Tough and Deadly (1995)

PLOT: An elite CIA operative is drugged and kidnapped during a botched mission. Let this be a lesson to everyone: keep an eye on your drink at all times.

Director: Steve Cohen
Writer: Steve Cohen, Otto C. Pozzo
Cast: Billy Blanks, Roddy Piper, James Karen, Lisa Stahl, Phil Morris, Richard Norton, James Lew, Sal Landi, Dale Jacoby





PLOT THICKENER
After their entertaining 1993 collaboration, Back in Action, Roddy Piper and Billy Blanks went back to the well just two years later for another action romp with a generic title. They easily could have kicked up their feet and cashed those sweet DTV checks. But led by a more experienced director, flanked by a stronger supporting cast, and adorned in 200% more denim, the pair actually ups their game in Tough and Deadly. It’s too bad the filmmakers steered away from literalism when branding this film, because I think “The Violent Adventures of Amnesiac Martial Artist and Guy with Dynamically Changing Facial Hair” would have moved a lot more units than the vague title they went with.

A covert company man with the code name of Quicksilver (Blanks) awakens in a hospital room days after being beaten and drugged during a mission. (He would have been left for dead but he regained consciousness and killed his captors). Due to the drugging and multiple kicks to the face, he can’t remember squat. Private investigator and former cop, Elmo Freech (Piper), initially mistakens him for a potential bounty when they cross paths in the hospital, but he takes him under his wing to help him recover from his injuries and loss of memory. Freech puts a roof over his head, food in his stomach, and even gives him a sweet temporary name, “John Portland,” he determined by throwing a knife at a map. Like you do.

Along with Freech’s business partner, Mo (Stahl), the pair beats the shit out of random assholes all over the city in their quest for information. Slowly, Portland’s memories begin to return. He remembers that he’s a great martial artist, that weak coffee is a terrible way to start the day, and that the bathroom is a great place to randomly remember things while staring at yourself in the mirror. He loves East Coast rap (Freech likes country), prefers a glass of OJ to a shot of liquor, and seems to reliably match his pants to Freech’s shirts without any effort at all. The CIA eventually comes calling to collect their “rogue” asset, and some other assholes are trying to nail Portland dead as well. Also, the mafia. Drugs. Corruption. All the boxes are checked off.

Blanks is off the chain in this film, and I can only assume that if there is a heaven, there’s a wall of LED TVs showing him getting in bar fights set to country music playing on loop there. Piper likewise looks great during the action scenes, throwing body blows and taking hits like few others in the action film biz can. This pair works so well, and everyone around them plays his or her part to perfection. As a CIA honcho, James Karen delivers expository details in grave tones without it feeling overly forced. Richard Norton, James Lew, and Dale Jacoby all play believable thugs. Even Phil Morris, Seinfeld’s Jackie Chiles, gets in the mix as a crooked CIA agent on the wrong end of a Blanks-brand ass-whooping. Stunt performers get blown up and fly through the air, warehouses explode for no particular reason, and one henchman has the good fortune of getting kicked into a giant pile of cocaine.

Steve Cohen got great performances from his cast, put the right pieces in place for some great action scenes, and has terrific command of this film’s pace. But I’ll be damned if I let homeboy off the hook for Piper’s wild variance in beard length and style. From short stubble to long stubble and even what appears to be a goatee, virtually no hair on the star’s face was safe from his beard trimmer during this production. Now, this would have been forgivable if it progressed in a logical fashion -- from long to short, or vice versa -- because we don’t normally knock films for not showing the hygienic practices of the characters over the time span depicted in the story (e.g. “John McClane hasn’t brushed his teeth in five days? FUCK THIS MOVIE”). All that would have been required of Cohen was some careful planning and editing. Instead, it looks like they set the “Piper Beard Length” meter to random during the production and walked away for pancakes.

In the second of just two film collaborations between Richard Norton and Billy Blanks -- the other was 1990’s China O’Brien II -- they tear shit up during two separate fights in two different living rooms that will have you clutching the arm of your love-seat with excitement. Why these fighters chose carpeted living rooms as the mise-en-scene for two of their only screen fights, we may never know, but I’ll venture a guess. Norton was 45 years old at this point, Blanks was 40 -- maybe they just wanted cushy places for their tired bones to land? Like most of the fights in this film, the Norton-Blanks ones were really well done, but they’re elevated further by the level of talent throwing the strikes. The fact that these two bad-asses only crossed paths twice in nearly 25+ years of doing DTV action movies would qualify as a goddamn war crime if not for the fact that according to “law,” such an act requires something like torture, pillaging, or child soldiers. (No, not these ones.)

