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Welcome to the Bad Cinema Diary™ Newest Entries Here are the latest movie reviews; newest entries at the top. For the time being, the DIary will be updated irregularly 2 to 3 times each month; if you're really interested in why, numb yourself with the Boring Wordy page.

Updated on June 23 -- there's an old dud from Universal, but Spain comes to our rescue with some shameless smut cinema.


SHE-WOLF OF LONDON
	(1946) dir: Jean Yarbrough; w/ Don Porter, June Lockhart, Sara Haden, Jan Wiley. The nervous young lady fears that she is the werewolf behind a string of recent attacks -- but you'd need the IQ of a zit not to place your bets on the gaslighting old bag who's after the girl's money. This script is so unimaginative and predictable that you may not notice there's a movie on. It's got wooden acting, hokey dialogue, and an ending more convenient than microwave popcorn. This is the sort of lazy matinee-filler that looks as if it spent a whole five minutes in preproduction. There are some occasional snickers to be had at the expense of the cast, but sadly, this is really just an insult to the audience.


SATAN'S BLOOD
	(1978 - Spain - aka Escalofrio; Don't Panic) writ & dir: Carlos Puerto; w/ Angel Aranda, Sandra Alberti, Marian Karr, Jose Maria Guillen. Lots of skin, both genders; no gore. A nice young couple is trapped for the night in the home of a perverted satanist couple -- so naturally, lots of sex happens -- and then some people die, but only sort of. We get a drunken mess of a script, lots of boring bits, and a simply wretched soundtrack. However, it is certain that this flick's only ambition was to show a lot of weirdness and nudity, and on that scale, it more than meets expectations. It is amusing in a side-show freak sort of way -- just don't expect it to show any intelligence.


MUNDO DEPRAVADOS
	(1967 - aka World of the Depraved) writ & dir: Herb Jefferies; w/ Tempest Storm, Johnnie Decker, Larry Reed. Lotsa skin; no taste. Two dopey dicks are after a sex killer, but it takes a busty stripper to bring the perp down -- meanwhile, girls keep taking their clothes off. The script is moronic, the dialog deformed, and the acting is, um -- well, there wasn't any, actually. All of that matters not a bit, as the only purpose is boobies... and quite a lot of them, thank goodness. It's the lamest of excuses for wrapping up a peep show as a feature film, but they did put some real effort into this one. And although the deliberate jokes are pathetic, the attempts at acting and editing are just hilarious. Get your old-fashioned black & white smut here, and quite a lot of unintended entertainment along the way.


the PARADISE VIRUS
	(2003 - for TV) dir: Brian Trenchard-Smith; w/ Lorenzo Lamas, Melody Thomas Scott, Ralf Moeller. A lady doctor just wants a tropical vacation but suddenly she becomes a small island's only defense against a killer germ. A Valentine's Day flick, believe it or not, wrapping a double love story in an “outbreak” drama. As bad an idea as that may sound, the execution is far worse. No idea could survive this preachy script, so depressingly banal that it will strip you of any hope for the future of the species. And the characters here are so nauseatingly shallow, the virus itself looks like an endearing personality in comparison. I know it's a TV movie, but it's quite worrying that there were humans who actually thought this might be passable entertainment for anyone with the IQ required to turn on a television. 'Scuse me, I should go toss out my barf bag now.


the LOVE CULT
	(1966) dir: T. A. Dee (Barry Mahon) w/ Rita Bennett, Lucky Kargo, Sharon Kent. A little skin; no talent. A two-bit hypnotist decides to cash in by creating his own religion based on sex. Although this movie's only reason for being is titillation, it is given a veneer of faux-decency by playing out as a dead serious tragic morality play, complete with self-righteous narration. The titillation, however, is minimal thanks to meager displays of skin and a photographer who thinks he can do art. And everything else is built on the production values of a back-room stag reel, and with almost as much script. So what we get is a sex film dull enough to put a frat house to sleep. Even for the historian interested in a sample of the clean & coy sleaze of the sixties, this one is a bit more punishing than is strictly necessary.


