Bloodsport 2 (1996)

PLOT: An art thief is double-crossed by his business partner and then sentenced to prison in Thailand. During his incarceration, he learns about a fighting style called “Iron Hand,” a dangerous tournament known as the kumite, and how to make a tasty prison latte in his cell using milk and instant coffee.

Director: Alan Mehrez
Writer: Alan Mehrez
Cast: Daniel Bernhardt, James Hong, Donald Gibb, Pat Morita, Ong Soo Han, Ron Hall, Lisa McCullough, Nicholas Hill, Hee Il Cho, Lori Lynn Dickerson, Philip Tan, Eric Lee

PLOT THICKENER

The recently completed 2017 film Kill’em All represents a circuitous crossing of paths more than two decades in the making between an action star who launched a film franchise -- Bloodsport’s Jean-Claude Van Damme -- and the guy who replaced him, Swiss martial artist Daniel Bernhardt. Both actors are in good places now; JCVD is enjoying a professional and pop cultural renaissance while Bernhardt has had roles in major studio films like John Wick and Logan. While he could not have helped his European origins -- or the fact that he looked like Van Damme, sort of sounded like him, and is several inches taller -- inquiring minds want to know why Bernhardt decided to sign on for 1996’s Bloodsport 2 as his action movie debut, especially since it led to a decade of typecast roles that JCVD himself had already done or didn’t want. Is this something the two laughed about while filiming together recently? Or was the working relationship between them akin to two dudes who are tangentially aware that they dated the same person? Questions -- I got ‘em.

During a break in martial arts class, the elderly Sun (Hong) shares with his young students the story of a man whose greed and terrible life choices laid a foundation for redemption. Alex Cardo (Bernhardt) is a suave art thief who makes his living schmoozing his way into soirees at luxurious estates and making off with priceless artifacts. (When you can’t decide between your favorite twins in 1992’s Double Impact -- slick-haired Alex or foppish Chad -- Cardo is there to quip, “why not both?”) His most recent heist at the home of a rich dude named Leung (Morita) sees him walk away with a jeweled sword and a lunch date with the inquisitive Janine (Dickerson). Neither of these prizes comes without a cost, however. The next day at the hotel, he gets set up by his crooked business partner, John (Tan), is arrested by the authorities, and gets an all-expenses-paid trip to a Thai prison. Worst date ever!

The food is garbage. Most of the inmates are violent, and the more docile ones simply wander the all-dirt prison yard sweeping up non-existent trash. Everyone is forced to wear pink. Worse yet, the unholy duo of prison boss Chien (Chuay) and a brutal prison guard named Demon (Ong Soo Han) seems to have it out for Alex. Fortunately, the benevolent master Sun comes to the newbie’s defense during an attempted beat-down and takes him under his wing. What the elderly master lacks in brawn, he makes up for with a style known as “iron hand.” He was forced to use the technique against a former student who turned into a violent rapist, and the result was lethal. Due to the student’s politically connected father, Sun ended up incarcerated for life. In time, Alex learns the iron hand technique from Sun and is able to defend himself against constant attacks by Chien and his cronies.

As prisoners are want to do, the pair discusses the crime that landed Alex in the joint, and Sun reveals that the sword he stole wasn’t just any old blade, but rather the grand prize for an underground invite-only kumite tournament. Alex aspires to enter the tournament and win it using Sun’s iron hand technique as some sort of tribute, but there’s the minor detail of imprisonment standing the way. Have no fear! This is a movie with a bored screenwriter, so the superintendent lets Alex out early for reasons the movie will deal with later (if you’re lucky). Our hero feels bad about leaving Sun behind, but not so bad that he’s going to pass up the chance to breathe free air, enter the kumite, and eat a decent fucking meal. Sun informs him that Demon is also entering the kumite and must be stopped because he’s dishonorable or something. Hijinks ensue, motives are revealed, and Ray Jackson (Gibb) is back in the fray as an English-speaking handler for all the gringos and gweilos at the kumite, Alex included.

The action in the film is good and I’m going to go out on a limb and say that on balance, this film actually has much better fighters and fight choreography than its predecessor. That will sound wacky to fans of the original, but it’s true. For that, we have action choreographer Philip Tan to thank. As Alex’s treacherous former partner, he’s a bit underutilized and doesn’t get quite as much screen time as one might expect. As fight choreographer, though, he makes everybody look good in their fight scenes, whether it’s Bernhardt and Ron Hall in their fast-paced, block-heavy kumite match, or even 67-year-old James Hong throwing strikes in the prison yard like a genuine martial arts O.G.

It is beyond surprising to me that this film had a theatrical run, albeit a short one. My disbelief is informed less by the quality of the film -- it’s good for what it is -- and more by the general circumstances in which it was released. The charismatic Belgian star who helped launch the franchise was replaced by an unknown Swiss look-alike. No threatening glares from Bolo Yeung. No Paul Hertzog soundtrack. The only holdover from the original film is Donald Gibb, who appears to be having a lot less fun with his scenes than he did in the first film. The distributor, Transcontinental Film Corporation, cut its teeth on bringing cheap 1970s Hong Kong martial arts films to American theaters, but had never distributed a homegrown film. Even with the lack of serious star power and a film property that was nearly a decade old, they still pushed this film to theaters for a three-month run, and made a paltry $700,000 at the box office for their efforts. This was the last film they ever touched and my guess is that they’d probably like a mulligan on that decision.