It’s rare that real-world events are a determining factor in which film to review next. However, given Roddy Piper’s passing over the summer, I felt a strong urge to see him on the screen, looking strong and having fun. He’s not nearly the unhinged, dangerous dynamo that he was in Back in Action, but Elmo Freech is a character with different circumstances and demands a different sort of performance. Piper plays him with the right level of physical energy when the action scenes call for it, but the character has an undercurrent of world-weary concern and tenderness to him, which Piper conveys quite believably. The dynamic between Blanks and Piper is also different this time around -- the former is aloof, the latter is assured -- but both put the same good-natured and brotherly charisma to good use.

VERDICT
I won’t beleaguer the point: Tough and Deadly is a lot of fun. To put it in perspective, if it were a sea creature with which I was going to be slapped across the face, it would be halibut: solid, low-fat, and overfished. What -- that didn’t help? OK, then. The actors are having fun, the directing is competent, the humor delivers occasional laughs, and the choreographed violence is well-paced and nicely edited. If you’re watching these films and settling for anything less, you need to get your priorities in order. Eat this halibut on DVD or VHS if you can find it.

AVAILABILITY
Amazon, Ebay YouTube.

5.5 / 7

 

Angelfist (1993)

PLOT: When her kickboxing covert agent sister is mysteriously murdered in the Philippines, an American cop heads overseas to bring the killers to justice. Contrary to popular belief, justice is not a hip upscale Manila restaurant, but rather a fair and reasonable application of law.

Director: Cirio Santiago
Writer: Anthony L. Greene
Cast: Cat Sassoon, Melissa Moore, Michael Shaner, Roland Dantes, Cristina Portugal, Tony Carreon, Henry Strzalkowski, Joseph Zucchero, Jim Moss






PLOT THICKENER
There are few performances in film that can be described as truly chameleonic. Few characters are conceptualized in such a way as to grant us access to the various layers of their personalities. Denis Lavant’s Monsieur Oscar in Holy Motors comes to mind, as does Joaquin Phoenix in The Master. After viewing the Corman-produced, Santiago-directed 1993 action film, Angelfist, I think we can add Cat Sassoon and her character of Kat Lang to that same elite group. Over the course of roughly 80 minutes, she encompasses a wide variety of flavors and colors. She’s a cop, she’s a kickboxer. She’s white as a sheet, she’s tanned to the color of an indoor basketball. She’s dressed in her Muay Thai best, she looks like a backup dancer for Paula Abdul.

A rugged and experienced cop, Kat is cleaning up the mean streets of Los Angeles when she receives word that her kickboxing sister, Kristie (Birzag) has been murdered in Manila. Kristie captured the murder of a U.S. military man on film, and a terrorist group called the Black Brigade responded a little harshly. One airplane transition later, and Kat is knocking down doors and beating up random Filipinos in a search for answers. The local Manila police are useless and paranoid, and the U.S. embassy is no help at all due to constant protests and pressure from the local population.

With the assistance of a shallow himbo nicknamed Alcatraz (Shaner), Kat talks her way into a meeting with her sister’s former fight trainer, Bayani (Dantes). Only after winning his respect during a sparring contest is she able to set the wheels in motion for a break in the case. In order to uncover more solid leads to chase, she enters the local ladies karate tournament in which her sister took part. Upon joining their ranks, she not only catches the attention of her sister’s friend, Lorda (Moore), but also last year’s champion and secret brigadier, the standoffish, Bontoc (Portugal). Will Kat avenge her sister's death? Who are her true enemies and allies? Why do the fight organizers call this thing a "kubate" instead of a "kumite?" And why does Kat's skin tone vary so wildly by time of day and lighting? 

