Enter the Indies: Sins of the Dragon (2013)

PLOT: Two honorable warriors traverse the wilderness, pursuing a violent maniac hell-bent on killing as many dragon masters as possible. Will they stop him and eventually get back to the car? Or will their cell phones die and doom them to a life of backwoods vagrancy?

Director: Joey Corpora
Writer: Kale Sweeney
Cast: Kale Sweeney, Shannon Lee Haines, Marty Frankenfield, Joey Corpora, Brennen Dickerson, Connor Corpora


PLOT THICKENER
We’ve watched plenty of martial arts films on shoestring budgets over the years, but only a few could be described as truly independent. Almost all of them were the products of companies that specialized in the direct-to-video market. As technology has evolved to allow filmmakers of all genres to produce and distribute their own short movies and feature films, small outfits have sprouted up to occupy a new and exciting space. While The Stunt People out of San Francisco, CA are arguably the measuring stick in the martial-arts-on-a-microbudget movement, there are a number of collectives across the United States combining their love of filmmaking with their martial arts training. With their 2012 action-fantasy short film Sins of the Dragon, the gang at Platypus Underground has set a high bar for themselves. We were thrilled to watch it as the first film in a more regular review series of independent shorts influenced by martial arts b-movies.

When I wander aimlessly in the woods, I’m usually afraid of bears, poison ivy, meth labs, and Ted Nugent. Apparently, I should also be on the look-out for masked martial arts psychos who kill you, steal your soul, and absorb your abilities. Portrayed by Marty Frankenfield and voiced by Brennen Dickerson, the treacherous Caligo is the villain at the center of the story. Flanked by a private army of ninjas, he intends to kill every dragon master in his path to gain their powers. This character is on some Bane-level shit, delivering sinister dialogue without the benefit of the full range of human facial features. In any case, he sports a very interesting look, melding some wardrobe out of a Shaw Brothers production with a Shredder-lite face guard.

At some point in the past, Caligo & Friends destroyed an entire village, but failed to account for at least one occupant: the noble and capable Cunri (Sweeney). The son of the village’s resident martial arts master, he’s also stubborn as hell; motivated by vengeance for his father’s death, he travels the countryside, seeking a fatal confrontation with Caligo. His only friend on this journey, Kaia (Haines) -- a student of his father -- hopes to convince Cunri that his single-mindedness is a dangerous path towards his potential downfall. Doesn’t mean she won’t help a brother out by kicking the shit out of ninja assholes along the way, though.

As one might expect with any first-time filmmakers, there are some missteps. At times, the fight choreography is a touch slow and seems too deliberate; I wanted something a bit more frenetic. The ability and creativity is definitely there, though. As Sweeney -- who directed the fight scenes -- and the fighters become more experienced with each other and grow into more of a true stunt team over subsequent productions, I’d expect that the pace and intensity of their fight scenes will increase. Equally important, the filmmakers chose the camera angles well and got all the coverage they needed for editing. The trope of characters coming to a curious stop in the shot’s foreground after completing a move was a nice flourish that we’ve seen a lot in recent action cinema, but it’s a tad overused here and has the effect of slowing down the pace.

One of the biggest surprises in the film was the amount of blood. There were instances where the practical fake variety looked a few shades too light and could have benefited from a tried and true Karo Syrup recipe. The digital gushers, however, would make the folks at Sushi Typhoon proud; they were fairly well integrated with the visual environment. The special effects otherwise were a mixture of both practical and digital: swirling leaves, flaming fists, and some excellent illustrated scene transitions were all highlights. I got the impression that Corpora -- consciously or otherwise -- is putting his video game and anime influences on display with this piece; that he was able to capture some of the more fantastical elements given the budgetary constraints is admirable. The fantasy bend certainly makes Platypus Underground stand out from the pack, but I’d be anxious to see what they’d accomplish with a simpler setting.

VERDICT
On a limited budget that would otherwise net you this backpack bike and a 40-inch HD television, the filmmakers behind Sins of the Dragon have created a professional-grade short that knocks the teeth out of your mouth, the wind from your lungs, and the pomade from your expertly sculpted pompadour. This team is definitely one to watch.

AVAILABILITY
Currently traveling the film festival circuit. You can catch a screening on August 20, 2013 at 6 pm as part of the 9th International Action on Film Festival in Monrovia, CA. Additionally, you can head over to the Platypus Underground website to purchase the 28-minute short on DVD or as a digital download.

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

American Chinatown (1996)

PLOT: A pair of young, star-crossed lovers is caught in the middle of a vicious gang turf war. When the girl’s crime boss brother discovers that her chosen companion is his top enforcer, his anger and exceptionally massive chin threaten to destroy everything.