VERDICT

Bloodsport 2 is the sort of sequel you get when you combine a solid lead actor, some good martial arts choreography, and an inferior story propped up with misplaced nostalgia and character actors. It’s not especially distinctive among its tournament chopsocky brethren in its presentation, but the supporting performances and fight choreography are good enough to make it a worthwhile watch. Kumite.

AVAILABILITY

The usual: Amazon, eBay. Not a tough one to find.

3.5 / 7

Fists of Iron (1995)

PLOT: A single dad with an engineering degree who works as an auto mechanic decides to pursue underground kickboxing after his friend is killed. Will his drunken has-been trainers teach him enough to avoid a similar fate?

Director: Richard W. Munchkin
Writers: Sean Dash
Cast: Michael Worth, Marshall Teague, Sam Jones, Eric Lee, Matthias Hues, Jenilee Harrison, Nicholas Hill, Lelagi Togisala, Michael DeLano, Art Camacho, Nick Koga

 

PLOT THICKENER 

Recent reports indicate that nearly half of college graduates got their first job outside their field of study. Taking a longer view, around one-third of college graduates will never work in the field in which they pursued their degree. I myself went to school for alternative medicine and now I work in the legal field. Hmm, or did I go to school and partake in self-medicating which wasn’t legal? It’s all a bit foggy (much like my dorm room at the time). The central character in 1995’s Fists of Iron may have wasted his college years by getting some newfangled engineering degree, but his job as an auto mechanic gives him enough money to live on the beach (in a mobile home), drink like a connoisseur (at a dive bar), and buy expensive clothes (baggy silk shirts and suspenders). Take that, higher education!

Dale (Worth) is the young and single father to an adolescent daughter. Things with his ex-lady didn’t work out, but Dale is a stand-up guy who made sacrifices to give his daughter a stable environment. He sold a business to help put his ex and his daughter in a proper home, while he lives the dream of residing in a mobile home on the beach like Riggs in Lethal Weapon. He makes his living as an ace mechanic during the day, and spends many of his evenings at a local watering hole with his best friend, Matt (Hill), getting into skirmishes with drunken riffraff. While attending a kickboxing event at the sprawling estate of a local fight promoter, the devious Peter Gallagher (Teague), Dale playfully reminds his pal of all the fighting he’s done on his behalf. Matt’s pride gets the better of him, and when a $2,000 open challenge to survive two minutes with Gallagher’s prized monster Victor Bragg (Hues) is announced, Matt is the first to throw his name in the hat. Surprisingly, he lasts the requisite 120 seconds and takes the cash prize home, but not without cuts, lumps, and internal bleeding to go along with it.

While recouping on the beach outside of Dale’s house, Matt succumbs to his injuries during a nap. Furious and filled with remorse over the death of his childhood friend, Dale does what anyone would do: he goes to the bar to get drunk. While there, he fends off a disgruntled customer from his car garage and then confronts two old-timers who were purportedly once fighters but now like to cut loose and observe instead of engage: Daniel (Lee) and Tyler (Jones). Dale asks them for their help so he can take on Gallagher and his fighters, but they rebuke this silly notion, and Tyler even stops Dale’s punch bare-handed when the young upstart gets frustrated. Because this is a 1990s kickboxing film, this resistance only lasts for about another 10 minutes. Before you know it, the pair of former fighters are instilling their wisdom in a fresh young fighter who’s gifted, as Tyler puts it, with “an iron fist.”

Due to this being such a cookie-cutter subgenre, I was prepared to hit the snooze button on this but was surprised at how much I enjoyed the film. The hero is sympathetic given his circumstances, Marshall Teague plays a terrific and dickish villain in Gallagher, and Sam Jones and Eric Lee have great chemistry with each other and with their trainee. This is one of those cases where a film becomes more than the sum of its parts because the performances are spot-on, and there's some humor peppered throughout to make these characters relatable. Sure, there are missteps. All of Gallagher’s fighters are dressed up in the most unintimidating K-Mart-level ring gear I’ve ever seen. It really undercuts the brutality of the monstrous Victor Bragg when he’s dressed in the same loose, star-print pants and matching cut-off sweatshirt that my mom used to wear to her aerobics class. The screenwriter went a bit too heavy on exposition-heavy dialogue at times, leading to some clunky, unnatural exchanges between characters. But when a movie features a line as unabashedly 1990s as “see the girls in the flowered vests to place your bets,” it’s hard not to jump on the bandwagon despite some flaws.

