A Dangerous Place (1994)

PLOT: A teenage martial artist is thrown into a world of theft and risky behavior while investigating the death of his older brother. Will he find out the truth? And what sorts of cool swag will he accumulate in the process?

Director: Jerry P. Jacobs
Writer: Sean Dash
Cast: Ted Jan Roberts, Corey Feldman, Marshall Teague, William James Jones, Erin Gray, Mako, Dean Cochran, Jason Majik, Erin Gray

PLOT THICKENER

The 1984 film The Karate Kid had a lot going for it. Pat Morita was nominated for an Academy Award for his performance as Mr. Miyagi. It featured a charming teenage protagonist with tangible, relatable problems. It set the blueprint for high school gangs of martial arts meatheads. But you know what The Karate Kid movie was missing? A murder subplot! That’s the dropped ball that director Jerry P. Jacobs tried to pick up with 1994’s A Dangerous Place. That ball is covered in blood and pomade from Corey Feldman’s pompador.

Ethan (Roberts) and Greg (Cochran) are two teenage brothers living with their single mom, Audrey (Gray). One might expect the younger Ethan to be the troublemaker when, in fact, it’s Greg who finds himself hanging out with the wrong crowd. As of late, he’s been skipping karate class at the Lions dojo to hang out with the Scorpions gang, a group of suburban karate street toughs led by Taylor (Feldman). The crew goes on joy rides during random weeknights, stealing cars, dirt bikes, electronics, and whatever else catches their eyes -- they run wild with impunity and look cool doing it. (“How come all the best looking girls in school hang out with the Scorpions?") Because they have dirt bikes and nice televisions. Duh!

While Greg hangs with them socially and has represented them in illicit sunset beach fights, he’s not quite a “made” member of the group. After coaxing him into a night-time domestic burglary, the Scorpions turn on Greg when he has a crisis of conscience mid-act. During a physical struggle, Greg gets maced, falls down a flight of stairs, and dies accidentally. How do Taylor and his impressionable friends with behavioral problems respond? If you answered, “they report the accident and serve their time,” you win a prize! The prize is immaculately wrapped and decorated with ribbons. You tear the wrapping paper off to reveal a gift box. The box contains a framed picture of Greg’s prone body hanging from the basketball net at the high school gymnasium. Yep -- these pricks staged his death to look like a suicide. Enjoy your prize, by the way.

Ethan refuses to believe the circumstances surrounding his brother’s death. What about his bike? Never recovered. What about the bruises on his body? Unexplained. Against the wishes of his Sensei (Mako) he wants to infiltrate the gang to find out the truth about that fateful night. He first brawls with a Scorpion member in the cafeteria during lunch to demonstrate his toughness. He slowly befriends the most sympathetic Scorpion member, Eddie (Jones). Finally, he shows up to the Scorpions’ dojo to spar, and later arranges a competitive fight between the Lions and Scorpions to win the approval of the wicked Sensei (and English teacher) Gavin Smith (Teague).

This was my first foray into the action film career of Ted Jan Roberts and while I’m nearly two decades beyond the targeted demographic for this film, I can say that 12-year-old me would think he was pretty cool shit. He’s sort of like Daniel Larusso with Cali mall swagger in place of New Jersey wisecracking. A Jonathan Taylor Thomas with karate skills, if you will. His on-screen fighting is solid and believable, and in a post-Ernie Reyes/Kane Kosugi world, that’s all you can ask out of an adolescent martial arts film star. In terms of screen presence, he’s perfectly fine for this material and the filmmakers wisely avoid the trappings of any sustained emotive drama. Ethan is angry and inquisitive, not depressed and weepy. It’s a bit unnatural since these family members barely react to the sudden death of a brother and son, but this is a movie about teenage karate vengeance, not therapy sessions and brooding introspection.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the contributions of Corey Feldman as the treacherous Taylor. It would have been simple to follow the blueprint of Billy Zabka as Johnny Lawrence in the Karate Kid and play him as a volatile, testesterone-fueled jerk. Instead, he portrays Taylor as sleazy and calculating. Feldman’s fighting technique doesn’t match the skills that his character’s black-belt rank might suggest -- do you really buy his lethal mastery of eagle claw? -- but fight choreographer Art Camacho makes it work regardless. His character’s cold unpredictability and absence of fear of consequences is what makes him tick. Throw in an out-of-time greasy pompador hair style and an everyday affection for black fingerless gloves, and he’s a weirdly memorable 1990s martial arts douchebag.

VERDICT

A Dangerous Place has Corey Feldman popping wheelies on a dirtbike across a baseball field during live game-play while wearing a red gi and black fingerless gloves. What more do you want? Run out and impulsively put some discretionary income down on this film, like the foolish, emotionally distraught teenager you never were.

AVAILABILITY

Amazon, eBay.

4 / 7

Deadly Bet (1992)

PLOT: A drunken, degenerate, kickboxing gambler must overcome his vices to regain his self-esteem, his money, and the woman he loves. But mostly, his money.

Director: Richard W. Munchkin
Writer: Joseph Merhi, Robert Tiffe
Cast: Jeff Wincott, Steven Vincent Leigh, Charlene Tilton, Michael Delano, Mike Toney, Ian Jacklin, Gerald Okamura, Ron Hall, Gary Daniels

PLOT THICKENER

I’ve only been there once, but I can say from experience that when Las Vegas puts its hooks in you, it can be hard to break free. One minute you’re walking around on the casino floor, slack-jawed and overstimulated, and the next minute you’re $2,000 in the red, wondering where it all went wrong and why you’re wearing mismatched sneakers. (Don’t ask). Director Richard Munchkin and PM Entertainment honcho Joseph Merhi originally met in the City of Lights, so it’s no wonder that Vegas was often featured as a setting in many PM films. In 1992’s Deadly Bet, it’s also the antagonist.

Angelo (Wincott) and Isabella (Tilton) are a young couple on the verge of a move, trading the neon of Las Vegas for the natural wild of Colorado. This particular night finds them exchanging a hearty goodbye with Isabella’s lounge-singer brother, Frank (real-life entertainer Jerry Tiffe) before Angelo announces that he needs to settle a debt of $1,000. The creditor in this situation is Rico (Leigh) a suave fight promoter and fighter who gives Angelo the chance to settle the debt by taking a new bet on two fighters currently in the ring. Angelo’s fighter wins! The couple celebrates over drinks! A steamed Rico finds them later in the evening and challenges Angelo to a fight for even more money. This time Angelo not only loses, but made the foolish mistake of putting Isabella up as collateral. She begrudgingly goes home with Rico, but not before slapping Angelo in the face for his dumb deeds and broken promises.