So, about those action scenes. The tournament fighting is marked by extremely repetitive strikes and an almost complete disregard for defense and blocking. Moore and Sassoon, in particular, are guilty of awkward fight stances in which they curl their arms up close to their bodies while kicking, almost in an effort to conceal something -- a strange choice given the sheer amount of toplessness throughout much of the film. Cirio makes sure to combine said toplessness with an actual fight, putting Kat in the crosshairs of would-be assassins who raid Alcatraz’s apartment as she’s fresh out of the shower. In the absence of technical sheen, the stunt players sell HUGE for Sassoon and others. Enemies go screaming and flailing through walls and tables. Any piece of furniture that isn’t nailed down gets incorporated and smashed to pieces.

Sassoon gets all of the bits to put her in position to win our hearts and look awesome. Our introduction to the Kat character involves her jumping through a window with an uzi to waste a bunch of drug dealers. She wins the respect of Bayani by whooping him in an eskrima sparring match. She also takes a three-story fall from an apartment window that sees her smash through multiple levels of scaffolding to the street below. No one will ever mistake her for Moon Lee or Karen Sheperd in terms of ballsy action scenes, but I’ll put it this way: I’d wear a t-shirt with the visage of a growling Kat Lang for virtually any occasion. Even if it was a tank top!

It’s impossible to discuss this film without noting the untimely death of its star. Sassoon had a purported five-picture contract with Roger Corman, but was unable to see it through (I’m still anxious to see her Bloodfist franchise appearances). Discarding the minor transgressions of occasional duckface and dated wardrobe, most would agree that whether it’s an awkward love scene, a rompy fight, or long shots of her smoking a cigarette, Sassoon brings a palpable zest to the film. She’s clearly committed to this role and she got the memo about its tone; that effort is observable and lasting. Given the timing of her death in 2002, it’s difficult to say whether she would have weathered the erosion of the DTV action market that affected so many other stars in the early 2000s. Still, Angelfist is a unique time capsule that features Sassoon at her best, which is to say fierce, tanned, and mysteriously shiny.

Knowing that Corman took an active interest in creating “feminist exploitation films” -- using female protagonists as both asskickers and objects of lust -- I’m interested to know if viewers feel that Angelfist achieves this odd label. I’m undecided. The ladies here fight and snarl and save the day, but they also stand around awkwardly and navigate detachable shower heads over their nude bodies during inexplicable transition scenes. They’re terrorized by captors and pushed bare chest-first into blocks of ice, but they also deliver dialogue that earns the film a passing grade on the Bechdel test. Is Bontoc considered a villain because she’s part of a terrorist network, or because she never disrobes? There’s some serious contradictions at work here and I’m frankly not intelligent enough to sort it out. Maybe the Internet’s first aspirational expert in the subgenre of nude kickboxing movies, Keith over at Teleport City, can render a decision on this. Inquiring minds want to know.

VERDICT
Despite its flaws -- acting and originality among them -- Angelfist is a very entertaining film. It observes the loose but effective “action beat” rule where *something* interesting happens approximately every 10 minutes. (Even if it does nothing whatsoever to push the story forward or distract us from the arbitrary nudity). Despite her limitations as a peformer, Sassoon is ferocious and convincing as an action movie heroine, and the stunt team makes everyone look good. A fine effort from Cirio Santiago and something of an unheralded gem from the Concorde-New Horizons canon.

AVAILABILITY
Angelfist is at the ready on DVD or VHS.

4 / 7

Day of the Panther (1988)

PLOT: A member of a secret sect of martial artists must infiltrate a ruthless crime lord's vast empire. MUST. It's his only choice in life as a result of Australia's rigid caste system.

Director: Brian Trenchard-Smith
Writer: Peter West, David Groom, Brian Trenchard-Smith
Cast: Edward John Stazak, John Stanton, James Richards, Michael Carman, Paris Jefferson, Linda Megier







PLOT THICKENER:
The random, nameless henchman is arguably the most disposable element in the action film. His primary on-screen function is to get tossed, kicked, punched, or otherwise maimed in some quick and decisive fashion by one of the film’s heroes. The visual impacts of most henchmen range from “I’m pretty sure that was a dummy falling off that parking garage” to “I had those same Zubaz pants in high school.” Given the volume of henchmen in these types of movies, the master catalog of quirky appearances is a long one. You can safely add the thugs from 1988’s Day of the Panther to that list. In fact, the scene involving Guy in Boar Mask, Guy in Balding Old Man Mask, and Guy in Skull Mask might be the most memorable part of the movie.