PHASE IV
	(1973) dir: Saul Bass; w/ Nigel Davenport, Michael Murphy, Lynne Frederick. No skin; no gore. Pardon me, sir, but are you certain you wouldn't like a little plot with your padding? It's artsy padding to be sure, with lots of micro-photography of ants; the few moments of the film devoted to an actual script are a pretentious and minimalist trifle about the ants developing a collective intelligence and deciding that humans are too stupid to live. I can see their point, actually, but one loony scientist and his sidekick fight a lonely duel in the desert against their canny foe. If cut to a length called for by the script (12 minutes, maybe), it might have been a nifty little tale. But stretched to feature length, there is nothing for it to do but mimic real content by being vague and artsy. However, the corny and pointless narration that bookends the film only reveals the lack of effort and imagination here. If you like ants, there are plenty of nice closeups; but if you're hoping for a story, you'll be disappointed.


GUNS AT BATASI
	(1964 - UK) dir: John Guillermin; w/ Richard Attenborough, Flora Robson, Mia Farrow, Jack Hawkins. At a remote African military post, the most perfectly proper British RSM must deal with mutiny and political inconveniences in the only way he knows how. At first blush, this doesn't have much to offer -- no action, minimal locations and cast, and an obviously limited budget. What it does have, however, is a fun story wrapped around Attenborough's fabulous portrayal of a man who has devoted every last bit of his life to the sort of dreamy ideals that never quite fit in with reality. But when those ideals are tested, he is determined to not let them down, not by a single hair. Standing ovation time, this is.


SOLAR ATTACK
	(2005 - Canada) dir: Paul Ziller; w/ Mark Dacascos, Joanne Kelly, Kevin Jubinville, Louis Gossett Jr. No skin; no gore. The sun belches great gobs of flame and sets fire to our pollution-soaked atmosphere -- you guessed it, only well-placed nukes can save us now. Thank goodness for nukes. Not even remotely original of course, but at least serviceable. They don't actually have enough disaster going on, so they pad the rest with some grossly predictable kerflaffle involving nuclear subs. The CG effects are obvious, but probably above expectations for this budget, and the simplistic plot moves along nicely. However, the pea-brained science and the dialog-by-cliché gives one the feeling that this was intended for the youngest demographic. It ought to do well with them, but for others looking for a disaster flick, they won't find it here.


WAR OF THE WORLDS 2: The Next Wave
	(2008) dir: C. Thomas Howell; w/ C. Thomas Howell, Christopher Reid, Kim Little, Fred Griffith. No skin; no gore. The Earth's last defenders struggle against a new invasion while Howell wanders the bowels of the enemy ship (literally). Allowing for the puny budget, they manage a decent job with the visuals -- and that's the last kind thing I have to say. The soundtrack, sound effects, and editing were just abysmal, and the performances, I hope, reveal more about the obvious lack of rehearsal time than the actual talents. But worse than any of that was one of the clumsiest and most childish scripts I have ever had to sit through. All the money in Hollywood could not have made this turd worth 85 minutes of anyone's life. Rather sad, actually.


MEGA-SNAKE
	(2007) dir: Tibor Takacs; w/ Michael Shanks, Siri Baruc, Michal Yanai, Todd Jensen. No skin; a bit o' gore. Those Tennessee snake-handlers get in over their heads and so the local EMT has to face down his phobia and save the town from a snake the size of a bus. It gets a bit of freshness from some fun characters and a decent, if sometimes hammy, cast. But this thing sticks so dang close to the Critter Flick boilerplate that it never really threatens to pull our attention away from the popcorn. It's only passable if you really need a giant snake fix today.


the TWO GLADIATORS
	(1964 - Italy) dir: Mario Caiano; w/ Richard Harrison, Moira Orfei, Mimmo Palmara. The long lost twin brother of wicked Emperor Commodus returns to save the empire for all that is decent and Roman-y. Pretty much just what you expect, but even by Peplum standards, this one is a bit shabby. With minimal locations and the sparsest of scripts -- we have a whole heck of a lot of horse riding scenes and torch-carrying mobs substituting for the bulk of the plot. It does, however, have a couple of hot babes (with IQ's somewhat below the common flea) and a lot of enthusiastic (if family-safe) battle scenes. It fills the basic requirements, I suppose, but that's about it.


