Not Quite There: Hell Comes to Frogtown

Going For It:

• Wrestling legend "Rowdy" Roddy Piper
• Frog people with decent make-up/costumes
• That's about it...

The Case Against:

• Severely uneven tone for the protagonist in the writing
• Severely dull
• Severely disappointing

MMG Says:

While we are a proud people here at the Man Movie Guide, we are not afraid or ashamed to admit when we were wrong.  This is one of those instances.  You will have noticed that some time back we posted, on its lonesome, the trailer for 'Hell Comes to Frogtown'.  In MMG-ese, that is our way of saying that we approve of that movie and that it qualifies as a true Man Movie up for review on down the road.

Let us set the stage for you:  Post apocalyptic.  Starring Roddy Piper, wrestling legend and pitch perfect star of MMG favorite 'They Live'.  The protagonist is named Sam Hell, one of the few times we endorse a cute/clever character name.  Sam is an exceedingly rare fertile man in a world that consists only of the following: fertile women, desert wasteland, fertile women, mutant frog people, and fertile women.  Sam is contracted by the government to begin repopulating civilization.  This, dear reader, is a can't-fucking-lose proposition... right?  Not so.  Not so.

The movie starts off nicely enough.  Piper is detained for a crime before the movie begins.  In the initial few scenes he is a wisecracking jokester; and while not every line hits its mark, it is a very good indication that we are getting our hands on the one-liner wisenheimer brand of action hero in this movie.  Only this never really happens.  The viewer must slog through an entire movie as bare and bereft of life as its arid backdrop. The action is few and far between, fairly somnambulent, and Piper doesn't do quite the ass-kicking job that we'd come to expect from either the ring or 'They Live'.  Piper's character even loses his charm pretty quickly; as his 'sit-on-it-and-spin' attitude largely falls prey to a messianic mope routine with occasional bouts of slapstick (centering around his genitals in an electric chastity belt and his ability to cross his eyes... which is oddly not related to his balls' predicament).

As for the supporting cast, it's a mixed bag.  We get a super butch/fairly attractive commando who shows off her tits while escorting Piper.  And if you have a thing for Katey Sagal, then perhaps you can make a case for watching the movie, since there are extended scenes of her bordering-on-malnourished doppelganger prancing around in assorted lingerie.  Then we have poor Rory Calhoun, who genuinely looked and sounded like his handlers had to unhook his oxygen tank between takes (he seemed so close to death that we actually had to check on the proximity of this movie to his actual demise... and astonishingly he held on for another 11 years, and worked another 5).  Lastly, there are the frogs.  There isn't a whole lot to say about them, except that looking at them was one of the scant pleasures this reviewer got from the movie.

This movie, like so many others that fall short, failed to achieve true Man Movie status because it tried to walk in both the light and the dark.  If it resorted to Lloyd Kaufman (Troma) antics?  We have ourselves a winner.  If it went the route of all the killer action movies of the 80s, the Golden Age of the one-liner action film, and focused more on making Piper an ass-kicker who always says something droll after offing a frog? We'd worship it as a direct-to-video masterpiece.  Instead we're left with a movie that gets a passing grade only because we're proud they tried.

Conan the Barbarian

Note: Conan the Barbarian is the most recent film to take on the classic Robert E. Howard character popularized in film by Arnold Schwarzenegger.  However, this reviewer will not do any comparison work to the older iterations of the films, the serial novels, or any of the numerous comic book versions.  This movie will be reviewed on its own merits.

          Conan the Barbarian does a number of things very well straight out of the gates to let the viewer know that they are in store for a Man Movie.  The movie starts with a small narration from a surprise gravitas-imbued actor.  We then see Conan born, cut by a sword out of his mother’s womb on the battlefield… because she is badass, his father is badass (the ever-present  and awesome Ron Perlman), and we need a reason to know Conan is badass even as an infant.  The next scene goes on to show a child Conan out-badassing basically everyone ever ever.  Point of the story is: Conan is a badass.  That is all.

