Fist of Feature: The Year in Search

A burgeoning area in the world of Internet marketing, search engine optimization is not something to which we pay much attention here at Fist of B-List. However, in my annual review of back-end web analytics -- coincidentally, conducted about 15 minutes before writing this feature -- I discovered a number of interesting searches that led users here during the 2012 calendar year. I’m consistently amazed that anyone besides me actually reads this stuff, so I just wanted to highlight some of the more unique starting points. In no particular order, here are the ten most unique searches which brought users to this blog in 2012.

“shower sex”
A 2008 study by the Center for Disease Control and Prevention found that an estimated 234,094 nonfatal bathroom injuries were treated in the U.S., making shower sex a risky proposition. A major disparity in height can make sex in the shower terribly uncomfortable. Hard water can cause painful losses in the body's natural lubrication. Arguments can arise out of the differences between preferences in water pressure and temperature. None of this stopped the filmmakers behind 1992's Talons of the Eagle from featuring a shower sex scene between Jalal Merhi and veteran actress Priscilla Barnes, because it looked pretty good on VHS. This was the most popular search leading users to this blog in the past year.

“don the dragon wilson is a doctor”
Is not! He’s a martial arts actor and former kickboxing champion!

Oh. I stand corrected.

“just want a list of movies made about fucking highschool movies where a janitor teaches the new kid how to defend himslef”
Sometimes you want to find out what’s coming out on the Criterion Collection label in 2013. Other times you want to know the best movies of 2012. Other times you just want a list of movies made about fucking high school movies where a janitor teaches the new kid how to defend himself.

“fridays with tadashi yamashita”
If nothing else, the obscure 1980s late-night sketch comedy show Fridays was famous for a staged melee involving Andy Kaufman and future Seinfeld cast member Michael Richards. But who knew that American Ninja actor Tadashi Yamashita was the host?

“my wife beat me”
Sorry to hear that. Maybe you should stop spending so much time on the Internet and learn how to properly defend yourself.

“b-rated martial arts actor with blond hair and a black belt in martial arts in the 1980's”

 

 Oh, OK. That narrows it down.

“why you shouldn’t smoke weed”
...and Fist of B-List comes up in the search results.

“does the billy blanks movie, back in action, have any rape scenes”
Nope, only murder, drug trafficking, and Canada’s McNamara brothers. Hope that helps!

“bolo yeung get in the soup”
Come on, Bolo! What are you waiting for?

“lost hacky sack”
Maybe you shouldn’t have smoked all that weed.

Any strange turns of phrase that brought users to your blog or website recently? Share them in the comments below.

Psycho Kickboxer (1997)

PLOT: After a kickboxer gets engaged to his girlfriend, the couple’s plans for matrimony are derailed -- not by lousy choices of the catering service or wedding band, but by homicide. Will he take vengeance on the crime boss responsible? Better yet, can he get his deposit back from the wedding venue?

Directors: David Haycox, Mardy South
Writers: Kathy Varner (screenplay), Danny Dennison (story)
Cast: Curtis Bush, Kathy Reynolds, Rodney Suitor, Tom Story, Rick Clark





PLOT THICKENER:
Following in the footsteps of those before him -- Don “The Dragon” Wilson, and Jerry “Golden Boy” Trimble included -- Curtis “The Explosive Thin Man” Bush swapped out his gloves and shin guards for acting in 1990, when he played “Poacher/Ninja” in an obscure Canadian kickboxing movie called Dragon Hunt. After a few years of supporting roles, he graduated to star performer in 1997’s Psycho Kickboxer. While it’s true that we’ve failed to cover anything in the Best of the Best franchise, any of Jeff Speakman’s output, and not a single fucking Lorenzo Lamas movie, I guess I’m a sucker for box art depicting a ninja kicking a dude’s head off his body with blood spurting out.

