems to have no idea that the thugs harassing him and Monkey are Tuan's men (though it's fairly obvious all along). Finally, events veer from the comic to the tragic and back again with a dizzying lack of warning, making "Mad Monkey Kung Fu" a schizophrenic viewing experience. See it for the fights, especially the climactic confrontation at Tuan's brothel. Objectively speaking, this is not Liu Chia-liang's greatest moment; subjectively, your rating will depend on your tolerance level for traditional Chinese comedy and capering monkey impersonations.

Despite the sequences added in 1970 to pad the film to feature length (and to give it a slightly more professional gloss), the core of "Equinox" remains essentially intact. It's an amateur horror flick that's fun not just for the neat stop-motion effects, but because it was so evidently a labor of love. The characters are young and believably innocent, and the film actually conjures some sinister atmosphere when that innocence is threatened.

This is not the place to look for great acting, naturally, but Frank Bonner (Boers) of "WKRP in Cincinnati" has some screen presence in this very early performance. (So does co-director Jack Woods as a demon who takes human form to guard the entrance to his hellish realm.) The effects team of Dennis Muren (uncredited co-director), Jim Danforth and David Allen were destined for greater distinction in that field, and some of the stop-motion monster imagery is quite impressive.

"Equinox" is no classic, but it's a fine example of passionate low-budget filmmaking. And yes, of *course* it was the inspiration for Sam Raimi's "The Evil Dead"!

One of a handful of movies directed by prolific Taiwan-based producer Wong Cheuk-hon, "The Young Avengers" is average at best. What makes it worthwhile for hardcore fans of Asian martial arts cinema is that it's a very purely Chinese wuxia (literally "martial heroes" or "martial chivalry") film, completely devoid of Western influence. That means lots of stagey-looking swordplay, elaborate sets and costumes, etc. Wong seems to have realized that the choreography was this film's weak point, so he spices up the heavier fights near the end with some bloodletting--including one particularly effective scene in which a villain is raised clean off his feet and pinned to a wall by his heroic opponent's sword. The minimally informative subtitles (burned onto the print) fail to address many of the nuances of the story, but what we have here is a standard revenge tale with stereotypical characters. A milquetoast scholar (An Ping) and a fierce swordswoman (Ting Ying) discover that they have a common enemy: a corrupt general (veteran character actor Ma Chi, Taiwan's answer to Ku Feng) who has imprisoned the scholar's father and murdered the swordswoman's. They join forces to lure the whip-wielding general into a trap.

No thrills or surprises here, but "The Young Avengers" is an interesting artifact of its time. There are far superior examples of late '60s Taiwanese swordplay films made on a modest budget (like Joseph Kuo's "King of Kings"), but few that are more authentic.

Nominally a sequel to "Come Drink with Me," this film does bring back Cheng Pei-pei as the title swordswoman Golden Swallow...but, aside from that, it bears little apparent resemblance to King Hu's 1966 classic. "Golden Swallow" was one of those learning-as-you-go films for Chang Cheh, who went on to become the elder statesman of Hong Kong martial arts cinema. Chang hadn't quite realized his vision, but was finding his way.

Wang Yu plays a thoroughly unlikable antihero, Silver Roc, who's out for revenge against the murderer of his parents. (Or his teacher. Or something.) Golden Swallow and another woman are in love with Silver Roc; an upstanding warrior called Iron Whip (Lo Lieh) has the hots for Golden Swallow, but can see that he's losing out to Silver Roc. Yang Chih-ching (Wang Yu's nemesis from the previous year's hit "The One-Armed Swordsman") portrays the lead villain, Poison Dragon. With smoother choreography, the limitations of the dreary soap opera-style plot might have been easier to overlook, but the scenes of combat prove unsatisfactory. There are lots of fights, certainly, but they're awkwardly choreographed and filmed. Chang Cheh knew that he wanted to create long, bloody fight scenes with a lone hero facing virtually impossible odds, and from here on out he began to fine-tune his approach. Beginning with "The Return of the One-Armed Swordsman" (1969), the fights got better and better.

"Golden Swallow" was filmed in Japan, and the film's gorgeous outdoor photography may be its strongest feature. It's a necessary step in the development of Chang Cheh's directorial style, but will be of interest primarily to Wang Yu/Shaw Brothers completists.

