I’m 17 years late getting on board the “Army of Darkness” cult train, but I’m pretty glad I finally did, even if I’m not certain I’ll be taking many repeat trips. A sequel to Sam Raimi’s late 80s horror comedy non-sequel, “Evil Dead II: Dead by Dawn,” “Army” drops most of the horror of the prior film and combines Mark Twain’s “A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court” with bargain basement Tolkien and a huge dose of imaginative slapstick comedy in the vein of classic era Warner Brothers cartoons and the Three Stooges. The result is a pretty rich broth of high-style geekery.

The film opens as wisecracking, chainsaw-armed, loutish, egotistical big-box hardware store clerk hero, Ash (cult superstar Bruce Campbell) and his Oldsmobile Delta Royale fall through some kind of time hole and wind up in 13th century England by way of California’s Bronson Canyon and Vasquez Rocks. Held captive by Lord Arthur (Marcus Gilbert), his only initial supporter is the local Wiseman (Ian Abercrombie). However, victory in battle against some hideous monsters and the chance to use his magical “boomstick” (actually, a non-magical 12-gauge shotgun) adds to Ash’s credibility and helps to attract the amorous attention of a refined and beautiful noblewoman (Embeth Davidtz, adding a touch of class and some real emotion to the proceedings).

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In which I shamelessly plug the new exploitarama from my long time friend and cohort, Cody Jarrett. “Sugar Boxx” a women-in-prison low-budget extravaganza of sex, mayhem and other tried and true filmic values premieres tomorrow night, September 5th, at midnight at the Sunset 5 Theatres on the eastern edge of West Hollywood. Those lucky enough to be in attendance will be treated to sexy nudity, a great score (by The Millionaire of Combustible Edison and Steven Adler, formerly of Guns ‘n Roses), gratuitous violence, nudielicious sex, a line of hilarious-yet-pithy dialogue 40% written by me as well as brief flashes…of me (in a nonspeaking role!), nudity, Russ Meyer superstars Tura Satana and Kitten Natividad and the smoking-hot stars of tomorrow (and reality TV), foul language, a little violence, and some more or less nude lesbian sex.

You can see just a hint of that below:

The show is likely to be crowded with famed cast members (including me!) and may well sell out, so buying your tickets early is a good thing. You may still be able to do so here. And, if you can’t make it — acceptable excuses include living thousands of miles from greater Los Angeles — the absolute least you can do is to check out the Sugar Boxx Facebook page as well as the fabulous official website which will no doubt help keep you informed as to various means of viewing this soon-to-be-enormous masterwork.

For more information on fighting hard drugs among our nation’s preschoolers and first graders, see the FSITO website.

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Now, before you decide to come after me for giving free publicity to really sketchy charities, be aware that this is a nice bit of viral marketing for the upcoming seventies blaxsploitation spoof, “Black Dynamite,” which I was fortunate to see at the Los Angeles Film Festival two months back. From cowriter/director Scott Sanders and cowriter star Michael Jai White (”Spawn”), it’s easily the funniest and best made comedy genre homage in a very long time, and its marketing isn’t bad either. The movie’s official site is worth a look, too.

(Also posted at Premium Hollywood.)

[Today’s entry at Premium Hollywood had some FtY suitable material, so here it is again.]

Filthy lucre is today’s theme in movieland. Really, it’s every day’s theme, but it’s on my mind today.

* Nikki Finke, who actually makes money blogging, notes a pay cut for William Morris assistants, who already work ridiculously hard for the hope of decent money some day, and are expected to work a minimum of fifty hours a week. Presumably they get some overtime (though one wonders if they’re not working actually quite a bit more — Hollywood and Walmart have been known to have a few things in common in the past). They’d better because their boss’s brother is the White House chief of staff. Could get messy, otherwise.

Finke also has an interesting — inasmuch as I can follow it — look at some silver linings amidst the major studio’s fiscals clouds.

* A noted casting change in the third “Twilight” will probably not affect grosses perceptibly, but there’s no stopping those wagging tongues.

* And with all the fuss at Comic-Con, the appearance of anime genius Hiyao Miyazaki got all but ignored by the media, as far as I can tell. “Princess Mononoke” beat “Titanic” in Japan. If it had done so here, it’s fair to say he wouldn’t have been a relative afterthought.