In an odd bit of serendipity, we’ve now covered consecutive films featuring actresses from the television show, Dallas. Jenilee Harrison -- who famously replaced Suzanne Somers on Three’s Company and played Jamie Ewing on Dallas -- appears here as a love interest to the story’s hero, much like her Dallas colleague Charlene Tilton did in Deadly Bet (see prior post). The tangled web doesn’t stop weaving there! The actress who replaced Harrison on Three’s Company, Priscilla Barnes, appeared in Talons of the Eagle as -- who would have guessed it? -- the hero’s love interest. Before he appeared in the Kickboxer sequels as David Sloane, Sasha Mitchell played the illegitimate son of J.R. Ewing on Dallas. Andrew Stevens -- who co-starred with Karen Sheperd in Blood Chase and directed Don Wilson in Virtual Combat -- played a hustler working for J.R. Ewing. Will the chopsocky film connections to Dallas ever end? More likely, it will puzzle and enthrall researchers for centuries.

Fight choreographer Art Camacho and director Richard Munchkin have worked together eight times, starting with 1991’s Ring of Fire and ending in 2004 in one of those hilarious chimpanzee action films. Either as a result of their cinematic chemistry or the efforts of a crafty second unit director, the fight scenes in Fists of Iron look quite good. Fighters' heads and the punches that hit them snap with intensity. Just about every fight is lively, with striking and countering combinations that make sense. Different fighters have distinctive styles and their abilities are showcased by camera angles that allow the choreography to breathe. Worth’s character tests his mettle against a variety of fighting mini-bosses, all the way up to his climactic fight with Hues’s heavy-hitting behemoth. Their match is fairly entertaining while still maintaining some semblance of believability -- the strategic advice dispensed by Dale’s teachers is actually deployed in the fight itself (and by extension, the choreography) and all too often, films fail to stick to this formula. Combine that with plenty of cutaway shots to people in the crowd dressed in the finest threads this era had to offer, and I’m a happy viewer.

VERDICT

Some will gloss over the plot of Fists of Iron and conclude, “another post, another kickboxing tournament film,” and they wouldn’t be wrong. The main difference between this film from many others with a similar story, is that this film has a lot of heart. It also has a bruised spleen, broken ribs, and cauliflower ear. The fight scenes are fun, the dynamic between the hero and his teachers is entertaining, and the film has some of the most amazingly weird underground fight tournament crowd shots I’ve ever seen. Dig it.

AVAILABILITY

Amazon, eBay.

4.5 / 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

Blood Ring (1991)

PLOT: An American fighter in Manila is forced to put down the bottle and take up arms (and fists) against the evil fight promoters who killed his friend. Bad timing too, because he just signed up for a mail-order membership to a “Godawful Cheap Vodka of the Month” club.

Director: Teddy Page (as Irvin Johnson)
Writer: Ron Davies
Cast: Dale Cook, Don Nakaya Nielsen, Andrea Lamatsch, Ned Hourani, Jim Gaines, Nick Nicholson, Steve Tartalia, Cris Aguilar

PLOT THICKENER

As a huge fan of Mark Hartley’s Not Quite Hollywood, the 2008 documentary that blew the doors open on Australian exploitation film for the mainstream, I was really looking forward to his 2010 follow-up that focused on the Philippines, Machete Maidens Unleashed. You can imagine my surprise, then, when the film reached the end credits with nary a mention of the important part that the chopsocky subgenre and its many stars played in the Filipino film industry of the 1980s and early 90s. Everyone from Richard Norton and Jerry Trimble to Loren Avedon and Don Wilson went for at least one go-round in Manila, and in a sense, starring in a Filipino actioner as a Westerner meant that your star power had reach and cachet.

Or, more simply: you were an accomplished kickboxer. The Filipino film industry -- particularly filmmakers like Cirio Santiago and Teddy Page -- loved kickboxers of every stripe. Dale “Apollo” Cook, who started kickboxing professionally in the late 1970s and saw his fight career last nearly two decades, was one of the few American-born stars whose film work (nine movies in all) was almost entirely limited to the Philippines (save for one part as a jerkward foreign devil in the 1992 Hong Kong film, Deadend of Besiegers). Cook may have lacked the dramatic chops or swagger to make it as an action star Stateside, but he had an easygoing, American-as-apple-pie vibe that Filipino action films, for whatever reason, seemed to really dig. 1991's Blood Ring was just his second film and the first of four films in which he would star with Teddy Page in the director's seat. It was also the film title most often confused for a sausage product.

In the world of underground Manila kickboxing, tickets may be cheap but life is even cheaper. (The beer is still expensive). Promoters use up and discard their fighters as often as they change their t-shirts. Max Rivers (Cook) is your typical burnout drunk, fighting and throwing fights in exchange for booze money from his sleazy promoter, Dingo. When Max’s fighter pal, Philip (Tartalia), goes missing, his girlfriend, Susan (Lamatsch) brings the news to Max, hoping that he can help. Philip has been trying to get out from under the thumb of his own promoter, the evil Caruleo (Nielsen), by betting on himself to lose fights. In exchange for these efforts, Philip gets “released from his contract” which is a formal way of saying that Caruleo beats him to death. (Wouldn’t you know it? Caruleo is a kickboxer too).