          In fact, in an odd decision, the first 30 minutes of the movie are Conan as a child.  The actor playing young Conan doesn’t really have much of a handle on how to be a badass (how many kids really do?) so he plays the character with the same low-slung scowl as the kid down the street who tortures squirrels.  While we were all rightfully fearful of our own primary school psychos, it’s pretty safe to say that none of them grew up to wield a hot topless woman in one hand and a gigantic sword in another… while carrying a full tankard of ale hanging from their mammoth cock.

Little Conan has been making blowtorches from aerosol can in the woods again...

          That said, the obviously well-Man Movie-informed writers and director pulled a couple more textbook maneuvers to help set the tone of the movie.  Firstly, they showed that they weren’t afraid to show some blood and gore.  When someone gets nailed by a sword or arrow, there are spurts… not fountains on the level of a 70s Japanese samurai film, but good enough.  There is also a fantastic mini-motif of nose mutilation, and an instance of someone head-butted with a severed head (we know, that’s awesome).  The filmmakers also introduce us to the antagonist’s minions very early on in one of the classic roll call styles, wherein each has a featured fight sequence during one of the first battles.  This ably sets up multiple villains with personality, that the viewer has an emotional stake in seeing fight and die.

          The titular barbarian is respectably played by Jason Momoa, or as he’s better known, the guy on Game of Thrones who keeps talking about a horse fucking things*.  Respectably only because Momoa never really pans out as a leading man; he is far too brooding and understated for his star to burn bright enough.  But the rest of the movie is strong enough to carry him through.  The movie succeeds in having multiple well-done fights, including two good monster scenes, despite one of them being an almost seemingly-requisite octopus creature.  It also has a fantastic trick riding horse-chase scene where even the extras are rad and doing stuff like jumping 180 degrees around on their saddle in order to shoot people with arrows.

Fantasy movies need octopus fights like 80s beat-em-up games need an elevator level.

          But there are letdowns and disappointments in the movie as well.  There is a strong promise of continued nudity towards the beginning of the film, where it seems as though every young and attractive actress will be performing sans-blouse.  But that doesn’t hold and we’re only treated to a pair again just prior to the start of the third act.  Along those same lines, one of the two main bad guys is Rose McGowan as a witch.  Her character likely would have been best served as a sort of evil sexpot, but she is instead in heavy makeup and a baldcap with no eyebrows in order to make her look foreign and sinister (and if that weren’t enough boner repellant, there is a creepy implied incest scene thrown in as well).  And there is an uncalled-for tonal shift for an oddly tender love scene that comes off as lip service to whatever wives and girlfriends were dragged to the movie; it plays like a Playgirl/Red Shoe Diaries moment and allows the audience a glimpse of Momoa’s chiseled posterior.

Dear Rose, Thank you for giving our penis nightmares.

          All told, however, this movie was a fantastic surprise.  It shows heavy evidence of studio suit tampering, and was a pretty significant box office flop.  But this movie has strong writing and direction, combined with a cast mostly able to handle the material… not to mention a time-tested character who largely stays true to his roots.  Conan says at one point, “I live, I love, I slay… and I am content.”  So are we, big guy, so are we…

---
* There are actually a couple Conan alums in Game of Thrones.  It is sometimes a bit distracting.

Conan the Barbarian Trailer

Not Quite There: Drive Angry

Going For It:

• A movie about someone who escapes from hell in a muscle car to shoot the shit out of people
• Female lead, Amber Heard, is literally just a walking Maxim spread, replete with witty banter and cut-off jean shorts
• Features the music of T-Rex, Unkle, and Peaches
• Muscle cars
• Car chases
• Violent bloody deaths
• Satanists
• One-liners
• Shot for 3D for maximum in-your-face Xtreme-ness©
• Tits

The Case Against:

• We at MMG are Nicolas Cage apologists, but even that has its limits...
• No movie hero, especially an anti-hero, should be called Milton through the whole movie (we don't care if it is a last name!)
• Did we mention that the movie hero, who escapes hell, is named John Milton?!  Yeah, real subtle...
• The music is jarring and distracting, often with little-to-no place in the scene it's played
• 3D Xtreme-ness© isn't pulled off very well
• Terribly written
• The tits belong to a busted ex-stripper type

MMG Says...

