My Cultural Diet

J.D. Dawes (Chuck Norris) is a California trucker who also happens to be a martial arts master. (Why? Because it’s the ’70s, of course.) The latter comes in handy when his brother goes missing in the small town of Texas City, which is run by a crooked judge and filled to the brim with criminal activity. Soon enough, Dawes is roundhouse-kicking his way through the town’s populace while also catching the eye of a pretty young widow (Terry O’Connor). Breaker! Breaker! was Norris’ first lead role, five years after his famous appearance in The Way of the Dragon opposite Bruce Lee, and he acquits himself well enough, establishing the template that would be followed by pretty much every other Chuck Norris film in the ’70s and ’80s. Breaker! Breaker! is definitely fun in places; I might’ve cheered when Dawes revealed his ride, a souped up 4x4 Ford Econoline van with giant golden eagles painted on its sides and I do enjoy seeing corrupt backwoods judges and cops getting their butts handed to them. (On a side note, I wouldn’t be surprised if Jeremy Saulnier watched this in preparation for making Rebel Ridge.) But the film meanders in its final act and feels a lot longer than its 85-minute runtime, right up until its rather abrupt ending.

First things first: Ninja Knight Thunder Fox is an awesome title for a movie, and nothing you say can change my mind. Sadly, it has precious little ninja action compared to other Godfrey Ho movies. (That said, I do love the fact that the ninjas wear headbands emblazoned with the word “Ninja,” just to clear up any possible confusion.) Also known as Ninja Empire, Ninja Knight Thunder Fox is a prime example of Ho’s infamous cut-and-paste filmmaking. Cribbing scenes from a completely different film (Wen-Hsing Lai’s Fierce Lady) and mixing in his own footage, Ho uses slapdash editing and hilariously awful dubbing to create a new film about a modeling school terrorized by gangsters. Not surprisingly, the seams are painfully obvious. Case in point, our protagonists are two detectives named Brad (Marko Ritchie) and Bonnie (Hsu Ying-Chu) who own their own detective agency, and yet they never share a single scene together. Instead, they only ever talk on the phone, with the camera zooming in on Bonnie’s photo to sell the effect. Ho’s chutzpah is actually kind of endearing, if not entirely legal, and Hsu’s Bonnie puts some spirit into the film’s fight scenes even more so than the ninjas. And speaking of not entirely legal, the film blatantly uses sounds and music from Tangerine Dream, Re-Flex, Cocteau Twins, and Nightmare on Elm Street, though somehow I doubt Ho bothered to properly license any of it.

After a CIA analyst’s wife is killed in a terrorist attack, he demands that the agency track down her killers. But when his bosses ignore his request, he decides to take matters into his own hands — no matter the cost. The only thing is, he’s a nerdy analyst who possesses no field training whatsoever. I enjoyed watching Rami Malek’s analyst use his intellect and IT skills to track down and take out terrorists while also staying one step ahead of the CIA; this cat-and-mouse game was The Amateur’s best part. And the film’s subdued tone was a nice change of pace from 007-esque pyrotechnics. Unfortunately, there are times when he’s almost too good at his job, which strains credulity and undermines whatever tension the film so obviously wants to generate. Also, the attempts to depict the analyst’s grief and emotional turmoil feel heavy-handed at times, leading to an ending that’s too neat and tidy considering everything that transpires beforehand. On a side note, I’d totally watch a film about Caitríona Balfe’s character Inquiline.

Kat is a down-on-her-luck comedian stuck teaching improv classes. Marlon is a struggling actor who desperately wants to be taken seriously. And Hugh’s a meek office worker whose “soft skills” are sorely lacking. They’re failures on their own, but their improv talents prove surprisingly useful when a cop needs help with a simple sting operation. Unfortunately, our trio’s a little too good at improv, and they soon find themselves in way over their heads in London’s criminal underground. It’s a fun premise and Deep Cover is certainly entertaining, but I found myself wondering why I wasn’t laughing harder on more than one occasion. (Maybe I should just rewatch Key and Peele’s Keanu.) That said, I’m very tempted to give Deep Cover an extra half star just for Orlando Bloom’s performance as Marlon, the wannabe Brando who constantly turns the method acting up to eleven and gets far more intense than any given situation merits.