This is the first Australian production we’ve covered and fortunately, we’re in good hands with ace action director Brian Trenchard-Smith at the helm. Does the film offer anything besides thugs in hilarious masks chasing a woman around a dilapidated industrial park for 15 minutes? That depends on how you feel about secret martial arts sects whose disciples mark their new status by branding themselves with a smoking hot iron. Members of the Order of the Panthers are subject to vigorous training, zen mastery of the self, and a highly stringent code of ethical behavior. Did we mention burning themselves with a fucking iron? I've done some weird stuff to fit in, but that's on another level.

As evidenced by recent graduates Linda Anderson (Megier) and Jason Blade (Stazak) the Panthers are also fond of high-waisted pants and obnoxious sunglasses. Introduced into the sect by Linda’s law enforcement father, William (Stanton), the pair immediately dives into the world of covert operations by conducting surveillance on a drug deal. Unfortunately, the deal goes all kinds of bad and their involvement raises the suspicions of a Perth crimelord named Zukor (Carman). Blade is forced to retreat into the background while Linda is pursued by Zukor’s hoodlums, led by the sleazy but well-dressed Baxter (Richards).

Before long, Blade has no choice but to infiltrate Zukor’s gang to right the wrongs. The authorities have no choice but to tail this rogue agent with bumbling detectives, because if there’s one element every martial arts movie needs, it’s painfully unfunny pursuit scenarios with middle-aged actors. After Blade beats the shit out of some of his employees at a marina while looking for work, and later shows up at his yacht without warning, Zukor takes a liking to the young upstart. I took virtually the same route to land my first job in the financial services industry.

Answering the bell as our fresh-faced, Miami Vice-aping hero is Edward John Stazak as Jason Blade. He’s 50% lothario, 20% Richard Norton wannabe, and 30% sportsjackets. When he’s not rocking a tight-fitting blazer, he’s swimming. When he’s not swimming, he’s at William’s gym, but isn’t wearing a tight-fitting blazer. Are you getting all this? He’s supposed to be really slick or something. His personality is so magnetic that during their first meeting, William’s foxy niece, Gemma (Jefferson) puts on a seductive dance routine for Blade in the gym. It’s set to music blaring from a boombox. She just can’t help herself!

The film is chock-full of fight film cliches -- an overly intercut climax, broken halves of a broom handle as weapon, to name a couple -- but Trenchard-Smith’s deft direction and penchant for visual quirks give the action scenes creative heft despite the humdrum fight choreography. Angles are carefully selected, the fights are given visual room to breathe, and shots are well-composed. Stazak acquits himself rather well during these scenes, showing flexibility and form in his kicks, and the stuntmen sell for him appropriately. Baxter is a solid counterpart as well; he has virtually the same blazer fetish, but also carries physical menace. Despite the logical build of tension between these characters, however, their climactic fight didn’t quite scratch the itches.

At the end of the day, there is so much that is right with this film on paper: the admirable action direction, the 1980s fashion, the weird Halloween masks, the obsession with physical fitness at the height of aerobics craze, and a completely unnecessary backstory about a secret sect of Australian martial artists training in Hong Kong. It’s (almost) all there. Unfortunately, the narrative waffles a lot. The cops trailing Blade added nothing and Zukor was stereotypical villainfiller. Worst of all, Stazak’s version of Blade isn’t nearly as charismatic or cool as the characters around him would lead us to believe.

VERDICT:
Due to my prior exposure to the work of Brian Trenchard-Smith, my expectations for Day of the Panther ran rather high. A cheesy 1980s martial arts flick helmed by the dude who did Turkey Shoot, The Man from Hong Kong, and BMX Bandits? A can’t-miss proposition if there ever was one. However, the film gets bogged down in cliches, bad puns, middling comedy, and over-the-top hero worship. Given that a sequel was filmed the same year, presumably the hope was that this would turn into a long-running Jason Blade franchise. Unfortunately, despite his obvious athletic ability and a good look, Stazak seemed stiff and unnatural when trying to play the suave leading man. A bit more seasoning in smaller roles before this one could have done wonders for a film centered on the supposed magnetism of its lead character. Mostly average film with occasional glimmers of fun and weirdness.

3.5/7

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

Rage and Honor (1992)

PLOT: An Australian cop and a public school teacher team up to bring down an amazing mullet with a ruthless criminal mastermind. Yes, his misdeeds are, in fact, secondary to the crime against nature that is his hair.