A kickboxing Virginian named Alex Hunter (Bush) has his world turned upside down when both his new fiancee and his police chief father are murdered by goons working for Hawthorne (Story), the foppish crime boss Papa Hunter was trying to lock away. Shot and left for dead, Alex awakens days later to find that a handicapped homeless war veteran named Joshua (Suiter) has taken him in, healed his wounds, and nursed him back to health. While grateful, Alex laments the lost opportunity to protect his loved ones, recounting the terrible event with all the raw emotion of an elderly man reading letters off an eye chart. It turns out that Hawthorne is a common enemy for both men; Joshua reveals that he was paralyzed by Hawthorne’s gang. He wants Alex to act as his legs and warns that their vengenace hinges upon Alex “controlling the animal." Whatever dude.

Among other activities, controlling the animal consists of Alex hitting the heavy bag, doing sit-ups, running along a beach, and dressing up like a ninja while stopping petty criminals from committing everything from armed robbery to grand theft auto. He also scares some children from spraypainting the side of a warehouse, an act which experts agree is either a gateway crime to more violent deeds or a good way to break into the art world. His completely unoriginal brand of vigilante justice earns Alex the moniker of "The Dark Angel" in the media and catches the interest of private investigator Jack Cook (Clark) and a character named Cassie Wells (Reynolds) who may or may not have been a journalist, but definitely had a topless scene.

We should probably start off with the good. Curtis Bush has a solid moustache and you can tell that he's a legitimate fighter; he’s athletic, his strikes are crisp and his kicks in particular are delivered with great form. However, sabotaging Bush’s display of physical skills is the usual three-headed Ghidorah of pedestrian choreography, poor camera angles, and amateurish editing. Some unusual touches brighten up this blueprint on occasion. Alex dons his ninja gear to fight a pair of gangbangers donned in Zubaz pants in the middle of the day on the Virginia Beach boardwalk as beachgoers observe with confused restraint. In a scene that recalls Lady Snowblood’s unique combination of cinematic violence and serene snowfall, Bush’s character kicks a bag of cocaine in the air and covers two violent drug dealers in Colombian Marching Powder before beating them unconscious.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the ridiculous amount of gore strewn throughout the film: a gruesome headshot in an ode to Tom Savini’s work in Maniac, a crushed head beneath a car tire, and a chopped hand during a tense gang meeting are some of the highlights. I counted one instance where chocolate syrup was substituted for blood, and it honestly would’ve been better used on ice cream or mixed with bourbon, as I often do when lacking more suitable mixers.

On what was, no doubt, a shoestring budget, directors David Haycox and Mardy South prove occasionally capable. While Haycox won’t get any comparisons to Christopher Doyle or Dean Cundey for his camera work, he frames a few good shots throughout the film but the frequent use of steadicam was nauseating. There’s no major technical faux pas on the level of a visible boom mic or crash mat, but the film looks really washed out and poorly lit overall. That can be forgiven considering the budget, but a better effort in this area alone could have elevated the content. The directing duo’s attention to gore is both curious and gratuitous, so I obviously loved it. In a kickboxing movie filled with shit lighting and SNES-level music, I appreciated that they flouted most tenets of technically sound filmmaking to focus on executing not one, but two exploding head scenes. Perhaps to the film’s benefit, they leaned on a lot of footage of a pair of radio DJ personalities talking about The Dark Angel's deeds to pad out the running time. While grating, they provide an element of quirk to the story which, outside of the Joshua character, the film sorely lacks.

VERDICT:
If you got through the trailer for this movie and thought anything other than “I’ve been waiting my entire life for a movie that combines video-quality production values, kickboxing, campy gore, and on-air banter from Virginia radio DJs” you are going to be sorely disappointed by Psycho Kickboxer. I think a weak script left Curtis Bush vulnerable to some fairly awful moments -- screams of despair and dialogue that exposes his discomfort with emoting come to mind -- but he acquits himself reasonably well during fight scenes. At the end of the day, this is a quirky slice of movie-making best enjoyed amongst friends. Forgiving, non-judgemental, extremely stoned, possibly unconscious friends.

AVAILABILITY:
Amazon, Netflix, EBay.