The reach and cruelty of Caruleo’s gang spreads far and wide. His main hatchet man is Stevens (Gaines), a coke-addicted creep in molester glasses whose enjoyment of violence is matched only by his love for nose candy. While Caruleo oversees many expert fighters -- including a beefed-up weirdo in a mask called D’Executioner (Aguilar) -- his most prized subject is Madigan (Hourani), a kickboxer with bountiful chest hair who can’t be trusted with any dialogue whatsoever. As Max gears up to infiltrate and destroy the gang who killed his friend, he’ll not only need to defeat each of these mini-bosses on the way to Caruleo, but he’ll also have to fight his raging addiction to booze on the road to sobriety.

There is little to no production sheen to Teddy Page’s films, and Blood Ring is no different. You can’t go into Filipino action films from this era with any expectation of technical mastery because you’ll walk away more disappointed than Steven Seagal after the food court Cinnabon has closed for the day. (Not fatshaming here, BTW -- Seagal just really loves Cinnabons). The plot here is simple, if stale, but the bad blood between the hero and his enemies is sufficient to carry us through the film. If you’ve seen a few of these early 90s Filipino chopsocky films -- Fighting Spirit and Blood Hands in particular -- you’ll recognize not just the filming locations, but also the cast of faces. The Jim Moss-Nick Nicholson-Jim Gaines triumvirate is back and in full effect -- all three have supporting parts -- but it was interesting to see Gaines get the baton as the baddie with the most screen-time. As the drug-addled rapist flunky, Stevens, he’s pretty good at capturing his character’s cowardly and sleazy qualities.

If Billy Blanks is the “casual Friday” of chopsocky b-movie stars with his denim ensembles and button-up shirts, then Dale Cook and his plain-tank tops or polos with sweatpants is definitely the “working from home” model. It’s not something exclusive to his character in Blood Ring, either, because he was rocking similar threads in American Kickboxer 2. You might remember from our conversation with Loren Avedon that on the chopsocky film set -- when you’re kicking, punching, and stunting for up to 12 hours a day -- comfort is key. So, maybe there’s a method to Cook’s sartorial madness, as plain and borderline sloppy as it might appear. Or maybe he was decades ahead of his time, as evidenced by the uptick in high-end sweats worn to premiere events and basketball games by everyone from Drake to Bieber. Oscar Isaac spent pretty much all of his screen time in Ex Machina wearing sweatpants and getting shitfaced. If it’s good enough for a tech genius in a top 10 film of the year, why isn’t it good enough for a kickboxer running around Manila and beating the shit out of crooked gangsters and fight promoters?

The real question though: do the sweatpants make a difference in the quality of the fight scenes? Beats the hell out of me. Cook moves well, and you can definitely tell he’s a pro fighter. The training montage in the back-half of the film finds him doing full-extension kicks in waist-deep water -- athletically speaking, that’s insane. He looks best when paired with other legit fighters (e.g. Hourani) as opposed to the standard stunt players, and his climactic fight with Nielsen (himself a former pro kickboxer) is pretty solid. The choreography is simple and the camerawork is average, but the atmosphere -- dark arena, ropes wrapped in barbed wire, and cavernous echoes -- is a cut above your traditional “two dudes kickfighting in a boxing ring” showdown. There’s a lot of blood, a pretty gruesome ending, and even Susan gets in on the action by swinging through the air (she’s tied up per the “damsel in distress” trope) and delivering a timely double-kick to the bad guy. Again, none of it will necessarily blow you away but I appreciated that they put some custom touches on the formula.

VERDICT

It’s undoubtedly cheap and occasionally sleazy. It’s plenty of other excessive adverbs combined with adjectives typically associated with Filipino exploitation films -- take your pick, man. It’s got all the customary markers: subpar acting, doofy plot, poor lighting, crazy stunts, and a library music score. Does Blood Ring rise above it all and deliver the goods in spite of itself? It sort of depends on your threshold for technically unsound cinema and your appreciation for Oklahoman kickboxers. Fortunately, I have both in spades, so I thought it was a breezy 90 minutes. Solid pick for those Saturday afternoons when you don’t want to change out of your tank top and sweatpants.

AVAILABILITY

It never made the jump to DVD (R1 anyway), so used VHS copies on Amazon or eBay are probably your best bet.

3 / 7

Firepower (1993)

PLOT: In the far-future of 2007, crime is out of control. So out of control that cities have transformed into "Hell Zones" where criminals run the show. Gary Daniels and Chad McQueen are two cops who aren't afraid to clean the streets and they'll use all the explosions and kickfighting needed to make that happen.

Director: Richard Pepin
Writer: Michael January
Cast: Chad McQueen, Gary Daniels, Art Camacho, Jim "Warrior" Hellwig, Gerald Okamura



PLOT THICKENER
There is a hierarchy in the world of cinematic martial artists -- indicative of budget more than quality. At the top of the list, you've got your JCVDs and your Seagals and Norrises. Below that, there's the Lamases and Wilsons and Rothrocks. The list goes down, all the way down, to someone like Ron Marchini, who is the bologna sandwich of the kickfighting world. Somewhere in the second or third tier, always threatening to storm his way to the top, is Mr. Gary Daniels. When given the right material, Daniels really shines and he is clearly an accomplished martial artist.  Problem is, he is often put in films with less capable performers. Enter Chad McQueen and Firepower.