So many people are quick to rip on Nic Cage.  We here at MMG will eventually convince you otherwise; he was brilliant in Adaptation, and far more than capable in MMG-favorites The Rock, Con Air, and Face/Off. This movie, however, will not convert you to the Church of Cage (which, coincidentally, is on one of his private islands).  He is dreadful in this movie: mostly he drawls sleepily through his lines as if he were just shoved onto the set from his trailer while still in the middle of a Quaalude haze.  His delivery lives on another planet from the other actors, the script itself, and even the scenarios he is put in.  Other times his actions are stilted, jerky, and sudden with no pacing whatsoever, such as when he creepily mouth-rapes a once-raring-to-go diner waitress.  It's difficult to tell if he picked this role and this movie and this acting style for any reason other than to further his own legend as an eccentric with no real place on film.  Mission accomplished, Mister Cage. Mission accomplished.

The movie itself is written a pair of fellers (one of whom doubles as director) who knew they wanted to make a Man Movie.  Unfortunately for us, the viewers, their resume features a lot of dreck with the same failings.  Their heart seems to be consistently in the right place, and we as lovers of all things Man Movie laud  any return to grindhouse, exploitation, and cheeseball horror... the problem is that they are just not very talented.

And so we find ourselves with a movie full of ripe premises and promising situations, that falls completely flat.  This could have been the movie that every father would show to their sons on their 13th birthday.  Instead, this is just another 90+ minutes relegated for an eternity of dollar bins at Wal-Mart and liquidations at video stores everywhere.

One last plea to the writers, Todd Farmer and Patrick Lussier.  Guys, we get it.  You like Stephen King and Sam Raimi.  You think you're clever for being able to work in a wink and nod to an epic poem about the devil and the fall of man.  But do us a fucking favor and don't name your characters King, Raimi, and Milton.  It's pretty sophomoric, and that's saying something... considering what your movie is about.

Black Caesar

              “Did you know a man’s beard keeps on growin’ even after he’s… dead?” quips Tommy Gibbs before he plugs his first man (in a barbershop, so you understand  why he says it) on his path into, up through, and up against the mafia in order to reign supreme.

Montages like this should be required of all mob movies.

               In an era where all you had to do was add the adjective “Black” to the front of any single word in order to create a movie, Black Caesar still oozes style and grit even these nearly 40 years later.  Former all-pro defensive back-turned-actor Fred “The Hammer” Williamson plays an ambitious kid from the streets of New York; looking to elevate his and his family’s status above the white people they used to work for/be abused by.

What better way to stick it to the man than to pull a Blanket Jackson with fur coats?

                This movie is not for the squeamish in terms of racial issues.  There’s hardly a line in the whole script that doesn’t couch one epithet or another.  If you can look past that, you have a very potent combination of machismo that carries out throughout the whole film in a way that will put a smile on your face: the early/mid 70s urban soul influence and the quintessential mobster archetype.

We would pay these guys to make us pay them for protection.

  

              Williamson spends a good deal of the movie chomping on a cigar, strutting down the streets in a sharp suit and mean sideburns.  His patronizing air and put-on Italian mob accent when dealing with the Cardoza Family is pretty hilarious.  The only time his character really goes off the rails as a tough-as-nails antihero masculine role model is when he doesn’t let no mean no with his own fiancée.  Not coincidentally, this is when things begin to spiral out of control for the character of Gibbs.  It is his hubris that leads to an epic and bloody downfall, just like the makings of any classic Greek tragedy.

There must be an aftershave or deodorant commercial in here somewhere...

                You can’t talk about this movie without talking about its music.  The soundtrack is scored nearly completely by one Mr. The Godfather of Soul, James Brown.  His impassioned singing (screaming) and his quintessentially tight band elevate nearly every scene of the movie in a way that makes the Man Movie Guide wish their life were accompanied by a soul band too.  Brown’s masterpiece does falter, however, during the only car chase in the movie… which is itself pretty silly and poorly constructed.