The Quatermass Xperiment is considered the first proper horror film from the legendary Hammer Studios, which would ultimately become synonymous with the genre thanks in part to a string of Dracula films starring Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing. According to the Guinness Book of Records, it also holds the dubious distinction of being the only horror film to scare someone to death (a nine-year-old boy, tragically). Of course, watching it now, seventy years after its release, its story of a scientist racing to protect London from a possible alien virus that came back on a crashed rocket is more quaint than anything. (Interestingly, the titular hero is actually something of a jerk and egomaniac, and the film’s final shot suggests that he’s learned nothing from the preceding events.) At the same time, The Quatermass Xperiment is still a pretty enjoyable “classic” sci-fi/horror film, and the creature effects can still make your skin crawl, even after you see the strings.

Tangentially connected to Ed Brubaker and Sean Phillips’ Criminal series of noir comics (which, full disclosure, I have yet to read), My Heroes Have Always Been Junkies feels like a minor work by the duo. That said, even a “minor” work by Brubaker and Phillips is still pretty darn good and worth checking out. Teen addict Ellie chafes against the rules of the rehab clinic where she’s currently staying. But as she falls for a fellow addict, we learn more of her difficult past and her bizarre, even self-destructive idolization of addicts like Gram Parsons and Billie Holiday. I was actually a little underwhelmed by the story, which seems to follow a fairly clichéd path. But in classic Brubaker fashion, the graphic novel ends with a real gut punch that forces you to reassess everything you just read.

This week’s release of The Phoenician Scheme inspired me to go back and fill in this particular gap in my Wes Anderson viewing, which I missed during its original theatrical run and then just sort of forgot about over the years. Ralph Fiennes stars as Monsieur Gustave, the Grand Budapest Hotel’s concierge who is (in)famous for his various dalliances with the hotel’s older guests. But when his favorite guest suddenly dies, it sets in motion a complex and calamitous series of events involving murder, stolen paintings, the outbreak of war, downhill skiing, pastries, and prison breaks — all of which are rendered in Anderson’s highly stylized aesthetic. (The film’s set design really is wonderful and feels like a time capsule from another era.) Some consider this Anderson’s best film. However, I found it so highly stylized that it felt flat and trapped within its own artifice, even when Anderson twists the screws a bit near the end.

An Eye for an Eye is a pretty routine Chuck Norris flick. Norris plays San Francisco detective Sean Kane, who quits the force to avenge his partner’s death in a drug bust gone wrong. Kane’s thirst for revenge only deepens after his partner’s girlfriend, an investigative reporter, is also killed for digging too deeply into the city’s drug-related activities. There are some double crosses, as Kane suspects a leak somewhere in the department. There’s some romance when Kane joins forces with a pretty journalist. Naturally, there are lots of roundhouse kicks. And let’s not forget Kane’s sweet Pontiac Firebird Trans Am. The film does get a bit goofy in places, be it Kane’s mentor (played by the inestimable Mako) imparting nuggets of Asian wisdom, his laundry-fetching dog Mort, or the decision to occasionally embellish Kane’s martial arts with sound effects. Still, I found myself enjoying An Eye for an Eye for what it was, especially with Christopher Lee adding his considerable charisma to the film and William Goldstein’s soaring soundtrack. As far as Steve Steve Carver/Chuck Norris collaborations go, however, I prefer 1983’s Lone Wolf McQuade.

Bored with their lives in New York City, three punk rockers decide to start over in California. But after a run-in with some rednecks leaves one of them dead, the remaining two punks swear to avenge their friend’s death — even if they have to pursue his killers across the country. Based on that description, would you guess that Dudes is a revenge thriller? A roadtrip movie? A buddy comedy? A western? A psychedelic journey? A romance? The answer, of course, is all of the above. A lack of clearly defined genre means that Dudes is packed with tonal shifts and rabbit trails as our hapless punk rock heroes traverse the American West, meet a bullfighting Elvis impersonator, and go on a vision quest whilst backed by a soundtrack that includes The Vandals, W.A.S.P., Megadeth, Faster Pussycat, and Steve Vai. It also means that Dudes possesses the sort of scrappy, low-budget charm that might be box office suicide but will almost certainly appeal to a small sliver of ’80s cult film fans.

The Paddington movies are utterly delightful, chronicling the adventures of the guileless (if somewhat naïve) Paddington Bear as he explores his London home with the Brown family in tow. Thanks to its elaborate production design, musical numbers, and Hugh Grant’s showstopping performance, 2017’s Paddington 2 set a very high bar for any potential sequel. Unfortunately, Paddington in Peru doesn’t quite meet it. To be sure, there’s still fun to be had, especially thanks to Olivia Colman as a nun who’s not all that she seems, and I always enjoy a comedic Antonio Banderas. But as Paddington and the Browns travel deeper into the jungle in search of his missing Aunt Lucy, Paddington in Peru tries to combine the small, sweet-natured charms of its predecessors with a rollicking Indiana Jones-lite adventure. It’s a mix that never quite works.