Daniels and McQueen play cops Nick Sledge and Darren Braniff, respectively. This is a PM Entertainment film, and one of the better ones at that, so it opens with a car chase and things blow up. McQueen and Daniels bring in their man, played by Jim Hellwig (wrestler The Ultimate Warrior) but it doesn't take The Ultimate Warrior's criminal buddies long to break him out of jail because, again, this is PM Entertainment and we need to throw some punches and blow stuff up.

This leads us, as all things do eventually, to a martial arts death cage tournament. It is here that we learn that The Ultimate Warrior goes by the moniker The Swordsman. (All the contestants in the tournament have names like that. For instance, the great Art Camacho plays The Viper) The biggest problem with this movie, as I said before, is that Gary Daniels plays second fiddle to the far inferior Chad McQueen. However, when Daniels or Camacho or Ultimate Warrior are on screen, this film is pretty much as good as it gets for DTV action fare.

Many action films have actors that should not speak. The Ultimate Warrior is one of those actors. Fortunately, I don't believe he has a single line throughout the entire film. He grunts and growls and looks menacing but, wisely, does not speak. Gary Daniels has all the brilliantly cheesy lines that you hope he will. Chad McQueen is what I'd imagine would happen if Tom Sizemore and Garth Brooks had a baby. We've got kicks and punches, we've got helicopters and car crashes, we've got lasers. And really, do we need anything else?

VERDICT
Firepower is surprising in that it is probably exactly as good as you expect it to be if you know your DTV action cinema. There would only be a handful more Gary Daniels films better than this and many, many worse ones. The same can be said for PM Entertainment. They were not often able to deliver on their promises but when they did, it's about as good as this genre gets. Solid fighting, solid action, solid villain, solid Gary Daniels.

-- Review by Craig McNeely

AVAILABILITY
Netflix, Amazon, YouTube.

5 / 7

American Streetfighter (1992)

PLOT: A successful businessman leaves the lap of luxury to save his estranged younger brother from an underground kickboxing ring. Unfortunately, the airline screwed up and he’s really pissed about having to fly coach along the way.

Director: Steve Austin
Writer: David Huey
Cast: Gary Daniels, Ian Jacklin, Gerald Okamura, Roger Yuan, Tracy Dali, Kent Ducanon, Andrew Cooper




PLOT THICKENER
“Youth is wasted on the young,” said George Bernard Shaw, a man I once believed to be a curmudgeonly dickhead. It wasn’t until I turned into one myself that I discovered he was totally right! Young people have boundless energy and opportunities but spend most of their days finding ways to fuck it up. The bubble of youth is the best time to make those mistakes, though. American Streetfighter, a 1992 Silver Screen movie starring Gary Daniels, explores this idea of youthful indiscretion and the relationships that suffer as a result. It also answers the age-old question: is a funeral parlor a good setting for a samurai sword fight?

As evidenced by his tassled leather jacket, acid wash jeans, and poor decision making, Jake Tanner (Daniels) is a young punk mixed up with the wrong crowd. After he and his fellow gang member, Ito (Yuan), rig up a jukebox with explosives to damage a local business, they realize innocent people were inside! They run back to save them, but the hapless potential victims are packing heat and open fire. Jake escapes with his life, but Ito is shot dead. To be more accurate, Jake drives off after Ito is shot, but still alive. Because Jake drove off, Ito is stuck waiting around to be shot again.

Years later, Jake has moved on to bigger and better things in his new life in Hong Kong. Leather jackets and unkempt locks have given way to power suits and a greasy ponytail. His shitty getaway car has evolved into a shitty office with a drop ceiling and poor lighting. Dead business deals have replaced dead friends. During a late night at the office, he receives a troubling phone call from his mother: Randy is in trouble. Wait, who’s Randy? Oh right, the younger brother in the picture Jake is now holding.

Randy (Jacklin), is a rising star in the world of underground fighting. When Jake arrives after his latest fight to discourage this behavior, Randy rejects the advice. After all, Jake ran away following his own transgressions and left his sibling alone to fend for himself during his formative years.

A shrewd businessman if there ever was one, Jake approaches the fight circuit boss, Ogawa (Okamura) and asks to buy out Randy’s contract. When Ogawa rebuffs, Jake instead offers to take Randy’s place as a fighter-by-proxy. For reasons known only to screenwriter David Huey, Ogawa totally goes for it. Jake gets his ass handed to him in his first competitive fight -- even suffering the indignity of being repeatedly whipped with a car antenna -- and retreats to the home of his master’s daughter, Rose (Dali), to lick his wounds. While there, he goes through a rigorous rehabilitation program under the supervision of Rose’s adolescent son, whose martial arts knowledge is informed by his rabid Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles fandom. Once he’s fully healed, Jake is joined by his master, Nick (Ducanon) and they take the fight to Ogawa’s gang.

