My Cultural Diet

Plenty of classic lines emerged from ’80s action movies. “Go ahead, make my day.” “I’ll be back.” “You’re a disease, and I’m the cure.” I’m not sure that “And you go in pieces, asshole” belongs on that list, but it’s not for lack of trying. Jack Caine (Dolph Lundgren) is a Houston detective trying to shut down a gang of yuppie drug dealers called the White Boys. After his partner is killed in a drug bust gone bad, Caine is subsequently paired with a stick-in-the-mud FBI agent who mocks Caine’s unorthodox — and unconstitutional — approach to law enforcement. But when an alien arrives in the city and begins a killing spree, Caine’s unorthodox approach may be all that can save them. Dark Angel, also known as I Come In Peace, came out two months before Predator 2, but there are some definite similarities, along with some buddy cop dynamics that really want to be like Lethal Weapon. Dark Angel is fun in places like any slice of ’90s action cheese; at times, it feels more like an excuse for the pyrotechnics team to go wild than anything else. (Which isn’t too surprising given that director Baxley got his start as a stuntman.) However, the alien stuff feels like it belongs in a totally different movie. I found myself wishing that Dark Angel had just amped up the ridiculous White Boys storyline, if only so I could watch Lundgren roundhouse kick an army of smug yuppie bastards in the face.

After serving ten years in prison, Soo-hyeok is determined to turn over a new leaf and lead a normal life, and even more so after he discovers that he has a daughter. But — and I know this will come as a shock — his former gang isn’t quite so ready to let him go. And if he’s not going to work for them, well, I think you can finish that sentence. Like many genre films, you can basically see where A Man of Reason is going within the first five minutes. Director Jung Woo-sung, who also co-wrote the film and stars as Soo-hyeok, does try to inject a little something extra with the inclusion of a pair of unhinged assassins hired to take out Soo-hyeok, but their antics are more annoying than dangerous. Even so, there’s still a thrill in watching Soo-hyeok take down one goon after another, whether he’s using his fists, a nailgun, or even his car. The film’s slick, glossy look, which I’ve come to expect from Korean thrillers (see also 2020’s Night in Paradise), also makes Soo-hyeok’s quest eminently watchable, even if the story doesn’t feel all that original.

We all know by now what we’re getting with a Ryan Reynolds film: quips, sarcasm, and lots of general smart-assery. Sometimes, as in the case of 2021’s Free Guy, that ends up being better than it has any right to be. But other times, Reynolds’ shtick gets real old, real fast (see 2024’s Deadpool & Wolverine). Thankfully, Mayday leans closer to the former. In 1987, at the height of the Cold War, Lt. Troy Kelly is assigned to fly a top-secret spy mission over Russia in an SR-71 Blackbird. But when the mission goes awry and he’s shot down, Kelly’s only hope for survival is Nikolai Ustinov, who — luckily for our lieutenant — loves American culture. Much of the film’s fun comes from Reynolds’ cocky fighter pilot playing off Ustinov, a former KGB agent played drolly by Kenneth Branagh. There are the requisite moments when our two heroes learn a bit more about each other’s side: Kelly discovers that Russians are far from the Evil Empire that he’s been told, while Ustinov realizes that America isn’t quite all it’s cracked up to be. The movie is too invested in the jokes and quips to explore such themes too deeply. However, I do confess that Kelly’s line about standing up to your country in order to stand up for it cuts to the quick in light of everything America has become thanks to Trump and MAGA. In fact, it almost felt subversive, and the fact that Reynolds is, in fact, Canadian, only adds to the line’s subversiveness. Which was more than I expected from this Apple Original.