Broken, alone, and flat-broke, Angelo must decide between two paths. One: cease gambling, get sober, and win back everything that he’s lost. Two: get shit-faced, owe more people even more money that he doesn’t have, and act like a total asshole. As you can probably guess, he spends a lot of time in this story stumbling down path #2 before he reverses course to take the first one. Along the way, he bets on college basketball, drinks whisky, sniffs the clothing Isabella left behind, and is forced into working as muscle for a bookie named Greek (Delano), who oddly decides not to go by "The Greek," perhaps because he's not really Greek. Neither was The Greek though!

This wasn’t Wincott’s first time at the chopsocky rodeo -- see Martial Law II -- but it would mark his first time as the leading actor in your standard 1990s kickboxing tournament feature. It also marked his last time in this sort of movie, which might demonstrate that you can only go so far working in that sub-subgenre. Much to my surprise, this was also the first of only two films he did with PM Entertainment, the other being 1996’s Last Man Standing, which I maintain is one of their top three films ever. This is just further evidence that unlike a lot of chopsocky stars who stay in their lane, Jeff Wincott is full of surprises. He attended the prom in Prom Night. He did a romantic comedy with Adrien Brody. He even beat up Dave Matthews. Not surprisingly, Wincott is the best part about this movie, and I say this as someone who is perversely obsessed with Zubaz pants and poorly lit action scenes.

The action scenes are fine by PM Entertainment standards, which is to say, 'poor' by 1980s Hong Kong standards and 'borderline genius' by 1960s Star Trek episode standards. For me, there were two stand-out fights worth mentioning. The random alley confrontation between Angelo and a group of thugs led by stunt stalwart Art Camacho is punctuated by some humorous dialogue where Angelo details his losses from that day before fighting off his would-be muggers. It made sense in the context of the plot and added a light, self-aware touch to the hero’s circumstances. The other fight of significance is the climactic blow-off between Rico and Angelo. It has drama, some blood, and decent kicks that make both fighters look competent, but the fight is also preceded by one of the most blatantly homoerotic pre-match stare-downs I’ve ever seen. Apropos of nothing, Angelo decides to jump up on the top rope in his corner in a split-legged position while flexing, and Rico’s face lights up like he just got served a plate of filet mignon after two months of forced Tofurky dinners. While the tone is not exactly foreign to a genre where muscular dudes beat the shit out of each other, it was a weird moment.

We’ve seen some wacky tournament fighting before, but the tournament featured in Deadly Bet stretches the laws of time, fashion, and even spelling. Greek tells Angelo it’s a 50-man tournament. OK then. The tournament then unfolds over the course of a single night. I hate to drop math on you guys, but assuming it’s a single elimination tournament, 50 fighters means 49 matches. How the hell are you going to get through 49 matches in one night? The sartorial choices add further confusion to the proceedings. Some of the fighters, Angelo included, don the unfortunate combination of bike shorts with white cross-trainers, giving this tournament the appearance of uncool dads fighting each other to exhaustion. And last, one of the people keeping tabs on the brackets spells Rico’s name wrong on the whiteboard. Whoever organized this tournament (hint: it was Rico) performed no quality control whatsoever, and really should have hired an event planner.

Regardless of the significance of their roles, there are plenty of faces in the film that will be familiar to fans of action b-movies. Gary Daniels shows up for a brief, non-speaking role as the fighter who wins Angelo a bunch of Rico’s money to set the plot in motion. Ron Hall took a small part as a tournament fighter. Ian Jacklin shows up as a shaggy bartender who tangles with Angelo over unpaid debts to Greek. And even Gerald Okamura (listed in the credits as his Irish doppelgänger, Gerald O'Hamura) gets in the ring for an underground fight -- and wins!  Didn’t catch James Lew or Al Leong anywhere, but there *was* a scene where Isabella visits a hair salon. Maybe they were getting their hair did.

VERDICT

Deadly Bet is one of several love letters from PM Entertainment to the city of Las Vegas. But instead of affectionate words, the letter is actually just a 47-page storyboard of Jeff Wincott repeatedly kicking motherfuckers in the face. The boozy, sin-soaked Vegas kickboxing film seems to be an actual THING (recall To Be the Best) and I’m going to chase down more movies like this one.

AVAILABILITY 

Amazon, eBay.

4 / 7

Final Impact (1992)

PLOT: The light heavyweight kickboxing champion of Ohio seeks out his hero for training before a major tournament held in Las Vegas. Can the young upstart save his drunken master from his demons?

Director: Joseph Merhi

Writer: Stephen Smoke

Cast: Michael Worth, Lorenzo Lamas, Kathleen Kinmont, Jeff Langton, Mimi Lesseos, Art Camacho, Gary Daniels, Ian Jacklin, Frank Rivera

PLOT THICKENER

The majority of opening title sequences in direct-to-video fight films are so bland that even the slightest deviation proves compelling. Had 1992’s Final Impact featured two minutes of arbitrary text touting the professional accomplishments of the film’s kickboxing stars over some generic rock track, I wouldn’t have blinked. I may have fallen asleep. I may have started doing semi-nude poom sae along to the beat of the generic rock track. Who the hell knows. It doesn’t matter, because Joseph Merhi gives us something different. In close shots with careful lighting, we get random hands oiling up random bodies. Hands wrapping hands in tape. Hands lacing up bikinis. Fists punching into palms with powdery impact. Hands applying lipstick. Hands tying shoelaces. I thought all of these hands belonged to the same rugged but sensual kickboxing lady, so I was pretty stoked.