D.O.A. - DEAD OR ALIVE
	(2006) dir: Corey Yuen; w/ Jaime Pressly, Devon Aoki, Holly Valance, Kane Kosugi. No skin; no gore. Some bodacious babes get invited to the world's most prestigious martial arts tournament which naturally is run by a murderous madman -- it's sort of Enter the Dragon with video game characters and cleavage. No serious action flick this, but your boilerplate matinee movie that delivers exactly what you expect... and thank goodness for it. Go into this with the right mindset, and it's a terrific kick in the pants. Corey Yuen serves up a nonstop parade of shamelessly exaggerated fights, goofy characters, and gratuitous bikinis. This is featherweight filmmaking at its finest.


2LDK
	(2003 - Japan) writ & dir: Yukihiko Tsutsumi; w/ Maho Nonami, Eiko Koike. No skin; mild gore. Two very different aspiring actresses are roommates in Tokyo -- naturally, there are some frictions, especially since neither is particularly well balanced emotionally. But now they are after the same film role and the same man, and the conflict escalates from arguments to fights to a merciless duel to the death; no tactic too low, no weapon too inhumane. This flick comes from a low-budget filmmaking challenge, and features just the two girls and the one apartment set -- and produced what must be the most brutal cat-fight ever filmed. This is not a movie to be pigeon-holed, but I suppose Deep-Black Comedy will do -- and if you feel like an action flick that's a real change of pace, it'll do quite nicely.


SHE-WOLVES OF THE WASTELAND
	(1988 - aka Phoenix the Warrior) dir: Robert Hayes; w/ Persis Khambatta, Kathleen Kinmont, Peggy Sands, James H. Emery. Tidbit o' skin; no gore. Two brave warrior-babes try to protect the last male child from the icky tyrant-lady. This is an indescribably weak attempt at an all-girl post-holocaust mish-mash. There a whole lot of ex-cheerleaders pretending to be tough -- failing miserably and doing an even worse job of pretending to be actors. There are also a few deliberate attempts at cheese, but these are nowhere near as amusing as their attempts at competence. It's the sort of half-witted crap that could only be excused by massive amounts of nudity. However, since the gratuitous boobs appear but once and briefly, the film is inexcusable... except perhaps as the final nail in the coffin of Persis Khambatta's career.


SIMON, KING OF THE WITCHES - see the Movie Poster
	(1971) dir: Bruce Kessler; w/ Andrew Prine, Brenda Scott, George Paulsin. A little skin; no gore. A vagabond with a sweet-faced hustler as his sidekick; he entertains the crowd with trinkets and fortune-telling -- but no mere charlatan, his quest for god-like power leads him to ever-greater excess and brings down the curse of the gods upon just about everybody. At turns pompous and goofy, this is an outgrowth of the occult fancies of its era; a tale not of horror or suspense, but of the pursuit of forbidden knowledge in the old booga-booga sense. Nonetheless, the script was more subtle than I expected, and it was quite a fun view, carried mostly by Prine's manic ranting and inane witchy-babble. Perhaps a bit too steeped in its time to be accessible to later generations, it's still a refreshing change from the usual cliches.