A 90-minute film in which the legendary Australian stuntman Grant Page sets himself on fire, jumps off insanely high places, launches himself through car windows, and pulls off other crazy stunts while expounding on his philosophy of stunt work? Yes and please. However, at least half of Stunt Rock is devoted to performances of the hard rock band Sorcery, a sort of Spinal Tap meets Led Zeppelin outfit who incorporates theatrical effects and stage magic into their concerts. (Fun fact: Director Trenchard-Smith was close to getting Foreigner in his film, but their touring obligations prevented that from happening.) Page is quite charming, especially when he dismisses the risks of rappelling down a cliff while on fire or casually does a high-wire act in the middle of the day. The behind-the-scenes look at his film-within-a-film turns Stunt Rock into something of a mockumentary, replete with a shady agent and a callous director who only cares about getting the shot, and a stuntman’s safety be damned. But the Sorcery sequences wear thin pretty quickly, and feel like they’re from an entirely different film. That said, it was amusing to watch entire families rock out to a band that sings of virgin sacrifices and the age-old battle between Merlin and Satan.

A Samurai in Time begins as any good samurai movie should, with a duel, as Kosaka Shinzaemon (Makiya Yamaguchi) prepares to cross katanas with a warrior from a rival clan. Fate, however, has something else in mind: a stray lightning bolt somehow sends Shinzaemon hundreds of years into the future, where he awakens on the set of a samurai TV series. Of course, he doesn’t realize it’s a set, and everyone else just assumes he’s an extra who wandered into the wrong production. Much of the ensuing humor stems from Shinzaemon trying to make sense of his strange new surroundings. But he eventually finds a new calling as an extra in jidaigeki titles, and specifically as a kirareyaku (i.e., an actor who specialize in dying on-screen). He even starts developing feelings for assistant director Yuko Yamamoto (Yuno Sakura), and becomes determined to help her film career succeed. But Shinzaemon can’t escape his past, and as the movie enters its final act, it becomes increasingly clear that the past isn’t through with him, either. A Samurai in Time is an obvious love-letter to the jidaigeki genre and as such, a clearly personal project for writer/director Jun’ichi Yasuda, who funded the film’s production with his own money. Thus, I do feel kind of bad for not liking it more than I did. A Samurai in Time is certainly charming and pleasant, and it’s easy to see why it became so successful thanks to word-of-mouth. (It would ultimately take the top prize at the 2025 Japan Academy Film Prize awards.) But it’s so pleasant that it occasionally becomes innocuous, even anodyne. While it’s occasionally a nice change of pace, the film’s exploration of the absurdity — and tragedy — of Shinzaemon’s plight lacks something vital to really bring it all home.

First, a bit of trivia: When Imperial Entertainment acquired the rights to Triple Cross, they apparently re-edited it and then renamed it to Angel of Fury prior to its American release in 1994 — which is how it’s listed on Tubi. However, star Cynthia Rothrock already had a movie titled Angel of Fury under her belt, which she’d made in 1993 with Billy Drago. So to clear up any potential confusion, Imperial just renamed that movie to Lady Dragon 2. Sadly, this backstory might be the most interesting thing about the film. Rothrock plays a corporate security consultant named Nancy Bolan who’s tasked with bringing an advanced computer into the country. However, her simple courier job is complicated by two things. A terrorist named Bolt — who, we’re told on several occasions, strikes like lightning — wants the computer for his own nefarious purposes. Meanwhile, a former lover that Nancy previously thought dead re-emerges from the shadows, and he’ll stop at nothing to capture Bolt. (Who, allow me to remind you, strikes like lightning.) It’s a muddled mess that occasionally elicits a chuckle, which is the most I can say for it. Screenwriter Christopher Mitchum claims the Indonesian filmmakers tore his script apart, replacing anything they didn’t understand with a fight scene. Adding insult to injury, the film’s fight scenes are all lackluster at best. Rothrock occasionally gets to strut her stuff, but most of her moves are edited into incoherence, which is further heightened by the fact that Triple Cross looks like it was filmed on sixth-generation VHS tape. Not surprisingly, Rothrock was so embarrassed, she tried to convince the studio to not release the film, but was obviously unsuccessful.