* What of “District 9″? Given one of a few strong early reviews by Justin Chang, will politically trenchant, if thoughtfully violent/icky, Sci-Fi set in South Africa find a big enough American audience? (H/t Jeffrey Wells.)

* For those of you who live outside of California, it might be interesting to note that while mass chaos seems far away here, the state’s fiscal crisis really is effecting everything and everyone to varying degrees. People I know who work in the public sector out are personally experiencing furloughs and pay cuts to go with them, classroom sizes are ballooning absurdly and on it goes to some pretty scary and sad places.

It may not be directly related, but the Los Angeles Times report that the L.A. County Museum of Art is ending its weekend programming hits me where I live. As Anne Thompson points out, some of that may be due to some very canny competition from the terrific Los Angeles Cinematheque, a relatively very young organization that has actually come to the fore during the DVD era with two theaters at opposite ends of town offering some pretty great programming.

The Times‘ John Horn strikes a perhaps overly drastic or even borderline intellectually snobbish note on that point, though it’s true that this is not a golden age for art movies. LACMA was more prone than any other venue to offer works by such cinephile-only filmmakers as Bela Tarr, whose best known movie is the 7.5 hour “Satantango,” and will be closing out with the far-from-Frank Capra Alain Resnais.

Nevertheless, the museum’s Bing Theater was certainly not above offering crowd-pleasing fare from time to time and, indeed, not doing so would be to ignore a huge part of film history. Still, a cannier mix might not have hurt so much. Since they are talking of tie-ins with museum shows, programs similar to (or identical to) New York’s MOMA collaboration with Tim Burton might be in order. If regular film programming ever does return to MOCA, a little more Charlie Chaplin and a little less Maoist-period Godard might not be the end of the world, either.

 With the help of its TV-friendly vibe and the support of high profiles fans like Quentin Tarantino, Howard Hawks’ “Rio Bravo” remains possibly the most popular of all classic-era westerns. The laid back seriocomic oater starred John Wayne as a tough frontier sheriff in conflict with a powerful rancher; Dean Martin as his easygoing deputy ruined by the bottle and a bad woman; teen idol Rick Nelson as a young whippersnapper able to work miracles with a gun; Walter Brennan as a wily coot; and gorgeous newcomer Angie Dickenson as the ultra-sexy female gambler who keeps Wayne guessing throughout. Though the kind of unassuming film that feels like a cult hit, it was actually an immediate success on its original release in 1959.

Five or six years later, however, the classic era was dead, and the title characters of “Bonnie and Clyde” were coming to shoot up the corpse, but older filmmakers for the most part saw no reason to change. Howard Hawks, moreover, had never been had a problem with cannibalizing his past. If something worked once, why not let it work twice? So in the wake of a couple of non-western box-office bombs, he decided that the downbeat western adaptation of a novel by Harry Brown that science fiction novelist and screenwriter Leigh Brackett (“Rio Bravo,” “The Empire Strikes Back”) was drafting would instead become a laidback seriocomic oater. It would star John Wayne as a tough frontier gun-for-hire in conflict with a powerful rancher; Robert Mitchum as an easygoing sheriff ruined by the bottle and a bad woman; James Caan as a young whippersnapper able to work miracles with a knife; character actor Arthur Hunnicut as a wily coot (Walter Brennan was unavailable); and attractive newcomer Charlene Holt as Wayne’s sexy girlfriend, who occasionally confuses him. Hawks denied it was a remake, and for the first third of the film, the plot appears to be leading elsewhere, but by the one-hour mark we’re watching the movie Brackett referred to ruefully as “The Son of Rio Bravo Rides Again.”

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Given that many of his films reflect what you might call the broad sweep of black history, a way-too-clever writer might try to compare Denzel Washington – exemplary family man, matinee idol with a conscience, two-time Academy Award winner and the first African-American to win a Best Actor Oscar – to our current president. A smarter writer, however, might compare him to other actors, perhaps including those of other ethnicities.

Washington is, among other things, an old-fashioned movie star. Trained on the stage, he confesses to being influenced by “the method,” yet his acting has none of the emotional fetishism that is so common in the post-Marlon Brando movie world. Indeed, his complete ease before the camera and his low-key joy of performance is probably most similar to Spencer Tracy. The stocky, un-pretty Tracy was nearly the physical opposite of Washington. Still, the relaxed charisma, the ability to generate a laugh or a shiver with a simple expression, and Washington’s awe-inspiring commitment and confidence mirrors the ability of the classic era great, whose only advice to young thespians was to learn their lines and avoid bumping into the furniture.