At the same time that Terence Fisher and Peter Cushing were infusing new life (pun intended) into the hoary cinematic tradition of Frankenstein at Hammer Studios in England, "Frankenstein 1970" emerged from Hollywood. It's a dull, halfhearted effort and would essentially be unwatchable without Boris Karloff, who portrays Victor, the last of the Frankensteins. A psychological and physical casualty of the Nazis (his face is badly scarred and he walks with a limp), Victor rents out his estate to a film crew who are shooting a Frankenstein movie. He needs the money to fund his experiments: specifically, he must purchase and install a nuclear reactor in his laboratory to revive the Frankenstein Monster.

It's not the world's worst premise, I guess, but the ridiculous part is that the Monster has actually been interred in the family crypt. I mean, why? In the average Universal Frankenstein film, the body was discovered in a block of ice or dredged out of a swamp; the rationale that Victor's ancestor preserved the body as a "never forget" monument to the horror he had wrought just comes off as silly. *Profoundly* silly, like the filmmakers were reaching desperately for novelty. To be fair, director Howard W. Koch was working with his hands tied behind his back, as Allied Artists had demanded significant cuts to the screenplay--eliminating virtually all on-screen violence. (In one scene, the Monster confronts a woman who screams and faints. Cut to Karloff closing the lid of his disposal unit and scolding the Monster: "I didn't intend for that young woman to die!" Or words to that effect. The film is full of limp, audience-disappointing moments like this.)

Boris Karloff is always fun to watch, and there's some nice dramatic tension in the scenes he shares with Rudolph Anders as a family retainer. But even the King couldn't carry an entire production singlehandedly, and that's what he was asked to do here. Had the script been shot as originally written, "Frankenstein 1970" might have been a more potent film. Even so, it's not the worst Frankenstein flick (that distinction easily belongs to "Lady Frankenstein"), and Karloff fanatics will want to see it.

Disfigured swordsman Tange Sazen was a very popular cinematic character in Japan during the 1930s. "The Secret of the Urn" (a remake of a 1935 film called "The Million Ryo Pot") appears to have been an attempt to revive the series, jazzing up the violence in direct competition with more recently successful characters like Zatoichi and Kyoshiro Nemuri. There's no immediately apparent reason why a new Tange Sazen series didn't pan out; Kinnosuke Nakamura's performance lacks the subtlety of a Shintaro Katsu or Raizo Ichikawa (who played Zatoichi and Kyoshiro Nemuri, respectively), but he was a good screen fighter and might have grown into the Sazen role in time. Perhaps the film's ultimate problem is that it's *so* much like the average Zatoichi or Nemuri picture as to be indistinguishable. All the formulaic clichés are here: dangerous, brooding swordsman haunted by his painful past actually has a heart of gold and works to bring down a petty official who abuses his power, etc., etc. Audiences had seen this story unfold many times already, and maybe they just weren't interested in watching a revamped Tange Sazen go through such familiar motions.

Top-notch sets, costumes and production values, and some exciting swordfights as well. (Tetsuro Tamba is relegated to a minor nonfighting role, for whatever reason.) For Hideo Gosha completists and hardcore fans of the Zatoichi and Kyoshiro Nemuri series, who have seen all of those films and crave something similar.

It may take many years of trial and error for the average director to develop a recognizable style, but David Cronenberg is certainly not a filmmaker whose work could be described as "average" in any sense of the word. He knew what kinds of themes and images interested him, and this is a jolting, visceral horror flick that still packs a punch today. "Shivers" was Cronenberg's third feature (the two preceding films were low-key arthouse releases, each of which barely exceeded the sixty-minute mark), and centers around a medical experiment gone nightmarishly awry. The single setting--an upscale apartment complex on an isolated island--lends the film a claustrophobic intensity, and it's one of the more artistically successful siege horror movies. Barbara Steele seems to have been cast primarily because she was a recognizable genre face, but Alan Migicovsky steals the show as a tall, cadaverous insurance exec who spends most of the film gagging and puking up venereal parasites while going about the mundane business of his day as though nothing's wrong.