LAPD detective Mickey Delano is convinced that Japan’s yakuza is poised to take over the American west coast. Unfortunately, most of his fellow cops think he’s crazy, which forces him to resort to increasingly illegal tactics to gather evidence. Meanwhile, a Japanese cop named Akashi arrives in L.A. to avenge the death of his sister, who was murdered by the yakuza. The two cops team up to confront their common enemy, but the yakuza’s influence has spread throughout the city, meaning Delano and Akashi are truly on their own. Back in the ’80s, there was a growing concern that Japan, which was experiencing an economic resurgence at the time, was taking over America and making inroads into key American industries (e.g., the auto industry). It’s hard not to detect some of that in Ulli Lommel’s film, which he co-wrote with David Scott Kroes. There’s some pretty borderline racist stuff here, be it Delano’s yakuza paranoia or the fact that the Asian cast was required to play out various stereotypes. (For example, Akashi is prone to mystical koans about death and honor, and naturally, he’s an expert with the katana.) Overkill does occasionally seem on the verge of ascending to Samurai Cop levels of cheese, and nowhere more so than when Delano goes undercover as a male stripper. However, it really does seem like Lommel intended Overkill to be a “serious” gangster movie. But that intent is undercut by the film’s wooden acting and unintentionally hilarious dialog (early in the film, Delano yells “I was born in California and I’m gonna defend it!” as his rationale for taking on the yakuza), not to mention the ham-fisted editing, which makes Overkill feel about twice as long as it 82-minute runtime.

Chow Yun-fat stars in this Hong Kong action flick as Jeff, a low-level tough who agrees to participate in a heist to earn some extra money. Of course, wouldn’t you know it, he’s ultimately double-crossed and left for dead. But while Jeff recuperates and plots his revenge, his betrayer returns to Bangkok with the goods and even makes some moves on his wife (played by Ann Bridgewater), who has no clue that her husband is still alive. There’s no doubt that Ringo Lam’s film drips with style, especially when he drenches the screen in lurid neon lighting that gives everything a sharp, visceral edge. Unfortunately, Full Contact’s story isn’t quite as visceral or gripping as Lam’s visuals would seem to indicate. Melodrama is a key component of Hong Kong cinema, and even more so in the country’s action films, and Full Contact is awash with it. While Chow Yun-fat brooding and plotting revenge will never not be entertaining, the film often verges on self-parody thanks to its ridiculous antagonists, be it Simon Yam’s flamboyantly homosexual gangster or Bonnie Fu’s ultra-libidinous vixen. Whenever they’re vamping it up on the screen, it’s really hard to take the rest of Full Contact seriously.

In the not-too-distant future, a woman named Gus (Karen Allen of Indiana Jones fame) is driving an advanced AI-powered truck through the countryside as part of an elaborate cross-country race. When she ends up off-course after her guidance system fails, she encounters a mysterious drifter (French rock star Johnny Hallyday) who becomes her only hope for completing the race and overcoming the sinister forces arrayed against them. At first, this French-German production looks like yet another post-apocalyptic road movie in the same vein as Mad Max, but as it unfolds, it’s hard to shake the feeling that the filmmakers had no idea what sort of story they were actually telling. There are glimmers of good ideas throughout Terminus, but it’s so vague and uneven, and its characters and their motivations so threadbare, that none of those ideas ever really materialize. What makes Terminus even more frustrating is that it does boast some cool images and production design, starting with the (I think) good guys’ neon-lit underground base. Unfortunately, the film’s style, which looks surprisingly modern at times, never overcomes or even balances out its lack of substance.

IMDb lists this one as Hands of Death but Ninja Operation 7: Royal Warriors is such a better title; it really speaks to the ridiculousness that is a Godfrey Ho ninja film. Unfortunately, even with the presence of Ho regulars Richard Harrison and Mike Abbott, both of whom wear “Ninja” headbands throughout the film, there’s only the bare minimum of ninja action here. This mishmash is, instead, focused on efforts to find a cache of gold hidden by the Japanese during World War II. In keeping with Ho’s cut-and-paste aesthetic, much of Ninja Operation 7 actually comes from a 1985 Korean-Taiwanese-Thai production titled The Great Jungle Escape that was directed by Kim Jong-seong, only re-edited and re-dubbed to work with Ho’s own footage. (Interestingly, this might be the first time I wanted to see the film that Ho used for his source material. The Great Jungle Escape looks to be very much in the same vein as Jackie Chan’s Armour of God, and features some wild martial arts action.) It’s all pretty threadbare, though, and given the story’s slapdash nature, I spent much of my time figuring out the film’s soundtrack. As with his other titles, Ho liberally “borrows” for Ninja Operation 7’s music, which explains why you’ll hear cuts from Italo disco star Miko Mission, Mark Knopfler, Stewart Copeland, Art of Noise, Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon, and even James Horner’s score for Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan. It’s not the worst Godfrey Ho film I’ve seen — the ridiculous dialog elicited a few chuckles and I had to make sure I wasn’t tripping when a Sheena-like character came riding in on an elephant to fight some cannibals — but it’s no Ninja Knight Thunder Fox. Unfortunately, the version currently streaming on Tubi was cut off at the edges. Every scene lacks about a fourth of its footage, which renders them even more inscrutable than they’d normally be.