It was all for naught, though, because there is no foxy kickboxer with equal attention to proper hand wrapping and well-blended cosmetics. This is the story of Nick Taylor (Lamas), an alcoholic kickboxing ex-champion and his new student, Danny Davis (Worth), a promising youngster in need of mentorship. Their paths cross in what might be the most amazing bar in the history of cinema. Women in nothing but oil and bikinis wrestle each other on one side, while sweaty brutes kickbox the daylights out of each other in a ring on the other side. (Thus, all the random hands in the opening). In between these two attractions, people dance, drink, and socialize. I didn’t see any skee ball or tabletop shuffleboard, but I’m sure they had them in a side room.

Danny is disappointed to find that his kickboxing hero has turned into a drunkard only three years after his title loss to arch-rival Jake Gerrard (Langton). Still, after proving himself through a short exhibition against Gary Daniels during his immaculate ponytail phase, Danny convinces Nick to take him on as a pupil. He spends time training at Nick’s home, in the patient company of his girlfriend Maggie (Kinmont), and she’s suspicious of her boyfriend’s intentions. Is Nick using Danny to win fight money? For a self-esteem boost? Or to take out his rival, Gerrard, and regain his past glory?

If you’ve been following this site for a while, you’ll notice that this is our first foray into the work of Lorenzo Lamas. For fans of American chopsocky, this might constitute an egregious omission but at this point, I have Lorenzo-phobia deep in the bone. First, I hated the Renegade television series. Hated it. There was also a fairly well-documented incident in which Lamas broke Avedon’s nose during a shoot for the former’s self-defense video and didn’t handle it with much professionalism. (Considering the results, it was for the best that he removed himself from the production). Avedon has great stories, and he’s been a class act in all of my interactions with him. He was one of the best screen fighters of his era, and I like the guy. If you’re a huge fan of Larry Bird, can you also be a fan of Bill Laimbeer? Dr. J? If you’re being real about it, probably not. To be fair, if Lamas could dunk a basketball from the free-throw line, I might feel more conflicted. Few actors other than Michael J. Fox can get that kind of hang-time.

That said, his involvement in the film’s pivotal restaurant scene is cinematic gold. Boozed to the gills, Nick stumbles over and confronts Gerrard (and the ex-wife his rival married, played by Mimi Lesseos) during a contentious altercation that leaves everyone feeling weird. Everything about this 50 seconds of the film is brilliant, from the bolo tie and Gerrard dressed in an outfit straight out of Night at the Roxbury, to Nick’s apparent self-satisfaction after calling his ex-wife a whore during a totally childish exchange. And what is the mythical Neon Graveyard to which Gerrard refers? (For the record, we find out later). Watch below for just a taste.

As the old cliche goes, the enemy is within. To be clear, Jeff Langton does his best to play Jake Gerrard as an obnoxious Jersey-tinged meathead, but he simply doesn’t have enough screentime or good lines to cement himself as a memorable villain. His fighting is vicious at the appropriate times, but Langton also lacks the look and physical stature to provide the audience with any sense of awe about his skills. We know the role of Gerrard is pivotal in Nick’s story arc because of the alcoholic tailspin that results from their fight. Thus, the real villain in this story is Nick’s rampant alcoholism. This character flaw makes him selfish, volatile, and visibly hammered for the vast majority of the film. We’ve seen the alcoholic mentor trope plenty -- in everything from King of the Kickboxers to Breathing Fire -- but Merhi really pushes it front and center as a major story element. Tequila with a chaser of blind vengeance is an especially dangerous mix.

Despite a capable fight choreographer in Eric Lee, I had low expectations about the action scenes in this film considering the long history of humdrum depictions of legitimate kickboxing tournaments. For the most part, there’s nothing here that you haven’t seen in dozens of films just like it. However, I was pleasantly surprised by the use of genuine psychology in the fighting itself. Several of the fighters have distinctive styles -- Gerrard is a roughneck brawler who aims for vital organs, and crowd favorite Jacky Clark is a flashy show-off -- and Danny is positioned as the well-rounded fighter who can effectively counter each of them. During breaks in between rounds, Nick relays his thoughts and then Danny deploys the strategy to successful results. I’m not sure what the correct countermove was for Gerrard’s signature “trap opponent in corner, pick up both of his legs and start headbutting him in the pelvis” attack, but Danny avoids it entirely.

This is the second time in three PM Entertainment films that Michael Worth played the trainee to a mentor on the hard sauce (see, To Be the Best). In that film, he got lost in the shuffle due to a large ensemble cast. Here, both his character and his performance are more interesting and layered. Worth captures Danny’s alternating streaks of cocky and naive convincingly, and he brings a palpable energy to the fight scenes. More than that, his engaged demeanor provides a nice counterbalance to Lamas’s cool and detached line delivery. Which is to say, sort of drunk. 

VERDICT

While not exactly an original work, Final Impact is a tournament fight film with decent in-ring action, a couple of good performances, and a lot of alcohol consumption, all under the bright lights of Vegas. While this was marketed as a Lorenzo Lamas film, it works better as a solid debut vehicle for Worth, playing a character trying to overcome his selfish mentor’s self-destructive bullshit. Recommended for fans of Lamas who would rather watch him drink than fight.

AVAILABILITY
Netflix, Amazon, YouTube.

4 / 7

Private Wars (1993)

PLOT: An inner city neighborhood is being destroyed by the colluding forces of greed and violence. Can a burnout ex-cop and a community organizer with dreams of the White House save them? (Not Barack Obama, but that’s a good guess).

Director: John Weidner
Writers: Ken Lamplugh, John Weidner
Cast: Steve Railsback, Dan Tullis Jr., Stuart Whitman, Michael Champion, Holly Floria, James Lew, Vince Murdocco, John Salvitti, Art Camacho

PLOT THICKENER

One could say that lately, I’ve been on the fence. Wishy-washy. Running hot and cold and feeling like the title of Natalie Imbruglia’s only American hit single, which if I remember correctly, was “No Scrubs.” In any case, when you’re trying to fix your critical eye on a cohesive theme -- in this case, martial arts films of the 1980s and 90s with Western actors -- your approach can erode quickly if you’re not careful. One Van Damme movie here, a Jet Li movie there, and before you know it, you’re just another dude on the Internet bitching about Michael Bay movies and the glory days of Steven Seagal and DMX team-ups.

So it’s with some trepidation that I roll out a review of Private Wars, a 1993 PM Entertainment film directed by Ring of Fire and Deadly Bet editor John Weidner. It features James Lew as a main bad guy, Art Camacho, Vince Murdocco, and even Donnie Yen’s bro-ham John Salvitti in a guest role. All the stars would appear to be aligned, so what’s missing? A martial arts hero to rule them all.