Indeed, as the meticulously handsome Washington steps into the shoes of slob par excellance Walter Matthau in director Tony Scott’s remake of “The Taking of Pelham 1-2-3“, it’s an opportune time to take a look at some of the lesser-known films from the actor’s back catalog. They’re quite an assortment, sometimes messy and imperfect, but always worthy of your attention. Denzel Washington rarely makes a boring choice.

CLICK HERE FOR TEN FROM WASHINGTON’S BACK CATALOGUE.

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Special FtY Not Really Exclusive Bonus: Denzel Sings!!!!!

Huffpo has the very sad and strange news of the late David Carradine’s apparent suicide. All I can say is that the world lost more than a terrific actor with a dry sense of humor, and a member of one of the nation’s premier acting families, it lost something else too — a real onscreen badass mofo. That means more than being to pull off some martial arts moves, it means presence and Mr. Carradine certainly made those Carradine genetics work for him. He’s even memorable as a soon-to-be-dead drunk in Scorsese’s Mean Streets.

My Premium Hollywood/Bullz-Eye colleague/sometime boss Will Harris, who interviewed Carradine, has a personal remembrance and a whole lot more, and Glenn Kenny briefly recalls a few of Carradine’s more interesting mid-career performances, including his work as Woody Guthrie in Hal Ashby’s Bound for Glory, all of which I’ve seen…but not for a very long time. (Well, Ingmar Bergman’s The Serpent’s Egg was more recent, but I’ve kind of struck from my memory on purpose…not my, or anyone else’s, favorite Bergman film…but still, isn’t it cool that Carradine worked with Ingmar-f*cking-Bergman?). The invaluable David Hudson also has much more info.

And finally we have a great deleted scene from Kill Bill, Volume II that shows that, even in his late sixties, Carradine still had the badass mofo mojo down and knew how to impress a killer lady, versus no less an opponent than Michael Jai White (Spawn, Black Dynamite). I don’t want to get spiritual here, but Carradine had long ago achieved B-movie nirvana, at least.

I have to admit up-front that this is something of a pet movie – the kind you love all the more because not that many people have seen it. Why? Let’s start by saying it’s a superbly well-crafted, mid-‘80s blend of Brit gangster flick, suspense, heavy-duty irony, and Zen/existentialist philosophy. It’s also a remarkable agglomeration of talent on both sides of the camera, and stars three of the greatest leading men/character actors that England produced in the latter half of 20th century — two at the peak of their powers and one at the very beginning of his long film and television career. It’s also notable as the film that established the feature film career of a personal favorite, Stephen Frears, the too-versatile-for-his-own-good director behind “Sammy and Rosie Get Laid,” “The Grifters,” “Dirty Pretty Things,” “High Fidelity,” “The Queen” and many others. But forget all that, what’s really striking about “The Hit” is its subject matter. This isn’t just another thriller about criminals threatened with death; it’s an entirely entertaining parable that’s actually about death and how we humans face our own end.

Written by Frears’ then-frequent TV collaborator, novelist Peter Prince, “The Hit” opens at the Old Bailey, circa the early ‘70s. Low-rent crook Willie Parker (Terrence Stamp) turns state’s evidence on several of his criminal pals, who respond by serenading him with the sentimental World War II-era anthem, “We’ll Meet Again.” The meaning is clear enough. Ten years later, Willie, now a suave 40-something bohemian with a picture of John Lennon over his bed, is hiding out in high style on Spain’s Costa del Sol. In the course of an afternoon bike ride he metaphorically meets his old mates again through the person of the extremely deadly Mr. Braddock (John Hurt) and Myron (Tim Roth, in his first theatrical film), a glorified soccer hooligan being given his big break in the murder biz.