Not silly: Stylish men with afros gunning you down from a rooftop

                But we didn’t come here for the car chases, did we?  Or the bright orange-ish blood and bizarre gunshots (like the very top of someone’s hair), or even the bizarre inclusion of a Prussian World War I pistol (check it out: http://bit.ly/TOLeGo), for that matter.  We came here for the style, and we came here for the soul.  And that’s just what we got…

Tango & Cash

by TheDavidMo

At first blush, Tango & Cash seems just like another paint-by-numbers buddy cop movie from the 80s.  More than that, it almost seems as though the makers of the movie were adhering to some sort of guy movie checklist  when coming up with it: gratuitous tits shot?  Check.  Pointless series of explosions?  Check.  After-punch quips aplenty?  Check.  So what does this movie offer that others of the same genre don't?


The answer is-- aside from Sylvester Stallone's ridiculous wearing of smart-guy glasses-- not much.  But this is just it: within T&C's rigid formula is a kind of purity that sets us free-- inviting us to have some beers, relax with some friends and hurl insults and wise cracks at the alternatively absurd, illegal, implausible, gay, and downright suicidal antics of Stallone's Tango and Kurt Russell's Cash.  Many a conversation will there be about "what would really happen" if a human being tried to do the things that Tango and Cash attempt throughout the course of the movie; from sliding down a high-tension power line with a belt to being lowered into a drum of electrified water (the dangers of electricity is, inexplicably, a recurrent theme).  And it is guaranteed that the room will puzzle over the various plot holes and absurdities encountered along the way... such as why the LAPD has a lavishly funded research and development arm whose only purpose seems to be the attaching of guns to things, or why Teri Hatcher drums during her stripper act, or why the newspapers in LA seem to have some kind of ranking system in place for cops (as in, Tango is the number one cop in LA, and Cash-- whose bust is featured below the fold-- is the number two cop).
Most of the actual elements are incidental: the by-the-book cop wears glasses, the loose cannon wears Hawaiian shirts.  The bad guy is Jack Palance, and the whole story revolves around a frame-up or a drug cartel or something.  And that's all you need to know, really.  The rest is taken care of by the steady drumbeat of one-liners supplied by Tango, Cash-- and you and your buddies.

Duel to the Death

     1983's Duel to the Death is among the best there is in the martial arts genre. It isn't a meditation on the beauty of the Orient like Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon... but it is highly stylized and surreal, juxtaposing portrait-worthy scenes of imminent death and disfigurement in exotic locales, and bizarre visuals like dozens of people hanging by their outstretched arms in a pitch black void. It isn't a crafty and clever ballet along the lines of a Yuen Woo-Ping epic (Once Upon a Time in China, Iron Monkey, etc.)... but the action is nuanced and guided, letting you discern every intention and thought of the person fighting.

     The plot focuses on a Chinese swordsman from Shaolin and a Japanese swordsman, both selected as representatives to duel one another (yes...to the death!) in a once-per-decade national pissing contest. It would seem that with true mastery over fighting techniques comes virtue, as these two are far and away the most principled characters in the cast. You will find yourself still rooting for the Japanese fighter (you'll root for both the whole time, by the way) even after he does one of the most dickish things you could ever conceive of.

     As the Japanese fighter makes his way to mainland China, treachery and sabotage and awful people doing despicable things in the name of national pride is the name of the game. We learn several things during this journey:

1. The Chinese fucking hate the Japanese (true of the characters, true of the filmmakers)
2. If you're a martial arts master, flying ain't no thang. The laws of the universe bend to the will of kung fu fighters (the wire-work is abysmal, but not without its charm)
3. Ninjas are super-wizard exploding robot people who can do whatever the hell they want (church!)