Director: Terence H. Winkless
Writer: Terence H. Winkless
Cast: Cynthia Rothrock, Richard Norton, Brian Thompson, Terri Treas, Stephen Davies, Patrick Malone, Peter Cunningham, Kathy Long, Roger Yuan



PLOT THICKENER:
Despite fast getaways with Corey Haim and treks through jungles with Loren Avedon, none of the team-ups in Cynthia Rothrock’s films are as consistently fulfilling as those with Richard Norton. Armed with a chemistry perhaps born out of the collective experience of cutting their teeth as bad-ass gweilos in 1980s Hong Kong films, they’ve enjoyed at least 10 on-screen collaborations, more than a half-dozen of which have been released Stateside. The 1992 Terence H. Winkless film Rage and Honor is their first proper team-up, having left Keith Cooke and his Native American biker character behind in the universe of the China O’Brien franchise. No doubt, before peeling away in their car, they threw beer bottles all over the ground as a single tear rolled down Cooke’s face.

This is not a film in which the punny title contains nouns which are also the surnames of the main characters, but Rothrock does play a public school teacher, so I’d have to guess that she’s the “Rage” in this equation. As Kris Fairchild, she channels said rage in the most productive manner possible as a martial arts guru who gives regular lectures about “the art of martial science.” One of the guests for her latest demonstration of applied concepts is an Australian cop named Preston Michaels (Norton). As an observational guest of the local police department, he’s under strict orders not to blow his cover by doing any actual police work.

That arrangement lasts all of about five minutes and Michaels finds himself in hot water after seeing some crooked cops deal drugs and trying to bust them for it. The woman in charge, Rita (Treas), shoots one of the bumbling lawmen and plans to pin it on Michaels, but she overlooks one critical rule: you shouldn’t kill cops if there’s a high-school AV-nerd skate punk on the roof filming the entire thing with a Hi-8 camera. OK, fine. Sorry, you fucking nerds -- TAPING.

The nosy videographer just happens to be one of Fairchild’s students, and after taking him to a hospital, Michaels goes to her dojo for help. Before getting his ass kicked by the other crooked cop, the student apparently left the tape in the hands of a homeless friend who lives in an alley … because where else would you leave something that important? For Michaels, finding the tape means exoneration for the murder for which he’s now being sought by the authorities. Unfortunately, they’re not the only ones looking for it.

Desperate for assistance, Rita has reported back to her full-time peen and the criminal mastermind behind the drug-running operation, Conrad Drago (Thompson). He believes that killing Michaels -- the first-hand witness -- is more important than finding the tape. That’s arguable, but whatever he might lack in judgement, he makes up for in turtlenecks and long, ratty, glorious mullet hair. Despite the festive vibes given off by his mop, Drago harbors a dark and terrible secret. Yes, I know what it is. No, I will not tell you. It is simply too dark and terrible for this review.

Throughout most of its 90-minute runtime, Rage and Honor feels more like a loosely connected web of weird moments and wacky characters than a cohesive film. There’s definitely a plot here, but some of the motivations and events are so half-baked that it seems obvious the writers were just trying to move our heroes from one fight scene to the next. I don’t necessarily have an issue with that strategy, especially because of the can-do, kitchen-sink energy they use to do it. One scene finds Roger Yuan and Peter “Sugarfoot” Cunningham dressed to the nines and shaking down a sex worker for money, while another finds Kathy Long as one of several Amazonian glam-rock female assassins trying to kill Michaels. You get drugs, splosions, and even character actor Stephen Davies as a stockbroker-turned-junkie leading our heroes through the criminal underworld.

However, if you’re going to skimp on plot and logic for the purpose of ramping up your action quotient, those scenes need to be stellar. Outside of one good scene where Michaels and Fairfield are forced to fight each other by a ruthless gang of Vanity 6 rejects, the fight scenes are pretty straight-forward by DTV action standards. The fighters’ forms on their strikes are good and the selling is reasonable for the most part, but the fights are marked by a stilted feel that prevents any one from really sticking out from the pack. There is one kill that deserves special mention, where a character’s finger trigger is manipulated via pressure points and the end result is a self-inflicted gunshot wound. Pretty cool stuff, but my favorite action sequence in the film wasn’t a fight or a kill for that matter. During the back-end, Peter Cunningham’s character gets a hold of the incriminating tape and runs for the fucking end zone as Michaels gives chase. It wasn’t anything spectacular per se, but there’s something hilarious and sort of dangerous about pursuits where both characters are in ill-suited footware, like cowboy boots and dress shoes. I am a simple man.