WAR OF THE PLANETS
	(2003 - aka Terrarium) writ & dir: Mike Conway; w/ Timothy S. Daley, Jason Hall, Sheila Conway, Shae Wilson. No skin; mild gore. Crash-landed on a strange planet, the first astronauts to another world find themselves the target of murderous aliens. This poor thing has budget-crunch written all over it; the minimal locations, cheap props, bad acting, and crappy effects. Plus, it's chock full of painfully gratuitous throw-aways like the generic, unexplained aliens, the tribute to faith, and the sad family backgrounds. Ick. But what really makes this such an annoying trash-bin of a movie, is the laboriously slow, connect-the-dots script that never bothers to actually tell a story, nor even have much of an ending. How many skulls do we need to crack before people learn that a single idea does not amount to a plot?


the BODYGUARD (2004)
	(2004 - Thailand) writ & dir: Petchai Wongkamlao & Panna Rittikrai; w/ Petchai Wongkamlao, Pumwaree Yodkamol, Pipat Apiroktanakorn, (Tony Jaa cameo). A whole lot of Petchai's butt; no gore. A bodyguard for a wealthy tycoon fails his charge, but has a chance to redeem himself when the bad guys target the tycoon's son. It's got bone-crunching fights, loony spoofery, low humor, dumb gangsters, even dumber cops, and blistering gunfights. Some western viewers may be put off by the range here -- from serious violence to gags so dumb they prove a gag can be too dumb. But if you're amenable to that sort of thing, this is a gas.


AMOK TRAIN
	(1989 - US/Italy/Yugoslavia - aka Beyond the Door 3; Death Train) dir: Jeff Kwitny; w/ Mary Kohnert, Sarah Conway Ciminera, William Geiger, Bo Svenson. One boob-shot; some gore. It's the same old tale of the nice American girl traveling in the old country and she really doesn't want to get married to Lucifer -- but this time, the devil possesses a choo-choo train to make sure his bride gets to the altar on time. It has good photography and great locations, but the script is just a half-hearted and lazy rehash of the usual spooky bits, and it relies solely on a string of gory but quite random kill scenes. Further diminishing it are some very cheap effects and a cast that clearly thought the movie wasn't worth much effort. The flick is so completely forgettable that it seems it must have been deliberately made that way.


BLACK MOON RISING
	(1986) dir: Harley Cokliss; w/ Tommy Lee Jones, Linda Hamilton, Robert Vaughn, Richard Jaeckel, (cameo for Keenan Wynn) No skin; no gore. Squeezed between the FBI and gangsters, the super-burglar guy teams up with the super-car-thief gal to steal back a super-fast rocket car from the super-mean bad guy -- and it's all super-dull. John Carpenter provides what I hope is his worst script ever, with a plot more heavily contrived than any Saturday morning cartoon, and featuring characters with even less depth. It's a vapid and gutless attempt that appears to want to be the start of a franchise or series, which mercifully never appeared. Although I suppose it would fit in well with other mindless cartoons.


GINGERDEAD MAN 2: PASSION OF THE CRUST
	(2008) dir: Silvia St. Croix (DeCoteau?); w/ K-Von Moezzi, Kelsey Sanders, Joseph Porter, (cameos for Michelle Bauer, David DeCoteau & others). No skin; mild gore. Trying to save his father's movie studio, the struggling filmmaker has to contend with the killer cookie, who shows up for no damn reason at all. Well, someone at Full Moon may still have a sense of humor; the setting for this one is a failing crap-movie studio trying to crank out one more cheap movie about killer puppets. Sadly, that's the most entertaining thing here, and any actual plot is a mere afterthought. It's played as a killer comedy, but the gags are lame, the effects are cheap, and as for the script -- the only possible excuse is that they didn't actually have one. I suppose it does manage to be amusing, providing you're familiar with the genre and its people -- but seeing makers of pathetic films trying to lampoon pathetic filmmakers is... um, just pathetic, really.