     The only real letdown in the movie is an absurd change-of-pace scene when the Chinese swordsman leaves Shaolin to visit his master before the duel. The master is an obnoxious hodgepodge of the worst martial art movie stereotypes... a clown prince/beggar type who scampers up trees with reckless abandon. He flips and flies around and none of it makes a lick of sense. And to make matters worse, there's a talking cockatoo for a double (shitty) dose of comic relief in a wholly unnecessary segment.

     By the end of the movie, though, you'll have seen a talking decapitated head, a gigantic ninja made of several other ninjas, someone flying butt-first through a wall while sitting Indian Style, and an ancient ninja technique that's never explained but consists of boobies. There will be a plot twist that even the most jaded movie-goer won't guess. And then there's the Duel to the Death itself, a fight so awesome that despite its rather short length, it really and truly deserves a whole movie named after it. If only every propaganda piece could be so entertaining...

Duel To The Death Trailer

CAUTION: Major spoilers in trailer.

CAUTION #2: Even if spoiled, movie is still awesome to watch.

The Omega Man

     The Omega Man is the kind of movie that really has to be seen to be believed. Good 'ole Chuck Heston, stars as a survivor of what one can only conclude is an apocalypse brought about by the Chinese fighting the Russians that resulted in both nuclear and germ warfare fallout (causing people to choke suddenly and look hilarious dead with their eyes and mouths open). This movie bleeds “attempted return to relevancy” on Heston's part; and it really warrants mention here. Here is Heston, who we can only assume has already been outed as a conservative, nearing 50 and in the middle of the hippie boom. So what does he do? He dresses up in ruffles and crushed velvet in his wood-paneled bachelor pad and makes googly eyes at a 'woman of color' with an afro in a terribly awkward fashion, as if to say, “Hey! I'm still with it! Isn't that what you kids say? With it?”

     Probably one of the best things about this movie is it's almost as if the director, too, were reaching out to the youth. When the albino cult of hooded, anti-technology mutants make mischief (these are the villains, by the way), it is set to a Herb Alpert-esque silly jazz number instead of anything remotely tension-inducing. The whole movie reads that way; what could be terrifying and suspenseful in the right hands simply winds up camp in the director's hands. Now, make no mistake...this isn't necessarily a bad thing. A movie full of cornball diatribes, irrational car crashes, and illogical sped-up-camera instances makes for a wildly enjoyable hour and a half.

Much of the movie has Heston talking to himself and working hard to convince the audience that three years of scavenging through a post-apocalyptic Los Angeles by day isn't the best thing for one's sanity. We get to see him drive like a complete idiot, despite the fact that there are no other cars to worry about. We get to see him machine gun anything that he thinks moves without so much as hesitating. We get to see him shop for track suits in the track suit store.

     There are some pretty good fight scenes between Heston and the mutants. And considering the fact that there is only one woman in the whole movie, there's a surprising amount of breast screen time. But what really elevates this movie to something worth watching is just how little of it makes sense; especially the whole Christ/messiah imagery and symbolism.

     One final note: if this movie sounds familiar, that's because it is one of three adaptations of the story “I Am Legend”. While not really Man Movies, both The Last Man On Earth and I Am Legend (yes, the Will Smith movie) are worth a rental.

Starship Troopers Trailer

Starship Troopers

by Christopher D'Anna

     Johnny Rico yells to the roughnecks, “Do you want to live forever?” Machine guns fire. Giant bugs splatter. Jets fly overhead. People splatter. Spaceships burn. A coed shower. Nuclear explosions. A teenage love... triangle. Bowie. And just before he gets his brains sucked out, Xander tells the Brain Bug, “Someday, someone like me is going to kill you and your whole fucking race!”