3.5 / 7

Miami Connection (1987)

PLOT: A synth rock band comprised of taekwondo orphans battles drug dealers, ninja bikers, and drug-dealing ninja bikers during the heyday of Central Florida's cocaine epidemic.

Directors: Y.K. Kim, Woo-sang Park
Writers: Y.K. Kim, Woo-sang Park, Joseph Diamand
Cast: Y.K. Kim, William Eagle, Vincent Hirsch, Si Y Jo, Joseph Diamand, Maurice Smith, Angelo Janotti, Kathy Collier

PLOT THICKENER

On one side of the room, there are martial arts movies about ninjas. On the other side of the room, there are martial arts movies about gangs. Lining the staircase are martial arts movies featuring drug deals. But sitting alone in a darkened corner of the room, sharpening its katana sword with a wild look in its eyes, is a movie involving a gang of drug-dealing ninjas. That movie is 1987’s Miami Connection. Co-directed by Woo-sang Park of L.A. Streetfighters fame and taekwondo master Y.K. Kim, this film had taken on a “holy grail” quality, having eluded me for years since I’d first caught wind of it through YouTube clips and blog coverage. The inflated VHS price bordered on criminal and Brezdin don’t torrent, so I resigned myself to the likelihood that I’d never see it. When you deal with a sub-genre peppered with titles that have never seen a U.S. video release, this comes with the territory.

In the spring of 2012, though, a 35mm print of the film was acquired by the distribution wing of Alamo Drafthouse Cinema and the rest is history. In a true rarity, I found myself in the viewing audience for a 1980s American martial arts b-movie in a local, independent, one-screen repertory theater on a chilly Sunday night recently. I haven’t been to a ton of late-night cult film showings, so I couldn’t quite prepare myself for the scene that unfolded. This screening of Miami Connection was, without a doubt, the best time I’ve had at a movie theater in recent memory.

The inciting incident is appropriately lively. During a cocaine deal between two gangs, a group of motorcycle-riding ninjas crashes the party and grabs the cash and the stash, leaving a trail of bodies behind in the process. That trail leads to Yashito (Jo), head ninja boss and motorcycle enthusiast. When he isn’t rocking a silk scarf with his leather jackets during rides to the biker bar, he’s wearing rather conspicuous white ninja garb during the gang’s business operations. All the better to show off the blood of his enemies.

Yashito’s homeboy is Jeff (Eagle), a cocaine dealer whose beard has relentless coverage and thickness. He’s fond of sleeveless tees, camouflage pants, and his single sabre tooth earring. It’s small enough to scream “accessory” but probably large enough to be used as a weapon in a pinch. His gang life and cocaine-dealing has left him hardened, but a soft spot for his sister Julie (Collier) remains. He shows this by berating her in public and punching out her boyfriend, John (Hirsch) upon meeting him. Good thing John didn’t retaliate, because he could have hurt his hand, which would have made it awfully hard to play bass in his synth rock band, Dragon Sound.

Joining John on bass and Julie on vocals are John’s roommates, fellow orphans, and taekwondo classmates. There's Mark (Kim), whose unorthodox guitar-holding form is as eye-catching as his spin kicks. Keyboardist Jim (Smith) puts on a happy face during gigs but harbors a sad past. Rounding out the line-up are drummer Jack (Diamand) and lead guitarist and mulleted, mustachioed vocalist Tom (Janotti). The crew has just started a gig as the house band for a hot local night club, and their shows are wild affairs, full of fist pumps and dancing teenagers. The band members either wear matching "DRAGON SOUND" shirts, or their taekwondo gis (the former is certainly the bigger faux pas of the two). Their success has the former house band jealous with rage, makes Jeff seething with anger, and turns biker ninja gang leaders frothing with murderous intent.