Another year brings another novel about everyone’s favorite OCD-tortured, vodka-loving ex-government assassin. With nine previous Orphan X novels under his belt, Gregg Hurwitz’s formula and style are completely locked in. This time around, Evan Smoak squares off against his oldest and most trusted ally, a skilled weapons developer who is, himself, in a complex situation involving a promise to a long-dead comrade and a bunch of racist rednecks. Oh, and there’s a squad of elite international assassins on his trail, too. I appreciate that Hurwitz isn’t afraid to delve into his characters’ pysches, and the book’s politics, which could’ve easily indulged in right-wing fantasies, are refreshingly convoluted. Unfortunately, Smoak’s frequent existential musings, interactions with his own protégé (a smart-ass hacker), and flashbacks to his childhood training make Nemesis feel bloated, unwieldy, and less thrilling than you’d expect from a book about a shadowy assassin-turned-vigilante.

The MCU finally addresses that Celestial corpse floating in the Indian Ocean… sort of, but not really. I knew better than to expect a Captain America film to embrace the cosmic weirdness that a Celestial corpse might otherwise hint at, but maybe some cosmic weirdness might’ve helped this attempt at a superhero-filled political thriller. The new Captain America (Anthony Mackie), who’s still struggling to come out from under the shadow of Steve Rogers, is persuaded by the newly elected President Thaddeus Ross (Harrison Ford) to support a treaty concerning the world’s newly discovered supply of adamantium, a metal more precious than vibranium. Not surprisingly, that’s precisely when a secret from Ross’ past emerges to threaten everything. Brave New World has the pieces of a more interesting movie, and Mackie embraces his role as the new Captain America with no small amount of heart and humor. Still, it’s never more than just an OK film that lacks both the fun and conviction of its predecessors.

Based on its aesthetics alone, you’d think I’d love Tron: Legacy. From the ultra-sleek production design to Olivia Wilde’s haircut, it has enough style and panache for ten movies, not to mention a bangin’ Daft Punk soundtrack. But even after multiple viewings, Tron: Legacy feels empty and I’m left wishing that I liked it more than I actually do. Way back in 1982, the original Tron had a more fantastical view of technology, which felt apropos at the time given the relative newness of computers, networking, etc. These days, however, computing technology has become so ubiquitous that Tron: Legacy’s depiction of a computer world feels inherently hollow and dated.

If any other author had written When the Moon Hits Your Eye — in which the world grapples with the scientific, religious, and existential ramifications of the moon suddenly turning into cheese (or an “organic matrix,” to use NASA’s term) — I probably would’ve left it on the library shelf. But since it was written by John Scalzi, it was a must-read. As I’ve mentioned before, Scalzi’s novels are like bacon double cheeseburgers: not necessarily the deepest or most profound books you’ll read, but when you’re in the mood for one, nothing else will satisfy. That said, When the Moon Hits Your Eye is his lightest, most whimsical novel to date, even when he’s taking tech billionaires to task or writing about a pastor’s crisis of faith. It was also the one I had the hardest time getting into. Scalzi’s novels are usually a quick weekend read for me, but this one’s vignette-ish nature — its chapters ping-pong around a vast cast of characters, some of whom we never see again — made it difficult to built up reading momentum. To Scalzi’s credit, though, I stayed up way too late finishing it because, in the end, I didn’t want to put it down.

Vampires and werewolves and sorcerers, oh my… I’ve never really been much into vampire lit, so I’m still not exactly sure why I checked out this particular novel. In any case, Ed Crocker does some interesting world-building here, creating a continent populated by the three immortal races who have abandoned their traditional lands after a strange foe nearly wiped them out a century earlier. Most of the action takes place in the last remaining vampire city of Lightfall, which is ruled by an arrogant nobility that gets all the best blood. When the son of one of Lightfall’s most powerful lords is killed, his death sets in motion a series of events that could bring Lightfall to its knees. Caught in the tumult is a lowly vampire servant who wants to strike back at the nobles who destroyed her family, a werewolf warrior with her own reasons to hate vampires, and a sorcerer who has devoted his life to proving the existence of the mythical race of humanity. A novel about vampires, werewolves, and sorcerers could have easily sunk into YA tropes and nonsense, so it’s to Crocker’s credit that he keeps things interesting. That said, I can’t say I found the story and its characters particularly gripping, not enough to guarantee that I’ll read the rest of the Everlands books when they’re released, anyway.