Cronenberg's later films were much more polished, but I daresay that he's never directed anything more purely entertaining--or more representative of his aesthetic--than "Shivers." You'll enjoy it if you're a fan of his other work, or of '70s horror in general. (Those whose tastes extend to horror in other forms of media may notice some parallels with Harlan Ellison's short story 'The Whimper of Whipped Dogs,' which predates this film by a couple of years.)

In the beginning there was the book "Intelligent Life in the Universe," whose co-authors (Iosif Shklovsky and Carl Sagan) cautiously postulated that the ancient Babylonian legend of Oannes might represent an instance of paleocontact. There were also the Tassili frescoes, whose nominal discoverer (Henri Lhote) believed that they depicted extraterrestrial beings. And that was pretty much it.

Then, in 1967, came Erich von Däniken. Millions read his book "Chariots of the Gods?" and millions more saw this documentary film that was based on it. The viewer was presented with beautifully-shot footage of various archaeological ruins around the world (accompanied by Peter Thomas's shimmering, irresistible soundtrack), and the belief that "aliens built the Pyramids" became cemented in the popular consciousness. So, too, did the patently ridiculous notion that the Nazca lines of Peru were landing strips for alien aircraft. Von Däniken later conceded that he had simply made this up.

And that's the problem: he was happy to make things up if it sold books. Shklovsky and Sagan had emphasized very specific criteria in the interpretation of ancient legends as reports of contact between earthlings and intelligent extraterrestrial lifeforms, hence their careful choice of a single legend which *might* represent such contact. In von Däniken's view, any legend or pile of ruins was fair game; if it was old, then it was attributable to aliens. It goes without saying that this total indifference to accuracy has done enormous damage to the field of Paleo-SETI.

(Incidentally, von Däniken's critics have been just as indifferent in their dismissal of the Paleo-SETI theory's particulars, and two wrongs don't make a right. Yes, von Däniken is a clown, but that doesn't explain away the Piri Reis maps, whose mysteries were documented well before the ancient astronauts craze in Charles Hapgood's "Maps of the Ancient Sea Kings." And yes, *some* of the Tassili frescoes were faked, but the two featured prominently in this film--the horned faceless figure and the so-called Great God Mars--evidently are not among the fabrications. This can be confirmed via a Google search, but of course most people won't bother.)

"Shaolin Abbot" (aka "A Slice of Death") is a lightweight but fun chop-socky outing obviously made in response to the box office success of Liu Chia-liang's "Executioners of Shaolin" and "The Thirty-Sixth Chamber of Shaolin" ("The Master Killer"). It's not a remake but rather a synthesis; screenwriter Ni Kuang and director Ho Meng-hua combine elements of both films to create a story which seems to take place in some alternate reality, since Abbot Chi San did not survive the destruction of the temple in "Executioners of Shaolin." Here the abbot is alive and well, played by Shaw Brothers veteran David Chiang, and he gathers a small band of followers (including Lily Li and Norman Chu) to help him oppose white-haired supervillain Pak Mei, once again portrayed by Lo Lieh. Pak Mei has his own array of henchmen, including Chiang Tao as a Tibetan holy man who wields a mean monk's staff.

Tang Te-hsiang's fight choreography is solid, and the role of a revered Buddhist monk is an interesting change of pace for Chiang. There's nothing here you haven't seen before, but "Shaolin Abbot" is an entertaining film that doesn't try to overstep its modest bounds. Six and a half stars.

This is not really a review of the film as such. As a documentary about a rock band, it's fine: just about average, I'd say. One could argue that it's a little too busy--sometimes distractingly so--from a visual standpoint, but I won't quibble about that. (At the very least, it ensures that the film doesn't have a staid PBS look.) Those who already are fans of The Velvet Underground will enjoy it; nonfans are unlikely to be converted. There's no substitute for locking the door, cranking up your stereo and hearing the music in all its weird glory for the first time. The VU were amazing, but the film gives you more of a sense of time and place than of the music itself, and this was a band that largely *transcended* time and place.

My problem is with the fact that director Todd Haynes glossed over Lou Reed's traumatic experience with electroshock therapy because his sister felt that it reflected negatively on their parents. Since Reed's death in 2013, she has stridently maintained that it was unfair of him to criticize Mr. & Mrs. Reed for subjecting him to electroshock therapy in his teens because, at that time, the treatment was not well understood and Lou's parents didn't realize how frightening and unpleasant it was going to be for him. He repeatedly referred to the experience in both song lyrics and interviews throughout his career, but his sister feels that he exaggerated its impact. And there you have it. You're not supposed to say mean things about my mommy and daddy, you guys, and if you do then I'm taking my ball and going home!