Which is exactly what the Jackson Heights, Los Angeles neighborhood at the center of our story needs. No more than a half-dozen gang members pretty much run things. They terrorize business owners, destroy bodegas with grenade launchers, and worse yet, they blare generic golden-age rap music from boomboxes with complete impunity. Community organizer Mo Williams (Tullis Jr.) is fed up with the violent behavior, and tries to rally the locals to take back their neighborhood.

They feel helpless though. They’re average citizens and they’re not trained for this kind of effort. Instead, they’re fleeing the violent neighborhood in droves, which is exactly what evil land developer Alexander Winters (Whitman) wants. By financing the local gang to terrorize the locals, he’s paving the way for the replacement of residential property with a massive expansion of commercial space. Since we can’t have a DTV action movie without police corruption, Police Chief Carter (Champion) is also on the Winters payroll.

Out of options and presiding over a terrified citizenry, Williams turns to the one man he knows he can trust -- Jack Manning, played by veteran actor Steve Railsback. Unfortunately for the community of Jackson Heights, Manning is a shell of his former self. After being framed by dirty cops eight years ago, he was booted from the police force for his unorthodox undercover work. He’s replaced his tools of craft and cunning with Jack Daniels and Jim Beam, and now works as an unreliable alcoholic private investigator. Can Manning flip the switch and clean up the community? Or will he continue to drink himself to death while firing his gun at rats crawling over his day-old donuts? (Not trying to spin a metaphor -- this actually happened).

This was a pleasant surprise. PM Entertainment built its brand on a workmanlike approach to action scenes, and Private Wars is but another example of its capacity for bombast on a budget. The sequences here range from creative to insane to completely zany. One sequence finds a garbage man chained to the front of his truck and driven a through the streets at high speeds. In a brief scene from his days on the force, Manning slams a surveillance van through a newstand, then a fruit stand, then a telephone booth... with a police officer hanging on his hood. In possibly the most cringe-worthy scene, a gang member is forced to eat chili peppers at gunpoint. That the gang retaliated by destroying a bodega later that night almost seems reasonable when considering the pepper’s likely effects in the gang member’s bathroom.

Even in the absence of a logical context for martial arts, Weidner finds a way to place his martial arts actors in positions where they can show their skills. In limited but significant screen time, street toughs played by Murdocco and Salvitti tangle with Manning during their shared time in a jail cell. Our hero not only beats up both men, but he wins their respect and their help in the story’s climactic confrontation with Winters’s goons. Above all others, though, James Lew’s turn as the villainous Obata gets the most exposure. He’s built up throughout the story as Winters’ most fearsome asset, and his look, particularly in the final scenes, is superb. Some villains might opt for ill-fitting suits or generic denim as they head into battle. Obata? He goes with a silk shirt and a black leather trenchcoat because he’s going to get a high-end steak dinner afterwards. It didn’t turn out that way, obviously, but points to Lew for positive thinking and snazzy dressing.

Steve Railsback is no Loren Avedon, but he fits in comfortably as the hero of the story. His character arc from the gutter to redemption is nothing original, but it inspires the necessary sympathy to invest in the larger story. More than that, Railsback has the dramatic chops to play each aspect of his character convincingly, especially the extremes. When we see him get hit in the stomach, vomit on the attacker’s shoes, and then slam his head through a table in response, we buy it. When Manning pieces his life together and starts cleaning up the streets, we believe it. When he puts the moves on the attractive younger sister of a deceased shop owner, we accept it but only because it’s a fictional movie.

VERDICT

It doesn’t feature any of PM’s tried and true leading martial arts stars on the level of Don Wilson or Gary Daniels, but Private Wars still brandishes a cadre of recognizable faces from the glory days of DTV action. Weidner and company achieve some really cool visuals during the action sequences, Railsback heads up a solid group of memorable performances, and the film even packs some light comedy for the kids. Is it a martial arts film, per se? Probably not, but PM Entertainment was known for blurring the lines in the name of accessible action entertainment. If you’re looking for an underseen gem from their vaults, this is recommended viewing.

AVAILABILITY

Netflix, Amazon, EBay, YouTube.

5 / 7

The Killing Machine (1994)

PLOT: A man regains consciousness after more than 200 days and discovers that he’s really good at killing people professionally. Will he play ball with the covert government agency overseeing his every move? Will he use his skills to freelance? Or will he switch careers and become a dental hygienist because it’s expected to see a 38% growth in employment over a 10-year span?

Director: David Mitchell
Writer: David Mitchell
Cast: Jeff Wincott, Michael Ironside, Terri Hawkes, David Campbell, Calista Carradine

PLOT THICKENER:
Do you remember the first time you tasted ice cream? What about your first kiss? The first time you got punched in the face? Your first public urination arrest? Memory is weird. Somewhere in between life’s milestones and the stuff so horrifying that we can’t *not* remember, is a void filled in by some combination of hearsay and creative imagination. But what if you woke up one day and couldn’t remember a damn thing? What if your name, your surroundings, and the last 15 years of life were a fuzzy blur? David Mitchell and Jeff Wincott teamed up to explore this concept in 1994’s The Killing Machine, aka The Killing Man, aka the film Christopher Nolan wishes he had made with Memento.

The film starts with a close-up of a human eye shooting open. A human head is wrapped in bandages and a prone body lies in bed under a hot spotlight. A voiceover asks, “How long has it been? Where am I? Who am I?” The answers, provided by shady covert agent Mr. Green (Ironside) are: 250 days, can’t say, and Harland Garrett, in that order. Garrett (Wincott) is furious at Green’s elusive responses and lashes out constantly. Perhaps his behavior is due to the psychological conditioning? (He’s exposed daily to violent movies). Maybe it’s the facility’s food? (Fucking terrible). Or maybe it’s because he’s an amnesiac professional killer, brought back from near-death by the covert facility’s medical team.