If you know his work, the involvement of Expert Weapon’s director, Steven Austin doesn’t inspire much confidence. In fact, if the films I’ve reviewed were holiday desserts, King of the Kickboxers is a delicious pecan pie at the high end of the spectrum, whereas Expert Weapon would be a pile of stale-ass pizzelles or plum pudding. (For continued debate around weak-ass holiday desserts, please leave your thoughts in the comments). This film isn’t nearly as rough as the aforementioned Ian Jacklin joint, but it lacks technical polish -- the soundtrack appears to have been lifted from a mix of 80s porn and an SNK fighting game ported to a 16-bit console -- and the pacing is fairly wonky. Fight circuit backdrop: plastic sheeting and gaudy light colors. The action: occasionally competent but weirdly edited and choreographed. The dialogue: just nevermind, OK? The movie definitely gets points for the feathered locks of Gary Daniels but I don’t think we should give Austin credit for that. (Unless he did hair and make-up. I’ll need to consult the production credits again to confirm).

Out of at least three Daniels films, this is the third in which he’s been drugged or otherwise had his mental acuities compromised. While Daniels needs to keep a better eye on his drink, I suppose putting your martial arts hero on drugs is the logical extension of the “drunken master” trope popularized and codified by Hong Kong kung fu cinema of yesteryear. That said, what drugs would make for the best martial arts movie? Weed would turn any serious fight film into a stoner comedy, so that has crossover appeal. Heroin is too prone to overdose. I’d have to think that something like meth or crack cocaine would yield the best product. If the hero in "Return of the Supreme Crackhead Master" seems too invincible, just put all of the bad guys on bath salts and have them eat the master’s face for the inciting incident. This shit practically writes itself.

This film nips around the edges of some solid and trashy action, but it comes in drips and drabs. The underground fight scenes are comical -- Ian Jacklin’s youthful arrogance is characterized by him flexing his muscles with exaggerated grunts after he strikes (“flex fighting”) --  but also slow and awkward. The same can be said of the stunt work. During a climactic scene involving henchmen on dirt bikes, we see one of the most disproportionately cruel and protracted retaliations by a hero in the history of cinema. After a snazzy dirt bike entrance, a henchman is tossed from his bike, pummeled to the ground, covered in gasoline, and then set ablaze via Zippo by the grizzled, eyepatch-wearing Nick. The whole scene transpired over what seemed like hours and would be right at home in a Videodrome telecast. Then there’s that funeral parlor sword fight, which is plodding despite the inspired mise-en-scene. Remember kids: not even a samurai sword can make a short-sleeve shirt and tie combo look cool.



VERDICT
American Streetfighter is a fight film made on the cheap and punctuated by occasional quirks. The choreographed violence is frequent and often over-the-top (see: aforementioned funeral parlor sword fight). There are curious character ticks galore, a totally hamfisted subplot about dead kickboxers, and more socially awkward moments than at a food packaging convention. (I have no proof, but I’ve always assumed this industry is full of weirdos). The movie works as a cinematic curiosity, but is probably for Daniels and Jacklin completists only.

AVAILABILITY
Amazon, EBay, Netflix.

3 / 7

To the Death (1993)

PLOT: A retired champion kickboxer is held hostage and forced to train for underground fights to the death. Yet another unforeseen consequence of raising the mandatory retirement age under Social Security.

Director: Darrell Roodt
Writers: Gret Latter, Darrell Roodt
Cast: John Barrett, Robert Whitehead, Michel Qissi, Robert Whitehead, Michelle Bestbier, Ted Le Plat, Greg Latter, Norman Antsey, Claudia Udy.



PLOT THICKENER:
My favorite living filmmaker is probably David Lynch. He’s made his mark creating strange cinematic dreams where the players and the rules by which they play are every bit as twisted as the visuals. You know you’ve really made it as a filmmaker when your surname has become an adjective, so it’s hard to refrain from putting the Lynchian label on Darrell Roodt’s 1993 film, To the Death. It has a few of the trademarks -- a woman in peril, fractured identities, criminal elements, strange visuals, and weird speech -- though not with the same intensity or frequency. However, when you train a critical eye on a string of films from a formulaic subgenre during a very specific period of time, viewing them can be tedious, and films sometimes run together. Deviations from the norm, however slight, are always welcome.

To the Death is not unconventional in its narrative and it’s technically the unofficial sequel to the very conventional American Kickboxer 1. Most of the main characters -- and some of the cast -- make return appearances, with slight changes. John Barrett, who played elder kickboxing champion BJ Quinn in the first installment, goes by the name of Rick Quinn here. His girlfriend from the prior story arc, Carol, is now his wife. Denard, previously a flamboyant French kickboxer played by South African Brad Morris, has transformed into an angry French kickboxer played by Morrocan-Belgian Michel Qissi. Thankfully, trouble-making journalist Willard (Le Plat) returns to the fray as a stabilizing force, but then confounds the audience with longer hair and a moustache. It’s like the alternate 1985 from Back to the Future II where everyone is a slightly different version of themselves but even more scientifically dubious!

We pick up just following the events of AKB1, where Quinn has defeated Denard and recaptured the championship. He then chooses to retire, confusing the kickboxing world, vacating the title, and infuriating Denard, who wants nothing more than to beat Quinn in a rematch and regain his pride.