The film is a blast. There are so many things that I could say about it, but none would adequately capture the experience. That, and for some reason people have grown rather sensitive about distractions during movie theater viewings, so I couldn't take notes. The performances are about what one should expect out of a group of non-actor martial artists, but it only adds to the film's charm. Along with Cory Yuen, Woo-san Park pretty much wrote the book on unusual interpretations of the young American male by Asian directors, so the head-scratching behavior of the characters borders on otherworldly. I'm not sure there was much of a script with which to work -- characters routinely disappear for long periods of time and one character with an open chest wound is dragged through bacteria-filled swamp water by a friend -- but it barely matters. Embrace the weirdness and you will be rewarded handsomely.

While the fight scenes are technically unspectacular for the most part, there’s a kinetic energy about them that makes them highly watchable. Of all the principals, Kim and Hirsch and the ones who stand out. Kim because he seems legitimately skilled and puts on a good rage face during the climax, and Hirsch because he's so friggin' gangly. Seriously, he's like Joey Ramone combined with an awkward pre-teen Michael Phelps. The filmmakers inject the climax with excessive slow-motion, a ton of blood spurts, and a band member battle wound so upsetting that it had a crowd of 60 theater-goers screaming "NOOOO!" in unison at the screen.

I love that this film is getting wide praise and mainstream press. I love that it’s getting a Bluray release with deluxe collector’s edition packaging options (for fuck’s sake, you can get Dragon Sound on 7” vinyl!) I love that Y.K. Kim, once shamed for this film, is now feeling a sense of vindication. It’s well-paced, violent, campy, clumsy, rewatchable, and a lot of other adjectives that go into the secret stew of what makes these kinds of film so enjoyable. For all its zany moments and offbeat weirdness, though, I don’t think it’s much “better” or worse than a lot of films residing near the high watermark of American martial arts b-movies. I really dug Miami Connection and its production backstory is compelling, but why this particular film has been elevated over so many others like it is, for me, a bit of a mystery.

That being said, this movie will be a litmus test. If a cinematic artifact of the 1980s American martial arts craze is demonstrated to be newly popular and profitable in the second decade of the 21st century, that could be game-changing for hardcore fans of this sub-genre, and genre film fans in general. Would a genre film distributor -- Drafthouse Films or otherwise -- continue to acquire the rights to more obscure American chopsocky? Could we see a No Retreat, No Surrender trilogy get the high-definition treatment with commentary from figures like Loren Avedon and Keith Strandberg? Might Woo-sang’s L.A. Streetfighters find new life as a fixture of midnight movie rotations in independent theaters across the U.S.? However unlikely those possibilities, the unique distribution model for Miami Connection has started a conversation about how forgotten genre films might find bigger audiences in modern times. That alone is important.

VERDICT

I’ve only seen it just this once, and perhaps the rowdy live experience has colored my critical lens. From where I’m standing, though, Miami Connection can take its rightful place alongside standard-bearers like Undefeatable, No Retreat, No Surrender, and L.A. Streetfighters as one of the most entertaining films of its kind. This is a film so endearing, so gratuitously violent, and so enjoyable, that it simply needs to be seen to be believed. If you’ve ever visited this blog on purpose or purely by chance, I implore you to support this movie by whatever means you can. Whether it’s rounding up a posse and heading to a screening, or buying the “Oh My God!” Edition for yourself on your parents’ dime, the success of Miami Connection could determine whether or not audiences get more film releases like this in the future.

AVAILABILITY

Limited release in theaters nationwide. Will be released on DVD and Bluray on December 11, 2012.

6.5 / 7

American Samurai (1992)

PLOT: Years after learning the ways of the samurai as an orphan in Japan, an American journalist travels to Turkey to investigate a murder. To add to the international intrigue, he occasionally wears a Canadian tuxedo and his favorite snack food is Swedish fish.

Director: Sam Firstenberg
Writer: John Corcoran
Starring: David Bradley, Mark Dacascos, Valarie Trapp, Rex Ryon, Melissa Hellman, John Fujioka, Douvi Cohen



PLOT THICKENER:
Charlie and Donald Kaufman. Michael and Fredo Corleone. Alex and Chad Wagner. No, these aren’t the names of recently married couples in Maine and Maryland. They’re a few examples of cinematic sibling rivalries arranged in ascending order of fight scene quantity. And what better example of this convention than a film where the brothers in conflict share a pittance of screen time and aren’t even biologically related? Nearly 20 years before Warrior made “brother vs. brother” cool again, director Sam Firstenberg made it tepid and really bloody with 1992’s American Samurai.