Director: Woo-sang Park
Writer: Woo-sang Park
Cast: Tae-joon Lee, Robert Z'Dar, Bobby Kim, Liat Goodson, Eric T. Lee, Sung-Ki Jun



PLOT THICKENER:
During the film awards season of 2009, a lot of deserved attention was on Mickey Rourke’s masterful comeback performance in the 2008 film, The Wrestler. While he’d been working semi-regularly, it had been years since he lit it up in a starring role. Up to that point, many had agreed his career as a leading man in Hollywood was all but finished. Since that time, Rourke has rallied admirably, scoring high-profile roles in Iron Man 2, The Expendables, and Immortals, among others. As it turns out, we may have the star of 1995’s American Chinatown to thank. Tae-joon Lee is a Grandmaster in Hwa Rang Do, the Korean martial art that his father helped to create. In an interview with the French magazine, Karate Bushido, Rourke described how his foray into Hwa Rang Do and training with Lee helped to save his career.

I don’t know much about Tae-joon Lee, but here are some of the facts. He worked on two films with L.A. Streetfighters and Miami Connection director Woo-sang Park: this one and KK Family List. He was in a movie with Rob Lowe. He wears his hair long, rocks a mean sportscoat, and is capable of growing his own facial hair. He’s a pretty good onscreen fighter and a capable fight choreographer, but an average actor. In the great tradition of Jeff Wincott, however, he is an outstanding martial artist chainsmoker. Watching him in this film literally made my throat and eyes scratchy. (I was putting up insulation at the time).

Lee plays Yong, a street tough who acts as the main muscle for a gang run by his friend Eric (Z’Dar). The opening scene finds him breaking up a potential gang rape by felling a trio of Hispanic gangbangers with kicks and punches before shaking them down for their clothes and money. He then befriends their intended victim, a college student named Lily (Goodman). Their night ends when Yong drives her to a rough neighborhood to visit his friend and mentor, a street food vendor named Jim (Kim). After a bite to eat, he admonishes her for hanging out in rough neighborhoods and tells her to go home.

As in all relationships, these two crazy kids fall into a pattern. Lily comes to visit Yong in a bad part of town, Yong admonishes her for hanging out around roughnecks in bad neighborhoods, she cries, she gets attacked by roughnecks on her way home, then he saves her from said roughnecks. Yong is cold, emotionally unavailable, and irritable. These qualities seem born out of self-loathing, and he constantly vocalizes his displeasure with Lily’s attraction to him. She is positively smitten.

Even less pleased about Lily’s attraction to Yong is her step-brother and local crime kingpin, Eric. He only wants the best for his younger sister. He showers her with spending money on the regular and even puts out some feelers in South Korea to find Lily's birth mother. Aside from his drug dealing and murder habits, he's the model of a doting older brother. When he discovers that Lily's boyfriend and his top enforcer are one in the same, he sends a message to Yong: stay away from Lily or else. He punctuates it by stabbing Yong in the stomach. I'm not sure if that was meant to be an exclamation point or a period in the gang world, but let's not discount the possibility that it was an em dash or ellipsis either. These miscreants are as lawless with their grammar and punctuation as they are with their drug-running and killing.

In his second-to-last screen performance is Bobby Kim, as Yong’s mentor, Jim. This was actually great casting. Kim’s weary face communicates his character’s years as a crime boss, and his disposition demonstrates a sincere desire to be left alone (unless you’re looking to buy a burger). He’s been described as the “Asian Charles Bronson” and I can’t disagree on that point. Both are visibly aged men who can still kill a motherfucker as needed. Kim throws a few kicks towards the end of the film, but is used primarily to dispense sage advice through mumbles and occasional (unsubtitled) tangents into Korean.

It’s difficult to imagine any scenario where this film was made for much more than $10,000. The lighting is virtually non-existent, most locations look run-down or hastily thrown together, and the majority of the acting is pretty flat. All that said, Woo-sang Park is one of the subgenre’s kings at microbudget filmmaking; if you're trying to do a picture on the cheap, he’s well-equipped to stretch your film dollar. The action contains some convincing bloodletting and there’s a few decent large-scale brawls. Technically speaking, the major misstep here is the sound mix. Gregory Degen apparently couldn’t decide between a mono or stereo mix and when the sound wasn’t inaudible or distorted, it was peaking like a banshee after getting hit in the crotch. Perhaps the boom operator was partly to blame; the filmmakers included this ball-busting message to him in the credits.

VERDICT:
As is the case curse for most great genre actors, Robert Z’Dar was charged with elevating American Chinatown’s derivative source material through the sheer force of his performance. Dramatically, he’s the best and most watchable thing about the film. He has a few good lines. He looks cool with a moustache in a film that relies heavily upon them. However, the romance between Lily and Yong really drags the film down and not even Z’Dar can help that; what should have been a subplot is instead the film’s focus. I can appreciate that the filmmakers tried something different, but other than Z’Dar, a few decent fights, and a latter-day Bobby Kim mumblecore performance, there’s not enough here to keep the movie afloat.

2.5 / 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