Jack Deth (yes, that’s our hero’s name) is a grizzled and cynical 23rd-century cop who’s tired of hunting down the titular monsters, humans who’ve been turned into zombie-like creatures by the evil Martin Whistler and his psychic powers. But when Whistler travels back in time to 1985, Deth is pressed back into service to make the jaunt himself and prevent Whistler from rewriting the future. Upon arriving in the past, Deth gains the help of a punk rock girl named Leena (Helen Hunt, in her first major film role), but there’s just one problem: Whistler currently occupies the body of a police detective and before too long, the entire LAPD is gunning for Deth and Leena. A prime example of an ’80s “B” movie that’s not great, but is nevertheless better and more enjoyable than it has any right to be, Trancers is a clear riff on Blade Runner, albeit with some time travel and zombie motifs tacked on for good measure, as well as some classic film noir references. What ultimately saves Trancers is its scrappy sense of style. Director Charles Band absolutely made the most of his $400,000 budget, piling on the lurid neon lighting and shooting much of the film in rundown areas and dilapidated buildings, all of which helps to sell the film’s modest attempts at cyberpunk and post-apocalyptic aesthetics.

I was about two-thirds of the way through Masters of the Universe when my wife got home and asked how it was. “It is what it is,” I replied, and I stand by that. It’s precisely what you’d expect from a big-budget adaptation of the classic He-Man cartoon and toy line, for better or worse. To their credit, director Travis Knight and his cast and crew never shy away from the inherent silliness of their film’s subject matter. They fully embrace the memes (hence Four Non Blondes on the soundtrack), the colorful synthwave-y visuals, the feathered hair, and even the goofy homoeroticism (like Skeletor’s obsession with He-Man’s big, long sword). I’d much rather see that approach instead of any reductionistic effort to make He-Man “gritty” or “realistic,” and it had me chuckling throughout the film. At the same time, there’s just not a lot of there there. When the story requires Masters of the Universe to set aside the jokes and attempt something a bit more serious, like an actual sincere moment between characters, that’s when the film starts to flounder, as if it doesn’t quite know what to do with itself. And that’s to say nothing of the stuff the film just sort of hand-waves away so it can get back to the flashy, CGI-powered action (which, to be fair, looks pretty great).

At this point, a Christopher Nolan film is an Event. And understandably so. Following the success of his “Dark Knight” trilogy, Nolan basically has carte blanche to do whatever he wants, and thankfully, he’s chosen to pursue ambitious, high-concept films with ensemble casts and the highest of production values (e.g., Inception, Tenet). His adaptation of Homer’s epic saga is no different, and for the most part, it’s perfectly fine. I was never not engaged by Nolan’s retelling, but ironically, I find it easier to point out the things I didn’t like so much about the film. The clunky dialog that occasionally confused the portentous for the profound. The herky-jerky editing, especially during the climactic assault on Troy. The sometimes questionable casting choices. (I like Matt Damon a lot, but his Odysseus often felt flat, even when he was lamenting the horrors of war.) As I type all of that, though, it feels like nitpicking, as there’s no denying the sense of ambition here, from the striking visuals (e.g., Odysseus’s journey into Hades) to Ludwig Göransson’s intense, otherworldly score. And I’d much rather seem ambition on the screen than the alternative. Unlike many big budget Hollywood films, Nolan’s films often call me back for multiple viewings — I felt compelled to watch Tenet 3 – 4 times, and now consider it my favorite Nolan film — so I’m curious to see if and how The Odyssey might further unfold after another viewing.