In terms of characters, Rage and Honor is a bit unusual in that the teacher displays greater street smarts than the cop, ignoring the fact that Michaels is from Australia and very likely puts beets on his hamburgers. This gave the story a fish-out-of-water element but it was run into the ground by having every other character that Michaels meets make a crack about kangaroos or boomerangs. Just perform a terrible imitation of his funny accent and be done with it.

With Brian Thompson’s portrayal of Drago, we’re treated to one of the more awe-inspiring villain introductions in martial arts b-movies. After holding his palm over a lit candle, he struts across his tiny apartment and smashes to pieces a block of ice roughly the size of an adult sea turtle. All while listening to opera. You could almost hear him thinking aloud, “Yes, all of this is terribly impractical but smashing blocks of ice is very cinematic and oh, by the way, I’m really classy and rich as fuck.” Thompson tows the line between intellectual pontificator and crazy-eyed psycho but his behavior isn’t nearly as unhinged and maniacal as his hair. I’m going out on a limb here: it’s the most ridiculous mullet in cinema history, and by ridiculous, I mean amazing.

VERDICT:
This was a mixed bag. The positive components included the chemistry between Norton and Rothrock, a fun performance by Brian Thompson, and a seemingly endless parade of random b-movie martial artists in small roles. However, the story still manages to drag for stretches and the action is often overedited and shot from poor viewing angles. So what nudges Rage and Honor towards above-average territory for me? Hmm...let me think on it...

AVAILABILITY:
Amazon, EBay, Netflix.

4 / 7

Mission of Justice (1992)

PLOT: A down-on-his-luck cop named Kurt Harris infiltrates a secretive organization dedicated to peace, order, and the election of a six-foot tall Amazonian mayoral candidate. What he discovers will possibly be incriminating but definitely be on VHS tape.

Director: Steve Barnett
Writers: George Saunders, John Bryant Hedberg
Cast: Jeff Wincott, Karen Sheperd, Brigitte Nielsen, Matthias Hues, James Lew, Billy Williams, Tony Burton



PLOT THICKENER:
It’s not often that I make personal disclosures in this space, but I’ll start off with one here: I went nearly three decades without watching a Jeff Wincott film. I’ll pause now for the collective gasp and screams of “FRAUD!”

He was never an actor I purposely avoided (*cough* Lorenzo Lamas) but since I was elbow-deep in Lundgren and Van Damme films during my prime direct-to-video years, Wincott never crept onto my cinematic radar. But much like other important milestones like sex, ice skating, and rigging live bait, the longer you go without watching a Jeff Wincott film, the harder it becomes to really start. So I pegged his 1992 film Mission of Justice as my jumping-off point.

Police officer Kurt Harris (Wincott) is a cop with a total respect for the rule of law to match his propensity for using whatever force is necessary to bring criminals down. When an abusive informant kills his girlfriend after being released by the department’s sergeant, Harris wigs out on his dickhead superior and earns a two-month suspension after punching him out. His partner, Lynne Steel (Sheperd) wants to see cooler heads prevail but Harris’s belief in the system is all but destroyed, remarking that as cops, they’re “supposed to stop the bad guys, not process them.”

To blow off some steam, Harris visits his old friend and boxing trainer and champion Cedric Williams (Burton) at his gym. A veteran of all six Rocky films, Tony Burton has carved out a nice career for himself by getting typecast, which is really not all that unusual considering he was an actual boxer. Harris and Cedric pump some iron and work out together, but the latter’s strange mood isn’t lost on Harris. Although he refuses to discuss the issue with his friend, Cedric is piping mad because a local mayoral candidate named Dr. Rachel Larkin (Nielsen) has been using his name and image to promote her campaign without his permission.

Dr. Larkin is not only a statuesque blond capable of ripping apart lobster tails with her bare hands, but also a philanthropist and public safety hardliner. Through her organization, the Mission of Justice, she’s recruited a task force of fighting experts dubbed the Peacemakers to supplement the municipal law enforcement in their crime-fighting. Why would Cedric ever consider aligning himself against such a virtuous cause? His terminated association with the Mission of Justice points the way.