After running Garrett through a variety of tests evaluating his mental and physical capabilities, Mr. Green sends him off to New York City for new business. Only after carrying out a number of lethal assignments will he be freed from the grip of Green and the covert company. Upon arrival, Garrett wanders the desolate urban streets and struggles with his identity as a professional killer. At one point, he teeters on the edge of a building ledge and stares into the abyss below. Thankfully for him and us, he comes to his senses and in the next scene, he’s getting wasted at a strip club. It’s practically a PSA for suicide prevention.

As events unfold, not everything is as it seems, and not everyone is who they claim to be. In short, it’s the martial arts film noir of your dreams. There’s smoke, shadows, chain-smoking, characters with shady motivations, and lots of scenes in vast, empty rooms with high ceilings. It has Michael Ironside chewing up the scenery, a wild “knife-cam” sequence, and the most overt AIDS conspiracy plot line this side of a Kanye West outburst.

With PM Entertainment films, you tend to see familiar names appearing in the credits, but it’s slim pickings here. There’s not a James Lew or Art Camacho to be found. Rick Sue, who played minor roles in movies such as TC 2000 and Tiger Claws, unlocks the “martial arts advisor” achievement here. To that end, the fight sequences are competently choreographed and well-shot for the most part. Some viewers will take issue with director David Mitchell scattering them throughout the film, but I’d argue that despite the scarcity, the fights occur in logical contexts. The real headscratcher was a fight towards the back-end with Garrett and Mr. Green’s main muscle. Mitchell opted to edit it down to a slow-motion yell and grimace fest peppered with POV shots. The result is probably the goofiest scene in the entire movie despite the prior occurrences of a visible boom mic, a double scrotum squeeze, and a dialog exchange that would make Aaron Sorkin slow-clap:

NURSE: I'm a nurse.
WINCOTT: Why are you here?
NURSE: To have sex. With you.

I don’t expect that anyone will confuse David Mitchell, Canadian director of b-films, for David Mitchell, British comedian and one half of That Mitchell and Webb Look. But if you swapped them, how amazing would that project have been? I don’t know if he’s done much comedy, but as the best actor of his subgenre, Jeff Wincott at the center of any Mitchell and Webb sketch would be cinematic gold. Wincott as a contestant on Numberwang? Shut up and take my money!

It should be said that Ironside and Wincott are both terrific in their respective roles. While Ironside plays the kind of character you’ve seen him play in dozens of other films, his casual menace and command of the screen is invaluable to such a low budget affair. Wincott is equal to the task, capturing his character’s shifting moods with relative ease with the added bonus of kicking heads in during the fight scenes. This film actually marked the onscreen reunion of the pair, as they appeared together about 15 years earlier on an episode of the Canadian family-drama, The Littlest Hobo. The series re-imagined Lassie as a stray German Shepherd who wanders from town to town helping people in need. Sort of like Kung Fu meets Rin Tin Tin meets Jesus-as-canine.

VERDICT:
If you walk into a room full of 100 people and ask: “what’s the best Jeff Wincott movie?” the answers are going to be all over the map. Some will say Last Man Standing, others will say Mission of Justice, a few folks will rep for Martial Law II, and at least ten people will say “OH MY GOD WHERE’S THE FUCKING BATHROOM” because IBS affects something like 10% of the population. I’m not sure if The Killing Machine is likely to make its way into that conversation, though. It’s a bit thin on martial arts and action set pieces, but has some weird flourishes in style and narrative that support a case for this being one of the better crafted Jeff Wincott action vehicles.

AVAILABILITY:
Amazon, Netflix, EBay, YouTube.

5 / 7

To Be the Best (1993)

PLOT: A disgraced family of fighters is put to the ultimate test during a world championship kickboxing tournament in Las Vegas. No, not the MCAT. I mean, sure, it’s a difficult test, but why would you make a kickboxing movie set in Vegas and base the central conflict around the MCAT? That’s stupid.

Director: Joseph Merhi
Writer: Michael January
Cast: Michael Worth, Phillip Troy Lingers, Martin Kove, Alex Card, Brittney Powell, Steven Vincent Leigh, Vince Murdocco, Ron Yuan


PLOT THICKENER:
After classics like Five Fingers of Death, Master of the Flying Guillotine, Enter the Dragon, and Bloodsport, the drop-off to the next tier of tournament-themed martial arts movies is stark. With the incredible oversaturation of this subgenre that film fans observed during the late 1980s and early 90s, how much differentiation can there really be? Shootfighter added weapons and gore to the fights. Heatseeker added cyborgs and American Apparel leggings. For a fresh angle, Joseph Merhi’s 1993 film To Be the Best adds a round-robin point system, fight-rigging, and baggy American flag warm-up pants and I have to admit: that just might be a winning formula.

Legendary b-movie bad-ass Martin Kove plays Rick Kulhane, the alcoholic patriarch of a family of kickboxing has-beens. After taking a bribe to take a dive during a fight, his career was derailed by a combination of bad decisions and alcohol. If he’d only stuck to beer crafted by Sam Adams --in their words, “Always a Good Decision” -- he could have mitigated the ill effects of his behavior. For the record, that previous sentence was not paid for by Sam Adams, and I’m a little pissed about it, because they put out a fine product. Except Cherry Wheat, which sucks mightily.

Perhaps worse, Papa Kulhane’s past mistakes have taken root in his kickboxing sons, Eric (Worth) and Sam (Lingers). While Eric is still young and shows promise, Sam has gone down the same dark paths of greed and addiction as his father, and has been reduced to street fighting for cash. When Rick shows up at their gym to recruit five willing and qualified American fighters for a yearly international kickboxing tournament in Las Vegas, they’re energized by the possibilities. For all three men, it represents an opportunity to return glory to the Kulhane name. A win for the U.S. would spell redemption for Rick’s past misdeeds. A win for Sam would mean a validation of his long journey to defeat addiction and return to elite status in his sport. For Eric, the championship would provide financial security for his future with Cheryl (Powell), the woman he hopes to make his wife. For U.S. teammate Duke (Murdocco), the trip to Las Vegas represents an opportunity to get shitfaced and play Blackjack until he passes out.