Not one to live out his days as a recluse, Quinn takes a social engagement over lunch with the Le Braque brothers, Dominique (Whitehead) and Roger (Latter). As burgeoning fight promoters, they would like nothing more than to coax Denard out of retirement to join a more exclusive sphere of the fight universe, where fighters perform in front of the elite, the fabulously wealthy, and a chain-smoking ring announcer in clown facepaint. Dominique’s inital proposal of $50K for “one evening, maybe two hours” seems indecent. Uh, what kind of movie is this again? The rich asshole doubles it when Quinn rebuffs, and responds in an ominous tone when Quinn is like, “shove your $100K offer up your asses, but thanks again for the steak salad that I didn’t touch” and leaves in a huff.

The next day, kickboxing journalist and old friend Willard stops by to say goodbye to the retired Quinn. While they’re exchanging pleasantries, Carol starts up the sportscar to pick up some milk or something and it explodes like a jungle hut in a Filipino commando movie. Who would rig Quinn’s car, and why? (Don’t answer, that was purely rhetorical).

Some months later, Quinn has downgraded from a home in the country with no lawn or resale value to a dingy hotel room with no furniture. His alcoholic tendencies have returned and he becomes so out of control during a drink with Willard that the bouncers literally throw him out with the trash. Later on, he drunkenly tries to start a fight with Denard -- the man he blames for Carol’s death -- and ends up in jail. Who bails him out? Willard? Ha! Journalists don’t make any money. In fact, it’s Dominique Le Braque’s foxy wife, Angelica, who springs Quinn. He doesn’t like having any debts, so agrees to a meeting with Dominique to arrange a payment plan that involves fighting with a reasonable interest rate. I wish I’d had the same option to pay back my student loans.

The rules are strict: Quinn has a week to get back into shape before his first fight and he can only wear pleated khakis while doing so. Under no circumstances is he allowed to bang Dominique’s wife even though her seductive gestures are signs of a woman desperate to escape her abusive relationship. Dom tries to communicate this through a joke about frying Rick’s balls and broiling his dick, but he fucks up the delivery so everyone stands around awkwardly afterwards.

It’s rare that I can really enjoy one of these movies if the action isn’t: a) well-done; or b) frequent. There’s not a ton of fighting here, and when it does occur, it’s standard kickboxing movie fight fare but nothing outstanding. But they do have a significant creative flourish. In a normal kickboxing sports movie, the referee is something of a compulsory element for the sake of accuracy. In an underground fighting-to-the-death movie, it’s extraneous -- you don’t need someone to enforce rules when the fighters are trying to kill each other. This film offers a third option: referee as executioner. Once each fight has been decided -- usually by knockout -- Dominique throws a single rose into the ring, and the referee aims a pistol at the downed fighter’s head. Never mind that fatally shooting the fighters who are supposed to kill each other runs contrary to the spirit of death matches. It hammers home Dominique’s god complex, and that’s good enough for me to view the character as a sick bastard and not your standard villain-filler.

Few would deny that Michel Qissi created a memorable and fearsome action villain with Kickboxer’s Tong Po (other than maybe Kamel Krifa, who played the character in Kickboxer 4). That said, replacing Brad Morris as Denard is no easy assignment. Morris’s natural performance captured all the arrogance, flamboyance, and intensity you could want in a chopsocky villain. Qissi’s take on Denard is angry and intense but lacks the more subtle notes. Much of the blame here belongs to the screenwriters for the way they wrote the character, but there was also an opportunity here for Qissi to make the role his own. Aside from one scene in which he brandishes a pitchfork like Ginny Field, there was nothing memorable about Denard in this film.

Perhaps that’s why this movie doesn’t stick out for most people. The things that were memorable about American Kickboxer 1 -- the training sequences, the performances from Brad Morris and John Barrett, and a great fighting villain -- were integral pieces to the whole movie. The memorable things in To The Death -- smoking clowns, unpredictable quips, weird relationship dynamics, alcoholic downfalls, and murderous sleaze -- are cool flourishes but not really essential parts. When you look at all of these low-budget DTV kickpunching films as a whole, it’s rare that the critical components in an individual film -- characters, story, and action -- are done exceptionally well; thus, in the void, the more minor flourises take on some added importance.

VERDICT:
A lot of strange and interesting touches snowballed over the runtime and culminated in a fairly enjoyable viewing experience. There were so many, in fact, that I somehow managed to ignore the absence of what usually makes these films enjoyable: great fights (or terrible fights) and lots of technical mishaps. I really enjoyed To the Death. After a too-brief acting career in which he had only a few starring roles, I’m comfortable calling Barrett the “John Cazale of American Martial Arts B-Movies” from this point forward, even though he’s still alive. (If you have better comparisons, please leave them in the comments!)

AVAILABILITY:
Limited. Best bet is VHS on Amazon or the usual gray market options.

5 / 7

 

Death Match (1994)

PLOT: A dockworker's friend goes missing after participating in underground fights to the death. To be more accurate, though, they fight to the death only occasionally. Other times, they just break appendages or fight until one guy gets too tired and falls asleep in the ring.

Director: Joe Cappoletto
Writer: Curtis Gleaves, Bob Wyatt, Steve Tymon
Cast: Ian Jacklin, Martin Kove, Matthias Hues, Michele Krasnoo, Benny “The Jet” Urquidez, Eric Lee, Peter Cunningham, Ed Neil, Jorge Rivero, Richard Lynch.