STARSHIP TROOPERS 3: MARAUDER
	(2008 - US/South Africa/Germany) writ & dir: Ed Neumeier; w/ Casper Van Dien, Jolene Blalock, Stephen Hogan, Boris Kodjoe. Tidbit o' skin; some gore. Rico is back and he is about to be executed for treason -- or maybe he has to lead a team on a daring mission to rescue the Sky Marshall -- or stop him from betraying humanity -- or maybe it will turn out to be... a fucking Christian message movie!?? I feel so violated... Well, okay, they put together a nice looking film with good effects and with surprisingly good work by the cast; but the script fails spectacularly on the character front, as the people behave in ways far more alien than the Bugs. On the one hand, they paint a parody of an abusive and intolerant government... but in the end, the government turns out to be right after all. And while they make a loud lampoon of the political stance of American evangelicals, they also send a blatant (and stomach-churning) message on the power of faith and prayer. It's a soft-headed and poorly realized film that sends some badly confused (and frankly idiotic) messages. Excuse me, I gots indigestion... [Some folk have defended the religious content as being entirely satire; but to be fair, I did listen to some of Neumeier's commentary track, and he did indeed intend to send a positive religious message as well. What's more, it's a message about a specific religion, which turns at least part of the movie into sectarian propaganda. urp.]


SANTA'S SLAY
	(2005 - Canada) writ & dir: David Steiman; w/ Bill Goldberg, Douglas Smith, Emilie deRavin, Robert Culp, (cameos for James Caan, Fran Drescher). Tidbit o' skin; mild gore. It turns out that old "saint" Nick was actually a demon cursed to a thousand years of being nice -- but now, thank goodness, he's back to his bloodthirsty ways. Done with all tongues in cheek, it is well crafted and Goldberg makes a great anti-Santa. But despite being fun to watch (and a delightful corruption of childhood fancies), it never really offers much. It's not scary, it's not original, and neither is it especially funny -- it's just sort of a nice movie that sticks to the middle of the road. It leaves us little reason to remember it and none at all to hope for the sequel (which they begged for in a most ungracious manner).


BASKET CASE 2
	(1990) writ & dir: Frank Henenlotter; w/ Kevin VanHentenryck, Annie Ross, Kathryn Meisle, Heather Rattray. No skin (unless you count a little guy-butt); a bit o' gore. Duane and his misshapen twin hide out from the authorities at the home of a loopy doctor and her adopted family of mutant freaks. The twins have certain, um, issues with each other and each seems on the verge of finding love -- but to protect their privacy, they need to deal rather harshly with that tabloid reporter. This is better crafted than the first, but happily avoids refinement. The goofy freak makeup and the hammy cast gives it a cartoony feel, but it is still quite deranged enough to make a worthy sequel.


the DEADLY BEES
	(1967 - UK) dir: Freddie Francis; w/ Suzanna Leigh, Frank Finlay, Guy Doleman, Michael Ripper. No skin; no gore. A burnt-out pop singer takes a vacation on a lonely island and then tries to find out which of the eccentric locals is breeding the murderous bee colony. Masquerading as a killer bee flick, this sleepy British mystery yarn involves quite a lot of wandering around an old farmhouse. Eventually, the (superimposed) bees make a few attacks, but even those are stretched out enough to make them sleepy. This is a low-budget and low-effort attempt from Amicus studio, and relies heavily on a cast of actors who are still working on achieving their second emotion. It's all right if you need something to put you to sleep.


THE TRIP - see the movie poster
	(1967) prod & dir: Roger Corman; w/ Peter Fonda, Susan Strasberg, Bruce Dern, Dennis Hopper. Teensy bit o' skin (mostly Peter's butt); no gore. A successful but confused young man has his first harrowing experience with LSD -- and that is essentially the whole of the script that Jack Nicholson provided for this one. It's a mere psychedelic vignette, and despite the oh-so-serious "social problem" disclaimer tacked onto the beginning, the film doesn't really try to tell a story or even send much of a message. There is plenty of inventive imagery, op-art, and fine cinematography, but it's dragged down by very poor sound and the lack of any actual content. Nonetheless, it's a worthy museum piece -- a genuine slice of the sixties preserved in cinematic formaldehyde.