Following the success of the American Ninja franchise, Firstenberg focused on another combative member of feudal Japanese society to Americanize without shame. He narrowed it down to two choices: the samurai warrior class ("bushi") and belligerent street merchants yelling at passerbys about tea. Fortunately for star David Bradley, Firstenberg went with the first idea. The duo would go on to make three more films together -- Cyborg Cop, Cyborg Cop 2, and Blood Warriors -- and Bradley starred in three American Ninja sequels after Firstenberg handed over the keys to director Cedric Sundstrom. If Firstenberg was Scorcese, one might say that Bradley was his De Niro.

The film begins as most critical masterpieces do: with a violent plane crash in the Japanese countryside. There's only one survivor, and wouldn't you know it, it's the most physically fragile and adorably squishy thing on the plane: a baby named Andrew. The unbreakable boy is raised and trained by a Japanese man (Fujioka) skilled in both the ways of the samurai and speaking impeccable English. Over time, the samurai master's own son, Kenjiro, grows envious of the skill of his adopted step-brother, who eventually achieves the elusive "sixth sense." In the world of the samurai, this means being able to cut air-born apples in half with a sword while blindfolded. It's great at parties too. When his father passes down the family sword to Andrew, Kenjiro loses his shit and reveals his awesome Yakuza tattoo before vowing vengeance and leaving home for good.

Only five years later, older Andrew (Bradley) is working as a successful journalist in Los Angeles. Not so successful that he's able to afford an adequate home security system though, because burglars break into his apartment in the middle of the night, steal his sword, shoot him in the stomach, and leave him for dead. Having the "sixth sense" also includes the ability to extract bullets with your fingers and just sleeping it off, because Andrew is feeling fine the next day. Who knew gunshot wounds to the abdomen were so treatable? If Mr. Orange had trained as a samurai, Reservoir Dogs would have been 20 minutes long.

After his boss assigns him to investigate a murder in Turkey, fast-healing Andrew and a sassy photographer named Janet (Trapp) are on a plane. If you guessed that their relationship goes from frosty and contentious to naked and sexual at some point during the film, give yourself an oversized plush pink gorilla. If you also guessed that Andrew’s investigation pulls him into an underground death match tournament that eventually leads to a confrontation with a key figure from his past, give the oversized plush pink gorilla back. There are no winners in the carnival game that is poorly conceived tournament subplots.

American Samurai is a film marked by odd choices. What could have been an interesting intersection of investigative journalism and martial arts action -- something like The Mean Season by way of  American Ninja -- instead devolves into a tired exercise in cliches and genre conventions. To his credit, Firstenberg tries to color the tournament participants with unique strokes -- one competitor has a blade hidden in his ponytail, another dresses like a goddamn viking -- but it all comes off as gimmicky artifice and only serves as a distraction from what the film’s characters probably should be doing. Andrew could have followed clues and chased leads and fought his way out of run-ins, while Kenjiro, as the villain, might have had more than 20 total minutes of screen time.

Firstenberg uses some trippy dream sequences to periodically illustrate Andrew's anxiety about his step-brother, which, for the sake of convenience, leads to Janet inviting him to sleep with her. You know where it goes from there, but it was interesting to note that the filmmakers used a noticeably doughier and hairy-legged double to pair with Valarie Trapp during the love scene. If this was by her request, we are left to conclude that Bradley hit the catering line a bit too hard while filming in Turkey and loaded up on extra garlic sauce with his manti and lamb kebab.

