It’s the age old story of an international playboy who uses a lonely small town school teacher to get himself into the United States so that he and his old dance partner can reunite and take the country (and rich American broads) by storm. Obviously, this film was made before we had a Department of Homeland Security that was specifically designed to prevent these sorts of terror attacks on the hearts of desperate women. Continue reading
One of history’s greatest sluts is given a very tasteful treatment in Vittorio Cottafavi’s early sword and sandal epic, Messalina. Sure, Messalina is shown coming onto everything with a bulge in his mini-skirt tunic and she’s not above being pawed by a sweaty goon solely to achieve the assassination of her emperor husband.
There’s also that time a guy sneaked into her palace bedroom to kill her, but she ended up screwing him instead. Really though, anyone would agree that was purely self defense.
And just because the only guy in Rome able to put all the pieces together to finally end her reign of horny terror is obviously a homosexual doesn’t mean that some straight guy might not finally tire of succumbing to her royal hotness and eventually halt her power grab. Like maybe when she was sixty and was forced to wear an unattractive support toga. Continue reading
Leslie Crosbie (Bette Davis) is the wife of a guy who runs a rubber plantation in Malaysia and if you know anything about life on a rubber plantation in Malaysia like I do, there isn’t much more to do than your husband’s best friend. And even though this all went down in Malaysia, it still turns out that you just can’t go around killing secret boyfriends because they dump you! You can’t really blame Leslie though. How can anyone be expected to know the intricacies of Malaysian homicide laws? Continue reading
I don’t think that Richard really wanted to be governor all that badly. Sure, he was giving interviews, holding court in his fancy office shuffling files while advising his secretary he was not to be disturbed, and having cocktail party receptions, but I don’t think his heart was in it. And I sure know his dingus wasn’t in it either! Because it kept getting into his stripper/singer girlfriend when his old lady was out of town at her mother’s! Continue reading
In life nothing is more pure than the sweet science of effortlessly bad Italian filmmaking! Relentlessly pummeling the viewer with its English-as-a-third-or-fourth-language level dialogue, jabbing with its cast of faded legends, has beens, bimbos, and talentless dudes vaguely recognized from other horrid Roman roundups before finally delivering the knockout blow with a deadly combination of awful songs, punch-drunk plot, and laughably over-the-top action, movies like The Opponent easily fill the undercard of your pointless life. Continue reading
I’ve seen The Ghost And Mrs. Muir several times and blast it if this salty old dog of a movie doesn’t suck me in every time I watch it, its dreamy tale of impossible, yet enduring love washing over this crusty old barnacle of a viewer like the roiling English surf featured so prominently in this film. Continue reading
Sinclair Lewis won the Nobel Prize for literature, was ripped off of a Pulitzer by the Columbia University trustees, won it for real later, declined it, wrote Babbitt, and eventually hired secretaries to play chess with him until he croaked from the effects of alcoholism. Somewhere in all this, he found time to pen what has to be regarded as the definitive novel about the nature of religion as Big Con. Continue reading
Oh, to have a dad as cool as Arch Hall, Jr! When I saw that Arch Hall, Sr. had done something like produce and write this cautionary/drive-in exploitation tale about punks who chop up cars, I knew that every kid’s dream at one time must have been to be Arch Hall, Jr. (Except for that name and the greasy hairdo.) Continue reading
Arch Hall, Jr. was supposed to be some type of manufactured movie star/teen idol, but something apparently went horribly wrong in the manufacturing process. Continue reading
This was the kind of movie that as it went along I grew less and less fond of enlisting in, its emphasis on facts and detailing the chronology of the battles at Guadalcanal forcing me to retreat in the face of a withering assault on my entertainment senses. I’ve got digital cable so I’m pretty sure that if I wanted, I could hit channel 566 or so and come up with a World War II Channel where they run documentaries about the Greatest Generation twenty-four hours a day. Continue reading