the SKULL - see the movie poster
	(1965 - UK) dir: Freddie Francis; w/ Peter Cushing, Patrick Wymark, Jill Dennett, Christopher Lee. Collectors of the macabre will do anything to possess the skull of the Marquis de Sade -- but it's the skull's demonic influence that turns them to its own evil ends. An Amicus adaptation of a Robert Bloch tale; it's a nice little spooker in the 'EC' vein. However, despite the fine photography and superb cast, the adaptation itself is plodding and stretched far past its snapping point. A proper editor could lop 30 minutes off this thing and not touch a jot of the script. The depth of padding effectively insulates the audience from any actual spookiness. Still, it's a pleasant enough view, but it's not much more than a quaint curio for fans of Cushing and Lee.


the MACHINE GIRL
	(2008 - Japan) writ & dir: Noboru Iguchi; w/ Minare Tashiro, Asami, Kentaro Shimazu, Nobuhiro Nishihara. No skin; oodles o' gore. A nice young school girl is driven way over the edge when bullies kill her little brother -- in her unstoppable bloodlust for vengeance she slaughters everyone in her way, and loses an arm in the process... but that's okay, she knows a mechanic. With maniacal villains, synchronized ninja-slicing, countless severed limbs, and enough spurting blood to extinguish a forest fire, this movie commits an excess of exaggeration that would embarrass the most lurid of manga. And especially if you happen to be in a bad mood, it's funny as hell. A completely demented masterpiece of mayhem; and with no redeeming values to spoil it all.


GAS-S-S-S
	(1971 - aka Gas! Or It Became Necessary to Destroy the Word in Order to Save It) prod & dir: Roger Corman; w/ Robert Corff, Elaine Giftos, Talia Shire (as Tally Coppola), Ben Vereen, Cindy Williams. Teensy bit o' vague skin; no gore. If ever a movie was a product of its era, this is it. The 'Generation Gap' gets closed when an accidental release of a nerve gas kills off everyone on the planet over the age of 25; a hip young couple wanders the remnants of civilization and watches the survivors do their best to disprove the ideals of political anarchy. Can Peace and Love win out over Rape and Pillage? Only Edgar Allan Poe knows for sure... but the Rape & Pillage team have their own cheerleaders, so the advantage goes to them. Even by the standards of Corman and AIP, this is haphazard and careless filmmaking; shot in a rush and literally scripted as they were filming, the result is an "experience" flick for those who think LSD is an essential part of a balanced breakfast. As a lightweight satire it has its cute moments, but it fails to add up to an actual movie.


CYBORG COP 2
	(1994 - aka Cyborg Soldier) dir: Sam Firstenberg; w/ David Bradley, Morgan Hunter, Jill Pierce. Tidbit o' skin; no gore. A secret anti-terrorist project picks an out-of-control mad-dog killer as its new mechanical super-soldier. Yeah, that sounds like government logic. Anyhow, now his old nemesis, the rebellious cop with the cool hair, has to blow up a whole army of psycho cyborgs. Things do blow up real good in this one, but nothing else gets much attention from the filmmakers. The script is barely up to the quality expected from an early morning cartoon, and the action scenes are all slow-motion & dramatic music, and it all takes place in a universe where bullets only hit who they're supposed to. Not actually painful, but dreary enough to make you wish for a lobotomy.


the MAN IN THE WHITE SUIT
	(1951 - UK) dir: Alexander Mackendrick; w/ Alec Guinness, Joan Greenwood, Cecil Parker, Michael Gough. An obsessed little tinkerer brews up a new fabric that will never tear and never get dirty -- but he finds that humanity abhors perfection as both the captains of industry and the common laborers unite to put a permanent end to his new idea. A finely shot film that successfully mixes comedy with human commentary; still, it gets most of its mileage from a terrific cast. Although largely forgotten fifty years later, it is amusing, and perhaps a little sad, to see how very "timely" this flick is in the 21st century.

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