After Harris leaves for the evening, Dr. Larkin and her head goons, Akiro (Lew) and Titus (Hues) pay Cedric an unexpected visit. At first, she tries simple persuasive language to bring Cedric back into the fold at the MoJ. When that doesn’t work, Cedric and her brother, Titus, have an impromptu fight in the ring which the latter wins handily through established Western boxing techniques like elbows, cheapshots, and breaking the opponent’s hands. After Cedric’s continued dogged resistance to Larkin, everyone decides to depart amicably without further conflict. That is to say, Larkin knifes him to death.

Harris is devastated when he discovers the news about his friend. After the chaos at the crime scene dissipates, he breaks into the gym and discovers little left other than a single flower buried in the sand of a slashed heavy bag. He’s not alone, however. Lynne figured he might come snooping around the crime scene, so she comforts her friend and partner by sharing the grisly details of Cedric’s death, driving Harris to sob and probably snot and drool all over himself.

Later at home, he makes a critical connection the way most of us render logical conclusions: while watching an old spaghetti Western on TV, drunk as shit. A Larkin campaign commercial airs and the decorative bud on her lapel suggests a reasonable facsimile of the flower he found at the gym. Instead of sharing his hunch with his fellow officers, he pursues it at the source by enlisting in the Mission of Justice the very next day.

After going through a brutal combative gauntlet to earn his stripes (a pinky ring and a free t-shirt), Harris joins a regular patrol of Peacemakers to keep the streets safe. His search for the truth about the organization continues through election day, where the conflict comes to a glass-shattering, knife-pulling, hand-breaking head.

If the quality of a film’s action were to be described in terms of 8-bit video games instead of superlatives, Mission of Justice would have been Rampage (pretty good) if not for two terrific set pieces that elevate it to Mega Man 3 (really good). The first, in which Wincott’s character is put through a gauntlet against dozens of Peacemakers to prove his worth, manages to be both well-choreographed and visually striking. Harris and the trainees are all equipped with fighting sticks and fight choreographer Jeff Pruitt gives the various techniques room to breathe without sacrificing any of the visceral impact. The mat in the corridor is a bright red, which contrasts nicely with the trail of black-clad fighters in various states of disrepair that Harris leaves in his wake. Even more impressive? According to an interview with Stack of Dimes, Wincott had no prior experience with fighting sticks or the many techniques endemic to eskrima and other weapon-based martial arts like it. He learned 45 minutes before the scene was shot. The other main course might not have the same visual sting as the gauntlet scene, but still manages to deliver the fun. I’ll avoid spoiling too much, but it includes action movie tropes like stunt-falls and wire-work, and creative choices in weaponry, like chainsaws and light tubes.

Director Steve Barnett pulls decent performances out of his actors and weaves the action and mystery elements into a tight, well-paced 84 minutes. When a film is bookended by characters getting smashed through windows, I have a hard time finding faults. I was a little disappointed to learn that screenwriter George Saunders was not the same George Saunders who writes awesome and hilarious short story collections, but it wouldn’t be fair to use that as a mark against the film. One oddity worth mentioning is that in addition to checking the financial records of its applicants, the Mission of Justice also used something called a “bio-feedback” machine on them. I like thinly-veiled jabs at Scientology as much as the next guy, but I thought the cultish elements in the screenplay could have been better explored.

If you’ve ever longed to see Matthias Hues dressed in a white turtleneck under a sportscoat, or wanted to see him scream “NOW I’M CHAMPION OF THE WORLD!” while wearing a massive championship belt under said sportscoat, this movie is the answer to your totally fucking random Matthias Hues fantasies. As he does so often, Hues brings a screen presence befitting of a main villain despite being cast as a supporting character. His blond locks and towering stature make him a natural choice to play the brother of Brigitte Nielsen’s character in this movie ... or any movie really.

VERDICT:
I had no pre-conceived notions about what type of martial artist Jeff Wincott would be, so the biggest element of his skill-set that surprised me was his acting. This guy has legitimate chops. I’m not sure where Mission of Justice ranks in his filmography, but I was really impressed with the overall effort and the roster of talent. Highly recommended for Wincott virgins and loyalists alike.

AVAILABILITY:
VHS or Region 2 DVD.

6 / 7