I told my wife she shouldn’t watch The Wild Robot for her own emotional wellbeing. The animated film, which is based on Peter Brown’s novel and follows a robot that crashes on a remote island and unwittingly becomes the mother of a runt gosling, lays on the maternal metaphors thicker than thick. Be it feelings of incompetence, physical wear and tear, or the struggle to eventually let one’s child venture off on their own, The Wild Robot is not subtle in its storytelling, sometimes painfully so. The film’s artwork has a painterly style that’s a refreshing break from today’s typical CGI fare, and its voice cast — which includes Lupita Nyong’o, Pedro Pascal, Catherine O’Hara, Mark Hamill, and Matt Berry — give it their all.

After he’s given a mobile phone for his birthday, Yuta’s dying mom asks him to record her final days, which he then uses to create a movie that shocks all of his classmates. All of them, that is, except for the enigmatic Eri, who insists that Yuta become a filmmaker and create something new. As Goodbye, Eri unfolds, Tatsuki Fujimoto — best known for creating Chainsaw Man — piles on the layers of meta-ness, with Yuta’s new film shifting from semi-autobiographical to something else entirely. Goodbye, Eri does say some interesting things about nostalgia and the unreliable-ness of memory, and it does have some genuinely touching moments. Ultimately, however, Fujimoto is more interested in twists and turns than emotional resonance as Goodbye, Eri increasingly calls into question everything that happens within its pages.

After a Mexican Special Forces officer saves two young women from being kidnapped, he and his fellow commandos find themselves in the crosshairs of a violent drug cartel while on leave. Which means they’ll have to use all of their training to survive in the Mexican countryside and stay one step ahead of the cartel’s seemingly limitless forces. There’s no fluff to Counterattack; it’s precisely what it says on the tin, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Much like France’s Lost Bullet films, Counterattack is a perfectly serviceable popcorn flick that’s proof Hollywood doesn’t have a corner on the action market. (The fact that it clocks in under 90 minutes is just an added bonus.) The dialog does get hamfistedly earnest whenever the commandos wax rhapsodically about their duty and honor, but that actually adds to the film’s effect, especially when they make their inevitable last stand.

I think I might’ve liked this more had I not recently read The Department of Truth. Both series focus on a group of agents from a shadowy government agency that’s tasked with keeping various conspiracy theories (e.g., the moon landing, the JFK assassination) under wraps from the general populace. But whereas The Department of Truth goes full broke for gonzo into the world of conspiracies and the effect they might have on reality, Deep State plays things a bit more straight. That’s not to say there are no twists and turns in these eight issues, only that they’re the sort of twists and turns you kind of expect from a series about secret government agents and conspiracy theories.

Both an adaptation and reinterpretation of the original Macross series, Macross: Do You Remember Love? essentially takes everything you love (and hate) about Macross and distills it down into a single two-hour-long movie. All of the expected characters are present, including Hikaru Ichijyo, Lynn Minmay, and Misa Hayase (and their romantic triangle), but significant changes are made to their backstories. Significant changes are made to the journey of the SDF-1 space battleship, as well, as it tries to return to Earth while battling the Zentradi alien warrior race, who are also fighting a civil war of their own. Macross titles are inherently melodramatic, but Do You Remember Love? is even more so, and as a feature-length film, it’s also surprisingly graphic in places. The film culminates in a massive space battle during which Minmay sings an ancient alien pop song to rally the troops. The discrepancy between the orgy of destruction and the swoon-y ballad, which contains such sentimental lyrics as “Do you remember the time when our eyes first met?/Do you remember the time when our hands first touched?/That was the very first time I set out on the journey of love,” is wildly ridiculous — and I kind of love it. Your mileage will, of course, vary. (Nerdy sidenotes: Do You Remember Love? is not part of the official Macross canon. Rather, it’s treated as a fictional movie that’s popular in the Macross universe. 1992’s Macross II is set after the events of Do You Remember Love?, and as such, is non-canonical, too. Do You Remember Love? was also re-edited, dubbed into English, and released here in the States circa 1986 as Clash of the Bionoids, which I definitely remember seeing in toy stores as a kid.)