Victory will be far from easy. The Thai team has won the event for the last five years and is comprised of one guy with brown hair who clearly isn’t Asian, and four guys with Chinese names, two of whom have vaguely Californian accents. Played by Steven Vincent Leigh, Hong Do (pronounced “dough”) is the team’s charismatic leader who has found that “everywhere I go, people love Hong Do.” Uh, YEAH. Who wouldn’t love a kickboxing rhymesmith? The Thais’ dominance doesn’t just extend to the ring though. During a scene that sees enough Zubaz and acid wash jeans to choke a Valley girl, the Thai and U.S. teams find themselves bowling next to each other at the local lanes and things quickly turn violent. Sadly, this is only the second best bowling-alley-conflict-that-directly-leads-to-an-arm-injury scene of the 1990s.

As if the temptations of booze, drugs, and women weren’t enough, a wealthy businessman who purports to be a friend of Cheryl’s father is in town to monitor the tournament. Played by Alex Cord, the sleazy Jack Rodgers never met a Bolo tie he didn’t like or a kickboxer he didn’t attempt to bribe. He targets the youngest Kulhane as a vulnerable pawn who he can buy off in order to manipulate the tournament results and rake in millions in gambling winnings. Will Eric cave to the same pressures that doomed his father and older brother? Can he overcome girlfriend troubles, death threats, and terrible fashion sense to win the championship? Furthermore, will Hong Do and the Thais continue their streak of dominance, or crumble like the Peach Cobbler served daily at the Wynn Brunch Buffet?

This was pretty decent and the overall spread of action in the film offers a little something for everyone. There’s an opening helicopter crash to satisfy a thirst for splosiony stunts, we get our requisite training montage complete with a freeze-frame outro, and a boat load of tournament fighting. Since it comprises the largest part of the action quotient, it’s probably the most deserving of extended critique.

If you’ve read these posts for a while, I’ve not made secret my distaste for fights in spaces like rings or cages. Beyond the obvious spacial limitations, they can constrict interaction with the surrounding environment that can really choke the creativity of the fight choreography. With the large-scale tournament device, the filmmakers are married to showing a lot of fights using the same space over and over, and it’s hard to get any one to stick out from the crowd. That said, it was pretty tolerable here. The themed Zubaz pants for each team was a nice visual touch and I appreciated that some fighters isolated and attack specific appendages to weaken their opponents. It’s a psychological trope common to pro wrestling, and speaking of pro wrestling, some of these fights have a lot of pro wrestling moves. Arm bars, backbreakers, and even a flying clothesline from the second rope pepper the otherwise punchy and kicky proceedings. While the moves don’t really have any logic or context in a legitimate kickboxing tournament, they’re apparently legal. Almost everything is legal in Las Vegas.

While the film’s central conflict surrounds Eric Kulhane and his rise-or-fall dilemma, this is an ensemble piece and everyone gets their fair share of screen time. Michael Worth was pretty decent as the lead, which is to say neither his fighting nor his acting sucked badly enough to detract from the viewing experience. Phillip Troy Lingers was equally up for the task as Sam; again, solid dramatically, but otherwise nothing noteworthy. The real glue was Martin Kove, who guzzled down scotch-and-sodas with ease and rocked a swank Los Angeles Raiders leather jacket for the majority of the film. Unfortunately, he doesn’t do any fighting but still commands the screen better than about 80% of the cast and conveys Rick Kulhane’s human flaws believably while still playing the role of the good guy mentor.

To Be the Best is a film replete with villains -- the dominant and cocky Thai team and the Vegas mobsters among them -- but the main villain is the fight-rigging Jack Rodgers. This character was dangerously close to villainfiller territory but this perception was upended by the terrific performance of Alex Card. Scheming middle-aged businessmen are by no means an original archetype in these films, but Card turned Jack Rodgers into Halliburton executive material: a rich, sleazy, and batshit-crazy asshole. From the soft-spoken manner with which he initially approaches Cheryl, to his turn as a violent and double-crossing hothead, Card makes you believe both extremes and everything in between. He doesn’t really fight per se, but like James Hong in Talons of the Eagle, his performance is so good that he doesn’t have to.

VERDICT:
To Be the Best features a few interesting characters, some good performances, amazing jackets, and moderately entertaining in-ring fights. This one came during the latter portion of Joseph Merhi’s career and directorially, he was in the groove. Tune in for the familiar faces and the unbridled onslaught of American flag themed warm-up pants. Though not without flaws, To Be the Best is an entertaining watch for the kickboxing-inclined.

AVAILABILITY:
Amazon, Netflix, EBay.

4.5 / 7

Rage (1995)

PLOT: A corrupt defense contractor is injecting undocumented Hispanic migrant workers with chemicals to create a new breed of superhuman soldier. As they expand their pool of test subjects, an innocent schoolteacher is caught up in their scheme. No, this is not a movie about Monsanto.

Director: Joseph Merhi
Writers: Joseph John Barmettler, Jacobsen Hart
Cast: Gary Daniels, Kenneth Tigar, Tim Colceri, David Powledge, Jilliam McWhirter, Fiona Hutchison



PLOT THICKENER:
Action movies often make heroes out of normal, unlikely people. In 1974’s Death Wish, a passive architect might seem an unlikely candidate to transform into a grizzled vigilante tearing a path of urban vengeance … if you ignore the fact that his wife gets raped by dope fiends and he’s played by Charles Bronson. In 1995’s Rage, second-grade schoolteacher Alex Gainer doesn’t exactly scream “chronic traffic law violator and prime suspect in multiple homicides” but he’s played by Gary Daniels and this movie was produced by PM Entertainment.

The story is set in motion by Westech, a defense contractor dabbling in super serums designed to boost performance in soldiers. Their experiments using migrant workers have repeatedly failed after the test subjects died following injections. The cohort supplying the corporation’s thugs with said immigrants has bitten the hand that feeds him and during his mad dash, decides that a mid-day carjacking is the path to freedom. Who’s driving the car? Family man and martial artist, Alex Gainer.

The local authorities, led by a dirty cop working for Westech named Kelly (Powledge), pull over the vehicle. They beat Gainer and his captor mercilessly and Kelly makes the executive decision that because Gainer has a British accent, he’s not all that much different than an illegal immigrant and his disappearance won’t be noticed. Apparently, the cronies at Westech agree because before long, Gainer is on a gurney being wheeled into the laboratory for a procedure.