Would you like to know more?
     Starship Troopers, aside from featuring more ammunition fired than any other movie to that point, is a biting social commentary on 20th century war. Paul Verhoeven’s film is a vastly different animal than Robert Heinlein’s original novel. Heinlein, a noncombat vet, developed a near-fascist opinion of justifiable warfare. He uses the novel to play out his philosophy through a serious of flashbacks wherein the characters as students debate civic duty. There is little combat in the book. Ironically, Verhoeven, a World War II civilian who witnessed more violence than Heinlein did as a soldier, creates a film brimming with action... and yet the tone and message is in direct contrast to the book. Verhoeven himself admits to getting so depressed by the first few chapters of the book that he didn’t bother to finish. He uses the novel’s base of a future war between humans and space bugs to deliver a unique antiwar message that doesn’t criticize on moral grounds, but on futility. He lampoons war by way of Hollywood showmanship but never gets preachy. The violence, effects, and drama are all blown drastically out of proportion... which makes for a great action movie, one of the greatest. Verhoeven, from experience, also places a fair amount of emphasis on naive young people set amongst the horrors of war. And where there are naive young people, there is sex.
     Dizzy, the heart and breasts of the movie, is hopelessly in love with square-jawed Johnny Rico. Johnny, an infantryman, is hung up on Carmen, an air force pilot played by Denise Richards. (Ha!) Carmen’s got the hots for Xander, an older more experienced airman. Carl, the brains, has no sex drive, is psychic, and is driven by duty even if it means sacrificing all of the above characters. In what is perhaps the best casting of the movie, Carl is played by post-Doogie Howser/pre-How I Met Your Mother Neil Patrick Harris. Most of what these characters want is each other; but as mere soldiers, they are all at the whim of Carl, who’ll stop at nothing for the elusive Brain Bug... the Osama Bug Laden of the arachnids. While we’re piecing all that together, there’s a completely gratuitous coed shower scene among infantrymen and infrantrywomen. Johnny gets it on but I won’t spoil with who. Finally, the sex de résistance is the Brain Bug herself, which looks as if one overlapped a few slides from 9th grade health class. Hell, I’ll just tell you: It’s a giant vagina.
     Ultimately, Starship Troopers is R-rated boy’s fantasy, which was Paul Verhoeven’s mid-career forte. (Check out Robocop & Total Recall) That’s not to say it isn’t broad and engaging enough for everybody. There’s plenty of humor, the scope is huge and the effects are amazing. In fact, the first time I saw this was with my parents who both loved it. They still do. Anyone that’s seen it has to admit that this boy’s fantasy is tailor-made. It’s about a young man torn between two hot girls, his parents getting killed by an asteroid, traveling to another planet and fighting hoards of alien bugs with his buddies. In the end, Johnny Rico wins, sort of. The war is too big for any one man’s victory to matter. Win or lose, it’s how you play, or fight, or whatever. See the goddamn movie. Did I mention the coed shower?

Death Race 2000

     If movies like Rollerball, Logan's Run, and Soylent Green have taught us anything, it's that the future looks an awful lot like the 1970s. And, moreover, that things are going to be awfully violent. 

      The good news is this world of undying 70s aesthetic also comes equipped with coolest damn cars ever; from Calamity Jane's roadster sporting horns and a bull-ring, to Machine Gun Joe Viterbo's convertible, replete with tommy gun headlights and cartoonishly oversized hunting knife hood ornament. The bad news is that these badass cars are gunning for you (no pun intended). The national sport is never explained down to its finest detail, but it consists of some combination of driving from the East Coast to the West Coast in a race, and running over as many people as possible for points; babies and old people are worth the most, by the way. How Americans went from baseball to vehicular manslaughter is presented in a very ham-fisted set of social commentaries about our fascination with violence. The preachiness, however, is short and completely overshadowed by sped-up film segments of the cars and the luckless schmoes that unwittingly find themselves on the road during this national event... and the even more luckless shmucks that dare the harbingers of four-wheeled death (spoiler: if you tease a 200mph dragon car, you will not live to tell your grandchildren about it).

     Sylvester Stallone turns in an early gem as the raging asshole Machine Gun Joe. All four female participants get topless. There's a solid amount of blood spilled and explosions. There are hilariously memorable segments and lines without it being a one-liner fest. And, in this writer's humble opinion, there is a good example of how we can make our nation's flag look even more awesome. Oh, and the main character's name is Frankenstein, and is played by David Carradine! It's all enough to make you wish there really was a World Crash of 1979.