Despite the meager screen time, Mark Dacascos is enjoyable in his first major film role. His martial arts skills are muted substantially by the fight choreography, but he has the wild-eyed samurai face down cold. It could be described as either Toshiro Mifune by way of Carrie, or Zoolander's Blue Steel on cocaine and Kurosawa movies. It's steely and over-the-top, indicative of an actor still feeling out the dramatic ground beneath him, but it's a memorable element of performance for a sadly underwritten villain. It took a while to finally touch ground on a Dacascos joint, and it should be mentioned that this isn’t the best place to start with his filmography. Seeing as though the non-Gosling Drive is in the top three American martial arts films of all-time, we’ll certainly be returning to his work in the future.

The film's fight scenes are passable, and made slightly more memorable by liberal amounts of blood and gore. We get arm dismemberment, cheek biting, knife throwing, ponytail cutting, and at least one decapitation. There are apparently several versions of the movie floating around, one of which was heavily edited to remove this type of fun, so be mindful of what you're acquiring. Unfortunately, what should have been the best fight scene in the film was one of the worst; the climax is marred by poor choices in camera angles and rough editing. If you see a few cuts from completely different fights during this stretch, your eyes have not deceived you. Either Firstenberg failed to get the proper shot coverage for transitions, or the editor was lazy, drunk, or an unpaid intern. Possibly all three.


VERDICT:
Dropping American orphans into martial arts training in the Far East was all the rage back in the 1980s and early 1990s, and American Samurai is yet another example of what was, by this point, a tired trope. Maybe Firstenberg thought lightning would strike twice after the success of the American Ninja franchise, but Americanizing this particular archetype failed to stir audiences in quite the same way. The rivalry between Bradley and Dacascos is underwritten, the fight scenes aren't shot particularly well, and the tournament set-up felt like a diversion from what could have been a really entertaining film. Still, it offers a nice cinematic touchpoint for fans of Mark Dacascos and David Bradley and will please those who like their fight scenes gory.

AVAILABILITY:
Wide! Amazon, Netflix, EBay.

4 / 7

Black Samurai (1977)

PLOT: A secret agent is forced to pursue a dangerous cult after its members kidnap his woman. It’s nice to see a display of such loyalty when he clearly could have done better.

Director: Al Adamson
Writers: B. Readick (screenplay), Marc Olden (novel)
Cast: Jim Kelly, Roberto Contreras, Marilyn Joi, Essie Lin Chia, Biff Yeager, Bill Roy, Charles Grant, Jace Khan




PLOT THICKENER:
While a regular fixture in the horror genre, portrayals of cults have appeared only sporadically in more mainstream and critically-acclaimed films. The backwoods clan of 2011’s Martha Marcy May Marlene haunted arthouse audiences with equal parts trauma and folk music. More recently, Paul Thomas Anderson’s latest film, The Master, examines a cultish group of brainwashers which has nothing whatsoever to do with Scientology. It’s timely, then, that we take a look at another cult-centered film ripe for accolades and deep contemplation. For our contribution to the Mysterious Order of the Skeleton Suit’s October roundtable-- “Satan’s Schools for Ghouls” -- we take a tumble into the zany black magic of 1977’s Black Samurai. This marks the first time we dip into the filmography of Jim Kelly, and the last time I watch Black Samurai.

The character was originally hatched as the central hero in a series of novels by crime writer Marc Olden. For better or worse, this is the one and only film adaptation. I knew none of this until I read Keith’s review over at Teleport City. If you want a comprehensive review of the film, its relationship to the novel on which it was based, and a well-formed critique of Al Adamson’s cinematic legacy, be sure to read it. Especially since we’re probably going to concentrate on punch sound effects and Jim Kelly’s impeccable afro in the review here.

Robert Sand (Kelly) is a martial artist and more important, an elite agent in the international crime-fighting agency, D.R.A.G.O.N. He’s enjoying a sunny vacation when his colleagues show up during a casual game of tennis with a lady friend. “We need you on this case, Sand,” they say. “WTF, I’m on vacation,” Sand responds. He only relents after finding out that his main girl, Toki (Lin Chia), has been kidnapped by the target, a cult leader named Augustus Janicott. Known to his followers as the Warlock, his file indicates that he has a history of heroin possession, mind control, extortion, pornography, and ruffled dress shirts.