PLOT THICKENER:
I had this post ready to go earlier in the week, but after reading similar coverage over at Comeuppance Reviews, the events of the past 10 days or so made me rethink my jump-off point of positioning Death Match as a DTV answer to The Expendables that happened years ago. Suffice to say, there have been a lot of movies in the martial arts b-movie catalog that stacked their casts with recognizable names. Shootfighter, to name one, featured Martin Kove, Bolo Yeung, John Barrett, Kenn Scott, Hakim Alston, Gerald Okamura, and William Zabka in its cast. That’s enough action b-movie talent to choke a horse! (To be fair, Bolo alone would be sufficient for the task of horse-choking).

Director Joe Cappoletto’s 1994 film Death Match is like Shootfighter on cocaine and redeemed IOUs. He either had a ton of friends in the business or a vast, filthy collection of blackmail material -- this is an incredible cast. So what if there’s no Brian Thompson or James Hong? We get appearances like Eric Lee as a hotel proprietor, Conquest star Jorge Rivero as a crime boss, and pro wrestlers Tony Halme and Debra Micelli as random muscle for short action scenes. Richard Lynch. A dwarf in a do-rag hitting a gong before matches. Benny “The Jet” Urquidez. Two minutes of Ed Neil from Breathing Fire fighting No Retreat No Surrender’s Peter “Sugarfoot” Cunningham. This sort of fanboy casting might be the closest we’ll ever get to Tarantino directing a DTV kickpunching homage.

Death Match stars Canadian kickboxer Ian Jacklin as a dockworker named John Larson. He and his friend Nick Wallace (Hill) are winding down their shift and shooting the shit. When Nick approaches who he assumes is the foreman to collect their paychecks, he's stopped by a bodyguard. A massive brawl ensues and the pair of friends is forced to kick ass. During the skirmish, a broken crate reveals a stash of guns and the heroes make a break for it before things get too heavy.

They head to the local bar to pound beers and lament the loss of their jobs. This is the third time they've lost employment together since moving to Los Angeles! John speculates that he may head north to find work, save money, and head back to college. Nick has other ideas. He recently met a dude at the gym who runs underground fights and they pay handsomely, or at least enough to cover a small studio apartment and the occasional trip to Whole Foods.

The aforementioned dude is Paul Landis (Kove) and as far as crime bosses who are into designer glasses, and own lots of blazers, and have a pool, and enjoy red-rope licorice, and think that crystals give them magical powers, and credit their “edge” on the competition to the use of computers, he’s a tough customer. He’s flanked by right-hand man Mark Vanik (Hues), a smooth-talking hulk who’s a little oversensitive about his hair (he beats up anyone who refers to him as “Goldilocks”). In addition to their underground fight ring, the duo also sells illegal firearms -- like any sound businessmen, they offer multiple products to create more marketing opportunities and diversify their customer portfolio, Procter & Gamble stylee.

Business comes at a cost, which Nick soon discovers first-hand when he fails to kill his opponent during a fight. The crowd voices their disappointment, and no, Nick, they are not mispronouncing your name as “Booowallace.” Landis and Vanik confront him in the locker room about closing the deal and whatever happens next is anyone’s guess, because Nick disappears and John is left with only questions about the whereabouts of his friend and former co-worker.

This is the point where our filmmakers crank the “film noir undertones” knob up to 11, but the knob breaks off at 6 and the machine starts smoking and sparking and then everyone has to evacuate the building because it’s on fire. John cruises around L.A. on his motorcycle and meets all sort of odd characters holding different pieces of the puzzle. Who’s on his side? What does the foxy journalist really want? Why is Michele Krasnoo playing her character like she’s a 12 year-old boy who just bought his first Dr. Dre album?

For the most part, this film delivered the goods. It was well-paced, the characters were interesting, the acting was competent, and the action was solid. I’ve groaned in the past about the constraints of tournament and/or underground fight movies, but I couldn’t find much to malign here because the main story thread was compelling and it moved at a good clip. The fights themselves take place in a variety of settings with all sorts of variables: in a cage, with sticks, on the streets, with boxing gloves, inter-gender, in bars, and even on a military ship. There’s a date montage inter-cut with a training montage, a villain obsessed with crystals and early-90s computer technology, turtlenecks, bolo ties, and strategic conversations while characters are getting massages. Cappoletto went down the fucking martial arts b-movie checklist and ticked all the boxes. Does that make it a little “paint-by-numbers”? I guess, but he colored within the lines and has a creative palette.

VERDICT:
When the novelty of interesting casting choices has worn off, what’s left? That’s the question this or any film which makes a spectacle of its ensemble cast is forced to answer. Fortunately, the filmmakers crafted Death Match as a pacey underground fighting story with film noir flourishes. The fight choreography won’t blow you away, but Ian Jacklin brings improved charisma to the screen, Martin Kove is hitting his rich asshole villain stride with another good performance, and all of the players -- martial artists and otherwise -- fulfill their roles admirably. Recommended.

AVAILABILITY:
VHS, Region 2 DVD, or YouTube.

5 / 7