Saying that the assignment calls for Willie to meet with the crime boss he betrayed, Braddock chooses not to execute his victim on the spot, but to take him on a proverbial ride through Spain’s countryside with France as the ultimate destination. Allowing himself to be in a “road picture” is Braddock’s first mistake. One problem he encounters along the way is Maggie (Laura del Sol), a beautiful young ex-street urchin with a terrifying will to live. The other is the intended victim, who, after some initial resistance, seems not to be all that put out by the near-certainty of his immanent murder. Is Willie Parker merely a blissed-out intellectual, or is the Zen-like calm some kind of outrageous gambit to save his own skin? Regardless, it throws Braddock and thuggish Myron seriously off their games.

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Up to now, I’ve been a no-show at the several cinephile exams that have been hosted over the last couple of years at Dennis Cozzalio’s legendarily brainy film geek blog, Sergio Leone and the Infield Fly Rule. Well, before splitting for a hard-earned vacation, Dennis has posted a new exam on film-related matters, up in honor of the cartoon dog genius, Prof. Peabody, which you’re all encouraged to take.

I’ve posted my responses in the comment thread over there already, but now that I’m a SLIFR slacker no more, I thought I’d make ‘em do double duty here because we know that my opinions matter, or something.

Here goes….

1) Favorite Biopic

“Lawrence of Arabia” – an obviously great film and a rather pedestrian choice given that I really like biopics, sometimes the cheesier and and more ridiculously fabricated the better. Therefore, quasi-demi-honorable mention is alluded this triumvirate of absurdly wrong biopics – “The Jolson Story” (it’s amazing how much Al Jolson’s life was just like the plot of “The Jazz Singer”!), “They Died With Their Boots On” (the love affair between Custer and the Indians your socialist history teacher doesn’t want you to see!) and “Dragon: The Bruce Lee Story” (he didn’t just appear in action movies…he lived them!).

2) Dyan Cannon or Tuesday Weld?

It’s close, but I give it to Dyan Cannon for being hilarious onscreen and genuinely wacky offscreen.

3) Best example of science fiction futurism rendered silly by the event of time catching up to the prediction

The Jetson’s treadmill? I’m drawing a blank here.

4) Annette Funicello & Frankie Avalon or Troy Donahue & Sandra Dee?

Frankie & Annette – I grew up watching those movies on channels 5 & 9 (I think) out here up to age 10 or so. Not that those movies are in any sense “good” (I wonder if I could sit through any of them now?), but F&A at least have a certain amount of charm and sense of humor, which I really can’t say about Troy Donahue, at least.

5) Favorite Raoul Walsh movie?

Not really “White Heat,” and no, definitely not “They Died with Their Boots On”… The winner is “The Roaring Twenties” – by far. Just a magnificent entertainment. I need to see that one again some time soon.

6) Sophomore film which represents greatest improvement over the director’s debut

This is tough, but I guess I’m going to say Polanski’s “Repulsion” as it’s brilliant and “Knife in the Water” left me feeling merely 90 minutes older after it was done. Though, that was in college and I might have a very different reaction now. (Another possibility is “Rushmore” – though I loved “Bottle Rocket” quite a bit, so it’s dicey.)

7) Ice Cube or Mos Def?

Mos Def – because he convinced me he was actually English in “Hithchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.”

Favorite movie about the music industry.

Many, many fun movies in this category, but I guess I’m going to have to go with “Nashville.”

(more…)

He was “the master of suspense,” but not all of Alfred Hitchcock’s films even tried to be particularly suspenseful. After the success of “Rear Window” in 1954, a tightly plotted, darkly comic suspenser shot entirely on a single extraordinary soundstage, Hitch seems to have wanted to take a break and make more relaxed and expansive films. And so it was that his next picture was a tale of light intrigue set against the majesty of the French Riviera, where the suspense/mystery element presented the thinnest veneer of camouflage against both commercial considerations and Hollywood censorship. The director often referred to his films as “slices of cake” and, with this film, three ingredients were on the baker’s mind – sex, romance and more sex.

That may be why “To Catch a Thief” fails as a suspense film – but many viewers don’t care. Indeed, this enjoyable mixture of wit, low voltage intrigue and highly charged attraction is really about the appeal of its two great stars and the beauty of its seaside setting, captured in stunning Technicolor and large-frame VistaVision. This is not a film to watch on the edge of your seat, but one to enjoy while (if possible) sipping your favorite cocktail in the close company of your favorite person. What it lacks in storytelling velocity, it largely makes up for in wit and beauty.

Read the rest at Bullz-Eye.com

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And for an exercise in subtle symbolism….