Following an international incident involving an Arab sheikh and his wife, the Hong Kong police department decide to establish a crack all-female commando squad. The squad’s training is brutal and exacting, especially when Cynthia Rothrock (Undefeatable) steps onto the screen, but don’t expect anything too gritty from The Inspector Wears Skirts. After all, the film, which begat several sequels, was essentially Hong Kong’s response to the Police Academy franchise. Which means that a good deal of The Inspector Wears Skirts is taken up with various shenanigans as the trainees deal with the chauvinism and unwanted advances of their male counterparts as well as their own internal rivalries. Sometimes this works in a slapstick sort of way, and other times — like the roller rink musical number — it just doesn’t. What ultimately saves The Inspector Wears Skirts, though, is its absolutely gonzo action sequences, which rival anything you’ll see in a classic Jackie Chan film and thanks to some occasional squib work, even venture into John Woo territory. (Not surprisingly, Chan was one of the film’s producers.) Indeed, The Inspector Wears Skirts landed in my Tubi queue because of an article by Jordan Elyse Crucchiola extolling the virtues of one fight scene in particular. Multiple scenes had me chortling with glee, however, and I rewound several of them more than once so that I could more fully appreciate their insanity.

Aliens and Steven Spielberg go together like chocolate and peanut butter. Close Encounters of the Third Kind. E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial. War of the Worlds. Even Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. So Disclosure Day should be a walk in the park for the director, right? After all, it tackles some pretty big themes, like the effect that definitive proof of extraterrestrial life might have on human civilization. Unfortunately, Disclosure Day takes that high-concept premise and doesn’t really deliver on it. To be sure, it’s filled with bravura filmmaking; even though he’s pushing 80, Spielberg remains a master behind the camera. And John Williams’ score features his usual brilliance. But Disclosure Day’s story is half-baked, bringing up interesting points like it’s just checking them off a list and never really delving into them. (For example, it merely pays lip service to the challenges that alien life might pose for the world’s religions.) What’s more, the pacing feels off from the opening scene and it never really rights itself or develops a sense of momentum, which is ironic given that much of Disclosure Day is comprised of people chasing other people. I can see the ambition behind Disclosure Day, but overall, it’s a surprisingly ineffective film from one of our greatest filmmakers.

John Ford’s classic western has been understandably criticized for its portrayal of Native Americans as violent savages. And yet, there are other parts that feel surprisingly progressive for a film that’s nearly 90 years old, like the way it treats a prostitute who’s been run out of town by self-righteous “family values” types. Or the fact that the film’s most villainous figure isn’t Geronimo and his warriors, or even a former Confederate officer, but rather, a greedy banker who rails against federal regulations and the national debt, wants to reduce taxes, and loudly asserts that the nation would be better off with a businessman as president. (Where have I heard that before?) Stagecoach is as much a thriller as it is a western, as its characters make their way across the American Southwest — stunningly captured by Ford and cinematographer Bert Glennon — in constant dread of the inevitable attack by Geronimo and his Apaches. When that attack comes, it features stunt work that still looks thrilling even after all these decades. (Due, no doubt, to the far more relaxed safety protocols of the time.) Unfortunately, Stagecoach also tries to shoehorn in a more typical shootout storyline, with John Wayne’s character itching for a gunfight with the men who killed his father and brother. After that long, breathtaking ride through the desert, Stagecoach’s final act feels like it’s from a different movie entirely.