It doesn’t take long for Gainer to flip the switch from heartwarming to heartpunching. After being shot full of drugs and straitjacketed, he lashes out Hulk-style at the unethical medical staff and the Westech facility quickly becomes a fiery goulash of bullets, bodies, and broken glass. The portly Kelly and resident federal lapdog Parrish (Colceri) eventually manage to subdue him (i.e. Taser to the balls) and have him transported to a meet-up spot for a hand-off with more Westech cronies. That goes swimmingly as Gainer fights off the thugs again and flees into the barren plains under the cover of night.

Thoroughly confused and hopped up on super serum, Gainer continues to tear a very public path of destruction through the crooked ranks trying to pursue him. As the 24/7 news media grabs hold of this story of the rampaging murderer in a sports coat and khakis, Gainer’s best hope to clear his name is a disgraced broadcast journalist named Harry Johannsen (Tigar). Despite the risks to his already tarnished reputation, he finds the entire affair a bit suspicious considering Gainer’s spotless background and Westech’s filthy track record.

Some films are better described in terms of the overall action than the fight choreography. Despite the proficiency of its lead as a fighter, Rage is one of those films. Experienced fight choreographer Art Camacho and prolific stunt coordinator Spiro Razatos bring a polished and kinetic feel to the film’s action pieces, small and large-scale alike.

What the stunt-oriented scenes might lack in imagination, they more than make up for in over-the-top energy and a real sense of danger. An early chase with Gainer driving a gasoline tanker on the freeway is peppered with liberal amounts of overturned vehicles and high-speed explosions. No less than three smashed roadblocks and one wrecked fruit stand later, our fearless hero is heading straight into a school bus commandeered by one of the film’s resident dickbags. Instead of swerving to avoid a crash, Gainer rigs the tanker to accelerate and then climbs to the roof where he sails through the air and lands harmlessly as the vehicles collide behind him in a fiery trucksplosion. Silly? Yes. Unbelievable, sure, but I’d argue there’s something oddly coalescent about Gainer singing “The Wheels on the Bus” with his daughter one day, and driving head-on into that bus only several hours later.

Unfortunately, the film lacks a serious physical rival for Daniels’s character, but Camacho still finds other ways to make the fight choreography visually appealing. He employs a “one-man-army” approach and does a fine job of using movement to show the speed and ease with which Daniels disarms and dispatches his enemies. The members of Camacho’s stunt team throw themselves around the various sets like rag dolls to make the hero look convincing and there’s more mindless glass-shattering than a Japanese indie deathmatch.

There’s no singular fight scene that’s outstanding in terms of technique and flow, but there’s definitely one which rises above the rest in terms of pure insanity. During his race to elude the authorities, Gainer breaks into a random home and devours a combination of tomato juice, milk, and fried chicken, all while seated on the kitchen floor. (Gainer vomits up this food later on... way to eat a balanced meal, Gainer!) The owner of said home is not at work or out running errands, but rather in his bedroom being disciplined by a towering female dominatrix while Wagner’s Ride of the Valkyries blares over their merrymaking. The leather-clad master and slave eventually come downstairs to find this stranger in the house and a fight breaks out. Furniture is destroyed. Glass is broken. A dominatrix is punched in the face.

From the writing team that brought us Time Barbarians and the Anna Nicole Smith actioner Skyscraper, no one should expect a paranoid man vs. state classic or crackling back-and-forth dialogue. The screenplay is more or less written to transport Alex Gainer from one insane action set-piece to the next. The plot is underdcooked and I’m not a huge fan of the shadowy corporate enemy in a film like this unless there’s a compelling figurehead involved. As head villainfiller Parrish, Tim Colceri is actually quite good dramatically (his claim to fame was getting hired to play Gunnery Sergeant Hartman in Full Metal Jacket before being replaced with R. Lee Ermey) but he doesn’t have the fighting skills to make the final confrontation with Gainer as interesting as it could have been. As the burgeoning citizen advocate and journalist Harry Johannsen, Kenneth Tigar is perfectly serviceable as the film’s resident character actor who tries to give this silly story a touch of earnestness.

Miscasting is an issue endemic to the action b-movie genre, so it's nice to see Gary Daniels as the story’s wholesome schoolteacher hero. He of blue eyes and light hair, Daniels has boyish looks and an equally boyish tone and cadence in his line delivery. He looks like a legitimately nice guy and that’s a tough hurdle to overcome when casting him as a grizzled street tough, but his role here is a more natural fit that allows Daniels’s kindness to shine through. You see him teaching students about monkeys, greeting his family after a long day at work, and playfully botching the lyrics to “The Wheels on the Bus” while singing with his daughter. These were nice memories to have while watching Daniels leap from the top of a mall merry go-round to tackle an assailant before beating him to death.

VERDICT:
Insane stunts. More broken glass windows than the L.A. riots and WTO protests combined. And Gary Daniels playing a schoolteacher. I’m not quite ready to go out on that limb and say it’s his best ever, but it’s a fun-as-hell action movie with some absurdly over-the-top set-pieces. Aside from some occasionally clunky editing, Rage is one of PM Entertainment’s most polished efforts. Highly recommended for both Daniels die-hards and action aficionados in general.

AVAILABILITY:
Freely available via Netflix, Amazon, EBay.

5.5 / 7

East L.A. Warriors (1989)

PLOT: A young man struggling to stay afloat in the violent ocean of Los Angeles gang life seeks out an ex-gang member to teach him the fighting arts. Meanwhile, a powerful drug dealer stokes the flames of tension between ethnic factions as backs are stabbed, traps are set, and suspenders are worn without any shirts beneath them.

Director: Addison Randall
Writers: Raymond Martino, Addison Randall
Cast: Kamar De Los Reyes, Tony Bravo, Lawrence Hilton-Jacobs, Jastereo Coviare, James Dalesandro, Sabino Villa Lobos, William Smith



PLOT THICKENER:
At first glance, there’s no reason that a movie which places martial-arts in the world of Los Angeles gangbangers should work. Action movies with kickfighting heroes who detest the use of guns are commonplace, but no amount of hand-to-hand fighting skill can stop a random spray of bullets. Why bother trying to meld the two? The 1989 PM Entertainment film East L.A. Warriors dares to bridge these two disparate concepts. What emerges is a thoughtful social commentary where punching and kicking is offered as a alternate to the destructive trappings of extreme gun violence and fatal payback. Yes, someone does get shot in the end.