As evidenced by transitional footage of an airplane landing, Sand travels to some remote location far enough away that it necessitates air travel. He begins a shadowy descent into the world of the Warlock, where mysterious cars attempt to run him off the road, angry little people break into his hotel room and hold him at gunpoint, and evil, buxom sidekicks are very sensitive to having their sexual propositions declined. Unfortunately, the Warlock and his minions are pure villain filler, and I have no clue what beliefs or objectives to which his supposedly Satanic cult ascribes. They have soirees with mariachi music one night, and blood rituals with African drums, masks, and shoddy pyrotechnics the next. Sand’s superiors allege that he uses his followers for drug trafficking and prostitution, but there’s no evidence of that in the film. In fact, the most harmful and offensive thing about the Warlock is the acting of Bill Roy.

While fairly incompetent when shooting action scenes, Adamson is exceptional at creating three-minute montages of an attractive couple dressed in floral prints kissing softly and strolling through the forest. We’re supposed to care about the relationship between Sand and Toki based on this scene alone, but wordless displays of affection are a lame surrogate for a half-baked romance between underwritten characters with limited on-screen interaction. Would terrorizing the damsel a bit more make the audience more sympathetic to her plight and desirous of her rescue? Possibly, but the worst thing she encounters is a weekend in a locked cell and a probable diet of stale bread and tepid water. In Hollywood, that’s called detox.

For fans of “so bad it’s good” cinema, I might cautiously recommend this film, but would otherwise wave a giant red flag devoured by flames toward anyone looking for an example of solid 1970s action or blaxploitation fare. Sand drives a cool souped-up purple sports car and even zooms around in a jet pack for a good five minutes, but otherwise there's not much here for action fans to chew on. There’s no real gore and outside of a couple impressive jumps from high places, the stunts are lacking.

Instead of liberating Kelly and his fight skills as Robert Clouse did in the terrific Black Belt Jones, Adamson dogs the choreography with poor shooting angles and awful editing. The sound effects are fun and properly exaggerated, but the fights are so short and stilted that none of it matters much. (Most amusing: Kelly shouts “Hello turkeys!” while punching enemies in the cock during a party). Adamson swaps technically proficient for zany, a stylistic choice perhaps best encapsulated by the climactic scuffle between Kelly and a live goddamn vulture. The best (i.e. longest) scene is between Kelly and Charles Grant, known here as Bone, but probably best known as Kim Delaney’s first husband. Bone is positioned as the best physical match for Sand, but our hero relentlessly toys with the henchman during their confrontation by showing off his boxing footwork and taunting him with homophobic slurs before breaking his back.

In a movie loaded with curious technical choices, this was, for me, the most egregious. This particular version of the film was scrubbed entirely of even entry-level curse words, but the production team saw fit to leave all instances of the aforementioned "f-word" slur fully intact for the DVD’s 2001 release. While I understand that the 1970s were a different time for relations between people of differing sexual orientations, I’m not quite sure what the rationale was behind the inclusion. Offensive, sure, but only slightly more puzzling than BCI’s use of the “Vampire Hunters” theme from the original score for Bram Stoker’s Dracula for the DVD’s title menu.

VERDICT:
A few months ago, I predicted that The Dynamite Brothers wouldn’t be my last Adamson film and that prophecy was fulfilled. That wasn’t a particularly good film, nor was this, and I have no reason to believe that the final Kelly-Adamson collaboration, Death Dimension, will somehow reverse the pattern (despite a really cool poster). A handful of zany moments prevent this from being a complete snoozer, but it’s not indicative of Kelly’s talents as a martial artist or screen presence. Unless you’ve exhausted all other options in the “jetpacks in cinema” or “human versus animal fight scene” subgenres, I would keep moving along.

AVAILABILITY:
Amazon, Netflix, EBay.

2 / 7

FURTHER READING:
For more context and critique of this film, head over to our brother-from-another-mother at Teleport City to read Keith’s review of Black Samurai.

Click the demonic but seasonable image above for additional M.O.S.S. contributions to October’s “Satan’s School for Ghouls!”