William Bang is the best hitman around, which means the local mob boss keeps him constantly busy. (Of course, with a name like William Bang, would you expect anything less?) When he’s gunned down and left for dead, though, and barely survives thanks to an emergency heart transplant, Bang starts to reassess his current life choices. But one doesn’t leave the underworld that easily, and Bang’s desire for a new life is obviously going to require more than a little bloodshed, not to mention some major suspension of disbelief on the viewer’s part as Bang’s plan starts to unfold. I went into Bang hoping for something along the lines of a Scott Adkins film like Avengement, something low-budget but also gritty and intense. Bang is certainly low-budget, as evidenced by the horrible CGI, laughable visual effects, and continuity errors, but it’s also the very opposite of “gritty and intense.” Lead actor Jack Kesy (Hellboy: The Crooked Man, The Killer) is woefully miscast; his attempts at making Bang seem introspective come off as empty and wooden, and the same holds true for his action scenes. Ironically, the film’s best action scene doesn’t even feature Kesy, but rather, Kane Kosugi, but even that scene is underwhelming thanks to the editing and camerawork. Meanwhile, Peter Weller’s efforts at scenery-chewing as the cruel mob boss are just awkward. (Sidenote: Bang never pauses to wonder why a gangster named Morgan Cutter might occasionally lapse into a bad Italian accent.)

In the year 2163, the crew of the starship Ikarie XB-1 have left Earth to travel to a distant planet orbiting Alpha Centauri. Although the trip will only take them a little over two years, the effects of faster-than-light travel means that 15 years will pass on Earth — a fact that has left some of the crew concerned. That, combined with dangerous space phenomena, continues to raise the crew’s stress levels. But things reach a potential breaking point after they discover a derelict spaceship and choose to explore its mysteries. Inspired by a Stanisław Lem novel, it’s tempting to compare Ikarie XB-1 to 2001: A Space Odyssey. Both films take a much more serious approach to the rigors of space travel, and both films also feature elaborate production design. (Indeed, there’s some reason to believe that Ikarie XB-1 actually influenced Stanley Kubrick’s film.) Ikarie XB-1 suffers a bit in comparison though, as it tries to balance headier themes (e.g., criticism of 20th-century excess, relativistic physics) with more standard sci-fi tropes (e.g., talking robots, fancy ray guns). It doesn’t always work, but for sci-fi fans, Ikarie XB-1 is worth checking out to see how the genre developed in the Eastern Bloc.

It’s a tale as old as time: A hardened criminal gets out of jail determined to start over and go straight, only for his former colleagues to drag him back into his old ways for one. Last. Job. We’ve seen this play out countless times in noir and gangster movies, and Cruel Gun Story — which gets some bonus points for the bad-ass title — hits all of the expected beats and tropes. But director Takumi Furukawa and lead actor Joe Shishido (Branded to Kill, A Colt Is My Passport) pull off their own little cinematic heist so well, proving that it’s all in the execution. When Togawa (Shishido) is roped into robbing an armored truck, he quickly learns that nobody can be trusted. Cue the double and triple crosses, not to mention kidnappings and shootouts. Shishido is particularly great here, delivering a performance that constantly hints at the desperation lurking just beneath Togawa’s tough guy persona. The movie does suffer a bit in its final act thanks to a denouement that feels just a little too extended. Nevertheless, Cruel Gun Story ends just like you’d expect a movie titled Cruel Gun Story to end, and I, for one, wouldn’t want it any other way.

I first learned of Nobuhiko Obayashi’s House well over 15 years ago, and honestly? I’m a bit disappointed in myself that it took me this long to finally watch it. House begins like countless other horror films, with a group of high school students deciding to spend their vacation at a remote house that looks idyllic but turns out to be all kinds of haunted. Of course, the students take way too long to realize something’s wrong, but by then it’s too late, and we spend the rest of the film waiting for the inevitable to happen. But Obayashi, who worked in both experimental film and TV advertising prior to making House, finds the most creative ways of presenting the inevitable. He employs every cinematic trick in the book and then some, and the resulting film is one for which words like “bizarre,” “psychedelic,” and “surreal” just barely begin to scratch the surface. As such, I hesitate to call this a horror film even though it features a haunted house, a demon cat, dancing skeletons, possession, a teenager-devouring piano, and more blood than The Shining’s elevator. Indeed, you’ll probably spend more time scratching your head and/or laughing than actually being scared. Oh, and would you believe that House also works as a metaphor for the trauma caused by the atomic bomb? (Obayashi was born in Hiroshima and all of his childhood friends were killed by the attack, an experience that he worked into the script.) This film’s got layers, I tell you, as well as a floating head that bites people’s butts.