A recent drive-by shooting at a birthday party has left some dead and many injured. A local Chicano gang called Los Lobos is itching to take revenge on the guilty party, an African-American gang known as the Boppers. However, a gang hanger-on named Paulo (De Los Reyes) is trying to deter them from any quick decisions because his brother died in the shooting and he doesn’t want to see the violence escalate. Having not been “jumped in,” Paulo’s opinion means little and the Lobos’ second-in-command Hector (Villa Lobos) is angered by the suggestion that the act should go unpunished. The gang’s president, Miguel, barters a compromise and they agree that vengeance will be visited upon their enemies at “the Games.”

Organized by powerful local drug kingpin Chesare (Hilton-Jacobs), “the Games” are a modern-day fighting contest not unlike the gladiator competitions of ancient times. Though, instead of fighting to the death with swords or spears, gang members fight for the upper hand until a gun is randomly made available; whomever fetches it first gets to shoot his opponent. Instead of fighting outdoors in a grand coliseum, they fight in a boxing ring with the technicolor dance-club lighting system from Don Wilson’s Ring of Fire. The proceedings are marked by gimmicky call-and-response shenanigans between Chesare and the different groups, and the factions paint their faces up like Kabuki theater actors (if Asian), 1930s street mimes (if African-American), or jungle soldiers (if white). While the various outcomes guarantee nothing more than bragging rights to the gangs, the benefits to Chesare are obvious: thinning ranks mean more territory and more power.

Chesare’s notoriety and the increasing gang activities have caught the attention of Eddie Rodriguez (Dalesandro) of the LAPD. The detective wants to help end the gun violence between gangs but he lacks an inside man; anyone close enough to the action refuses to work with the police for fear of retribution. He soon finds a partner in Aurelio (Bravo), an aging former gangbanger. As a resident of the barrio, he’s reluctant to act as an informer but also sees the value of reforming oneself and denouncing the cycle of killing. He agrees only to help bring down Chesare, which suits Rodriguez just fine. However, the detective isn’t the only one looking to Aurelio for an assist.

While wearing the wrong colors in rival territory can get you shot in some places, Paulo is lucky to escape with only about half of a beatdown before a buff, mustachioed fighter in sweatpants comes to his assistance and sends his attackers scurrying. In the days to come, Paulo attempts to solicit the man for training, but is consistently rebuked and even told to get a gun to defend himself.

As reluctant fight gurus are want to do, Aurelio eventually buckles and agrees to train the undisciplined but willing Paulo. The training scenes are befitting of a film made in the post-Karate Kid era; Paulo learns martial arts primarily by holding burning incense or paint cans for extended periods of time, and getting hit in the stomach repeatedly. This training is so effective, in fact, that Paulo’s gang initiation into Los Lobos consists of him blocking punches from other gang members and striking his way to membership. Which is actually the complete opposite of getting “jumped in,” i.e. getting your ass stomped in gangspeak.

In his portrayal of the villainous Chesare, former Welcome Back, Kotter actor Lawrence Hilton-Jacobs is the best part of the movie. As Large William of The Gentlemen’s Guide to Midnite Cinema pointed out in a recent episode, Hilton-Jacobs wanders between a terrible Latin American accent and a half-hearted Caribbean accent in his performance. While nothing Chesare says is particularly memorable, it’s fun to guess which dialect he’ll use to deliver his lines.

Beyond ethnicity, Chesare’s sexual preference is equally ambiguous. While most drug kingpins would surround themselves with a harem of honies, Chesare can be found playing classical piano while wearing an open, polka-dot silk robe and getting a massage from one of his male helpers. His visit to the fine-dining restaurant where Paulo and Hector work as waiters is equally odd. Chesare accentuates a sizable cash tip by squeezing Hector’s face in an uncomfortably long embrace while smirking at him. All of this could add up to absolutely nothing but it was interesting to see an even mildly subversive characterization in this type of movie, at this point in time.

This film was just the second in director Addison Randall’s filmography and it shows. Flashback scenes are filmed in black-and-white and while this is a bit conventional, I can’t really knock that technique. The bigger issue was using the same actors to portray much younger versions of themselves and making no effort at all to make them look younger. Most directors would have told the cast members to -- I don’t know, shave? -- but Randall just puts bandanas on everyone and rolls film. In context this is a pretty egregious wardrobe error but the clothing is otherwise pretty excellent. Hilton-Jacobs rocks a slick all-white suit through most of the film and Kamar De Los Reyes is often found in a shirtless-but-for-suspenders ensemble. Pretty hilarious for an alleged gangbanger. Meanwhile, Tony Bravo runs around in nothing more than a white wifebeater and sweatpants. He was either the victim of a really shitty wardrobe department or made a conscious decision every day to roll out of bed and go to work in his PJs, Zuckerberg-style.

Aside from shootings, the action in the film is pretty much non-existent with the exception of the “Games” scene towards the end of the film. Even then, you’re not getting martial-arts contests so much as you’re getting a lot of posturing to the crowd and yelling in between random kicks and punches. The choreographers are also pretty liberal with the use of pro wrestling moves like clotheslines, cross body blocks, and even back-body drops. For you WWE Attitude-era fans, we also get an approximation of the first “People’s Elbow” in history.

The end credits deserve mention for two primary reasons: the amateurish quasi-Comic Sans font, and the epic song, “Living to Die.” With music and lyrics by director Addison Randall and actor Jastereo Coviare, the striking rock track is the best thing Trey Parker and Matt Stone never recorded.

VERDICT:
East L.A. Warriors predates Boyz n the Hood. It came before Menace II Society. Juice, New Jack City, and Blood In Blood Out all followed in its footsteps. Sure -- all of the aforementioned are better films, but how many of them feature Freddie “Boom Boom” Washington pimping in a white suit or getting massages while playing piano? Where else can you find William Smith cashing a check as a restaurant manager and delivering lines with marbles in his mouth? Which films dare to propose fisticuffs as an adequate alternative to gun violence? None! So of you want a clumsy cinematic marriage of L.A. gang warfare and flimsy martial-arts philosophy, East L.A. Warriors can fill the gap.

AVAILABILITY:
Netflix and Amazon.

4 / 7