In the first place, Reed's sister isn't the one who had to endure the treatments, so she can afford to be a tongue-clucking backseat driver. Secondly, Lou is no longer here to speak for himself. Thirdly, the experience was incredibly significant to his body of work as a lyricist and to his identity as a musical artist. To dismiss that significance for any reason is asinine; the horror of electroshock is an unsubtractable part of Lou Reed's story. But Merrill was allowed to subtract it because, you know, bourgeois embarrassment and stuff.

Deal-breaker.

"The Ghoul" is not exactly what I'd call an overlooked classic, but it's fun if you like horror films of this vintage and your expectations aren't too high. Obviously the final product isn't very far removed from the stage play on which it was based: there's a lot of inane chatter and forced comic relief, but it should be remembered that, in the early 1930s, even movies about the resurrected dead were aimed at a general viewership. There was not yet a horror audience as such. But look at the cast! Boris Karloff as a terminally ill Egyptologist determined to win immortality via a rare jewel sacred to the worshippers of Anubis; Ernest Thesiger as his eccentric, clubfooted manservant; Cedric Hardwicke as Karloff's solicitor, who is unable to wipe the expression of craven villainy from his face; and Ralph Richardson as a young parson who seems to try his best to be helpful. These performers make the film worth watching despite its limitations.

Karloff had found fame in a nonspeaking role, and "The Ghoul"--like "The Old Dark House" and "Bride of Frankenstein"--doesn't give him much in the way of dialogue. The movie's main strength lies in the scenes of Karloff shambling around (in excellent monster makeup by Heinrich Heitfeld), wreaking havoc. It wasn't until later that filmmakers understood the advantage of giving him substantial speaking parts.

During the late Ching Dynasty, the imperial treasury is robbed, and the Empress's senior minister sends a dogged, pitiless constable (Chen Kuan-tai) to apprehend the thieves. As he encounters everywhere the suffering of the common people, and as his men die one after another in the line of duty, the constable begins to lose faith in his mission...and in the imperial court itself.

"Killer Constable" has been floating around the home video market for decades, first on VHS and then on DVD, as "Lightning Kung Fu." That English-dubbed print is faded, blotched and scratchy, with the original title clumsily hacked off; it's a disgraceful state for any film to be in, but see it anyhow. It's that good. Director Kuei Chih-hung treats the subject matter with the gravity it deserves, and his artistry is evident despite the condition of the print. Chen Kuan-tai turns in a fine performance, as does veteran Shaw character actor Ku Feng (as one of the desperate thieves being pursued by the constable). Beautifully choreographed swordfights, too, the high point being the confrontation between Chen and Jason Pai Piao as a hired assassin.

Clark Ashton Smith is an acquired taste. (It helps if you like the substitution of conspicuous ten-dollar words for plain old English that would have worked just as well.) One of his best and least effete stories is 'The Return of the Sorcerer,' on which this episode of "Night Gallery" is based. How faithful to Smith's tale is the small-screen adaptation? The mechanics of the plot are fundamentally the same, but the overtly horrific nature of the story is eschewed in favor of a languid, decadent atmosphere, with costumes and set pieces that look like something out of Théophile Gautier. (Tisha Sterling is essentially one of those set pieces. She's nice to look at, but there's really no reason for her character to exist...and of course the character did *not* exist in Smith's story. Bill Bixby is bland and inoffensive as the translator, and no one could have played John Carnby nearly as well as hammy, leering Vincent Price.)

But it works! Director Jeannot Szwarc took the bare bones of the short story and superimposed upon them the sinister/humorous aesthetic that was a trademark of "Night Gallery." It's a neat reimagining of the Smith tale, not at all like the clunky, uncomprehending adaptations to which Hollywood so often subjects the work of H. P. Lovecraft. All in all, 'The Return of the Sorcerer' is one of the better moments of the series' third and final season...by which time Rod Serling's involvement had, unfortunately, become minimal.